#and its in a otherwise completely blank white room

[gender-void-partially-stars]

every time i imagine etho’s desk setup in my head it gets lamer and more pathetic

[alittleghostwhoeatsbread]

Eggy-Preg

Michael got back well after Terry had gone to bed- so late the sky was caught in a state of embarrassed indecision, holding the pinkish purple colour of a pigeon’s breast across its expanse like a blush to the cheeks- and, after hanging up his clothes and stretching, followed suit, falling straight into bed himself with the same form he’d had since the age of twenty-two, which was the tall and tubular one of a cardio-centric green bean. The following day, waking up around two in the afternoon as wet with sweat as a horse in lather, upon his first attempt at sitting up, he found to his surprise that he couldn’t with his usual ease because his usual form had been replaced by one with a belly as bloated as a hot air balloon filled with too much fire and at the point of popping, the pain of it when attempting to bend like a fire had been lit inside him too.

He could hear Terry in the kitchen humming to himself, the tuneless buzzing of a bumblepheliac drawing a colony to him for the purpose of honey themed sex, signifying that he hadn’t noticed upon waking the extended belly of Michael, this signification being made more apparent when, after getting up from the bed as gently and painlessly as he could, each lurch making him feel off balance, as if he could fall onto his lump at any moment, Michael walked into the kitchen and revealed it to him, the humming immediately becoming the strangled half-whistle of a mockingbird being throttled, Terry immediately running over and clasping the lump of his belly in his hands, lifting it slightly as he did and causing an unconscious moan of relief to come from Michael's mouth.

“Michael, what the hell is this? You look pregnant.”

“Don't be stupid. Pregnant. I’m just swollen. But it hurts.”

Terry lifted the extended pyjama shirt of Michael and gazed at the belly that when exposed had the look of a particularly angry acne spot on the verge of doing a Vesuvius, little purple lines running down the sides of it like static images of lightning minimised, his face when gazing the face of an astronaut after getting completely and utterly untethered in the depths of space, his mouth coiling like a snake waiting to strike while, hit by a sudden wave of emotion, his eyes becoming as wet as they would if waves of emotion were actually waves on the ocean, Michael started weeping and wailing of his pain.

The nearest hospital was tiled on the outside, the white and grey combination of new and old false teeth all jumbled up together, and they had to wait in a waiting room made up of stray church hall chairs surrounded by people with a variety of wacky ailments- fake udders superglued to chests, eye balls being held, nails and forks stuck through or into various body parts, etcetera- for a long ol’ time before finally being called in by a small doctor whose nametag said Stephanie. Stephanie was around 5 foot tall, but her white coat trailed on the ground as if it’d been stolen from a much taller doctor by two children who’d decided to play hospital and stacked themselves on top of each other beneath its buttoned up buttons, her face not suggesting otherwise, having the appearance of a ruddy and privately educated twelve tear old on the verge of divorcing their nanny.

She led the two, Michael, whose new weight made him shuffle like a mummy adrift without bandages, trying to lean on Terry but getting nowhere because Terry was too busy patting his own belly to make sure it hadn’t grown, into a small office made of cloth partitions rather than walls and containing just a dusty chest of drawers, a bed, and two rose red chairs that had the scent of many an ass hovering above them and exuding.

“What seems to be the problem?” she asked after waving Michael to sit on the side of the bed, as blank faced as a plate until that plate met a Greek wedding and broke. “I'm joking! You're clearly pregnant. What a surprise that is. You're male, biologically, am I right?... Just as I suspected. One doesn't like to assume such things though. Now, how long has your stomach been like this?”

“Since this morning. I woke up and it was like this, swollen, large. I was fine yesterday. I went for a run, drank a bottle of wine out with colleagues. I was everything but pregnant.”

“He can’t be pregnant,” Terry interrupted with a stamp of the foot. “I mean, where the hell is a baby going to come out of?”

Holding up a medically trained finger, Stephanie gestured for Terry to shut up and help her help Michael, who began sweating excessively again from a hot flush while desperately rubbing his stomach like it was a lamp a genie had recently vacated, off the edge of and onto the centre of the bed, their hands collectively laying him back but only Stephanie’s remaining to fondle and caress the extended belly. She did this fondlement for a while, feeling the skin of the belly in different areas as if trying to find the exact spot she wanted, until, with an, ‘aha!’, cry, she picked up her scalpel and a nearby syringe- already loaded with a sky blue liquid- and, without word or question of permission, injected Michael with it, him falling deeper into the bed and pulling the face of no pain, and her immediately setting about slicing straight down the centre of his stomach with the scalpel.

“Hey!” Terry screamed, reaching for the doctor and the scalpel before being stopped in his tracks by the appearance of not guts and giblets, but a bloody but otherwise very white and large egg- the size really of a bigger than average newborn- which lay in the split skin folds with the innocence eggs always have.

Even though feeling no pain, Michael felt a little something else at the moment of release, a groan of relief bigger than any groan he'd ever groaned before emanating from him and stretching around like elastic as the skin that'd been containing the egg receded back to its normal place, sewing itself back together as if nothing had happened.

“I knew it!” Stephanie whooped. “There are only a few male based pregnancies known and this, an eggy-preg as we called it off the cuff in medical school, is the rarest. There we have it. Your egg.”

“What’s in the egg?” Michael slurred, Terry shouting the same simultaneously.

“In there? What is? Oh, just something. You'll see. Maybe,” with this, she span and gathered a pamphlet that was strung to the chest of drawers with oddly thick cobwebs, blowing dust from it that flew off in a cartoonish grey cloud and floated several metres through the air before gathering like a rain cloud over Terry’s face until he dissipated it with a wave of the hands; the pamphlet was a perfect square rather than the usual rectangle with a green background and a single image as the foreground of an eggshell white egg with one long lightning shaped crack running down its front, the side of a yellow smiley face sticking out that crack like a slowly emerging, oddly coloured- not to mention shaped- piece of caca. “Read this. It’ll explain everything I can tell you and more.”

With that, Stephanie, with a doctorly flick of the hair, vanished, moving between the curtain partitions separating offices with the ease of a ghost lacking a sheet, losing them, and possibly herself, easily, the them, Michael-the-still-groaning-in-relief and Terry-the-what-the-hell-is-going-on, looking around as if they could find her again and also possibly a way to escape the cage of worry that’d been constructed around themselves. After ten minutes of them looking in a circle without a word, an orderly, who spied them through a crack in the partition, waved a hand at them and, rather forcibly considering the egg in their possession, removed them from the hospital, the egg lying in Michael’s arms as they left but never kept still, being jostled back and forth for comfort purposes as it’d begun growing at a steady pace since its removal from the belly. The egg was the size of a medium sized dog by the time they began their short walk home, though much lighter, and Michael held had to hold it sideways, hands clutching top and bottom, the curve of it blocking most of his forward vision and forcing him to trust Terry, who kept looking at the egg and shaking his head with sighs of annoyance, to direct him in the right direction.

“We’re going to be parents, Terry,” Michael said after a while, the happiness growing in his recently vacated stomach coming out in his voice, making it breathy and wispy as if attempting to vocally impersonate a feather duster. “Parents!”

“Parents. Parents,” Terry repeated every few steps, his face the face of someone doing their best not to impersonate an egg cracker but failing miserably.

Their house had a living room and that living room was large and oval with a slight dip right in the centre of it where a below foundation sink hole the council didn’t want to fix had pulled the pine flooring down from beneath, the egg, which Michael placed to the floor as gently as you would imagine a swan plants their keister on their own eggs, fitting in that slight dip with the perfection of a penis/testicle set in a groin protection cup of a regulation cricketer. Standing back and sitting heavily on the settee, Michael- while Terry ventured to the kitchen with clenched fists – watched the egg continue to expand and began to read the pamphlet, which had only two pages covered in bold text.

YOUR EGG AND YOU: a guide

Page 1 (Introduction): Congratulations, it looks like it’s happened, you’re a proud parent of what at the moment is still just an egg. Am I right to guess you’re worried? That you have no familial attachment to this thing that sprouted in your belly overnight and was then cut from you/emerged naturally from your behind/ vagina?

Here Michael shook his head at the pamphlet and clutched his heart, which had become swollen and choked with love and familial attachment as he walked with his egg home.

Well, you will do, and soon! Your egg produces a pheromone that will make you and your partner (If you have one, eggs can just as easily be made from masturbation alone) fall slowly but deeply into parental love for it. Isn’t that neat? Now I’m going to guess something else. I’m going to guess that you’re probably also scared. Scared that you won’t be up to scratch or that you’ll do something wrong. But I’m a pamphlet, a trustworthy one at that, and I’m here to reassure you and tell you that it’s all going to be okay. Looking after your egg until it hatches will be as easy as pie. Once you’ve laid, or had your egg removed (a recommended method painwise regardless of gender), and taken it home, settle it somewhere comfortable and warm and wait for it reach approximately twice the height of the hatcher. Before it’s the right height, your egg will simply not respond to the following steps.

Page 2 (Steps):

Step 1: Once your egg is precisely twice the height at the hatcher, wait until the sun goes down. And I mean down! Then wrap a blanket- checkered preferably- around its body. Sit next to it and do the same to your own.

Step 2: Begin to tell your egg a story, any story will do. Existing or made up, make up your own mind! Eventually, provided you tell it right, your egg’s shell will begin to glow with a golden light from within. At this point, continuing to talk, remove the blanket.

Step 3: Once your blanket is removed and your egg glowing, you should be able to see the form growing within it. At this point the form should be the same size as you and floating in or around the centre of the egg. Still telling your story, you should begin rubbing the egg with the palm of your hand until the sun comes up.

Step 4: Continue this process night after night after night until your egg hatches!

Disclaimer: The Eggy-Preg Information (EPI) company is NOT responsible for the time frame in which your egg hatches. Nor any deformations, grotesque natures, or personal growths that may happen to you, the egg, or what comes from it. The information provided is for general informational purposes only. All information is provided in good faith; however, we make no representation or warranty of any kind, express or implied, regarding the accuracy, adequacy, validity, reliability, availability, or completeness of any information.

With no pause for consideration, the pamphlet going flying from the hand of Michael and to some dark corner of the room, the mouth of Michael screamed hoarsely, “Terry, tape measure, blankets, checkered, now, get them, two! The pamphlet said.”

Terry, who’d been watching Michael’s reading from the door of the kitchen, a bottle of wine already half drunk in hand and a head filled with thoughts and wonderings about just why exactly he felt so angry and disgusted by the sight of the egg and, by extension, Michael, who before the egg had appeared, he’d loved more than anything and had only felt unconditional feelings for- such as lust and calmness- put his wine bottle down with theatrical slowness once the scream came his way and got the blankets and measure, tossing them at Michael before picking the bottle back up. Not noticing anything wrong with Terry, Not seeing the grinding of the teeth of Terry, the pulsing veins of Terry, barely noticing Terry at all, Michael immediately measured himself- five foot five exactly- and then measured the egg, the expansion of it having seemingly stopped during his reading, with the aid of a nearby armchair which he stood on - exactly 11 feet. Giggling with the glee of a giant baby coming upon a giant mobile in a giant desert, Michael wrapped the larger checkered blanket tight around the bottom half of the eggs width, noting as he did the thick feeling of its shell and the new warmth emanating from it which was akin not to a wide spread fire but the concentrated flame of a match stick, so cosy but intense that when he wrapped his own blanket around his body and huddled close, sweat immediately beaded on his forehead, chest, and groin, and gave himself the feeling of being tucked back in the womb.

“What are you doing? Why did you need them?” Terry finally asked, a two percent fraction of his rage dimming, being replaced by a single percentage of curiosity, a half percent of exclusion, and a final half percent of exclusion induced sadness, the exclusion ad sadness aspects infuriating him so much immediately that they also increased his rage, making his feelings go above 100 percent if you can believe it.

“I have to read it a story now is what the pamphlet says. Now shush, come and sit with us if you’re curious. Try and bond with eggy.”

“I don’t want to bond with any eggy,” Terry muttered around the rim of his wine bottle while going to sit on the settee regardless. “What are you going to tell it.”

“I don’t think it matters. Just something. I’ll make something up.”

Settling, rubbing his behind on the floor like a bear scratching up against a tree, coughing to clear his throat, Michael gazed directly at the egg, sitting so close his vision was a sea of white so white it resembled the teeth in the prize selection part of the tooth fairy’s tooth collection, and began to speak.

“There was a time when floorboards weren’t just floorboards. When floorboards weren’t just dead planks of wood. When floorboards were… ALIVE! Living breathing planks that had eyes, three of them, and large mouths with even larger tongues. Red or purple tongues that spilled out across their bodies moistly and made it so every footstep on them had the sound of a wet sponge being wrung. Humans lived peacefully with the floorboards. We coexisted. They gave us flooring for our houses and in return we cared for them. Rubbed linseed oil on them, sanded them so they didn’t get splintered, and fed their tongues water every day so they didn’t dry out. It was a perfect arrangement… until it wasn’t! Until the time came when a floorboard appeared that wasn’t the same as the other floorboards. When a floorboard appeared that was strange.”

Here the egg began to glow with the golden light the pamphlet had promised- a blinding light that radiated outwards and got weaker the further it stretched from the egg, like a candle a child was supposed to follow but that moved much faster than their little legs could do- a glow that made Michael squeal before remembering he wasn’t supposed to stop speaking, and a glow that had Terry throw his hands up at the ridiculousness of the entire situation with the result of the top of his head getting splattered with grape blood.

“Ummm, yes, strange! A strange floorboard appeared,” Michael continued, beginning the unwinding of the blanket from around the egg with the gentle movements of someone who’d abandoned childhood emotions unwrapping a surprise gift, revealing the form within before it was fully unwrapped, Michael swiftly tearing the rest of the blanket off as those childhood feelings came roaring back with no memory of abandonment.

The form exposed was a shadowy outlineish thing that looked as if sketched with charcoal floating in the centre of the egg, bobbing slightly up and down and vaguely resembling a giant featherless chicken from waist down, with thin bony legs that ended in three large claw tipped toes, and from the waist up looking more like a standard human with the exception being similar claws at the ends of its fingers and an elephantal shape of the head, a giant trunkish thing stretching out past its chin.

“What the fuck,” Terry spat into his lap while Michael began step 3, rubbing the egg gently with the palm of his hand. “That’s not like us. What is that. It’s disgusting.”

“-unlike the other floorboards with hair covering it and teeth in its mouth too. Sharp teeth, fangs really,” Michael turned and glared at Terry, shushing him with his spare hand. “People suggested that the reason for this floorboard’s odd appearance was the result of it being born rather than made, the result of an inter-species relationship between human and board. This suggested hybrid wasn’t peaceful like the other floorboards. It didn’t want to work with humans. It was angry. Aggressive. It bit feet when they stepped on it and each foot bit made it grow larger. Made it grow different features. Like arms and legs. Like more hair. With these features there was no stopping it from rising from the floor and becoming a moveableboard, one that proceeded, for no reason at all, to start killing humans but not floorboards. How did the humans know it was this moveableboard doing the killing, I bet you’re wondering? Well, I’ll tell you. It left calling cards so that there would be no confusion. Bits of its hair, teeth marks, written notes saying, ‘It was meeeeee, the moveableboard!’ and ‘I hate humans. Boards unite!’. It didn’t take long before the human race decided that they had to do something about this and do something about it fast.”

With the story continuing, Terry, wanting no part in what he was witnessing, not even a small observer one, after standing up with his mouth agape, backed out of the room with unconscious dump truck reversal noises stumbling out of his mouth like drops of dripping water, hands no longer clenching but agape also and wiggling as if signing him off a stage.

“-the hero who’d been chosen, that young bald girl, clutched the plastic spear she’d been given with both hands. She knew that killing the moveableboard would kill all the floorboards too but having lost everything in her journey to reach the spot the moveable board lay sleeping in, she didn’t hesitate. She brought it down. Hitting the sleeping moveableboard right in the middle. Piercing the hair covering the wood and then the wood itself. Splintering the bits that resisted. Sending its acquired arms and legs wild and drying the wet wet eyes of it. Killing not just it, but all floor objects forever. Making them all as they are now, inanimate.”

The glow of the egg faded when the story finished with the finality of a baby’s eyes closing and Michael, tiptoeing like a ballerina on the verge of being kicked out of the most famed ballet school around if she doesn’t find the strength in her heart to stay on en pointe for longer than forty eight hours, crept from the room with a tired but contented sigh.

The night was filled with the peaceful snores of Michael- who’d kissed the air in the general direction of Terry’s cheek before undressing and going straight to sleep without a glance at or a word direct toward the open mouthed horror held upon, and within, his face- and with the hurried packing sounds of Terry doing just that, tossing all and whatever he could find in the dark into a bag. Followed by the sounds of fleeing, of running away, the front door shutting, the cat flap that’d never been used except for the one time Michael had, for a joke, attempted to crawl through it and gotten stuck, flapping once as the would be father disappear around a bend. Michael dreamt strange dreams whilst this fleeing was taking place, as if he was being gifted new stories to tell, strange dreams of bright colours and moving kitchen appliances that wanted to remove the skin off him and replace it with puff pastry, and when he woke up, early in the morning before the sun had risen but after the moon had vanished, he was cold but had no urge to turn and rub Terry for warmth for he somehow knew without really thinking about it that he was gone, instead he just went to the living room to embrace the egg.

Claiming maternity leave from his work was easy- he simply emailed and sent them a photo of him and his egg in an embrace and they sent back a thumbs up and two heart emojis with a detailed description of his new pay schedule- and the following free from outside obligations days and weeks past in the parental bliss of him sitting before the egg all day every day, thinking up stories for the night, rubbing its shell like it was a mackerel and he a mackerel enthusiast, and staring blank eyed out the window, waiting for the sun do its thing. The need for food or drink had seemingly left him, instead he got his nourishment from the tales he told in the same manner the egg seemed to, the form within the shell, when the golden glow revealed it, growing outwards with each passing day and each passing story until it reached the sides of the egg and then beginning its growing decent downwards towards the base.

The stories flowed from Michael like ripe grapes budding on the vine, being plucked off and dropped onto grassy floors to bounce into the mouths of babes, hitting the ground running and taking with them narratives including flower buds, embers from fires, elephant whispers, karate chop calls, frozen dormice, on fire post officers, little girls with no ears, little girls with too many ears, cassette tapes, sausage rolls, mushrooms with tentacles, potatoes being boiled and mashed and stuck in a stew, afro wearing unicorns, dogs smoking weed, cats injecting heroin, the queen of Arabia doing the fandango, happy endings, no endings, sad endings, bad endings, wicked plants, the stabbing pain of being stabbed, and a centaur being milked. After a while, the form in the egg began to respond to the stories, audibly as well as visually that is, going further than what the pamphlet had said it would do when it said it would simply glow, making a high pitched whining sound when it glowed and growed that was a cross between an electronic buzz and a dog whining for food. The sound, which began small at first, so that for a while Michael thought it was nothing but wind squeezing its way, like a leg into trousers much too small for them or a condom over a hand, through a gap in a window, got louder and changed from night to night, keeping the same base sound but adding buzzes or meeps or beeps depending on what story was being told, and would have been incomprehensible if it hadn’t been for Michael’s acute maternal instincts which swiftly picked up a pattern within them. Sometimes when telling a story, he would slip one of the sounds he’d heard the egg make into it as if it had always meant to be there, like a piece of pie slotting itself back into the whole, and enjoy the way the egg would sort of shake in response, rocking on its base without fear of falling, which Michael noted as a good thing, ‘It’ll be brave!’, went his thoughts, ‘God, I’m proud.’

The form in the egg stopped growing just before its feet touched the bottom of the shell and there wasn’t enough room for it at all, it didn’t matter that the stories kept coming or that the rubbing didn’t stop, it stayed just as it was, still eating the tales, still making its noises as it heard them- the sounds growing louder even, resounding as they echoed and bounced off the surface of the shell and then the surface of its body- but hearing them, digesting them, as if no longer hungry at all. Michael, as peaceful in heart as an anteater face to face with all the ants it could eat anteater style, didn’t worry and continued to spin his tales, weaving a thread through each night, throwing in more and more of the eggs own noises from his own mouth and just trying to enjoy the extra time he got to spend with the child when it was still just an egg, the nourishment of tales he was receiving from what he gave out giving his skin a shiny milky glow, like a recently waxed surface.

While this was all happening, though not right at any specific moment and rather just in a similar time frame, Terry was sitting on a plastic bench eating a carton of scrambled eggs in front of a petrol station advertising advent calendars in June and beginning to weep, his left hand stretching out towards the empty space to the left of him as if there was someone there to hold it and comfort him, scrambling with it, hitting nothing but net over and over until it finally promoted him to toss the scrambled egg in the manner of a cricketing bowler-hat, where it landed on concrete with the hiss and splatter of whitish lava. Terry had been alone since he’d left Michael and the egg, spending his days, and then weeks, on various benches and in public toilets masturbating over the thought of Michael’s personality before he’d held the egg inside and hating the egg violently for appearing, for getting in the way of things, for being around,, for not having something inside it that looked normal, until the point when the egg flashed through his mind during the climax of one of his masturbation sessions and that hate became for himself. It was that moment of self-hatred that brought Terry to buy scrambled eggs to eat, but it was the pangs of it, like the pangs the sight of a premature rose would prick a fully bloomed rose with, that also made him decide to go back home, deciding that if eating eggs in spite of his hatred for the egg waiting for him at home was enough to bring him to tears then perhaps he could be a parent to whatever the hell kind of creature that was growing in it and, maybe, if he told Michael about his tears and how they’d flowed- probably leaving the part where he’d had to eat egg to find it out- he would forgive him for leaving too.

It took Terry over two days to get home, not because he’d travelled very far at all, having not even left the city, just taking the local bus routes as far they would take him before removing him, but because he was a coward and despite his resolution, he was still afraid that the music he assumed he was bound to face would send its most jagged notes forward to strike his face. When he finally did arrive back, the bus squeaking to a stop at the stop just outside the premises, him- having been poised by the door- flying out as if ejected by the force of its brakeage and snake-strike door opening speed, he stood on the doorstep in the dark for over an hour with a shivering of the lip and a quivering of the leg, staring at the curtained window to the left of the door that would have looked through into the living room if the curtains making it curtained hadn’t been curtained shut. He couldn’t see any possibilities or clues for the type of reception he’d receive through the curtain, no shadows danced on the fabric despite the soft golden light that emanated from within, illuminating them with an ethereal angelic glow that suggested that even the slightest movement from within would have sent some black things WALTZING.

The house wasn’t quiet when he, finally, with a sigh and a shudder and a desperation to ignore the fact that he was wishing with all his might that the egg wasn’t an egg anymore but a normal child, a human looking one at that, and that Michael wasn’t the Michael he’d left but the Michael who made him hard, opened the door. The house was loud, filled with strange noises, whoops and beeps and growls and grunts and whistles and clicks, that didn’t seem to be coming from one direct spot but rather from everywhere all at once and called to his mind, for reasons unknown to him, the comparison of them to the silent screams of a hemlock garden being picked or a cactus being dethorned. The house was dark except for the golden glow that flickered like the tail end of coy candle flame, a door, standing halfway open with the patience of a giant mouth waiting for an unsuspecting traveller to mistake it for a cave, blocked an immediate view into the living room and a sighter of what was causing the brightness, until Terry played the role of an unsuspecting traveller and went in, one arm proffered in a half circle awaiting a hug and the other with the hand extended, palm up and out and waiting to push back whatever ran at him if whatever had hatched. Both of those arms freezing in place as a feeling tickled his fanny to completion and his eyes and ears were confronted with the sight and sound of not one, but two eggs, giant ones at that- filling the room like it was the room itself that was the egg- sitting side by side, glowing their glow and showcasing the decidedly strange forms inside them, filling the air with stories.

[4lunar-kitsune4]

Idk what this is

I felt my body begin to weaken as I straightened myself and looked her directly in her eyes, holding out my palm.

“Would you entertain one last dance with me, my sweet Rosalyne?”

My breathing was slow and steady, confidence overflowing me despite the circumstances. I would not let her know how weak I truly was. 

Her eyes betrayed no emotion, her blade hanging loosely in her hand. The freshly spewn blood on its otherwise clean and pristine surface seemed to reflect brightly underneath the bright ballroom lights. She was a paragon of calmness that stood before me. 

The blade clattered to the floor as she stepped closer, accepting my inviting hand. She paid it no mind, her eyes focusing solely on me, seemingly analytical. 

I pulled her closer and soon we fell into a familiar pattern, our steps in sync, the silence heavy. Usually she’d always have this sort of… serene grace about her, a faint smile, a hint of amusement in her eyes. She’d look at me, a mix of quiet happiness and… something else. I’d never been able to put my finger on it. But now, all of the warmth she exuded was gone, replaced by a strange sense of unfamiliarity. The silence that was once comfortable and welcoming felt cold and distant. Yet she still danced with me, like we had done countless times before. 

The room seemed to sway underneath my feet and the lights seemed almost too bright. The slightest touch of her dress felt foreign and prickly against my skin. I felt as if in a trance, as if nothing were real. I felt slightly numb all over, the only thing stopping me from falling completely into this dreamlike state being her hands.

Her soft hands. Her soft and perfect hands. Those hands could do no wrong, I was sure of it. If you told me those hands had ravaged entire nations I would never believe you. I had the utmost reverence for those hands… not just her hands I would say…

Our dance continued, and my dreamlike state along with it. I tried to stay in the moment but oh! How hard it was. I felt as if I could be lulled to sleep during this dance and I would be content. But I had to remain strong, I wouldn’t dare show a moment of weakness in front of her. 

And so even though I felt as if it was all too much I continued with the dance I proposed to her, my feet and breath falsely steady. My eyes never left her, searching her face for any hint of emotion. 

There was none. 

Her face was truly a blank and neutral slate, her eyes watching me as well. 

I felt oddly vulnerable underneath her gaze, like I was baring my soul to her. She could see everything and was all-knowing.

 But I knew that wasn’t true. Just… being in her presence made me feel odd things.

We floated through the ballroom and I could feel my breathing beginning to shallow, my steps becoming more and more unsteady as time inched forward. But I couldn’t- no I wouldn’t, show weakness in front of her… I would… I would keep going on steady, I had no intention of letting this wondrous dream end-

I collapsed. 

My knees weakened and I collapsed onto her. I clutched her with the strength of a new-born kitten, inhaling shaky breaths. She said nothing as this transpired, merely watching with that emotionless gaze. I was shaking slightly and the world seemed more intense than it did earlier…

After an agonizing few moments I still felt extremely weak but I feigned that I was strong enough to push away when-

She took me in her arms and held me. I looked up in her eyes and felt lost in them… she was so… perfect. My pain and suffering and everything was meaningless compared to this moment, I never wanted it to end. I felt as if I was a deer caught in the headlights, I couldn’t quite place my finger on what I felt at that moment.

Her eyes softened. To the outside observed she looked cruel and uncaring as I bled out in her arms, my bright red blood staining her lovely white dress. But to me… she looked ethereal, an angel looking down upon a tragedy. 

She brought me closer and hugged me, the blood staining even more. For once she didn’t seem to care about cleanliness. 

My breathing was now only coming every few seconds, quite ragged. If I was standing I would have surely collapsed once more.

She lowered us both downwards towards the floor until she was sitting upon it, her dress spreading out around her, and me in her arms like a fragile doll. I shakily took a blood-stained hand and put on her face, my expression remorseful.

“I’m… so sorry my sweet… I hope you can forgive me..”

Her expression was unreadable once more, and she watched me.

“Won’t you… say something for me?”

She looked slightly remorseful but still she kept her lips sealed… those lovely lips of her…

Finally, finally, I felt my strength fading away as the lights seemed to dim around me, my vision darkening… I looked up at her one last time… debating what I would say… what would my final words to her… her… be…

My eyelids felt heavy. Surely a short rest wouldn’t hurt… right?

THIS IS LOWKEY CRINGE LMAO IDK WHY I WROTE THIS

[heartfullofleeches]

Yandere Priest x GN! Reader

Another part to my yandere supernatural harem. Masterlist here

Story has some Christian themes, but is not completely based from them

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: light body horror, character injury, briefly mentioned non consensual kiss, religious themes

Biting. Clawing. Tearing. The only thing he could remember. Talons piercing his skin, teeth on the vital arteries beneath – bursting under each individual fang. A robbery gone wrong had led this man to a fate crueler than death; a vicious beast spawned right before his eyes with a single mission in its mind, to make him feel absolute anguish. Lying on the cold earth. No one to comfort him in his final moments, unlike the person he’d harmed. Light fading-

He wakes up. The room is cold, he’s cold. He holds himself, memories flooding back to conscious mind. It felt better than where he had been moments before – anything did. He looked around the room. It looked empty, but something was there. He could feel it.

“Good evening.”

He turns. Someone stares from the shadows of the room. Bandaged hands clasp tightly over their lap, one looser than the other.

“W..who the fuck are you?”

“No need for that kind of language. I’m just here to ask a few questions. You know, when you died they said it looked like a bear had mauled you, but there isn’t any place where one could’ve come from for miles.”

He swallowed.

“But I’m not here for that. I want to know more about a friend of yours.”

-

A tall figure looms over you, hand gripping the blankets wrapped snugly around your body. The presence was suffocating; like said hand was slowly reaching for your neck. It instead hooks onto your blankets and tears them from your arms in one swift move.

“Good morning, Y/n!”

You groan, sitting up to meet the blank, yet bright eyed angel by your bedside. The enormous smile on his face pulls even further; meaning you had yet to rid the sleep from your eyes. 

“Isn’t it like… 9:00am.”

He chuckles. “No, eight actually. Did you forget our plans for the day?”

You groan louder. A grim reaper, demon, and your very own guardian angel. Pains in your side for the majority of their stay, who’s thorns you were finally getting used to. With the couple rules you had in place already, another few had been added to the pile; namely in the comfort of your fellow housemates. One day of every weekend, each one of them would get a day without you; with the final weekend of the month being for yourself – which went about as well as one could imagine. The reaper and demon had already had their turn for the month, and so now it was the angel’s turn. 

The thought had been brewing in Alasdair’s mind for a while. He had heard, and even read, of the various religions on earth; but knew little beyond average knowledge. During his time in heaven, he carried little about the human realm, until he met you; developing an interest in the cultures to benefit you both. For his day with you, he asked if you would join him in visiting a church; which you reluctantly agreed to. It was more toned down than racing shopping carts through grocery store aisles and had more to it than just relaxing on the couch – not that you really had a problem with either. 

“Come on, we’ll be late if you don’t get up.” Alasdair pulls the blankets further from your grasp and helps you up. You shower and put on your Sunday best; him already ready to head out. With a formal suit and tie being eighty percent of his wardrobe, you didn’t expect him to have to do much to prepare anyway. You say your goodbyes to the other two and head out.

-

The building was an elegant structure. Faded white bricks made up its walls; a tall tower stuck to the hip of the main building – a silver cross upon its peak and along the edges of the center place. Tinted glass surrounded each window; a large circulator panel over tall, oak wood doors standing out above the otherwise rectangular glass. The twin doors stand propped open for the day’s service; faint light at the end of the altar glowing ominously – like distant flames of a furnace.  The smell of herbs and burning candle wax hit strong as you enter; both you and Alasdair sitting in pews at the very back of the church.

The interior was even more marvelous. Cream colored walls basked in a warm light from lanterns; 

Moments after you settle down, a man walks up to the podium before the altar. Specs of grey salts his shoulder length, champagne hair colored; a single green eye visible through the unkempt mane – smiling cordially at the crowd below. Bandaged poke from the collar of his black robes to the sleeves; small scars dawning his pale knuckles. He places his hand on the surface of the podium, surveying the room with a quick sweep as the kind smile from his eye spreads to his lips. In the very last second his gaze washed over the room, you could have sworn he took a double glance at you.

“Friends, family, newcomers. We thank you all for joining us on another glorious day that the lord has given us. Let us join in faith and allow him to guide us in his glory to a brighter light.”

After the morning prayer, he begins to read off scripture verse from the Bible. Alasdair seems completely encapsulated in the words of the priest, but you couldn’t shake the familiar feeling of being watched. 

“Blessed are those who trust in the Lord and have made the Lord their home and confidence.”

Once service ends, you and Alasdair prepare to leave. If you hurried, there was time to get a bit more reset before the next activity of the day. Before you could make it to the exit, footsteps click to a halt on the checkered floor behind you. 

“Good day.”

You turn. The priest stands before you, arms tucked behind his back with a grin plastered to his face. It felt – different from the one he gave before. More genuine than before, yet eerie at the same time.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen you two before. It’s always nice to have young new faces.”

Alasdair extends a hand, and a friendly smile. “Alasdair, and this is Y/n.”

Basically ignoring Alasdair, the priest turns his focus to you, offering his palm to you instead. “Father Aiken. It’s a pleasure.” 

You hesitantly shake it. His grip is firm; the gesture lasting a few seconds longer than needed. He stares you down, calloused fingers deep in your palm – the pulse beneath almost palpable. He lets go and returns his hand to its original position. 

“Our doors are always open. Come by anytime.” He nods in Alasdair’s general direction before heading off. You decide to leave without questioning it any further. 

On the way home, you strike up a conversation with Alasdair. 

“So.. what did you think?”

“It was.. an interest. I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it before, but before we met I paid little attention to your kind. It’s quite the experience to hear more about your beliefs in our creator.” He furrowed his brows. “But that man seemed.. off.”

 “What do you mean?”

“Every being gives off some kind of aura, even us angels. They could be factors in your race, or measures of your moral code like with you humans. Aiken didn’t have one at all. The only other time I’ve seen this is with…” He shakes his head.” ah, it’s probably nothing to worry about. Did you have a good time, Y/n?”

“It was alright… Would you go again?”

“I’m honestly not sure."

-

Days go by and you pretty much push the encounter to the back of your mind. You head out with Baron one day to pick up a couple things from the grocery store; the demon fortunately in human form as he rushed through the isles like a bat out of hell. With him off on his own, you venture elsewhere to find your personal wares. As you search the many shelves, a familiar voice calls from over your shoulder.

“Y/n?”

Looking back, you see Father Aiken; dressed in a casual outfit of a sweater and pants – shopping basket in one hand. It was easier to see the cloth wrapped around his body in the looser clothing; discolored poking from their length. He places his hand over his chest as he lets out a soft gasp.

“Ah, I thought it was you, my dear. How are you on this fine afternoon?”

“Not bad. How about you, Father?”

“Oh please, call me Jeremiah. No need for formalities. I didn’t see you at our last service. I don’t mean to pry, but will you ever return?”

You crack a nervous smile. “Sorry… I’ve just been busy with.. things-"

He frowns a bit. “Ah well, that's unfortunate. Excuse me.”

Jeremiah goes to grab something from the shelf beside your head, only for it to slip from his grasp and class to the ground. Being closer, you kneel to pick it up; yet he does the same. His hand glides over yours, but instead of pulling back he grabs it. You attempt to worm free, but he strokes the back of your palm as he squeezes your hand. 

“I knew it… You’ve been through so much haven’t you, Y/n?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have troubles. Ones you can’t talk about with others. Haunted by foolish mistakes.” 

You clench your jaw; looking towards the ground – his smile grows. 

“Please stop by this weekend. We’re having a baptism, and I’d love to get to speak with you more.

He lets you go, standing up right as Baron turns the corner with the shopping cart. The two share a passing glance, but Jeremiah leaves. Baron rushes over to you.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good…”

-

You get dressed for the service before either of your bedmates wake up – or so you thought. As you leave the bathroom, Alasdair stands near the doorway waiting.

“Are you heading somewhere, Y/n?”

“Nowhere specific. Just heading out.” You reply, avoiding eye contact. 

“Would you like me to come with you?”

“I’m fine on my own.”

“Are you sure-"

“Yes.” As comfortable as you were getting with them around, there were always times you felt suffocated by their constant attention – maybe that’s why you were going where you were now. Alasdair drops the subject, a thin frown on his face. You squeeze past him and exit the room. He looks over at Baron who had been woken by fuss. 

“It looks like I’ll be heading out too.” 

-

The service goes on without a hitch. At its end, Jeremiah calls forth a young male sitting in the front row. The pair stand before a small fountain, the waters within giving of a golden light; though hard to tell whether it was from the lights above or the bowl. The man kneels, Jeremiah dipping his palm into the cool waters. He swipes his hand over the man’s forehead as he speaks.

“Today we acknowledge the death of your old self and the professions of faith. You have been raised to a new life along the path of your worship, and in the name of the Holy Lord I now baptize you.”

He brings his finger down in the opposite direction, helping the man to his feet afterwards. The service lets out soon after that and he walks to you, sitting beside you as the final person leaves. He gently places his hand on your leg. 

“You came. I’m glad.”

“What did you mean.. back at the store?”

He exhales. “You are a very special person, Y/n. I could see that even during our first meeting, and I can also see what’s been shackled to you for many months. Powerful entities that barely leave you with a breath to spare. Am I wrong?”

You sigh. “Not completely.”

“It seems you’ve grown attached to them as well, and that’s understandable, but the best course of action might be to let it all go.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Give yourself over to faith, Y/n. By my hand, and the lord’s, we can help you find eternal peace. You can live without a single worry.”

You look away. Sure, the group was a pain, but they had grown on you – just like he said. The times of you wanting to get completely rid of them were in the past, but sometimes they still came into question. The multiple times you escaped near death had worn you down. Many things had. Everything he had said sounded ridiculous, but so much of your life up to this point had been as well.

“I don’t know about that.”

Jeremiah smiles warmly. “It’s alright, my dear. We all need time before tough choices. I’ll expect you next week.”

-

Alasdair watches you from behind a pillar, heart sunken at the defeat in your eyes. He eases past and to a door at the end of the hall – Jeremiah's office. It’s what you’d typically expect to see in such a place. A fan in one corner, calendar and various religious tapestries along the walls – desk in the center of the room. He goes over to it, searching the drawers for any information. The first few are empty, yet the final catches his eye. It has a lock; broken like wet tissue paper with enough force. At first all he sees is papers that seem unimportant at first, until he stumbles across a photo. One of you.

There’s more beneath. Ones of you at work; on the way home – inside your house. Dates written in red ink are printed on the back. He looks over the papers once more. Upon second glance; he realizes they ate schedules of your habits – likely looking for the right moment you’d be alone. As if it couldn’t get worse,, the final item in the drawer chills him to the core. It was a bone. The wing bone of a bird.

-

You return home hours later. It was actually nice to take to another human for a little while. Your conversation derailed from your problems and to average questions about the day – like something friends would have. The second you unlock the door, hands grip your shoulders and pull you in like the talons of a hawk.

“Where. Were. You.”

Alasdair’s stare is unlike anything you’ve never seen. Unhinged, panicked. He holds onto your like you’d slip through the cracks if he let go. It almost hurt.

“I went to church. Is that a crime?”

“Stay away from that man. He’s not safe to be around.”

“He seems fine to me. Let go- that hurts!”

He immediately lets you go at the announcement of your discomfort, not realizing he had been unintentionally clamping down on your shoulder. The surface is red, throbbing. The anger and fear in him instantly turns into guilt.

“I.. I’m sorry, Y/n. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just want to keep you safe. That’s what we all want.”

You bit your lip; bite back what you have to say. When was it your turn to get what you wanted? These people have forced their way into your life, and while you made your peace with it; you longed for a taste of your life before. The silence. 

“Promise me that you won’t go back.”

“I promise…

“Look at me and say it.”

You stare him in the eyes. “I promise I won’t go back.”

-

You wake at the crack of dawn, far before anyone else. You had slept that night with Maddox to further throw off suspicion. They were nestled in the corner of the couch, practically swallowed by it to give you as much space as they could. He had a look of utter contentment on his face. He always did when you slept with him. You replace your body with one of the arm pillows and leave; unaware of the eyes from the shadows.

-

The sun barely peaks over the horizon as you make it to the church. You planned on just camping out, but find the doors to be unlocked as you test them to make sure. The building is even creepier in the early hours. An empty husk of it could be; pews empty except for the silent wind. You see a figure at the end of the walkway and take a few steps forward; taking note of how it was a few inches taller than Jeremiah as you neared, and wearing less baggy, more formal clothes. 

“You lied to me, Y/n.”

Alasdair glares down at you, closing the distance. He doesn’t let you make your case; grabbing your wrist as he heads to the exit. “We’re leaving.”

“I just wanted to give him an answer.”

“He doesn’t deserve any of your time, forget him.”

“You don’t understand…”

He grabs your other wrist, forcing you to look at him as he halts in the middle of the aisle; fear and trepidation clear on his face. Something you’ve only seen once before. “No, Y/n, you don’t understand. That man has been watching you. He’s been killing ange-" 

Halfway through his sentence, something pierces Alasdair’s chest. His eyes meet yours, golden blood dribbling over his lips. The item removes itself from the cavity; his body slumping backwards. His hands still hold onto you, lightly pushing you away – almost telling you to run instead of it being the force of his limbs growing slack. As he collapses to the floor, you see the cause of the damage – blood dancing along the thin fingers of a bandaged hand.

You had seen Alasdair get hurt before. You were cutting something, and dropped the knife. He grabbed it, blade first with his bare hand – not even a drop of blood falling from the wound. Just an empty void in his palm.

“It’s alright, Y/n. There’s nothing man-made that can hurt me.”

“A pest this one was. Most of his kind are. Ah well, this was bound to be his fate someday.”

Jeremiah brings his hand to his face, licking the blood from each individual finger. As if only noticing you once he finished the cruel act, he grins.

“Hello, my dear.”

You trembled; legs geared to flee, yet remained stiff as stone. He steps on Alasdair’s sprawled out hand as he walks towards you.

“I’m very happy to see you again, Y/n~”

You stare past him, at Alasdair’s body; the blood circling him like tar. “H…how?”

“Growing up God, my family was extremely religious , even in the toughest hour. I tried my hardest to follow behind, but even then I knew the truth. God abandoned us, Y/n.”

You look in his direction.

“Did he ever tell you that? It’s the first thing those like him say.  Blindlessly following orders from something that hasn’t been heard from in years. Sounds familiar doesn’t it?”

He cocks his head to the side, farther than humanly possibly. “Do you know why?”

“It’s because he’s dead.” 

The bandages around his neck and arms fall; like whatever lies beneath was too much to keep wrapped. The skin under is raw, fleshy; pinkish like the muscles beneath – bulging off his body like a virus. Eyes tear through the mesh; blink starred, half lidded. The “flesh” drips over his left arm, its length and combining his fingers into a singular mass. Through the strands of his hair, his other eye becomes visible. Eyes to paint a better picture. Another eye had squeezed itself into the socket; iris yellow in color and surrounded by small rings. 

“And I’m his replacement.”

“A..are you saying that you…”

“Killed God? Heaven’s no, silly! I merely found his corpse and ate it. I suspect the lazy bastard died sometime after the creation of man.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re killing angels.” 

“Not just angels. Anything that stands in my way. Humans are terribly flawed, Y/n. A majority of us worship a corpse for Christ’s sake! I’ll be what he failed to be. A Shepherd for humanity and bring it to its most prosperous hour. The light at the end of the tunnel. But none of that can be done, without you.”

He brings his hand up to your face, gently stroking your cheek. The limb is hot, almost unbearably so. He gives you the same warm smile he always had.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you were special, Y/n.. You’ve brought so many from beyond the veil to your doorstep when you’re what some would call an average person. I’ve been watching you, unsure what I should do with someone like you; but overtime I’ve come to see what those vermin have as well. You’re an extraordinary being with the will to go on after so much pain. What many have lost the will to do. You make me feel something I haven’t been in ages… human.”

He presses his lips to yours, locking you in a kiss with his hand to the back of your neck. Alasdair’s blood still clings to his bottom lip. He pulls away with a look of amazement. 

“What a rush! Ah, I’ve missed feeling things like this. You’re the only one who can ground me to this reality, make sure I keep the one thing I lost so long ago. I was planning on taking you myself, but since you came on your own I knew our courtship was meant to be.  You feel the same way… right?~”

You don’t say anything. No words come to mind. Everything feels numb. You still look past him, at the body on the ground below. The blood rushes to your head. You’re unable to feel his tremendous gaze; the scream that echoes through the church’s hall – how your body falls from his grasp and unto the arms of another.

Maddox carries you in their arms away from the building; Baron close by with Alasdair’s limp form over his shoulders. Jeremiah is nowhere to be seen. Time feels like it’s going by at a crawl. You hear the faint tick of a clock as Maddox's skeletal hands drag you away from the scene. He looks down at you, expression unreadable as he covers your eyes with his free palm.

-

Upon returning home, Baron carries Alasdair to the bedroom to tend to his wounds. “He’s still warm.” Is all he gave you. Maddox stays with you on the couch, holding your shaking hands; your head in the crook of his neck. 

“He’ll be okay.” He tries, but you knew that neither of you knew if that was true. Though your memories were a haze after that final moment, you remember the last thing Jeremiah said to you.

“See you, soon…”

[your-daily-biaswrecking]

hii :)

could you do a drabble where the reader and yoongi were in an arranged marriage for a while. She thought that Yoongi cheated on her so she asked for a divorce. Yoongi as a cold husband pleaseee !! So Yoongi gives her a rough + angry sex ?? to prove he's not cheating? hehehhe

love all your writings btw, you have so much ideas to be posting lots in a day !!! :)

thank youu !

damn this turned out bigger than normal cuz-- plot... and i didn't want to write a pt2 so i'm just putting it under the cut and let's just still pretend it's a "drabble"

You didn’t remember much from that night. Just some general feelings, like how annoyed and lonely you were. How you needed your husband but he wasn’t there. When you woke up the next morning, head throbbing from your hangover, Yoongi was missing from your shared bed. And even though you didn’t want to assume things, when you noticed multiple hickeys on his neck later that day, you had no choice but to think of the only logical conclusion: your husband was cheating on you.

It hurt. Sure, your marriage had been arranged, so perhaps he didn’t really want to be with you. But somewhere in the process of it all, you had fallen for him. He was always serious and keeping his guard up around you, but there were moments that you thought deep down he was actually a nice guy. And that he cared for you. I guess you were wrong. Who would ever do such a thing to someone they care about even the slightest?

At first, you thought you could put it past you. This was more of a contract than a marriage anyway, from the beginning. But it hurt you every time you saw him, every time he did a tiny, little nice thing for you, like cooking you breakfast or texting you to let you know he would be home late. As if you two were actually a couple. It hurt you so much you needed to put an end to it.

“I want a divorce.” You didn’t wait for the right time or something like that, just blurted it out one evening right after you had gotten done eating in mostly silence.

Yoongi was still in control over his facial expressions, yet barely. A tiny frown, a tiny widening of his eyes gave his shock away. “What? Why?”

You took a deep breath, looking away to be able to keep your composure; looking at him made your knees too weak. “I agreed on this marriage. I agreed to try and make it work even though I knew it would be hard,” you explained. “But I will not tolerate cheating. I want a divorce.”

“Cheating?” His voice was low, truly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I know, Yoongi. You don’t need to pretend.”

“What? I never-”

“I saw the hickeys you had all over you last Sunday.” The sentence shut him up, blank face taking its place over his shocked expression and you couldn’t read him. You gulped. “Or are you gonna claim those were mosquito bites?”

And then Yoongi laughed. Sound so contrasting to his usual attitude, sending chills down your spine. It didn’t last long, however, face serious again as he stared at you intensely. “Are you serious right now?” he barked, and you were starting to feel a bit scared. He took a step towards you. “You really don’t know who gave me those hickeys?”

You frowned, taken aback by his answer. “How would I- What does it matter?”

Yoongi chuckled again, reaching you across the kitchen until he was just a breath away. Looking down at you with dark eyes. “You were so fucking wasted that night, I guess I need to refresh your memory,” he whispered. And before you could even react, he lifted you up, legs straddling his waist as you yelped, arms snaking around his shoulders awkwardly as you were trying not to fall while he carried you to your bedroom.

“Yoon-”

“See?” he said, dropping you on the bed sideways. And his body loomed over yours. “This is where you laid while you were begging me to fuck you dumb. Do you not remember?” You gasped at his words, squirming in order to escape. But his hands were on your waist, pinning you down, and suddenly you knew the feeling wasn’t unfamiliar. This had happened before. “Now what?” Yoongi growled into your ear. “You want to divorce me because you were sucking my neck and I was too weak to pull you away too fast? I did. It was so fucking hard but I pulled away and left because... I told you many times that if this was gonna happen, it should happen the right way. Not when you are black-out drunk. But you were crying and telling me how badly you wanted me. I had to jerk off alone because of how hard you got me with your begging. Was that all the alcohol talking? You didn’t even look at me the next morning.”

You had never heard him talk so much. And your face was burning as that night got clearer in your memories. As the realization that Yoongi wanted you as much as you wanted him settled in. “Yoongs, I-”

“No, shh…” He placed a finger over your lips. “You really have the audacity to think I’m cheating on you when all I’ve been doing is falling for you? Trying to turn this marriage into something actually nice? I’ve been trying to fuck you for so long, you really think I give a shit about fucking anyone else?”

The way his words affected you was surely clear to him as well. Your legs tried to close, yet only resulted in caging him against your hip harder, pushing him down until you could feel his hard dick through his pants. “I- I didn’t know, I…”

Yoongi ground down on you harder, breath unsteady and hot over your lips. “Tell me now, once and for all,” he whispered while his hands started roaming over your body, not even touching you anywhere specifically yet making you gasped with every graze. Distance between you so short it was intoxicating your brain. “Tell me if you want me to stop right now, and I won’t bother you again. Otherwise, I will not stop even if you’re begging me later.” His voice was so coarse you could tell his brain was rotten with want as well. Staring at your lips, waiting for the green light to devour them, probably barely registering anything else.

“Yoongi,” you whined. “Need you… Don’t stop…”

His mouth on yours was such a relief, lips and tongue soft as they played against yours. It didn’t last long before he was groaning, backing off to pull your shirt over your head aggressively, discarding his as well, and grabbing you by the waist to push you further up the bed. His skin was hot on yours, his mouth instantly back on your neck, giving you the treatment you had given him that forgotten night. And his roaming hands found your pants to pull them down while you were distracted. One slipping in your underwear to steal a touch of your center.

“Fuck,” he choked. And then he grabbed a fistful of your hair to turn your head to look at him. “What a nice, wet pussy. And you really thought I’d wanna fuck anyone else’s?” He looked mad when he pulled your clothes completely off you, getting naked as well. Hand wrapped around his thick member, allowing you only one glance before he was over you again, tip brushing against your entrance. “Let me show you, baby,” he rasped, and you were mewling under him. “This pretty pussy is mine, this is the one I want.”

“Yoon…” Your whine was interrupted when he pushed into you, not giving you any room to get used to his dick. His lips were on yours again, hand on your hair pulling it harshly as he started thrusting into you right away. You felt euphoric, your husband finally fucking you hard after all this time of suffering the sexual tension alone. And your fingers scratched his back while moans escaped into his bruising kiss.

Yoongi gave you a few very deep thrusts, hitting your cervix and making you cry before he pulled away again. “Feel that, baby?” he groaned. “Feel how well I’m fucking you- that’ll shut you up, won’t it?” He pulled out, grabbing your hips and flipping you around with no warning. He grabbed you by the ankles to drag you closer to him, and then slapped your ass hard.

“Ah, Yoongi!” You raised your ass higher, on your knees while your face was buried in the sheets.

“That’s right, baby,” he said in a low voice. And he spanked you again. “Scream my name.” Another spank, softer than the others, while he stroked and kneaded your ass. “Scream your husband's name to let everyone know who’s fucking you so hard.” And he buried his cock deep inside you again. “Scream my name to remind yourself that you have me, baby.”

You were a panting mess. Your orgasm building inside you so wildly that you felt like you were about to combust instead of cum. And you dared sneak a hand down to rub your clit while you were moaning his name like a prayer. “Oh, Yoongi, please… Fuck, please…”

He smacked your hand away when he noticed, growling and grabbing your hair to pull it until your back was arched, mouth coming right next to your ear to whisper dangerously. “If you’re gonna cum, you’ll cum because of my cock inside you. Got it?”

You were nodding immediately. Although you were probably gonna cum because of his deep voice and harsh dirty words. “I’m gonna…”

“Good girl,” he growled, diving his teeth in the side of your neck. And it was what did it for you, shouting out while your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your vision turned black, pussy pulsing frantically around him.

“Shit,” he gasped, hips faltering. Then he let go of your hair only to grab your neck from the front, still pulling you back to have his face buried in your nape. “Gonna let me paint those pussy walls white with my cum, baby?” And you were moaning again at that, feeling like you were gonna cum again before you even came down from your previous high. Yoongi smacked your ass abruptly, making you yelp and give him the permission he needed. And he hummed, satisfied, his hips finding the rhythm he needed to finish. “My lovely wife,” he whispered sweetly even though his actions were anything but that. “Don’t worry, I’ll fuck you good all the time. Just so you know I don’t even have the fucking time to be seeing anyone else.” And then he spilled into you for the very first time.

Masterlist

[sinnamonrolle]

[ the little moments] ♡ Beelzebub

6 - That moment when you accompanied Beelzebub to the military.

✿ part of a series! ✿

❀  gender neutral reader  ❀

Warnings: Mentions of blood

“I’m sorry,” Beel said. One of his hands patted your head in the form of a silent apology. “Our date got postponed because of the military summon… I really wanted to share Madam Devian’s new dessert with you.”

You smiled at him, catching his hand in yours and giving them a squeeze. You couldn’t deny that you also were excited to try out the new cake that Madam Devian released recently, but any time with Beel was time well spent. It didn’t matter whether you went to a bakery or the military, as long as you were with him.

“It’s alright. We can always go later,” you said. “But are you sure I can go in with you?”

Beel scowled at the fence gate in front of you two, its barbed wires separating you from the military encampment. He gently squeezed your hands back. “Don’t worry. They will let you in.”

From beyond the gate, way in the back, you saw a demon in a white military uniform rush out from a large building. His cap almost flew off from how quickly he arrived at the gate.

“General Beelzebub!” the demon greeted, saluting. He opened the gate, and you two stepped inside. “I have been awaiting your presence. I thank you for coming here on such short notice.”

“Don’t worry about it, Colonel Alastor,” Beel said, but you knew he was secretly a little upset about it. You could tell from the way his eyebrows were furrowed, the slightest bit of indentation appearing at the base of his forehead. “What do you need me for?”

“Of course, general, please follow me to the training grounds. I will explain on our way there,” Alastor said, but then his eyes fell on you, and he added on, “General, may I ask who your guest is? So that I may provide the correct identification tag.”

“My lover,” Beel said, his face straight. He didn’t even blink.

You almost choked at how naturally Beel spoke, as if he was simply ordering a meal at a restaurant, but it seemed you weren’t the only one surprised. You saw the shock settle on Alastor’s face before he quickly collected himself.

“I apologize, Your Grace. Please excuse my rudeness,” Alastor said to you, bowing deeply at the waist. “Please allow me to welcome Your Grace to the Royal Army.”

“Ah, thank you,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm up slightly. You were trying your best to not appear flustered, but perhaps your nervousness was leaking into your actions. Beel announcing that you were lovers made butterflies flutter at the bottom of your stomach—you even thought your heart might have skipped a beat. “Please, don’t worry about me. Just go ahead and do what you need to do. I’m just here to, uh, sightsee.”

Alastor smiled and closed the gate before leading you two to a field further down the path. It was a stone path, you noticed. After visiting almost every nook and cranny of the Devildom, you could conclude that Devildom didn’t have any concrete. The flooring was always wood, stone, brick, or marble.

You nudged Beel in the side. “You’re a general?” you whispered as you both followed Alastor. You knew demons had enhanced hearing, but you whispered anyway. It wasn’t anything that needed to be kept secret, but you felt that it was a bit embarrassing to ask a question that seemed to be common knowledge.

Beel didn’t seem to mind. “Lieutenant general to be exact,” he said. “I’m referred to as ‘general’ though. Diavolo is the actual five-star general. Although, I don’t know if I still count as one since I’ve been taking a break from the army ever since you’ve arrived in the Devildom.”

“If I may interrupt,” Alastor spoke up from the front. “I would say that General Beelzebub has all rights to keep his rank. Even if he has been away from the army for some time, he has been very helpful in leading us, especially with new recruits. They are always a willful bunch.”

“Is your new batch acting up?” Beel grumbled. “You just have to give them a good beating.”

Alastor sighed. “I would do exactly what the general advises if they weren’t children of nobility. As a demon of common blood, I’m afraid they will complain to their families and have them take my head.”

“Even though you are a colonel?” you asked, baffled. Even if Alastor wasn't a noble, this was the army. How could new soldiers affect the colonel? To this day, you still weren’t a hundred percent clear on demon hierarchy. Perhaps, after spending so much time with the brothers, you’ve become desensitized to it all.

“I may be a colonel to them, but to their families, I am a mere commoner,” Alastor replied with a chuckle, and then he stopped in front of a field. Since the Devildom was always dark, several round balls of light hovered in the air, lighting the field enough that you could barely see the faces of the recruits. They were spread all over the field, but it didn’t really look like they were training. “Alright. General, Your Grace, we have arrived at the training grounds. Your Grace, please take this visitor tag.”

Alastor handed you a clip-on tag with the word “VISITOR” printed neatly in bold letters. But before you could accept the tag, Beel took it from Alastor and carefully pinched it onto your clothing.

“They don’t have benches on the field,” Beel said, smoothing out your clothes. His purple eyes met yours. “Will you be okay standing nearby?”

You brushed his bangs away from his eyes and smiled at him. “I’ll be okay. Will you be okay though? Are you hungry?”

“I’m not hungry.” Beel brought you into his embrace, his arms wrapping around you. When you returned his hug, he brushed his lips against your cheek and murmured into your ear, his voice a low, soothing hum, “I have you here with me, after all.”

And then Beel was pulling away from you. You had half the mind to chase after his touch, but you held back, knowing that perhaps now wasn’t the best time.

“Hold my jacket, please?” Beel asked. When you held your hands out, he shedded his jacket and gave it to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thanks, Pudding. I’ll be back soon. If anyone annoys you, just let me know. I’ll deal with them.”

“Okay.” As you followed Beel’s figure with your eyes, you pressed his jacket to your face, the traces of his remaining heat warming your face and the soft smell of laundry detergent filling your senses. With his back straight and his posture full of confidence, every inch of him was unyielding, commanding, demanding to be obeyed.

In that moment, you could see Beelzebub on a battlefield, blood darkening the streaks of his orange hair. A spear in hand, the silver of the blade dripping red and dampening the carmine tassel tied beneath the blade. Beelzebub tattered, tired, torn apart mentally—you could see it, you could see it all in your head because you knew he lived through a war before. You could see the blank look on his face, the agony tightening his throat, the truth of loss settling into his body—

“Your Grace,” Alastor said, his voice breaking you out of your reverie, “it may be safer if you stand over here against the wall.”

You broke away from Beel, who was now speaking with the recruits. Alastor stood slightly further away, off to the side next to a gray brick wall. Smiling, he waved you over.

Clutching Beel’s jacket closer to you, you hurriedly walked over to him. There was a slight embarrassment creeping up on you when you realized that Alastor probably saw you staring at Beel for who knows how long.

“I’m sorry,” you said, settling yourself against the wall when there was a respectable distance between you and Alastor. “I didn’t realize I was blocking the way.”

“Not at all, Your Grace.” Alastor laughed. For some reason, some of his mannerism reminded you of Barbatos. “Everyone knows that the new recruits are training today, so not many others will be around here. Since the recruits are allowed to use magic in their training, I am afraid that a stray spell might hit you if you stayed out in the open. If the noble families will have my head if their children complain about me, then General Beelzebub will ensure that I suffer for the rest of eternity if I allow you to get hurt.”

You hummed, hands fidgeting with the zipper of the jacket as you turned back to Beel, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting to find his silhouette. The balls of light were sparsely distributed across the entire field, emitting enough light that you could just barely make out the details. You supposed that the lights were just so that the demons weren’t training in complete darkness. Most demons have excellent night vision, after all. But for a human like you, you were glad the field wasn’t that big and that they weren’t that far out. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to see Beel tilting his head as he crossed his arm, the warm light whitening the orange strands of his hair.

“Maybe not for the rest of eternity,” you quipped with a smile, although there wasn’t much room to disagree.

There was something warm in hearing that Beel would raise hell to protect you. To know that there was someone out there that cared about you, someone that loved you, someone that considered you as family—a fluttery feeling coursed through your body, spreading out from your chest, and your heart was clenching in something that wasn’t pain but something similar enough that it hurt yet still felt so sweet.

“Your Grace is right. The general would destroy me instantly,” Alastor said, but you could hear the amusement in his voice.

It was then that you were able to clearly make out the voices on the field. You weren’t that far away in the first place, but when Beel first approached the recruits, you didn’t hear anything distinct at all.

“For honor?” Beel asked, his voice raising in disbelief. “What kind of honor could you be fighting for if you’re fighting in such a lackluster way? How honorable is it to fool around?”

“Fool around?” a demon scowled. He stood at the forefront of all the other soldiers who had gathered around Beel. On his chest was a rose crest, imprinted into his brown military uniform. “Do you think we are fooling around? Who are you to say that?”

Beel scoffed, shaking his head in disappointment. “Your footing is off. Too clumsy. You don’t put enough weight into your strikes, and your moves are too extravagant. Fighting with your body is not supposed to be flashy. This is the battlefield, where your lives are on the line, not some game where you show off. You don’t even have the basics down. Colonel Alastor is an excellent teacher and fighter. Haven’t you been listening to him?”

The demon with the rose crest growled, his hands bunching into fists at his sides. Another demon next to him crossed their arms and sneered.

“Are you mocking us? Why should we listen to a mere commoner?”

Next to you, Alastor sighed and rubbed at this forehead, seemingly more troubled than offended. You could see why. They were essentially spoiled brats who thought the worlds revolved around them.

The rest of the group also spoke up, their voices mixing into each other as they tried to announce their displeasure, but after listening for some time, Beel just simply raised a hand.

“Enough,” he said. Pure power, heavy and pulsing, rushed out from the word as it rumbled from his chest, the oppressive force pushing the recruits down. Some of them buckled under the pressure, while others tried their best to fight back against it, only to end up collapsing entirely. “This is the army. It doesn’t matter what family you’re from if you’re not strong enough.”

Even though you were farther away behind Beel, you still felt the residue power wash over you in waves. You shivered at the sensation, and the urge to make yourself appear smaller briefly crossed your mind. Out of the corner of your eye, Alastor shuddered but remained standing upright.

“Who are you to say that?!” a demon at the front gasped, a hand on their knee as they straightened themselves. “You’re not even wearing a military uniform or a tag! Do you even have the authority to be here?”

“That’s General Beezlebub to you.” Beel took a step forward and started stretching his arms, rotating them slowly. You knew him well enough to know that he was most definitely frowning from the tone of his voice, the ends of his lips curving downwards and his eyes narrowed, the dark purple glowing dangerously. “Although, from the sound of it, I doubt you would address me properly.”

“Beelzebub? I’ll have you know that I am the eldest son of the Duke of Rosales,” the demon huffed, smoothing out the rose crest on his chest, “and I have not heard of a Beelzebub from any noble family.”

Beelzebub snorted, switching to his other arm, and took another step forward. The recruits, despite their tough act, all took a collective step back.

“Son of Rosales,” Beel said, “since you’re so adamant about status, I’m sure you are well aware of those above you. Address me correctly then—it’s Prince Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony.”

The son of Rosales gulped, his body stiffening against the warm lighting. In the silence following Beel's command, the whispered words—the non-sovereign prince, Beelzebub—hung loudly in the air.

This was a first for you. You’ve never really seen Beelzebub flaunt his status, nor have you really felt the weight of the ranking of prince until this moment, where the once prideful recruits were now cowering in part fear and part awe.

Pride blossomed in your chest. This was Beelzebub—your prince, your Beel, your lover.

“Why don’t you come and show me what it means to fight for honor?” Beel asked the demon with the rose crest. “I’ve never slacked off, not even after I took a break from the army. Every single day, I kept training because I knew why I was fighting. I fight to protect my family. Every moment of suffering will pay off in the form of my loved ones’ lives in the future.”

Beel readied himself, bringing both of his hands up close to his face, and said, “So, recruits. Show me your determination. In return, I will show you mine.”

The world faded around you as you watched Beel throw himself into fight after fight, often defeating the recruits within one or two moves. Despite appearing so burly, he possessed surprising agility. He seemed so limber as he evaded all of the punches and kicks thrown his way, almost like he was dancing.

The recruits that Beel struck down always made their way back up, like a switch had been turned on inside them. It must had been what he said earlier, the pure determination of his words inspiring the soldiers, as well as the natural instincts of a demon to respect the strong.

Beel turned around with a sweeping kick. You briefly saw his well defined abdomen as the shirt fluttered back into place. A dark tail aimed for his head, but he leaned backwards slightly to avoid it as it swept past, extremely close to brushing against the tip of his nose. As he did so, the white light warmed the outline of his body like a halo—illuminating.

Beelzebub was utterly enchanting—you couldn’t deny it at all. You didn’t want to, and you didn’t need to, because that was the truth, and the truth was all yours to appreciate. Watching him like this took your breath away.

A group of recruits jumped out of nowhere. They lunged at Beel’s back in a semicircular formation, their demon forms out, and you almost shouted out to warn Beel when, with barely a glance behind him, he slammed his foot into the ground. The force of it shattered the terrain into fragments. A wave of magic rushed out, colliding head-on with the soldiers, and it swept them away in a heap of tangled limbs. The recruits groaned in pain.

The residue of the magic electrified the air, crackling along the broken edges of the ground. You felt it sparking against your arms, the sensation of his magic a familiar feeling to you, yet it never failed to give you goosebumps.

“The battlefield doesn’t tolerate failure,” Beel said, swinging an arm behind him just in time to elbow a recruit right in the middle of their chest, knocking the breath out of them. “Failure means death.”

Perhaps you were too captivated by the sight of Beel displaying his prowess, but it was only when Alastor called out did you realize that a particularly huge but unstable spell was coming straight at you.

“Your Grace!”

You knew better. You really did. You didn’t survive this long in the Devildom for nothing. You had your fair share of experience in surviving dangerous spells, at closer distances than this, but as you watched the roaring flames come at you, you could only stay frozen in place, hands clutching Beel's jacket in your hands.

Vaguely, you heard Beel shout your name—the sound echoing in the air, echoing around you, echoing in your mind, matching the increasing tempo of your heart—then everything went dark.

The faint smell of leather and something that you instinctively recognized as belonging to Beel filled your nose. Strong arms wrapped around you, the embrace familiar yet also somewhat strange, and with a low buzzing sound in your ears, you also heard—no, you felt the desperate heartbeat.

Beelzebub.

Beel held you to him, so tightly to the point that you were crushed, your body completely melding with his. One of his hands cradled the back of your head, pressing you into him, and the other clasped your waist.

Beel was shaking.

Even though he was the one holding onto you, like you would disappear if he didn’t hold onto you hard enough, his body was trembling—in fear. Fear of you getting hurt, fear of losing you, fear of not being quick enough, of not being strong enough, of not being decisive enough to protect his family yet again. The debilitating terror that often accompanied his nightmares—you were all too familiar with it.

So you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the unsteady, nervous flapping of his wings, now understanding why you felt leather instead of skin, and you squeezed him back.

I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.

You gathered all the feelings bunched up in your chest and sent them through your pact bond, hoping he could feel that you were absolutely safe and unharmed. He shielded you, after all. From the ebbing magic on his body, you could tell that he teleported over to you. That was how he made it on time.

Beelzebub. I love you. I love you so much.

Beel slowly pulled back, his eyes a chaotic mixture of purple and magenta, and you noticed that he had indeed transformed into his demon form. But before you could say anything, he started running his hands all over you. Gentle but hurried fingers traced your face, down your throat, around your torso, all the way down to your feet. He inspected every part of you in a desperate frenzy.

“Beel,” you said, cupping his cheeks. “I’m safe. I didn’t even feel the heat. But are you hurt anywhere?”

Beel shook his head and went back to checking your body, but you patted his face, huffing. He stopped almost reluctantly, eyes meeting yours once again.

“I’m not hurt,” Beel said. “Alastor casted a barrier just in time.”

Something silver shimmered in the air behind Beel, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for. Gratefulness flooded you. Beel might have thought it was fine to protect you with his body, but you didn’t want him to get hurt at all. If you had just reacted fast enough earlier… then Beel didn’t have to throw himself in front of you, and Alastor didn’t have to cover for you.

After the gratefulness came the guilt.

“You’re really not hurt anywhere?” Beel asked, but his eyes were already searching your body for any potential injuries. “Really, really?”

“Really, really,” you answered. “I’m really okay. I’m sorry though… I don’t know what came over me. I saw the spell coming at me, but I didn’t move at all. And I had to disrupt your training session because of it. I’m sorry.”

Beel visibly relaxed at your reassurance, his body no longer tensed up like before. “No, Pudding. Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t your fault. I will stop everything to protect you,” he said, kissing your forehead.

Your mouth opened, cheeks warming as you tried to respond appropriately, but then, Beel blinked like he remembered something. He stepped away from you, his eyes narrowed dangerously, and turned to the recruits who had all stayed silent earlier.

“Who casted that spell?” Beel asked, a frigid aura surrounding him. You bet the recruits were in for a world of pain.

No one responded. The recruits remained in their positions, not daring to move.

Beel clicked his tongue. “Don’t make me repeat myself again. Who. Casted. That. Spell?”

When no one spoke, Beel didn’t bother again. He came back to your side and wrapped an arm around your waist, tucking you into his side as he reverted back to his human form.

“Colonel Alastor, increase the daily training by three. Send me a list of all recruits here today. I will be back at a later time to properly train them,” Beel said.

Colonel Alastor saluted. “Yes, general!”

Beel nodded and headed for the gate. You glanced at the recruits still frozen in place and Alastor who waved at you with a smile. You nudged Beel in the side.

“Are we leaving already?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, taking his jacket from you. “Thanks for holding my jacket, Pudding. Let’s go get some food. I’m starving.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Are we resuming our date? After what had just happened?”

“They’re not important,” Beel said, and then he smiled at you, peppering kisses all over your face. “Let’s go back to our date.”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, covering his mouth. “Let’s go.”

-------

Masterlist!

Ahh, I don't know if this is good enough :( but I hope you enjoy it!

[slxthxrxn-sxmp]

Strawberry Sugar Teaser

Mild Warning this is an a/b/o au and there is use of strong language

otherwise please enjoy !

(Gif is not mine )

˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .˚ · • . ° .

Something was wrong. 

The scene was too clean and yet too chaotic. Nothing like what you would expect from Gotham. Bleach had been used on the scene, so much so that it made everyone's nose hairs burn. And yet files were scattered around the room, blood spatter over the walls and floor like a scene from a horror movie. 

The victim ? It was the mayor's Beta mistress. She had her cheeks torn to shreds, the flesh lying on the floor around her body, and she had a purple mark on her untouched arm like a needle entry site. On the outside it looked like an overdose but now here, in the room, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that this was foul play. 

“Agent,” Gordons voice was shaky and low, bordering on a whisper. I walk to the bathroom where I was beckoned. 

“You ever seen anything like this ?” Gordon indicated to the mirror standing in front of. The reflective surface took up one whole wall making the bathroom look mismatched to the rest of the apartment. But more importantly there was a big sloppy ‘J’ written in dark blood that looks to have congealed already. Out of instinct my gloved hand reaches out to the mirror hovering over the evidence by a few inches. 

“Personally ? No, but I’ve seen-” there was a new presence in the house that had everyone's emotions shifting so I turn to find this person standing in the doorway, “Commissioner, you have a cosplayer on your crime scene.” 

Gordon whips his head around to see the large alpha completely dressed in a black superhero suit topped with a cape. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the Commissioner's reaction, “Everyone clear out give us a minute!” 

Then there was shuffling of every officer that was on scene, except for Gordon and I. 

“Agent, this is-”  

“Batman ? Don’t worry Gordon, my agency has dealt with its fair share of… masked heroes.” And with a nod to the masked person in question that is the end of the conversation. In turn he nimbly made his way through the house possibly to investigate the body.  

The commissioner cleared his throat, it is a nervous tic of his. “You were saying ?” 

“Hmmm,” my attention was back to the mirror, “this doesn’t fit the textbook profile of a victim quickly jotting down a clue for the next person to find. I would wager it's more of a signature.” 

“How about a trading card ?” Electricity. Every nerve within my body decided then to make itself known. I didn’t need to shift my line of sight in the reflective metal to know it was the vigilante but I did it anyway. In his hand was a small white business card with a cartoon style green question mark. 

“No, well I mean yes.” Ripping my eyes away from the man in a bat suit to then look at Gordon, “Might I request any files that include keywords starting or involving a capital J ranging from petty theft to- god- lets say homicide of any degree.” All the poor man could do was nod thoroughly confused. “And you,” I spun on my feet to face the Batman standing in the doorway once more, “bag that up we will figure out how that works into this mess.” After receiving a nod of acknowledgement, I made my way back to where the body was. Snatching a device from my pocket. The device was made by some other agents I worked with that scans for bugs and or secret cameras. Soon enough the other two still in the apartment filed into the room as well, looking concerned as to what I was doing.

“What did you say your agency was ?” His voice definitely was being put through a modifier. There was no possible way he could naturally have a voice like that. 

“I didn’t, Mr. Bat.” Apparently the humor wasn't well timed as all I got was blank stares (despite Gordon already knowing my agency). “I work for the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division otherwise known as Shield. Where we investigate and keep tabs on enhanced beings or otherworldly bodies.” The scan was now analyzing so I had the opportunity to give my attention to both men, slowly moving my shirt out of the way to flash them the badge around my waist. 

“You’re in the wrong city, agent. Metropolis is a state over.” He was monotone. Almost testing the waters to see where he stood. 

“I wasn’t assigned to otherworldly bodies, Batman.” Just like that his guard was back up and jokes ceased to exist. 

The device in my hand pierced the air with a horrific screech. Just like that I scrambled through the scan looking for just what exactly it had picked up. All the while the noise continued.

“Can you turn that goddamn thing off, Agent ?” It was Gordon whose fingers were currently in his ears blocking out the noise. 

Then after spinning around in a slow circle I found it. A seemingly innocent stuffed brown bear with a red nose. Happy with my discovery the device turned off taking the noise with it. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we are being watched .” To get a better look I got on my knees in front of the toy, “Say hi to the camera.” My wave to the camera was abruptly stopped by Batman squatting next to me and grabbing the bear.

[lebrookestore]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Collab hosted by @heartyyjeno and @neojaems

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐄𝐝𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐧

Pairing: Qian Kun x reader

Themes: richkid au-ish, royalty au-ish, slight humour, ANGST, strangers to lovers, betrayal, suspense, drugs, murder, cruises, pride and prejudice

Warnings: angst, mentions of murder, drugs, smoking, betrayal, drugging, making out, messed up stuff honestly

Wc: 17.1k

Taglist:  @danishmiilk @channoticedmeuwu @chicksung @1-800-seo @blueprint-han @jenosslut @cupidluvstarrz @kkakkdugi @sweetlyjaem @vera-liscious @leetaeyonglover @kunrengui @unknown5tar @kisshim @the-rooftop-fight @rueyins @kiri-ah @sly-merlin @alicanta77 @rouiyan @jae-dreamin @peachyyjaes  @girlwithmightymuses-deactivated @jenoleemonade​ @radiorenjun​

Summary: Many things can happen on a cruise ship, most of them are unexpected. Secrets are exposed, arrangements are brought to light and love can bloom- but when the secrets and arrangements clash, will the love survive? [loosely based on the Opera; Tristan and Isolde]

Playlist: here

Authors note: My first collab fic!!! I honestly really love how this turned out, and I hope you do too! Take this as a thank you for 400 as well, since I have literally nothing else planned rip. Thanks to Mina for letting me scream about this fic to her and feedback would be really appreciated! Without further ado, I present to you: Love Shot!

“Lady Y/n”, the woman greeted you, bowing respectfully. You smiled softly, touching her shoulder to indicate that it was alright. “Winter”, you said fondly, “You know I don’t care for formalities”, you reminded the girl, who nodded eagerly, and took your bags.

Sighing tiredly, you stood at the entrance, waiting for Winter to return and guide you to your room on the cruise ship, where you would be staying for the next three months. The air was crisp, more breathable than it was in the city. Crossing one hand over the other, standing up straight, you exude confidence and an air of authority, something everyone around you acknowledged and respected.

Your family was and would always be one of the most respected families in Japan. You had money, a name, and many many enemies. There was always someone on the prowl, ever ready to steal your family’s worth, to ruin its reputation. Your father had gotten the family estate when the wealth had been divided amongst him and his brothers, and that had only added up to your net worth. As the daughter of one of the richest men in the world, you had big shoes to fill, especially since you had no siblings. 

You had had your fair share of bad publicity, and drama. Scandals always lazily floated around, and at this point, you welcomed them like an old friend. Added some spice into your otherwise very structured life. 

A year ago, your father had died, leaving all the responsibilities to fall upon you. He had been found dead one morning in his bed, your mother shaking as she sat on the edge, looking on at her dead husband with a crazed look in her eyes. There were rumours and suspicions, but you decided to pay no heed to them.

And with all these new responsibilities, you made the news more times than you cared to count, and the way the media preyed on the tragedy, highlighting it, using it against you. Your mother was at her wit’s end, a broken shell of the commanding woman she was before. You heeded every request of hers, and fulfilled any wish, no matter how idiotic. Your life had changed, but at the same time, it hadn’t. You were still the same filthy rich girl from before.

Winter returned, a rosy hue on her cheeks as she greeted you once more. “This way Ma’am”, you grabbed her arm, glaring mockingly, “Y/n”, you asserted, “You’re never this formal Win, what happened?”

“It’s my job”, she said sheepishly, “And I’m a little out of it, please don’t pay any attention to it”

You wanted to prod her further but decided to respect her privacy, and silently followed her down the halls of the ship, studying your surroundings. It was clear the place was dripping with money, nothing you weren’t used to. With the gold plating and jewel-encrusted chandeliers, you felt more at home than on a vacation.

Well, it wasn’t really a vacation now, was it?

This was business, for your family. A set plan, rules and things you had to do. Even thought it was all arranged, you still had to look pretty and smile and be nice to him.

Stopping in front of a door, she fished out a pair of keys and inserted one of them into the keyhole, opening it and leading you into your room for the stay. It was one of the first-class cabins on the cruise, more spacious than the others. Bowing once again, Winter left you, promising to return to call you for dinner. Sitting down on your bed, you inspected the room, noting its features. It was all the same.

Deciding to get ready for the dinner, you unzipped one of your bags, picking through the garments you had brought along with you. You knew dinners were a big thing, especially if you were of your status, and today would be monumental, especially since you would be meeting someone, and that someone was very important. Finally choosing a silk dress, you slipped it on, retouching your makeup and checking your phone for any updates, you left your room making sure you had your keys with you. The hallways were pretty chilly, so you decided to turn back and get your pullover just in case. 

Waiting patiently by your door for Winter, you checked your phone, reading over the message your mother sent you. A list of instructions, a code of conduct for the evening.

You had to impress them.

Once again, Winter showed up, still donning the rosy blush as she regarded you, and began leading you through the winding halls of the ship. She seemed to be very out of it, not completely focusing on the task at hand as she tripped over her own feet. You reached out, grabbing her arm and stabilizing the girl.

“I’m sorry”, she squeaked, “Forgive me”

“Be careful Winter”, you said, “And stop patronizing yourself, you’re never like this”

Flustered, she nodded a little too fast, “I’m sorry Y/n, just following orders”

“Whose orders?”, you asked incredulously. She rested her hand on the gold plated doorknob, turning to you.

“Your mother of course”, she said, before pushing the door open. Hushed whispers traveled across the room at your arrival, the room falling into silence.

Dinner was served.

Kun walked into the dining hall, his eyes dark and alight with amusement. He slipped his hands in his pockets, leisurely making his way to one of the tables. He observed the scene, taking note of the crowd. Jazz music played softly in the background, setting the mood. Clicking his tongue, he pulled out a chair taking a seat at the table he had chosen. 

He wasn’t alone, there were two other men sitting there, and a woman. One was his brother, Chenle, who was six years younger than Kun. He looked intimidating for an eighteen-year-old, with a square-ish jaw and large eyes. They were set in a blank stare, as if he was used to this, and was tired of it. He regarded Kun with a nod, before going back to his food.

The other was his uncle, Akira, who was only ten years older than Kun himself, being the youngest brother from his mother’s side. He was dressed in an expensive suit, eyes covered with his dark sunglasses. He didn’t even acknowledge Kun, instead, he had his eyes trained on the door, presumably waiting for someone.

The woman was sitting next to Kun, his sister, Yuxi, younger than him by a year. She didn’t even spare a look at Kun, but he was used to it.

A server walked up to the table, handing Kun a menu, and bowing respectfully. He was wearing a white suit, in pristine condition, hair slicked back, shoes polished to the point of reflection. Kun studied the boy, who seemed a few years younger than him. His tag read ‘Heesung’, and he looked bored out of his mind.

“Heesung”, Kun said, “I’d like a glass of Dom Pérignon please”, he requested, to which Heesung nodded, taking note of it in his notepad. “I’ll come back with your drink and order”, he informed Kun as he left.

The doors opened, two women standing there. One was obviously the help of the other, dressed in a black and white uniform. She opened the door wider, exposing the other women to the crowd. She was obviously of some high status, the air around her seemed to hold some sort of authority. She walked down the stairs, her help close behind as she scanned the room to spot a table for herself.

You soon found the table you had been assigned to by your darling mother and walking towards it. You held your head a little higher, asserting a sort of silent dominance over them. Winter pulled out a seat for you, and you thanked her softly, turning to the man on your right.

“Akira, I suppose”, you said, lifting your hand up and shaking his hand. He smiled, “The lovely Y/n”, he said, “I presume your mother has told you about me”

He was handsome, you supposed, in an oldish way. You nodded, “Yes, she has”

“And I hope you are intrigued”, he suggested. You forced a smile, biting down the initial disgust at the older man. “Very much so”, you assured him, turning to the other two, “And you are”, you asked, desperate to avoid any further interaction with Akira.

“Yuxi”, the lady sitting next to Akira introduced herself, holding up a glass of some sort of drink, looking at the other two men.

“I’m Chenle”, the one on your left greeted, smiling slightly. You returned the gesture, looking at the other one expectantly.

“Kun”, he said, disinterest apparent in his tone. “A pleasure to meet you, Y/n”, he said coyly, leaning back in his chair and observed you. Nodding at his curt response, you waited in silence for the waiter to come and take your order. “So who are you?”, Kun asked, to which you blinked in surprise. “You mean you don’t know?”, you asked, not meaning to sound as vain as it came out. You were genuinely shocked at the fact he didn’t know who you were.

“Kun”, Akira warned, “I told you about the lovely Y/n”, he explained, “You know about the deal”

“Was I expected to know her?”, he asked, “To be fair, she's like every other woman here, just richer”

Your eyes widened at his blatant disrespect, as his lips upturned into a smirk, somewhat enjoying your obvious discomfort.

“Ahem”, Heesung interrupted, “Your order?”

Mildly put off, you asked for the meal you wanted, trying not to sink into your seat from embarrassment. If your mother was here, she would’ve given you an earful if you slouched.

Always hold yourself to a higher standard Y/n, she constantly reminded you, Head a little higher than the rest.

Ignore him darling”, Akira advised you. The nickname set a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Excuse me”, you said, “I’m not feeling well”, getting up, you called for Winter, asking her to get your food to your room. 

You walked out gracefully, not missing the sly smile that Kun gave you.

Mornings were something you had always looked forward to. You woke up early on most days, while your mother was still asleep, to be alone with your thoughts. It was hard to think with your mother droning on about responsibilities, and things she wanted you to do for her. You had to mindlessly listen, and accomplish every task she set out for you. You were beyond thankful for Winter, who helped you, and single handedly kept you sane. She was your friend, more than a servant, which was why her sudden formality was confusing you.

While your mother wasn’t with you at the moment, you still decided to leave the confines of your bed, and explore the cruise in peace and quiet, perhaps get an early breakfast alone. You changed into acceptable clothing, casual instead of the finery you were used to and tired of, and headed out to the deck. The cool sea breeze was welcoming, making you feel refreshed. You sipped the tea in your hands, cupping the mug to provide some warmth to your fingers, as you leaned against the railing of the ship.

The floors were made of wood, giving it a rustic feel to it. It contrasted the marble interiors, giving it a simpler look. It was homely, more so than your own home. You smiled wantonly, the silence of the scene comforting.

You mother came to mind, as you remembered the deal, the entire reason why you were on this cruise, it wasn’t a happy vacation, on the contrary, it was a welcoming, an introduction to a new family, one you would soon be thrown into. 

“You're alone”, a voice observed. You turned around to face the man from yesterday.

“Qian Kun”, you said politely, “It appears so”

You weren’t particularly angry at him for not knowing who you were, in fact, you would go as far as to say, you were relieved.

“Relax, I know who you are, I’m just teasing you”, he said, which destroyed all hopes of you being an unknown person. You raised an eyebrow in the question of his doings, to which he grinned, “Y/n Osaki”.

You nodded, looking down at your tea, not quite knowing what to say. You didn’t know Kun very well, but from the short encounters you had with him, he confused you. You studied him for a moment, trying to understand him. He seemed to be put together, content with himself, yet he took pleasure in trivial things, like getting a reaction out of you.

“Well, I don’t truly know you, other than the fact you’re this rich girl my uncle is interested in”, he quipped, standing at your side and looking out at the sea, not sparing you another glance.

“Uncle?”, you asked slightly horrified. Kun seemed to be around your age, so the thought of Akira being his uncle sounded very messed up, especially since your mother was also rooting for the older man.

Kun hummed in agreement, “he was ten when I was born”, he continued. You decided to ignore that fact, for now, focusing on the subtle dig he had thrown at you. “You’re rich too, or so it seems. Certainly, you’re wealthy if you can afford this cruise”

You hadn’t meant to sound vain or stuck up, but it was true. This wasn’t a cheap stay, especially since you knew they were staying on the first-class level of the ship just as you were. Your mother had told you almost everything about them.

He seemed amused, his dimples appearing as he smiled, “We’re comfortable”

You scoffed at the statement, deciding to take a sip of your tea instead of retorting. The conversation, if you could even call it that, fell into a silence. You tapped against the porcelain of the cup, looking blankly at the water.

He was attractive, dark hair splayed across his forehead, dark grey eyes, lips that seemed to upturn into a smirk easily. He had an easy going demeanor, with a touch of underlying darkness, you supposed. It piqued your interest, but you made sure not to show it. 

“See you around Y/n”, he said, walking away, seemingly bored. You watched him disappear under the deck, and suddenly, you were all alone.

Alone with your thoughts.

“And school? How is that going?’, you asked, switching your phone to your other hand as you flipped the page of your book. Your brother bristled at the other end of the line, clearly not pleased with the turn of the conversation, “It’s fine”, he said, “Same old. Sungchan is still trying to woo that lower class girl”, he said this with a snicker, “It’s pathetic really.”

“Tsk”, you clicked your tongue, “Don’t belittle her, she’s smart”

“And not to our standard”, he replied, “Sungchan should know better”

“Shotaro”, you said in a warning tone, “Leave it alone, he’s probably just messing with her. You know how we do things”

“Of course, but it’s turning into an infatuation of sorts, he only talks of her! I’m tired of it”

“Maybe he’s in love”, you suggested, turning the next page. The line went silent, you didn’t worry too much as this gave you time to read a few paragraphs properly, instead of the skimming you had been doing. “And what is love Y/n, hmm?”

“Am I supposed to know?”, you bit back sarcastically. You could hear Shotaro scoff on the other side of the line, “You’re the one getting married, dear sister, and isn’t the eldest sibling supposed to teach the younger one?”

“I am not in love”, you said, “I do not need to teach you anything, pay attention in school instead”

“Love you too Y/n, goodbye”, he said flatly, deciding that if you were to talk of school, he was not going to have any part of it. You shook your head amusedly, placing your phone down and continuing to read. Shotaro was your brother, you were close to him, even with your constant bantering and seemingly formal conversation. It was just how the two of you had been brought up- in a very classy way. You had a reputation to uphold, and a family name to flaunt. 

You shifted in your seat, hearing three knocks on the door. “Come in Winter”, you called out, and the girl walked in, holding a box that was wrapped in ribbon, a pretty bow sitting at the top. You placed your book aside, taking the box from her hands. “What is this for?” “Sir Akira sent it”, she explained, dusting down her generic uniform, “Hesaid he would like you to wear it tonight”

You raised an eyebrow at this, skeptical, but nodded. Winter made motion to leave, but you held her hand, “Sit”, you said with a smile, “Talk to me”

“Miss-”

“Y/n”, you reiterated, “Please Winter?”, she sighed at your request, taking a seat next to you on the bed. “You’re keeping your guard up, we grew up together, stop”, she sighed, “I know, I hate this too”

“Do you? This is my room, no one is watching here, now”, you moved over, patting your lap and she grinned, laying her head down on it. “Aren’t you going to open that?”

“Mmhh”, you hummed, pulling the ribbon, letting the cover loose as a pretty red fabric peeked through. You pulled out the dress, studying it.

“It’s pretty”, Winter observed, looking up at your skeptical face. “What happened?”

“I hate it”, you muttered, “It’s tasteful, sure, but I don’t want to wear it”, you folded it and placed it to the side. “I have several of these.” You wondered how Akira had gotten your size perfectly, let alone the similarity in your style of clothing so on point.

“You still have to wear it tonight”, she reminded you, prospering herself up on her elbows, “How’s your brother?” You glanced at her, picking your book up again, “He’s fine”

“Oh what are you reading?”, she asked, “Will you read to me?”

You nodded with a smile playing on your lips, opening the cover of Pride and Prejudice, leaning back and searching for the line you had finished on. The musty pages welcomed you back like an old friend as you indulged in the love story of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. You read about the part, those five chapters where her feelings matured and her opinions changed over time for the man, who she had positively despised before.

You wondered if you’d ever fall for Akira, who you despised too, and was forced into marriage with. Maybe you were a lot like Lizzy Bennet, except you didn’t have a father to back you up.

Duty.

The Osaki Family was very familiar with this term, it was like every second day you heard it. With your family name came responsibilities, expectations and a warped sense of reality. Warped because your reality was very different from most people.

Duty came in different forms. For Shotaro, it was completing his extensive education and taking over the business side of the family, succeeding your father’s work. Your mother’s was to sit there and look pretty, the face of the family as of now, a sympathetic heroine of sorts ever since your father deceased. Yours was to extend family relations, and keep the prestige. You were going to take your mothers place, not something you were particularly looking forward to, but it had to be done.

It was your duty, after all.

The cruise was a way to get away from these duties, by keeping them at the forefront of your mind, replaying like a broken cassette tape. 

“Y/n Osaki”, someone called out, and you looked up from your seat. You were sitting on the deck of the ship, reading in peace with your phone by your side in case of emergency. You recognized the woman as Kun’s sister.

“Yuxi, If I’m not mistaken?”, you asked, moving aside on the bench to give her room to sit.  She crossed her legs, propping one hand on the backrest of the bench and smiling, “Tis I!”, her voice was cheerful, “I’m terribly bored of being surrounded by my brothers, so I thought I’d find you and talk to one of the female specimens”, she joked, causing your lips to upturn into a smile.

“Talking seems wonderful”, you assured her, “What would you like to talk about?”

“Anything honestly, something that isn’t about ‘who’s the man’”, she drawled, an unamused look on her face as she supposedly referenced her brother's banterring. Her eyes cast down to your book, “Jane Austen hmm? My brother loves that book”

“Which one?”

“Kun”, she answered, shifting in her seat, “He can argue for hours about whos the better character,” she smirked, stretching out her legs, “I love my family, but I’m tired of them”

“I understand that far better than you think”, you said, “I sometimes wish we weren’t related”

“You’re one to talk”, she snorted, “You have just about everything you’d ever need and more.”

“I’ll be losing it all in a little, I assume you know this”, you smiled sadly. She nodded, “Alright”, she said, “Perhaps you have everything except freedom”

Kun was tired.

 In the event of having to deal with his brother and uncle’s ‘nonsense’ as he called it, he left the table at dinner to search for some quiet. He walked down the hallways of the ship, the soft rumbling of something he couldn’t quite make out reached his ears. 

He passed his own room, and several others, before coming to the room he was looking for. It had a red door, washed out and dark so it didn’t really stand out. He pushed it open, entering a sort of mini hallway, with another door at the end. 

He walked to that one too, entering a small, dark room. There were boxes and suitcases in there, all from his family.

 But they weren’t all luggage.

 He scanned the room, trying to remember something, it was like there had been an itch ever since he saw you. Like you had opened a door to a memory, but the memory was hazy, he couldn’t quite catch it. It was like a connection had been established, and he couldn’t quite shake it off.

 He sighed in defeat, leaving the room and walking into the hallway once again, only to be met with you, donning a red dress, hair done up in curls. You startled, blinking on seeing him emerge from the side, “Oh”, you said, looking him up and down, “Hello, Kun.” 

He took in your pretty features, wondering how you got roped into this. 

“Shouldn't you be at dinner?”, Kun asked you, lips turning into a sly smile. You looked at him, seemingly unfazed, “Shouldn’t you?”

 “Dinner is nothing special I can assure you that”, he muttered bitterly, “I take you're procrastinating getting there?” 

You nodded, “As much as I enjoy your family's company, I am not entertained by your Uncle, no offense”, you rubbed the side of your arms, “This dress was given by him.”

 “So that’s why he was talking to your servant”, Kun said, “Alright, let’s skip dinner then.”

 “Skip it? My mother would-”

 “We won't tell her”, he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We’ll make up a convincing story.”

 You studied him, deeming him sincere and nodding, “Lead the way then”, you gestured, and he took your hand, smirking and leading you down the hallways, “There’s a lounge somewhere here”, he mused, “Ah here.”

 The two of you entered a fancy looking lounge that definitely matched the entirety of the cruise ship. There was a bar at the end, and couches in the center. You took a seat, leaning back as he went straight for the drinks

. “Want anything?”, he called, taking a bottle down.

 “French 75”, you requested, “You sister told me you liked Jane Austen?” 

He raised an eyebrow at you, “I do”, he agreed. “Why?” There was that odd feeling again, as if you held some sort of importance, but he couldn’t pinpoint why.

 “I mean”, you looked over at the bar, “dinner isn’t going to get over anytime soon and we’re stuck with each other, friendly banter might help pass the time since I don’t have my phone or book with me.” 

He hummed in agreement, “Which book are you reading?” “Pride and Prejudice.”

 “High class families and their literature”, he hummed. “Alright, what about it?”

 “You don’t seem very intrigued by the story”, you observed, taking the cocktail he handed you. “What do you think of Lizzy Bennet’s and Mr. Darcy’s relationship?”

 “Lizzy Bennet, in crude terms would be considered a high class bitch.” 

“Excuse you?”, you asked, slightly outraged in a playful manner. “She is smart and funny and has some brains, unlike the rest of the sisters.”

 “She judged Darcy all too fast don't you think?” He raised his own glass to his lips, keeping his eyes on you as he spoke. “She blatantly disregarded his affections.” 

You felt heat rush to your face, mostly in indignant anger, an urge to defend one of your all time favorite heroines of any sort of story. You had always stood by her. Seeing someone ridicule her, though you had invited him to do so, was irking. “She did not! He bitched about her family and confessed, expecting her to be okay with his idiocy?”

 You asked him hotly, leaning forward in anticipation for his answer. He seemed amused by your irritation, “He’s a man of class, he’s going to judge a not so upper class family. I mean, you would know of this right?”

 “Not if my family was belittled”, you said with a frown, “I see Darcy as the prick who refused to back down because of his goddamn pride.” 

“I always thought Elizabeth was the one with pride, and Darcy held the Prejudice against her family.” His argument was strong.

 You nodded. “I suppose you’re right, but Lizzy Bennet-”

 “Can’t do any wrong?”

 You muttered some not so ladylike things under your breath that your mother would’ve had your head for, glaring at the man who sat across you. While you were all up for playful arguing, being interrupted was something you weren't used to—nor did you appreciate it. 

“Would you let me speak?”

 He smirked, “I suppose you’re defending her because”, he looked at his glass, studying the clear liquid inside it, “you think of yourself as her.”

 “I’m done here”, you said quietly, placing your drink down and getting up, refusing to look at him, knowing his smug expression would just irk you more. His accusation, while probably lighthearted, did not sit well with you. 

“Goodbye.”

The sun was out the next afternoon, casting its golden rays on the deck of the ship, giving it a lovely, summery feel. Guests bustled and walked about, chatting in groups. A small band played their merriment off to the side, setting the mood with their joyful tunes.

Winter stood off to the side with the rest of the servants, a pensive expression on her pretty face.

You stood with the rest of the crowd, next to Akira’s family, returning the warm smile Yuxi sent you. Apparently, there was supposed to be some sort of performers on the ship to entertain the folk. 

You sighed, watching the scene with a polite, yet bored gaze. You would rather be in your room reading, instead of out here. But of course, this was all done from obligation, you had to be there.

Akira shuffled to stand next to you, “I missed you yesterday”, he said, “I was looking forward to seeing you in the dress I got you.”

“I wasn’t feeling too well last night”, you fibbed, eyes meeting Kun’s for a fleeting second, “I appreciate the dress.”

You could feel Kuns smirk, even if you weren’t looking at him. Shifting on your feet, you leaned towards Winter, requesting her to get you a glass of water. 

You were still so uncomfortable around Akira, with his easy smile and underlying words. You knew he was being nice because he had to. You were already his, whether you liked it or not. Shivering at the thought, you took the glass from your friend, taking a sip and trying to focus on the band that played a jazz rendition of ‘Seven Nation Army’.

You wondered for a moment, how it would be if you weren’t from the Osaki family. If you were just another girl, instead of leverage for your family. Once Shotaro was of age and finished his schooling, he would take your fathers place, your mother would remain a shell of herself, useless and forgotten.

You would be like her soon.

Yuxi called Akira for something, giving you room to breathe.

“I hope you’re not still angry at me”, Kun’s voice came from behind, an amused lilt to his voice, “About our little miff yesterday.”

You turned to face him, shaking your head, “I’ll admit, my storming off was a tad immature.”

He frowned, studying you. “Why are you so formal all the time?”

The question took you aback, “Sounds like you have a stick up your ass, reminds me of my friend, Ten.”

“You literally just apologized to me, only to insult me once again?”, you asked, wondering how his mind worked. He was so confusing, one moment all proper the next he acted like a regular kid with a crass sense of humour.

A smile stretched out on his lips, “I never apologized Y/n”, he reminded you, “I only asked you if you were still mad.”

“Touche”

“Loosen up a bit”, he said, “Don’t be so high strung all the time.”

You raised an eyebrow at this, “Oh do tell me how”

He grinned, taking your hand in his, intertwining your fingers, “Let’s go then, I have an idea.”

“Oh hell no”

“Oh hell yes”, Kun smirked, “Are you telling me you’ve never had a water balloon fight?”

“You’re telling me this is a regular occurrence for you?”, you asked incredulously. He shook his head, “No, but it's fun, so lets start”, he handed you a bunch of balloons in a bag.

“How the fuck do you even have these? We’re on a cruise?”, your confusion was comical.

The two of you stood in an empty hall in the cruise, and Kun had locked the door so no one would barge inside. Somehow he had accumulated a bizarre amount of balloons all filled with water. You could foresee the mess that was about to befall you.

You silently wondered why the fuck you agreed to this madness. Maybe it had something to do with Kun;s pretty smile.

He shrugged, “Don’t question it. Yuxi me and Chenle fight this way when we want to get away from our Uncle”, he swatted you away, “Now go! Unless you want me to destroy you from the start.”

A challenge.

You never backed down from a challenge.

You thanked yourself for deciding not to wear that summer dress Winter had initially laid out for you, opting for some pants and a shirt instead. 

Grabbing the bag, you hurried to the other end of the hall, hiding behind one of the heavy curtains and picking up one of the balloons, getting used to the weight in your palms. All you had to do was hit him right? Seemed simple right?

Wrong. So wrong.

As soon as you felt as ready and slipped out of your hiding place, you were hit on your leg, a cold wet feeling creeping up on your leg. The impact of the balloon made you stumble a little bit as you regained your footing, shooting Kun a dirty look. He smirked in response, “Pay attention L/n”

You felt another hit on your arm, realizing he had taken advantage of the fact you had been distracted. Narrowing your eyes, you flung your own balloon and gracefully missed him, the balloon ending up rolling on the ground sadly. 

Embarrassed, you retreated back behind the curtains, grabbing two of your weapons, and scurrying to the other curtain before you could be hit again. Your left pant leg was soaked through, still smarting from the hit and your arm was damp, but your focus was on hitting your opponent.

He chuckled, “Hiding just prolongs this, you know that right?”, he was taunting you, and you scowled, coming out from behind the curtain and throwing your balloon, hitting his calf and making him grunt. 

It was your turn to smirk, pleased at your successful attempt. 

Your triumphant feeling lasted about for five seconds, until you were hit again.

Damn Qian Kun and his quick thinking.You staggered back and he walked closer, “Gonna stay behind those curtains?”, he asked coyly, “Okay, fine you need incentive.”, He threw another at you, making you whine at your own slowness. “Lizzy Bennet needs to be more forgiving”

He had brought up your argument. He knew it would tick you off, making you want to justify your own point of view.

“Mr. Darcy needs to stop being such a prick!”, you exclaimed, flinging your own balloon at him, hitting his side, making him wince, “And you need to stop being so stubborn.”

“I’m the stubborn one?”, he said, almost whined. Another water missile landed next to your foot, bursting and spraying you with water. 

After a few minutes, the two of you were soaked to the bone, your clothes stuck to your skin uncomfortably, but a tired smile stretched out on your lips. His expression mirrored yours as he tried grabbing your arm. The two of you had finished all the water balloons and had been chasing each other around the hall like kids.

For the first time you actually felt like a kid.

You squealed as his fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you down with him as he tripped. Falling into him, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him and entrapping you in his embrace.

Laughter bubbled from your lips as you struggled against him, “Leave me!”

He laughed into your hair, “Truce. Lizzy and Darcy are both idiots.”

“That's established!”, you said, “Let me go idiot”

He did, a wide smile on his face, “You’re more comfortable around me now”, he observed.

You realized he was right, you were more comfortable. You liked the smile on his face, the lilt of relief in his voice. The hall was wet in some places. One of you hiding places, the curtains had a big splotch of water on it, you silently wondered how the staff would react to the state at which it was in.

“I am”, you stated, “Not so strung up now?”

He snorted, “I destroyed you in the water balloon fight, I practically knocked you down from your high horse.”

He looked at the smile on your face, liking it. Even though your hair was wet and messed up, he thought you were beautiful, now that your face wasn’t set in a semi permanent haughty expression.

You hit him playfully, not finding it in you to glare at him. His dark hair was wet, and it fell in front of his eyes as he looked at you, feigning a look of hurt. “You wound me.”

“My mission in life”, you snickered. A silence fell upon the two of you, as you rubbed your arms, the cold biting into your skin. You would have to leave soon, take a shower and show up and dinner, all prim and proper again. The thought made your stomach sink, because you had had fun for the first time in a long time.

You met Kun’s eyes, which were sparkling with a mischievous glint. Raising an eyebrow at him, you crossed your arms, “What?”

“We both have to agree”, he started, “That Mr. Bennet is the best character.”

Winter scurried along the hallways, clutching an envelope, hiding it under her apron lest she ran into you. Her nails dug into the paper, guilt welling up in the pit of her stomach. She stopped outside the door she had been summoned to

Knocking on the throat thrice, she took a step back, waiting for it to be opened. 

A man opened it, narrowing his eyes at her, “Yes?”

“A letter for you sir”, Winter squeaked, “Sir Akira. From Mrs Osaki.”

Akira grabbed the envelope from Winter, swatting her away. The girl bowed and scurried off, not wanting to have anything to do with the contents of the letter. She had already been swayed by your mother enough.

Akira shut the door and locked it, tearing open the letter, desperate to get to it. He pulled it out, fumbling with the paper and reading it hastily.

Dear Akira,

                I would first like to thank you, this wasn’t easy to do without you. Don’t worry, everything will fall into place, and no one will be the wiser. Y/n, my darling daughter, doesn’t know the whole story, only about the wedding, and we shall keep it that way. When our families unite, it shall all be sweeped under the rug.

I shall forever be grateful to you for helping me get rid of him. My debt is free I suppose now, as you read this letter our plan has been put into effect. In return for helping me you shall have protection and a new reputation.

Thanking you, 

                  Mrs. Osaki

Akira sighed in relief, knowing his fate was sealed. He had been skeptical at first, when he saw how distant you were. You didn’t even give him an inch, and he suspected you knew what he-his family did and had done.

But supposedly you didn’t.

When your mother had asked him for his help, he was surprised. The Osaka family? Not happy? How could it be?

How could a wife have murderous intent as much as your mother did?

Folding the letter, he stuffed it into the pockets of his pants, pulling out his lighter and setting fire to the envelope. He watched the tongues of fire snatch onto the paper, bright yellows and blues emerging from nothing. Throwing it in the bin, he crushed it under his heel and pulled out a cigarette.

Kun walked into the room, rubbing his hair with a towel. His and Chenles rooms were connected to Akira’s on the cruise, so that he could check up on them. A frown appeared on the older man's face as he studied Kun’s bedraggled appearance.

Kun’s parents weren’t like Akira, they were respectable and wealthy nonetheless, but still dabbled in the darker aspect of things from time to time, not that many people knew of it.

“Why do you look like a wet rat?”

Kun scowled at this, “I went for a shower”, he said, “You look like a rat more than I do”

It was no secret that Kun, Chenle and Yuxi despised their uncle for his dealings and amoral nature. But of course, Kun didn’t know the whole story, he didn’t know everything, all the letters, the truth about you and your family.

Even you didn’t know.

The only reason they were there was because if the plan didn’t go through exactly as it had been planned, their family’s reputation would be ruined for possibly forever. It was risky business, one that was going to be fixed, no matter how vile and wrong it was.

“Get ready for dinner, and for goodness sake, clean up”, Akira instructed, ignoring the dig and gesturing towards the door that connected his room to Kun’s, “Be on time.”

His nephew obliged and left, leaving Akira alone. He took a deep breath and walked out into the hallway, travelling along it quietly so as to not attract any attention. He stopped outside a red door, opening it and travelling along the dark little hallway it led into. Opening the final door, he found himself in another room, one that was dark. 

There were several boxes there, and a few suitcases. Akira’s, Kun’s, Chenle and Yuxi’s extra luggage. The boxes were not luggage though, they were Akira’s job. The dark side of things. He fished the letter out of his pocket and put it on the top of one of the boxes, next to the rest of the letters.

Leaving the darkness with the dark.

“You’re quite fun actually”, Yuxi said, chattering away to you during dinner. You smiled, returning the compliment.

You were grateful for her talk, which distracted you from the burning stare that Akira held on you, and Kun’s occasional glances. Not that you were against the latter, but it was slightly unnerving. Of course the two of you were much more comfortable with one another, but another feeling had settled in, a prickling on that settled in the bottom of your stomach.

Did you like it? You didn’t know.

Chenle indulged in conversation as well, you learned that he went to the same school your brother went to: Culture Academy. Apparently Kun had graduated from there just before he left for the cruise. Yuxi went to a finishing school, but you expected that, their family seemed the type to send their children to finishing schools.

You had graduated a few months ago as well, but from another high class school, while your brother attended Culture Academy.

“She’s terrible at water balloon fights”, Kun quipped, a smirk on his face as you glared, “Excuse me-”

“You guys had a water balloon fight without us?”, Yuxi asked, in mock offense, “And to think I actually trusted you for a moment”, she said, turning away from you and jutting her bottom lip out. “The betrayal.”

You laughed, “He dragged me, I had no say in it.”

They weren’t as cold as they had been when you had initially met them. It almost felt as if they were your friends. Taking a bite of whatever Winter had gotten you, you met Kun’s eyes, taking in the amused look in them.

Akira cleared his throat, “I assume you’ll be there for the dance next week?”

You raised an eyebrow, “What dance?”

“Instead of a regular dinner there is going to be a sort of dance”, he explained, “I expect to see you there.”

It was a command, not a request.

There was that constricting feeling again, you gave him a tight lipped, curt nod, looking away again. You hated being around Akira, he made you so uncomfortable, and even though you couldn’t avoid him forever, you would try.

He made you sick.

You took a sip of your drink, letting the burning taste trickle down your throat. You were barely past your first glass, not being a heavy drinker. Your mother had told you it was not respectable to drink too much, so you stuck to her rules. You always stuck to her rules, but god, you would’ve loved to drown the entire glass and ask for another at that moment.

Or throw it at Akira. But that probably wouldn’t have been very respectable either.

Winter walked up to you, tapping your shoulder timidly to get your attention, “Miss”, she said, leaning down to your ear to speak in secrecy, “Your mother has called.”

Pressing your lips together to avoid making a displeased face, you excused yourself from the table and followed your helper into the hallway, taking your phone from her. She gave you an encouraging smile as you began speaking.

“Mother?”

Her harsh voice brought you back down, “Y/n”, she said sternly, “Why did you not go to that dinner?”

You fisted your hand, clenching your jaw. Of course she found out, “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“So you tell no one?

“I wasn’t aware of the fact that everyone was supposed to know about my health”, you couldn’t help the bitter undertone in your voice. She didn’t care whether you were sick or not, she cared about why you skipped.

“Not everyone, just the Qian family”, she hissed, “Y/n focus. Duty.”

You knew there was no point in arguing with your mother, she was as stubborn as an ox. You could never be right against her.

“Yes mother, I’m sorry”, you said through gritted teeth. You could hear the smile on her face at your surrender, “Remember darling, you need to impress them”, she reiterated, “It’s for-”

“The good of our family, yes I know”, you sighed, “I’ll follow the rules.”

“Don’t just follow the rules Y/n, behave”, he tone of voice made you feel like a little girl. “You may not know it, but our family name depends on it.”

This took you aback, leaving you mildly confused. What did this stupid vile plan have to do with anything? Sure your family didn’t have the cleanest record (those scandals tainted it a little bit), but otherwise it was extremely respected all through Japan and other parts of the world.

The question sat at the tip of your tongue, but you knew better than to press your mother for answers. If she wanted to be vague, she would. Ending the call politely, you walked back into the dining hall, sitting next to Yuxi. Whatever momentary joy you had gotten from talking with them vanished, instead it was a reminder of your cruel fate, the bitter reality you had to face whether you liked it or not.

Why?

“You’re insufferable”, you declared, leaning against the railing, “Poor girl, you guys really made her jump into a pool?”

He laughed, “Yeah, you should have seen the look of anger on her face. And in full clothing too?”

You frowned, “You monster!”

“Hey, she signed up for it, she wouldn’t have gotten in if she refused”, he reminded you. Kun was currently telling you stories of his schooling at Culture Academy, particularly about a club he was in. You listened intently, enjoying yourself more than you would like to admit. He was definitely entertaining.

Maybe it was because you never experienced half the things he did.

You looked at the ocean, the sun shining down on it and sparkling. “I suppose she did”, you whispered, letting the words float about in the air as a silence settled upon the two of you. It was comfortable, you didn;t feel the need to fill it in. He took out a lighter and a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long slow drag.

“You smoke?”, you asked, unable to keep the surprise from your voice. You had never seen him do it before. The revelation was something you hadn’t expected.

Another thing your mother drilled into you: never smoke. It’s unladylike and very unbecoming of a person, and also because the news would latch onto it and create a scandal that was not needed. In general you had never seen the appeal of smoking.

He raised an eyebrow at you, nodding as if he expected you to know this. Almost as if he was bewildered with your surprised response. And he was, Kun was confused as to why you were so shocked with the fact. It was just a cigarette, nothing that terrible. Didn’t you know what Akira did-

Oh.

Oh no.

“Yeah, occasionally”, he said, brushing it off quickly, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his heel, “Want to head back in?”

You nodded with a shrug, “Okay.” 

He smiled brightly, and a fuzzy feeling made its way into your stomach. You returned the smile, pushing away the feeling away to the back of your mind, far away in a dark corner of your mind, simply because it wouldn’t be right. You couldn’t even afford to think that way.

Not with the arrangement that had been set up, that was for sure.

You followed him inside, another thought blooming in the same dark corner of your mind, no matter how much you tried to push it away.

God it was wrong on so many levels though. 

“She got in”, Kun said, continuing his story from before, “It surprised everyone.”

You smiled, “I’m glad, poor girl, I hope she didn’t get hypothermia or something.”

Kun smiled, “She took my place as I left, you know, graduation and all”, he said, reaching his hand out and grabbing your own, leading you down.

“Your friends sound like fun”, you said fondly, even though you didn’t know them, “Especially that Hendery guy. Did he actually do that?”

Kun laughed, nodding, “He’s mad. I miss them”, his voice turned wistful, but only for a moment, before that pretty smile stretched across his face once again, “I have to tell you about the time Dejun…”

As you went back under the deck and the warmth of the hallways hit you, you decided you would deal with the feeling later. You decided to listen to him instead, liking the way his eyes lit up talking about his friends. You were starting to realize that you were now one of them, one of his friends.

That though stayed in the forefront of your mind, refusing to be pushed back.

And somehow, you didn’t mind.

Kun stepped into Akira’s room, eyes narrowed at his uncle. The tension in the air immediately raised tenfold. 

“She doesn’t know, does she?”

Akira sent his nephew a questionable look, “What do you mean?”

Kun sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Y/n”, he said, your name rolling off his tongue easily, yet there was a sort of anger that settled into it. Why didn’t you know? You should’ve known.

Why did he care this much?

Akira sighed, “What about her?”

“She doesn’t know who you are, not the entire truth.”

Akira let the statement hang in the air, his silence answering. He leaned back in his chair, humming an idle tune. “You’re right, but what prompted this?”

“She saw me smoking”, Kun said, “And was confused, she definitely didn’t look pleased. Tell me, how would she react when she realizes the man she has to marry is a fucking drug lord?”

His uncle winced at Kun’s words, “I know, but she won’t ever know.”

This was madness.

Kun knew of course, of the plan, but he didn’t know the whole story. He knew you were to be married to Akira, an arranged marriage that had been, well, arranged by your mother. And Yuxi had confirmed you knew of it as well. You had never seemed too keen on it, and this worsened everything.

“Sit”, Akira ordered, “And I’ll tell you.”

Holding back a grimace,  he complied, sitting opposite Akira. He waited for the older man to go on, wondering for a moment how it would be like to be in your shoes. You were around his age, and had to marry his uncle? The thought itself was mortifying.

“The Osaki family”, Akira started, “Well known, you’ve heard of them”, he didn’t wait for Kun to respond in any way, “They’re practically perfect, are they not? You’ve seen Y/n, you’re closer to her than I am. With her airs and graces, you’d think she’s perfect too, wouldn’t you?”

Of course Kun though you were perfect, but that's besides the point. He didn;t see how this made any sense.

“It’s all a lie Kun”, Akira said, “They’re unhappy, so unhappy. Her mother was a miserable, poor lady, forced to sit on the sidelines while her bastard of a husband ignored her.”

Wasn’t your father dead? 

Akira cleared his throat, “They’re perfect on the outside, a dollhouse, but through the curtains, it's all a mess. She asked me for help.”

Kun frowned, “Y/n-?” “No”, he said with a smile, “Her mother.”

It was slowly coming together, a puzzle so horrifying Kun didn’t want to believe it. His uncle had done many horrible things, many illegal things, but fuck, he prayed this one wasn’t real.

This was murder.

“So I helped”, Akira’s voice went hoarse, “I helped the way I could. I slipped a drug into a package and sent it to her, one so strong that could kill.”

Horror. This was madness.

“The next day, Mr Osaki was found dead”, a slow sadistic smile stretched out on Akira’s lips, “And Mrs Osaka was overjoyed! She thanked me profusely for helping with her plan. She promised to repay me somehow for my kindness.”

Kindness. Crime. When had the line between the two grown so blurry? Kun was frozen in his seat, frozen in fear. In fear for himself and his siblings, in fear for his family for being related to such a monster. He feared for you, the unsuspecting girl who had walked into his life and brought out things from the shadows he wished he left there. The girl, who’s own mother had been the reason behind her fathers death.

Fuck it was so wrong.

He knew the world he lived in, the wealth and the riches always brought trouble, but never in his life had he ever foreseen this much trouble. The clock on the wall of Akira’s room ticked slowly, every second seeming like an hour. Kun wanted to leave, but he was frozen in his seat, glued there.

His curiosity had gotten the better of him. He needed to know more. What was the ending to this tragic tale?

“And this is my repayment”, Akira said, “I marry Y/n, and everything gets sweeped under the rug. I can start a new Kun, I don’t have to be this person. I know you hate me, but listen, this could change everything.”

Kun felt sick.

“No”, he muttered, “This changed nothing you…”, he studied his uncle's tired expression. Akira’s eyes held a triumphant glare, and that made everything worse.

“You sick man”, he whispered, getting up, “She doesn’t deserve this. You don’t deserve a fresh start Akira, you have blood on your hands.”

Akira groaned, “I don’t expect you to under-”

‘Good”, Kun said, “I’m leaving and I want nothing to do with you for the rest of this trip.”

“Don’t tell your little friend”, Akira sneered, “If you tell her I won;t be the only one affected. Her mother will be brought into the light as well, and you really think no one will suspect Y/n?”

It was a losing situation from all sides.

“She doesn’t know who I am”, Akira said, agreeing with Kun’s earlier statement, “let's keep it that way, shall we?”

Dearest Akira,

                    Thank you for sending me the drug, I’ve slipped it into his drink. He shall be gone soon, and I shall be free. My son will take his palace when he finishes school and Y/n will be yours. A lovely full circle. I won’t have to deal with a man I hate anymore, a man that pushed me aside for everything.

Once upon a time I truly loved him you know? I trusted him and I gave him my heart. He trampled on it and now all I’m left with is a shell.

He forgot I existed, I am but a placeholder.

Not for long.

Thanking you,

                     Mrs. Osaki

You sat on your bed, reading yet another chapter of your beloved Pride and Prejudice in silence, as Kun sat on the other side, looking at his phone and occasionally stealing glances at you.

The friendship the two of you shared was….odd to say the least. You didn’t have to talk, even the silence was enough. You enjoyed his company a lot more than you cared to admit. Turning the page, you decided to stop for the day, placing your bookmark in the middle and shutting the book, turning your attention to Kun.

He couldn’t help the guilt that bubbled inside him, even though he had done nothing wrong. It was the heaviness he carried around for possessing the truth, and was hit with the consequences everytime he looked at you.

“Yes?”, you asked.

He blinked, “What?”

“You’ve been staring at me oddly”, you clarified, “I’m wondering if I did anything to offend you.

“No, no!”, he said a little hurriedly, “I apologize, I’m a little out of it today.”

“Do tell”, you said, propping your chin up on your hand, eyes meeting his with an expectant gaze. He gave you his easy smile, “It’s nothing I promise.”

“I don’t believe you for a second, you’re terrible at lying”, you declared, “Oh come on, I thought we trusted each other?” You tried guilt tripping him into telling you, but he was surprisingly stubborn.

“Do we now?”

“You wound me”, you muttered dryly, “Alright I won’t press you for answers.”

“Thank you for this kindness, oh Lady Y/n”, he said, making a show of pretending to curtsy, which was comical since he was sitting. You couldn’t help the amused smile that made its way to your face at that.

You stood up, placing your book on one of the side tables, brushing down your pants, “We need to be at the deck in five minutes, so I suppose we should make a move.”

He followed suit as the two of you made your way up to the deck. The dinner was out there tonight, so it was bound to be a little bit more casual than the usual dinners in the dining room. This also meant that you didn’t need to sit with the Qian family, which was a mix of relief and disappointment. You liked Kun and his siblings, but at the same time…

Yeah.

The night was a little chilly, so you had pulled on a sweater, finding a table and taking a seat, watching as Kun walked over to his own family, looking stiff. You took the menu from Winter, eyes scanning over the food.

“Ahem.”

You looked up from the menu, only to be met with Akira’s disapproving gaze. “Y/n”, he greeted, “How are you feeling today?”

You swallowed your contempt, forcing a tight pained smile, “Very well, thank you Akira.”

“I’m glad, then why don’t you sit with us?”

Your lips twitched as you tried to think of a way to get yourself out of this. “I’m quite fine here, thank you for the offer.”

He smiled widely, leaning down to your eye level, resting his elbow on the table and effectively capturing your attention. “It wasn’t an offer, sweetheart.”

The nickname made your skin crawl, as you reeled back, “Akir-”

“You will sit with us”, he said firmly, “What would your mother say if you refused?”

Your eyes widened as you realized he knew, fingers gripping the menu. He knew how your mother was and fuck, him knowung that scared you even more. Clearing your throat, you pushed all your confidence into your voice, “I’m quite comfortable here Mr. Qian.”

You didn’t use his first name, you used the family name, hoping to settle the argument, to show that you were not moving.

He took the menu from you, “Come along Y/n, its for the be-”

“Let her be.”

Akira turned around, facing his nephew, “Kun”, he said, voice falling into a tone that screamed it was a warning, “I am not talking to you.”

“But I’m talking to you”, Kun narrowed his eyes at Akira, “She wants to sit there, let her sit there. She is not obliged to follow your every instruction.”

Akira sighed, glancing back at you and smiling sickeningly sweet, inclining his head and walking away, going under the deck. You let out a sigh of relief, looking at Kun who looked oddly guilty.

“Thank you”, you said, “I could’ve handled it, though.”

“I know you could’ve”, he acknowledged, “I just felt like stepping in and helping.” His explanation was curt as he pulled out the chair opposite you, “Do you mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all. I suppose you’re wondering why I let you sit and wanted nothing more to do with your uncle?”

“I’m not”, he said, “I know what's happening there. And the position you’re in, better than you do.” A sad smile stretched out on his lips(not that you were observing them or anything), leaving you slightly bewildered. What did he mean by that?

You studied Kun, his attractive features and dark eyes. They looked like they held a secret, one you couldn’t figure out.

“Why did you help me?”, you asked again, meeting his eyes. He held your gaze for a few minutes, before they dropped to your lips for a split second. You held your breath, waiting for his answer, and mildly overwhelmed.

Did he feel the same way you had been feeling lately? Why did the prospect of that make you feel elevated? Fuck, you couldn’t think like that, it would ruin everything-

“I can’t tell”, he muttered, “I just care.”

The truth chases a lie with fervor, no matter how small. Like a lover in the night, chasing its partner with passion even in the darkest times.

You observed yourself in the mirror, studying the black dress you were wearing. It had a gold trim at the edges, and lace at the back, giving it the perfect combination of classy and scandalous.

Winter took a step back, curling iron in hand as she marvelled at her own handiwork, a smile adorning her pretty face, “You look lovely Y/n!”, she praised. You really did look lovely, the picture of what you were always supposed to portray: perfection.

“Thank you Win”, you smiled at her, “why don’t you wear one of my dresses tonight?”

Her eyes lit up in surprise and confusion as she placed the iron down, shaking her head, “Oh I couldn’t Miss, I’m a part of the staff, I will be helping out for the evening.”

“You don’t want to pretend you’re not just for a few minutes? You can change after fifteen minutes and go back to your work”, you enticed her, wanting your friend to have some fun.

She hesitated, “No miss, I could get in trouble.”

“Alright”, you relented, standing up from your seat and turning to the door, “Thank you Winter”

“Your very welcome miss, now go, the Qian family is awaiting you.”

You nodded, walking into the hallways and following the few people who were already going to the dance.People of repute, people who would look at you and incline their heads respectfully, as you did for them. They were from your world, after all, everyone was rich and important.

Standing outside the doors, you took in a deep breath and walked in. The hall had been decorated, changed drastically. The tables had been pushed to the sides, for the seating, and the center was left as the actual dance floor.

You walked over to the tables at the side, greeting a few people you knew. You spotted Winter standing at the sidelines with the staff. On reaching the refreshments table, you took one of the glasses of champagne and brought it to your lips.

Jazz music played as couples took the floor, swaying to it. You watched the Qian family, noting that Akira was looking for someone, probably you. Turning your back towards them, you took another sip of your drink. You looked at the starters that had been placed out for the guests, wondering what your mother would think if you took a plateful and sat alone in a dark corner eating. The picture of her horrified expression was enough to tickle you.

Distracted within your own thoughts, you failed to notice Kun standing next to you, an amused expression on his face as he watched you. To him, you looked absolutely breathtaking in your dress, even more so than usual.

“Y/n”

You jumped slightly at the sudden intrusion of your thoughts, facing the man. He was dressed in a suit, hair done slightly messy, but on purpose. His dark eyes met yours, amused as he smirked, “Hey.”

“Hey”, you breathed out, snapping out of checking him out. He looked extremely attractive tonight, a thought you couldn’t shake off. “Kun.”

He nodded, inclining his head towards the table, “I’m sure the refreshments are extremely interesting but”, a slow grin stretched out on his lips, “Would you like to dance?”

You suppressed your own smile, nodding and taking his hand he had offered you. Kun led you to the dance floor, a little off the centre so you wouldn’t be seen easily. Resting one hand on your waist, the other grasped your own, bringing it up mid air. He took the first step behind with you following him as the two of you danced.

“I’m not great at dancing”, he confessed, “So I have to warn you, I’m running off ballroom dancing class from school when we had our Formal Dance.”

You smirked, “Do you want me to lead or something?”

“Only if you twirl me”

You laughed at this, “Alright, brace yourself.”

He gave you a horrified look, “NO, nevermind, I’ll twirl you instead”, he muttered, retrieving his hand from your waist and raising the other so you could turn gracefully. You didn’t make any attempt to bite your giggled away at this, turning and facing him again, back into your former position.

“That was actually quite fun, wanna try?”

He gave you a look that screamed ‘really?’, shaking his head, “I thought we established that I was fine without twirling.”

“But-”

“No”

“Fine”, you made a show of being upset over it, saying something about he was missing out on his youth and that twirling during ballroom dancing was one of the few fineries of life he would never experience if he didn’t do it right now.

That, for some reason, still didn’t entice him.

Oh well, his loss.

You bantered lightly, as you swayed to the music together. You melted together almost, in the midst of your laughter and smiles. You felt so comfortable with him, but every moment you felt like that seemed like a curse, reminding you he wasn’t what you were there for. Whatever you felt towards Qian Kun was wrong, so wrong.

He led the two of you off to the side, away from the dance floor, still in each other's arms for some reason, even though you had finished dancing. He lifted your hand, twirling you once again just for the effect and grinning.

Once you faced him, you realized how close the two of you were. His hands were on your waist anyways, one of your hands was around his neck. Your other hand was intertwined with his, making the contact seem even more intimate.

The smile melted off your face as his eyes flickered to your lips. It was as if he had read your mind, and you wished he'd do it again. You wished he woul-

He leaned forward hesitantly, and in that dark corner of the dining hall, while the others danced around, while Akira looked for you somewhere, behind the tables and everyone, Qian Kun kissed you.

It was a timid kiss, his lips barely brushed against yours, before he pulled away, blinking at you. You stared back at him, equally as surprised, but not in a bad way. He dropped the hold he had on you, but kept holding your hand, as if he was figuring out what to think.

You grew slightly impatient with this, leaving his grip and cupping his face, bringing him back into a kiss. This one was much less innocent, it didn’t feel like he was exploring something for the first time. It felt real, and it felt right.

“Not here”, he muttered softly against your lips, pulling you along with him, out into the hallways. You followed him, giddy from the kiss, giddy from the fact that you had even kissed him. How did that happen? When had that happened? The incident that had taken place mere seconds ago seemed days old, almost as if it had happened several times before.

You wanted to kiss him again.

Resisting the urge to stop him right there and there, you let him lead you to wherever. He stopped outside a red door, almost rust in colour, hesitating for a moment, before he seemingly decided to fuck it all and opened it, pulling you into the little corridor it opened into.

He kissed you again, once, twice, thrice, until you lost count. Pushed up against the wall, your senses seemed to heighten. The low buzz of the cruise ran through you as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. All the banter, the teasing, the way he would trap you with his words had built up to this.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

The only way you could describe the kisses was breathtaking. You felt as if you were struggling for air, yet you didn’t want to pull away. Your lungs screamed for air, but you didn’t want to heed. You didn’t want to break the spell he had put you under. You liked the burning feeling, the way his lips felt against yours, the way his body felt against yours. Drowning, you were drowning but fuck, you wanted no one to save you.

You wanted to drown.

He pulled away finally, letting you suck in a breath. 

“This is wrong”, you whispered, and he nodded, agreeing, “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it again.”

He took a step away from you, studying your features. You leaned against the wall, letting the silence overtake the two of you. You breathed heavily, making up for the air you had lost, albeit willingly.

Footsteps.

Soft footsteps made their way down the hallways, you could hear it. Kun looked alarmed, glancing at the door, “Wait here.”

You frowned, but nodded as he left, closing the door after him and supposedly speaking to someone in hushed tones, further muffled by the barrier between the two of you. You sighed, looking along the corridor you were in at the moment, walking to the end and opening the other door, lest the person he was speaking to burst in and found themselves in a very awkward situation.

You found yourself in another room, one that was dark. Using your sense of touch, you managed to navigate around it, noting that there were suitcases and boxes. You stumbled into one, wincing slightly as a sharp pain travelled through your shin. Using the box to steady yourself, your eyes were drawn to the little labels on the sides of them.

Squinting, you brushed over the names, trying to make out what they were.

Qian Akira, cocaine.

Reeling back, you blinked. Were those drugs? Looking at a few other boxes, you had forgotten about the pain in your leg as horror filled your senses, reading the names of drug after drug, all with the Qian’s names on it. The man you were being forced to marry was a criminal.

You had been thrown into a trance of some sort, a trance of absolute dread. For some reason you couldn’t look away as you kept reading, realizing that whatever was happening was much more serious than you had thought.

The next box had a few papers on the top of it, kept haphazardly one on top of the other. Letters of some sort, envelopes and receipts. You picked one up, eyes scanning over its content, or whatever you could make out in the darkness.

Dear Akira

                It’s set in stone! He’s gone, thank you so much. I promise you that this time next year you will be with my Y/n and everything will be solved.

Thanking you,

Mrs Osaki

The sight of your mothers handwriting and her name at the end of the letter made you sick. The other letters were much like the first, each one releasing more and more information, letting you piece together its words to form a cohesive thought.

Fuck.

You dropped the letters, breathing going heavy as you heard more footsteps. Someone was entering the room, they were coming inside and they would find you. You weren’t supposed to be here, you could tell by the way you had been written in the letters. 

You should have listened to Kun when he told you to stay where you were-

Kun.

Oh god.

The room seemed to close in on itself, the stacks towering above you. You felt trapped, claustrophobic and disgusted. Disgusted by the fact would ever put you in such a repulsive situation. You ran your fingers over the dust covered boxes, reeling back at the names and information that was on them. Bile rose to your throat as you choked back sobs.

He was responsible for it all, all the misery that had been thrown upon you, the odd requests all made sense. This wasn’t an innocent union, it was an elaborate cover up, and you were the leverage.

Tears sprung to your eyes as you staggered back, leaning on the wall behind you for support. Shouts echoed from the other end of the dark room, and your breath hitched in your throat in fear of being caught.

Shutting your eyes and clamping your hand over your mouth, you counted to ten in your mind, praying that whoever it was wouldn;t find you. The voices resided, the footsteps growing farther and farther. You opened your eyes, only for them to widen in a mixture of relief and fear.

“What are you doing here?”

Fuck.

Kun had made a big mistake, he had led you to the worst possible place he could have taken you in his daze. He had gotten distracted by you, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

If he could fucking find you.

After thwarting Akira’s attention by telling him you had gone on the deck for some fresh air, he returned into the corridor, before realizing it was the one place he wasn’t supposed to take you.

And you were nowhere in sight.

He looked around in alarm, before Akira’s voice called out again, “What are you doing Kun?”

He turned around, “Nothing, just checking, I want something from my suitcase,” he said quickly. His uncle narrowed his eyes at him, “And what is that something?”

“I left my book inside the suitcase, and I’m not interested in the dance so I thought I’d go read.”

“Y/n is not on the deck.”

“Am I supposed to keep tabs on her?”, Kun bit back, “She’s probably back at the hall Akira.”

Akira raised an eyebrow at Kun, “I don’t know what you’re playing at, young man, but I don’t like it”, he said, raising his voice. Kun felt like a little kid again, even if his uncle was just ten years older. Clenching his jaw he stood his ground, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.”

Akira left Kun alone, deciding that he wasn’t worth it. 

Kun walked into the room, looking around for you, praying you weren't there. He walked to his suitcase, and narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the outlines in the room.

He heard something shift, and turned on his heels, squinting. He could just about make out your figure standing in the corner, hand over your mouth, eyes squeezed shut. You trembled slightly as you stood there.

He walked over just as you opened your eyes, to meet his own in horror. You were definitely shaking, lower lip trembling in what looked like fear as you tried backing away from him, even though you were already against the wall.

“What are you doing here?”

He took a step forward, reaching out to hold your hand, eyes shrouded in concern at your state, but you shrinked away. “Don’t.”

“Y/n-”

“No”, your voice was shaky, “Stay away from me.”

Your mind was a mess, thoughts racing. You felt used and exposed, so vulnerable. Everything you knew had been a lie, you had been betrayed. Just a few moments ago you were happy, now everything you knew had been shattered, including your own heart.

“You knew didn’t you”, your voice broke in the middle, “You knew.”

Kun’s fake smile melted off his face as he realized what had happened, taking a step away from you. The tears in your eyes made their way down your face as you sucked in a breath, crouching down with your hands over your ears.

All you wanted to do was block all of it out, block reality out and not think of it, but that was hard when reality was staring back at you with a guilty expression.

Suddenly everything clicked into place, why he had been so nice, why he kept helping you. I was all out of guilt, everything was a fucking lie. Half truths and twisted words, secrets and scandals.

It was sick and twisted and you had fallen into the trap unwillingly, and didn’t know how to get out. 

You rocked yourself slowly, trying to compose yourself amongst the madness. You wanted to scream, to cry and tell Kun that you hated him, that you wanted him to leave and never talk to you again. Maybe that’s what hurt worse, the fact that you were attached. 

You had trusted Kun, you had fallen for him like the idiot you were, only for it all to come back for you, slapping you in the face. You felt so stupid for letting yourself believe anything good would come out of this. You should have listened to your conscience when it told you this was wrong.

But this...this was worse than wrong. This was murder. The betrayal of it all hit you hard, and it took all of your willpower not to fall over and give up.

“It was all fake”, you muttered, “all of it”

“Y/n I-”

“You were pitying me”, you spat, “You knew and yet”, sucking in a breath, you swallowed the lump in your throat, ignoring the heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach, the hole that seemed to have been ripped out from your chest. “You still played me.” 

Kun pressed his lips together in a tight line, regret eating away at him. Of course it wasn’t all for his uncle, but you wouldn’t listen even if he tried. You were much too distraught, too far gone for that. Instead he composed himself, leaning down and resting a hand on your shoulder.

“We need to get out of here.”

The harshness of the statement made it worse. You looked up at his serious face through your hazy eyesight, wanting to push him away, but neither did you want to be alone. He sighed, helping you up to your feet, “We have to go or they’ll find you here and it won’t be pretty.” 

Taking your hand in his, Kun pulled out of the room, raising a hand to his lips, silently telling you to keep quiet. “If you don’t want Akira to find you here, go straight to your room, say you were sick.”

He was pity helping you again.

You nodded, sniffling slightly and pulling yourself together again, rubbing your arms. You hated it, fuck, and that moment you hated your own mother. You hated the fact that you had to depend on the boy who betrayed you. The boy who you kissed, and was willing to forget that it was wrong, until the world crashed down upon you.

Walking with you, he decided to part ways where the two hallways met, repeating his instructions from before, refusing to meet your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, before walking away in the direction opposite where you were supposed to go.

How had so much gone so wrong so fast?

Locked.

You were locked away in your room, refusing to get out of it. The only person you let in was Winter, who came in with meals and other information. You ignored every one of Akira’s presents, declined your mother’s calls and avoided the rest of the Qian family like the plague.

It was like you had spiralled, down into this hole you couldn’t climb out of. Your father was dead, it wasn’t natural. He had been killed and you were amongst the murderers. Your mother had worked with them.

Your brother was back home, going about his life as usual. The world revolved as it always did, but yours has stopped.The little bubble that you had lived in for most of your sheltered life had finally burst. You had been thrown into real life before you could even say anything about it.

Knock!

“Come in”, you said, watching as Winter entered with a plate and her own phone, “Y/n”, she greeted you, with that same funny formal tone, “It’s your brother”

She handed you her own phone, and you frowned. Why hadn’t Shotaro just called you? Why had he called Winter?

Brushing those thoughts aside, you held the phone to your ears, “Taro?”

“Hey”, he said, “hold for a second, would you?”

You didn’t reply, patiently waiting for him, but instead you were greeted with another voice, a voice you definitely didn;t want to hear.

“Darling.”

Your throat seemed to close up, mouth going dry as you gripped the phone even tighter, looking at Winter in alarm. She looked away, and began setting your things straight on the little table next to your bed.

“Mother.”

“What has happened to you?”, she asked, voice cutting through any thoughts, “I thought you understood the gravity of the situation. I have told you countless times-”

“I understood what you told me before I found out I was a pawn,” your voice was remarkably steady, almost scarily calm as you leaned back, “I don’t care anymore.”

“Y/n”, your mother warned, “I told you, our family name depends of it, even if you don’t how how or why-”

“I do know”, you interrupted her smoothly, “I know that my mother is an amoral bitch and the fact that you killed father, without thinking of the feelings of her children, and went on to throw her daughter into a dangerous position.”

You were met with the static from the other line. Had you finally won? Your mother stayed silent at your sudden outburst.

“How did you find out.” It was a question, but it came out as a statement. That helplessness returned, your level headedness disappearing all of a sudden. How could she be so insensitive? She didn’t care at all.

“Doesn’t matter”, he continued, “Now you know it's imperative you marry Akira, or our secrets will be exposed and the family name will be tainted. This also saves the Qians.”

You fisted your hand, spite coursing through your veins. Fuck, you were so angry, angry at your mother for never doing your job, for expecting you to comply with her twisted plans. You were tired of playing along, you were fed up of being perfect, or at least, fed up of portraying that image.

“I hate Akira”, you said for the first time out loud, making them real. You despised him and everything he was, and the new information you had gathered about him had just made you hate him more. You wished you had never met the Qian family, Akira, or Chenle, or Yuxi, or Kun-

That was a lie. You didn’t regret meeting Kun, you regretted trusting him. You regretted not listening and going into that room. You regretted so much, but you regretted knowing the truth the most.

You wanted to live the lie again. 

“And I don’t care if you get in trouble mother, you deserve it.”

“It’s not just me Y/n”, she said, “It’s the Qian family as well, and it’s you and your brother.”

Shotaro.

“He still doesn’t know?”

“We’ll keep it that way. He’s still in school.”

Pursing your lips, you sighed, “I don’t want this”

It was as if she knew she had hit a weak spot, she could feel your resolve wavering. “Do it for Shotaro, if no one else. He hasn’t met life yet.”

You couldn’t understand how she was so cool about it, how she didn’t seem to care that there was blood on her hands, blood of her husband and no less. You supposed crying and screaming wouldn’t accomplish or change anything. This was your reality, and you just had to accept it.

Clicking off the call, you handed Winter’s phone back to her, burying your head in your hands. Decisions, decisions.

Winter stood there with a pensive look, biting her lower lip, before sitting down next to you, “I’m sorry Y/n, but what is troubling you?” Her soft voice mixed with the concerned look on her face was enough to make you break, leaning into her as tears built up in your eyes. She wrapped an arm around you, keeping you steady and holding you up.

She figured she owed you as much.

“Everyone I know has destroyed me”, you whispered hoarsely, choking back a sob, “They’ve either betrayed me or destroyed me and I’m so tired.”

“Who has done so?” She asked, rubbing your back comfortingly, prompting you to go on without actually asking you. You took in a shaky breath, thinking of everyone that was to blame for your misery.

“My mother”, you spat, “Akira, Kun-”

“Kun?”

Sucking in a breath, you nodded, “Kun. He-he knew. He knew and he still led me on, fuck I feel so stupid”, you laughed at the bitter irony, wiping away your tears, “And the thing is, the fact he did it hurts much more than anything else.”

“And why is that?”, Winter whispered.

“I trusted him”, you said, squeezing your eyes shut as if that would help somehow, “I liked him, I gave him my trust, even when it went past my duty.”

Duty, you were starting to realize, was slowly destroying you and everything you held dear.

Yuxi raised her hand so that the light fell on it, the pretty red nail paint glowing as she inspected it. Her right hand was a little messier than her left, she decided she would fix that later. Her hair was perfectly straightened, not a strand out of place, she looked perfect. Her appearance paired with her pretty airs and manners made her slightly intimidating, a little better than the rest.

Finishing school had been fruitful afterall.

Clicking her tongue, she dropped the act, sitting on her bed, hunched over her phone as she scrolled through her messages, catching up on whatever she was missing back home.

Truth was, she didn’t want to get on this cruise, none of the Qian siblings did. Spending time with their uncle? They hated the few dinners they had to tolerate anyways, but a whole three months? That sounded like torture, a torture they were enduring at the moment.

Akira had insisted, saying it would be a good experience for them now that they were adults, well, except Chenle. The boy was still sixteen, but was very much on their level. Their parents had unfortunately agreed, and so they found themselves where they were.

Kun walked through her door and into her room, pacing around, before taking a seat next to Yuxi and looking at her expectantly.

“What?”

“I fucked up”, he confessed. His sister wondered if he was waiting for her to ask the question just to dump that on her.

“Thank you for that eloquent explanation”, she said, “Mind telling me exactly how you did the fucking up?”

He sighed, running a hair through his hair as he leaned against the headrest and told his sister the whole story, from the arranged marriage (though she knew this), Akira’s plan and what he had done, to the kiss and you finding out. Yuxi listened intently, placing her phone aside as he went on.

Once he reached the end of all the events, Yuxi looked pensive, confused almost. “I’m not sure there’s anything you can do to fix this,” she said truthfully, “It’s royally fucked up and I don;t want to have anything to do with our uncle dear ever again.”

“You’re telling me”, Kun groaned, “I feel terrible, and I didn’t even do anything.”

“You did do something”, his sister said, walking to the little table and picking up her little bottle of nail paint, “You stayed silent.”

Winter burst into the kitchen, walking over to the drink area. She inspected them, figuring out which one was yours, and which one was Kun’s. Producing a small vial of some sort of liquid, she took the two drinks and placed them on the counter opposite, opening up the vial.

Guilt had been eating away at her for weeks now, especially when she realized that there might be more to the story than she thought. She had complied with your mothers orders, but now she didn’t care. 

Heesung walked into the room, “Idiot, what are you doing?”

Winter ignored him, putting a few drops in each glass and mixing them in. Heesung took the vial from her when she kept it down, inspecting it, “What is this?”

“Took it from the luggages”

“You stole? You could get fired!”

“I know that!” She snapped before sighing, “But I stole it from a criminal, so it’s even.”

Heesung raised an eyebrow, lowering his voice, “The Qians?”

Winter nodded, “A drug.”

The boy wondered if he should ask, if it was worth it to do so.  Winter took the glasses and placed them back on the tray, turning back to Heesung, pointing to them. “Kun and Y/n. These two glasses are for them.”

“Right. Why should I listen to you again when you’ve spiked their drinks?”

“Because”, she said, “What you’re holding is an infatuation drug.”

Heesung snorted, “So it’s a love potion? I knew you were a romantic Win, but you do know she’s marrying Mr. Akira right?”

“Not if I can help it”, the girl muttered, “She doesn’t deserve it, and is in love with someone else. And it’s not a love potion, it’s a drug.”

Rolling his eyes, the waiter picked up the tray of drinks, “So it’s a love shot then”, he asked, proud of his pun, “And I suppose you think it’s Mr Akira’s nephew?” Still, he pushed the two glasses a little away from each other so he remembered what he was instructed to do. He still thought it was ridiculous though.

“It is, she told me herself, well not that bluntly, but I know it.”

Heesung pinched the bridge of his nose, “And what if your meddling backfires?”

“Wouldn't change a thing., everything is fucked anyways”, she said, “I just want her to have one thing going right for her.”

Winter took the vial back, stuffing it into the pockets of her uniform and straightening out her apron. The smell of whatever was cooking wafted through the air as she composed herself again, “See you later Heesung, don’t mess up the drinks.”

Winter hoped her meddling would pay off

You walked into the dining hall, head held high as you made eye contact with the Qians. Akira gave you his sickly smile, Yuxi with her worried gaze and Chenle still oblivious. Kun looked confused as he watched you approach the table, taking the seat you usually did, before the entire truth came out.

Sitting down, your eyes flitted to Kun’s before you looked down at your lap, plastering on a fake smile and looking at Akira, greeting him.

“I take it you're better?” He asked this, leaning forward, “You must have been really sick, staying away for so many days. It's been a little over a week?”

You nodded, “Yes, I apologize for my absence.” You realized someone, probably Kun had covered for you. The waiter approached, handing everyone their respective drinks, before bowing and leaving.

You raised the glass to your lips, inspecting the table, eyes meeting Yuxi’s who averted her gaze immediately.

She knew too.

Suppressing a scoff, you decided to address the elephant in the room and announce what decision you had come to. You still weren;t completely happy, but it was better than nothing, and you had stood your ground against your mother, who finally agreed, albeit begrudgingly.

“I revoke our little arrangement Mr. Qian”, you said after clearing your throat. He raised an eyebrow at this, a sliver of panic visible in his eyes, “And why is that?”

“I know”

Those two words had held so much, his eyes widened as he stared at you dumbfounded. That dumbfounded expression morphed into one of misplaced anger. “You are not the one to say that.”

“Yes I am”, you said cooly, “I am the one getting married, well not anymore. My mother has agreed and I want nothing more to do with you.”

He clenched his jaw, visibly trying to control his anger. “A deal is a de-”

“Alright, I’ll tell you why you should agree”, you said with a mocking smile. Somewhere in the back of your mind you began to feel slightly drowsy, but you pushed it away, looking at Kun once more.

You didn’t want to look away.

The two of your eyes locked and it felt like you were falling. You could almost feel his lips on yours, his hands on your wait, the way he kissed you-

You snapped back to reality, looking away. 

“I have a message on the top of my fingers ready to be sent right now”, you said, “To the police about your little dealings and the fact that you killed my father”, the words rolled off your tongue easily, almost as if you were talking about something as mundane as the weather, “And then you’ll be ruined.”

Akira paled, and it was clear who held the ropes over the conversation now. You decided to give him proof, raising your hand that held your phone, finger hovering over a number.

“But this can be avoided! You see, just call off the deal”, you took another sip of whatever the waiter had given you, mind going ever so slightly fuzzy once again. “And I’ll keep silent. No one will ever know.”

He clicked his tongue, “You were my repayment.”

“I know, I was a prop hmm?”, you said, “Not anymore, call this off right now Akira.”

He sighed, as if he knew he had lost. There was no point in fighting anymore. “We’re done”, he said finally, and you smirked in triumph, taking another sip of your drink, “Thank you.”

Winter came around with the food, looking suspiciously at you and Kun, before walking away. You sighed, that feeling of blankness returning. You still had to deal with Kun, of course you did, but you didn’t want to do so now. That would make everything messy, but fuck, for some reason all you could think about was the way he kissed you.

This was bad. You had to stop.

You looked at your food, pushing it away and getting up, sighing, the adrenaline from confronting Akira. Did you expect to win? No, but now that you had, your head swam as you got to your feet, glancing at Winter, nodding your head slightly.

“Goodbye”, you said, “I have no business with you anymore.”

Leaving your dinner and the table, you walked into the hallways and sighed in relief. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and you could finally breathe again. You made your way to your room, before stopping outside a door, freezing in your place.

That door led to the hall where you and Kun had that water balloon fight. You took a step towards it, placing your hand on the knob, but not opening it. You didn’t want to open it, just wanted to reminisce.

“Trying to run away from us? Or me? Because you’re still slow.”

You whipped your head around, meeting Kun’s gaze, “something like that.” Your voice was cautious as if you were walking on nails. As if you weren’t trying to not stare at his lips.

He leaned against the wall, staring at you as if he was trying to crack a code. His mind went fuzzy as well, the drug taking effect as it had for you. But both of you were fighting against it, desperate to win.

When did winning come at the cost of losing everything you loved?

Loved?

You bit your lower lip, averting your gaze. The tension in the room had risen tenfold, the way the two of you tried to navigate the gray area you had fallen into.You wondered why the world couldn’t be simple, black and white. Why couldn’t it be bad and good? Why did it have to be so complicated?

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear. You snapped back to attention, forcing yourself to get out of your little headspace. Looking up, you met his eyes, and by god, you had never regretted doing anything more than that.

His eyes, they were dark,  voids of nothingness. They didn’t sparkle like they usually did, shining in the light. Instead they were like pools of ink, no light let in. Gone was the smirk you were so used to.

“I know”, you said simply, realizing it was true. You acknowledged the fact that he was sorry.

A bitter chuckle fell from his lips, “I hate myself for not telling you the moment I found out, but everything was so-”

“Messed up?” You finished his sentence, giving him a crooked smile, “Yeah, I get it. It’s all over now though”

“Over”, he repeated, “Right.”

Silence.

“I don’t want it to be over”

You looked at him, a sigh escaping you, “Kun-”

“You’re you, and I don’t want to lose you”, he said bluntly, “You can hate me-I hate myself, but I don't want it to be over.” You began to feel drowsy again, all you wanted to do was walk away and forget the past two months, because now you were attached. Emotionally.

“But I understand if you want nothing to do with us, with me-”

You took a step forward, leaning towards him and pressed your lips to his, mind going completely blank now. You wanted to melt into him, as he kissed you back in surprise, to forget.

You couldn’t do that.

He cupped your face, kissing you again. There it was that feeling, that feeling of drowning. Make it stop, stop, I want to breathe, you thought, before giving up. You liked the breathlessness, even if you tried not to.

Pulling away, you looked at him one last time, before pushing yourself off of him, away from the door that led into the hall, away from him. Kun watched you walk away, down the hallway, before you turned the corner.

And then you were gone.

You leaned against the railing of the deck, watching the water below you. The ripples were somewhat soothing, as you hummed an idle tune.

“Y/n Osaki”, you turned around to face the owner of the voice, Kun himself. He smiled taking position next to you, “Remember when I said I didn’t know who you were?”

You chuckled nodding, “Yeah.”

It had bewildered you at the time, the way he pretended he didn’t know who you were. Now you wished he really didn’t. That seemed so long ago.

It had been a week since the confrontation, a week since the last kiss. The effects of the infatuation drug had long worn off, but what was real was left behind. All the drug had done was amplify it. You didn’t see the Qian family much after it, making a point to avoid them. You didn’t have a reason to see them anyways, you were done.

Yet you still had unfinished business.

The cruise was coming to an end anyways, so what was even the point? Your life would go back to normal like nothing had happened, even though your world had been ripped apart and was holding itself together by threads.

Kun cleared his throat, “We need to talk.”

“We’re talking right now”, you said, avoiding the heavy meaning in his words. 

He sighed, letting it drop for a second before speaking up again, “I didn’t know myself until I asked Akira”, he said, not specifying what exactly he was talking about, but you already knew. “I asked him if you knew who he was and he told me the whole story, and I was….”, he trailed off, searching for the correct word, “horrified.”

“I believe you”, you said softly, “I’ve forgiven you.”

You haven’t forgotten though, you doubt you could ever forget something like this.

Kun didn’t know if that made him feel any better, but he knew he had to get it off his chest. He wondered how he could get you back. You seemed cold again, like the day he met you, closed off and wary of everything. You had a right to be, but he wanted the Y/n he had grown accustomed to, back.

“So”, he said, “Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth Bennet?”

“I thought we agreed on a truce?” You let a smile slip, amused. He grinned, “We did, but I have to know.”

You thought for a second, before inclining your head with a sheepish smile, “I’ll eat my words Qian Kun, Mr. Darcy has grown on me.”

“I’m glad. I won after all”, he said childishly, and you couldn’t help but scoff. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Why don’t I tell you something? Infact, I’ll say it in the words of Mr. Darcy himself”, he declared, “I found myself in this mess before I could do anything about it Y/n, and I can’t take what has happened. I cannot fix on the hour or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It was too long ago, I was in the middle before I knew it had begun.”

Your eyes softened as you shifted closer to him, meeting his own. Yours sparkled with mild amusement as you slipped your hand through his, “You do know that’s how Mr. Darcy tells Lizzy he loves her, right?”

“Is it?”, his eyes held the same mischievous glint yours did as he raised your held hands, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “I suppose it’s fitting then.”

And then he kissed you properly, fingers intertwined, wind in your hair. 

Were you happy? Not entirely, not yet. You still had duty, you still had to bear the weight of your family name. You had to live with knowing your mother was responsible for your fathers demise, you had to keep it a secret for Shotaro. You had to be perfect.

No, you weren’t happy, but you were getting there.

fin.

[dracowars]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a Draco fic where he and Y/N are cuddling together when Y/N receives an owl from her parents in which they give her bad news or scold her or something like that. Then she completely freaks out/shuts down and Draco calms her down and comforts her. I'm just really craving fluff and I love caring and protective Draco and would love to read something like this. If you don't wanna write it tho, that's a-okay. Thank you!

cursed | draco malfoy

pairing: draco x greengrass!reader

word count: 1,4k

summary: where draco comforts y/n after receiving bad news

a/n: omg, i'm so so sorry that this took so long!!! :(

warnings: angst, mentions of death

universe: harry potter

“AHH! Draco, stop it, please!”, you beg him in the middle of your fit of laughter, your body writhing under his while trying to avoid his tickling attacks. Because of all the laughter, your stomach already hurts, and your breathing turned irregular. Draco, on the other hand, does not seem as exhausted as you and therefore he does not even think about stopping any time soon and shows no mercy as he continues to tickle you.

“Make me”, he gives you a slick grin when he stops briefly to give you a break and to position himself on top of you, his legs on either side of your upper body.

Again, you try to stop him and try to get a hold of his hands until you finally manage to catch one of his arms in a firm grip. Breathing hard, you look in each other’s eyes and you immediately know that you have no chance against him. Draco is much stronger than you and will be able to get out of your grip quickly.

He would have been able to if it had not been for a white snowy owl flying in through the open window, landing on the small bedside table next to your head and looking at you with big eyes when neither Draco nor you move an inch. A rolled-up letter is attached to its foot and your heartbeat quickens all of a sudden when you realize that this white owl belongs to your family, the pureblood family Greengrass.

And whenever you get a letter from home, it always means trouble.

Quietly clearing your throat after a few seconds have passed, Draco finally crawls off you so you can sit up and remove the parchment from the owl’s claw, but not without exchanging worried looks with Draco beforehand. Happy to have been relieved of its heavy load, the snowy owl rises back into the air before disappearing out the window into the bright sunshine.

You sit on the edge of Draco’s bed with the long letter in your hands, already shaking in fear from the uncertainty of what you may read in it. Draco knows this and also about your bad relationship with your parents, which is why he sits down next to you instantly and gently strokes up and down your back with his hand. The atmosphere in the room suddenly changes as tension fills the air, the joy from only a few seconds ago gone with the owl that delivered the letter.

“I am sure they just want to congratulate you on passing your OWL’s”, Draco tries to calm you down and lowers his head to be able to look into your face, which is now only covered by a blank expression. Putting his index finger under your chin, he lifts your head up and leads you to him, looking straight into your eyes, his own gray ones still radiating concern.

“You know my parents”, you sigh out loud and slowly remove your face from his grasp, focusing your gaze back on the letter that is still closed. You slightly run your thumb over the green wax seal, which shows the crest of your family. For a brief moment, you close your eyes, mentally preparing yourself for what is to come – at least you try – and finally open the envelope.

While your eyes fly over the lines and paragraphs, Draco keeps his distance, but also keeps an eye on you the whole time, trying to already get a clue about what your parents could have wrote through your expression. It would be nothing new if they would scold you again or complain about your insufficient performance in Hogwarts. Draco has seen all of this before, and he is used to this because he too is struggling with his parents’ high expectations.

Stunned, you lower the letter after you finished reading it, your hands now trembling even more and your eyes full of tears- Your face looks pale and all emotion in your face vanished all of a sudden. You go through the words one by one in your head, repeat them over and over again in order to be able to understand them.

While doing this, however, a tear has already found its way down your cheek, giving Draco the sign that he has given you enough time alone and that you now need him. He quickly moves closer to you again, still remaining careful to still give you the necessary distance you may need.

“Babe? What did they write?”, Draco asks carefully as he brushes a strand of hair from your face and behind your ear. You still do not move at his gentle touch, your gaze fixed straight ahead.

“Whatever they wrote, I am certain that they did not mean it”, Draco continues, only looking into your now sad face. “You are such a wonderful person and your parents-“

“My mother is going to die”, you interrupt him and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you can hardly believe them yourself. Even after everything you read in the letter, even now you still do not understand these words. A sudden silence arises until you blink your tears away and turn to Draco, who still looks at you with shock written all over his face.

“I-I am- I am so sorry”, Draco stutters, just as surprised by your statement as you are. However, not letting another second pass, he pulls you into a tight, loving and overall protective hug. A hug that has always given you more comfort than anyone else could.

Draco gently strokes your hair and lets you cry into his shoulder until you have calmed down a bit. Keeping you at arm’s length in front of him, he looks at you worried, still with big question marks over his head.

“Our- Our family has been cursed for generations already”, you utter while sobbing, wiping away a few of your tears while Draco listens attentively, his hand firmly clasped around yours. “W-With a blood curse.”

After saying this, Draco seems to have no words and you can see that he immediately wonders if you, like your mother, are also affected by this curse.

“I-I do not know if I will have it. I also can’t say whether if affects Daphne or Astoria. In some generations it has never appeared before and was passed onto the next generation nevertheless”, you explain as best you can since your parents never told you and your sisters much about it, after all until recently they assumed that their generation and the one from you and your sisters has been spared. “There is n-no cure. The curse weakens the body to such an extent that it is very likely to result in.. death.”

“Babe, I do not know what to say-“

“You do not have to say anything, Draco. I lied to you. We lied to everyone here. Nobody knows that our family had this deadly curse, otherwise we would- Otherwise the pureblood families would no longer accept us as one of them”, you sniff and try to force a smile onto your face while looking into Draco’s compassionate eyes. “I would like to say that I do not mind that my mother do has the curse after all, but-“

“But she is still your mother, Y/N. No matter how she treated you. You do not have to justify yourself for feeling this way”, Draco assures you and pulls you into his strong arms again, immediately making you feel much safer and more secure. Because of the sudden closeness, all dams break within you and this time you let all of your tears run free. Draco hold your trembling body in his arms and tries to give you the support you need right now. It pains him to see you like this and he can understand how torn you must feel in this situation. Your mother was always the one in particular who pushed you, even forced you, to have good grades in school, and now that you both know what fate she has, it still feels wrong to say that she deserves it.

At this moment, however, you are just glad that you are not alone, that you do not have to carry this burden alone. That you were finally able to tell Draco about your family’s biggest secret. You know that he and your sisters will always be by your side, no matter what the future holds for you.

“Everything will be alright.”

[charmingyong]

Noxious Cherry (1)

Part 1 | Part 2

Genre: criminal!Taeyong x fem!reader

Warnings: psycho, deception, theft, shootings, swearing, car explosion

Word count: 2.7k

Plot: You found a pink haired man lying on the ground and decided to check up on him when you should have run away. 

A/N: I AM OBSESSED WITH TY’S GTA! This genre reminds me of @taeyongtime’s Pre: Ace of Fools so do check that out if wanting another psycho read.

Gif: mine

- ❀ -

Finally home time!

The feeling of settling into your car after the end of your night shift was a pleasant one. You relaxed your head against the headrest and let the exhaustion from having to stand hours preparing the endless coffee orders leave your body before starting your car. You drove down the empty streets, a few nonfunctioning streetlamps creating a dim lighting along the sidewalks. Mindlessly, you passed by a park where a dark figure laid still on the ground.

Reaching a red light of an intersection, you thought back to the thing you caught a glimpse of earlier and something itched in you to go back and check it out. When the lights turned green, you made a U-turn and found the figure still there, unmoving.

Walking closer to it, you realized it was a boy with pink hair, eyes closed looking unconscious, though his chest rhythmically rose up and down. You squinted to get a better look of his face under the low lighting and did not spot a single scratch on the skin to hint any signs of him being injured.

Is he okay? you thought. Should I wake him up?

Worried that he could have been bruised under his clothes, you called for him. “Hello? Are you okay?”

Hearing your voice, his eyes fluttered open and his breath hitched upon seeing a beautiful face up close. You were relieved that he was alive, but grew uneasy when he merely stared at you, not responding back to you with words.

“Um, are you okay?” you asked again, hoping he would say something about why he was on the ground in the middle of the night.

He only groaned as he shifted his weight to sit upright, rolling his neck and shoulders in circles to alleviate the tensed muscles.

“Should I call the ambula-”

“Don’t,” he cut you off with a small glare. He couldn’t afford getting caught if he were taken to the hospital, especially when he didn’t even need to go there in the first place.

You bit your lip nervously, unsure what to do next. You didn’t want to be rude and leave him alone all of a sudden, but you really wanted to go home. Should you drop him home? Get a grip, Y/N! He was a stranger, and you couldn’t tell if he was safe enough to bring him inside your car. “But are you hurt?”

“It’s not that bad,” he replied. “Just take me home.”

Shit.

Looked like you were taking him into your car.

“Where do you live?” You hoped he didn’t live somewhere too far so you could get under the covers of your cozy blankets as soon as you could.

The boy cocked his head to the side and gazed at you in amusement. “Take me to your home.”

You were thankful it wasn’t summer just yet. Otherwise, mosquitoes would have entered your jaw-dropped mouth. Was he crazy? Why would anyone in their right mind ask to be taken to a complete stranger’s home? Especially one where you lived alone. “Why my home? Don’t you have one?”

He propped his upper body up with hands resting beside him, watching you with a dark glint in his eyes that you failed to notice. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

The boy was adamant and wouldn’t take no for a response, making you pray to the Lords that nothing bad would happen when taking home the pink haired whose name you learned was Taeyong.

-

Your keys repeatedly failed to connect with the lock of your house. It was hard to when Taeyong’s intense gaze was fixed on your side profile. “Sorry,” you nervously chuckled. “I’m really tired from work,” you tried reasoning.

After struggling for a while, he snatched the key from your grasp and unlocked the door, pushing it open and inviting himself in. You stay rooted by the entrance, shocked that Taeyong casually opened the door and simply walked in as if it were his house.

Taeyong looked around your place, interested to see the soft-hearted person you were with various photos of your loved ones hanging on the walls.

“Do you need the first aid kit?” you asked.

He touched himself in the stomach and hissed. “Yeah.”

You nodded and went to search for the kit in the bathroom. When out of his sight, Taeyong plopped down on the sofa, letting out a long exhale and half smiled. He found it new and amusing with someone being concerned for his well-being.

With the kit in your hand, you took a moment to calm down your racing heart. Taeyong was not letting you feel comfortable for a reason that you failed to decipher. You met your gaze in the mirror and told yourself that nothing bad should happen. How could a wounded boy harm a girl?

You walked back into the living room and were relieved to see Taeyong resting on the sofa with his eyes closed. If he wanted to harm you, then he wouldn’t be lounging around like that. “I brought it.”

He hummed and opened one eye. “You can leave it there and head for bed,” he said nodding towards the small table in front of him.

“Don’t you need any help though?” What if he had any wounds on his back that he couldn’t reach?

Taeyong clicked his tongue. “I’ll be fine.”

“I have a guest bedroom. You can sleep there,” you offered.

He shook his head. “I’m fine here.”

“But the sofa isn’t-”

“I’m fine.”  

You bit back your tongue, letting him decide on his own what was best for him. It was odd that he wouldn’t opt for a bed to let his body relax and heal faster. “Okay, I’ll bring you a pillow and blanket then.”

“I don’t need them. That throw will be fine.” He pointed at one draped over the armchair.

Were you being too pushy? Why was this guy refusing everything that you were kindly offering? “Okay… I’ll head up then. G’night.” With that, you hurriedly went up to your refuge and finally called it a night.

Once the coast was clear, Taeyong pulled off his denim jacket and shirt over his head, observing his skin.

Flawless skin.

Not a single wound spotted.

You’re a cute one, he thought and smirked to himself.

- ❀ -

You took Taeyong out for shopping the next day, as per his so-called request. It was more of a demand. You didn’t understand why he was staying at your place but decided to keep your mouth shut and hoped that he’d leave you soon.

While you wandered around the cosmetics section, Taeyong left your side, his eyes catching interest of the sparkling diamonds department.

“Hello, sir. What would you like to see?” the woman behind the counter asked sweetly.

Taeyong paid no mind looking at her and locked his gaze on a specific 2 carat round eternity engagement ring in 14k white gold. “How much is that?” he pointed at the ring enclosed in the display case.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars, sir.”

Taeyong let out a whistle and propped his elbow on the casing. He turned around to search for you, finding you try on a couple of samples on your skin, and his lips curled up when seeing you pleased with the products.

The man not being by your side gave you some time to calm your heart down. You didn’t know why you felt that way with Taeyong when he hadn’t done anything to harm you. Something warned you from the inside to not trust him, even though he hadn’t done anything to invade your privacy at home. You were glad that he chose to sleep downstairs and so a part of you grew fond for him despite the short time.

Then what was this feeling that you probably made a grave mistake for helping him out last night?

You put away the product testers and searched for Taeyong, spotting the pink one easily as he leisurely passed by two security guards and picked out a pistol from its holder without them knowing.

“What the…” you breathed out. What was this guy going to do with a gun?

Taeyong made his way over to the fire alarm system and pulled it down. A loud, 3-beep pattern resonated throughout the store and numerous customers panicked, dashing out the building while the guards tried to figure out what was going on. The boy walked back to the diamonds where the employee was still there, frantically locking everything up before leaving for safety.

“Give me the ring,” Taeyong ordered. His blank expression made the woman not take him seriously and ignored him. Just when she was about to leave the counter, Taeyong held up the gun at her forehead and repeated. “Give me or I’ll shoot you.”

“B-But th-there’s a fire!” she cried. She didn’t want to die from the fire, or from the gunshot, or from her boss that she gave one of the most expensive rings away for free.

“There’s no fire. Quit wasting time or I’ll shoot.”

The guards caught up on the situation. “Hey you! Put that gun down or I’ll shoot you!” one said, while the other informed the situation through his walkie talkie.

Taeyong grabbed the woman in the blink of an eye, holding her as a shield with the gun pressed against her temple. “If you come near me, she dies.”

The guards backed away and held their hands up. “Okay okay! Let her go, man.”

I will, but after I get my ring, he thought.

He pulled the worker behind the counter, keeping her in front of him, and ordered her again. She obeyed, the fear of having to die from his gun scariest than any other consequence she’d have to face later. “D-Do you want the r-ring casing?”

“Just the damn ring.”

She handed it over with shaky hands. He shoved it inside the pocket of his jeans and shot the two guards down. The woman screamed and he pushed her away.

“Chill. I won’t kill you unless you get in my way.”

He sprinted to your rooted spot where you silently watched the scene unfold. Taeyong pulled you out of your shock self when he grabbed your hand and darted for the exit, letting your feet automatically respond to his action.

“Pass me the car key,” he instructed.

You didn’t want to, not when he shot two people in front of your eyes. But you chose to trust him than get caught now that you were technically his partner in crime. You both rushed to your car with him diving into the driver’s seat while you in the passenger. The police sirens could be heard from a distance and Taeyong wasted no time and slammed on the accelerator without putting on his seatbelt.

He went over the speed limit, overtaking the slower cars in the lanes as he tried to widen the gap between him and the flashing red and blue lights. A red traffic light was fast approaching, and cars were lined up ahead. But the boy made no plans to pull the brakes.

“You need to slow down!” you screamed.

The pink haired peeked at the rearview mirror, spotting the cops not too far behind them.

“Taeyong, stop!” Right before he could touch the stopped vehicles, he swerved the car abruptly to the empty lanes.

The lanes for the opposite direction.

You pulled at your hair, close to losing your sanity. “Are you fucking trying to kill us?”

The cops took a while to decide on the next course of action before following suit. He smirked, pleased with himself. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m good at this.”

Traffic was ongoing perpendicular to your direction and you were horrified with what the psycho was planning to do next. Without slowing the speed, Taeyong sped through the intersection once spotting an opening. Cars screeched to a stop and honked at the maniac driver.

This was a nightmare.

The very nightmare that the pink haired found thrilling.

Once on a street clear of any other vehicles besides yours and the police, you shouted, “I’m feeling fucking sick!”

“Hang in there. The show’s almost over.”

Wait…

What?

He checked the rearview again and the spacing was perfect. There were only two cars after them, making it easy for his plan to work.

Taeyong slammed the brakes and turned the steering wheel all the way, spinning the car 360 degrees. You screamed and held onto the handle tightly, shutting your eyes.

“Hold the wheel,” he said.

“What?”

He grabbed your hand and placed it on the steering wheel. “Hold it,” he directed. After you did, Taeyong pushed your head below the windows, clear from his aim. He lowered the glass barriers and shot at an incoming auto, aiming perfectly at the one in front of the other which resulted it to swerve out of control. This caused the one behind it to collide and flip over onto its roof. And not too long after-

BAAM!

It exploded into flames, ending the chase.

-

Taeyong stepped out of your new car and you followed, slamming the door shut angrily. “Why the fuck did you do that?” Your eyes moisten from the intense anger that built up inside.

He rounded the vehicle and stopped in front of you, alarming you when he suddenly grabbed your hand.

You tried to yank your hand free, but his grip was tight. “What the hell are you doing?”

His hand dug in his pocket for the stolen ring and slid it onto your ring finger. “I got this for you,” he spoke quietly while admiring the beauty that rested on your hand.

Your rage died for a moment, puzzled that he’d do such a thing to get you a ring. “Why?” Tears fell from its place and you wailed. “Why did you do it?” You never asked for any of this, from the theft to the shootings, to him even changing your car at a dealership who he was well acquainted with.

Taeyong shrugged coolly as if it was no big deal. “Just felt like it. I saw it and I wanted to get it for you. Usually I steal cars, so be honoured that I stole a beauty like that for you.” He winked at you and walked inside your house.

You took a moment to scream your frustration out, almost kicking the car before deciding against it. Walking in, you found the boy sprawled on the sofa, eyes closed.

“If you wanted to get me it, then you should have paid for it like a normal person would!”

He peeked at you through one eye. “Do you know how much that’s worth?”

It was a no brainer that it was expensive. But exactly how much… “No.”

“Twenty-five grand.”

Talk about getting all the wind knocked out of your lungs. That was nearly how much you’d make in a year and you were not going to wear it.

Especially when it was involved in a criminal act.

You ripped it off your finger and chucked it at him. He swiftly caught it as if he expected that reaction from you.

“Get the fuck out of my house! And don’t you dare show me your face again!”

Taeyong slowly sauntered to you, a predatory look in his eyes. You backed away from him trying to keep a distance until your backside met the wall. He trapped you in his arms, resting his hands on either sides of your face and wore a smug smile. “I can. But what will happen to you?”

You blinked and attempted to gulp down the ball forming at the back of your throat. “W-What do you mean?”

He lifted one hand off and showed you the ring. “They’ll be looking for this and footage from the security cameras will show that there was a boy and a girl that left together with the ring.”

Oh crap.

“I’m an expert at running away without getting caught, sweetheart. But if you don’t want to get caught, then you’ll have to keep me around. I’ll make sure both of us will be safe.” Taeyong leaned close to your ear, whispering with a hot breath that sent a shiver down your spine, “It’s my specialty.”

[hockeyboysiguess]

how to cross a hurricane | m. rantanen

a/n: well... she’s finally here. i’ve had this idea in my head since early july. i’ve rewritten parts of this a ton since then, but it’s finally here. i’m really proud of this fic and i hope you all really love it! shout to @nolypats (who has been with me through EVERY version of this story, god bless you) @slapshot-to-the-heart, @jasondickinsons​, and @danglesnipecelly​ for all of your supportive words. this would not have been finished without any of you. all that’s left is to say enjoy!

word count: 40,379 (eeeep!)

warnings: some swearing, a little vague smut at the end. 

wine pairing recommendation: something with a low alcohol content because you’re going to be here for a while honestly. whatever you have in your fridge with the lowest alcohol content.

After eight months on the road, twelve countries, seventy-two cities, without more than a few days stop at the house she owned in Los Angeles, the apartment furnished by some local interior designer who thought they knew her tastes but never actually asked her what she liked, felt as good a home as any other. Really, after eight years of consistent travel, near constant comings and goings, the next stretch of time, the almost year in her calendar that was completely blank, was going to be the single longest Josephine Evans had spent in any one place since she was fourteen and still lived with her parents.

Taking time off, an entire year, wasn’t Josephine’s idea. She was a workaholic to the levels practically unheard of, but it was hard not to think about work all the time when her work was the only thing she had ever really wanted to do, a childhood dream made reality that people constantly tried to take away from her. She had almost broken when her manager, Krista, acting more like a general sending a soldier home from war than a manager, told her to pack a bag, pack a lot of bags, and get the hell out of town for a while. It hadn’t been a suggestion. There hadn’t been any room for debate. She made it clear to Jo, who she had known from the time she was eight years old, that this wasn’t a discussion. Jo had tried to argue for a month off, that was all she said she needed, but that had earned her a one-way ticket out of Los Angeles, and a firm ban on stepping foot in New York City either. Krista had told Jo that the fact that she was a twenty-three year old woman who worked her ass off every single day, but couldn’t even take a month off at a beach somewhere was something that needed to be rectified, immediately. Jo couldn’t do anything halfway, all or nothing, everything or bust, so she was chased out of a town she sort of ran with a wave of Krista’s hand, telling her that the world would continue to turn without her. Krista added insult to injury when she told Jo the world she ran would probably spin better if she actually took the time to rest her voice, get her head on straight, and deal with the recurring issues in her life before coming back.

Jo walked over to her fridge, finding nothing but the takeout she had picked up on her way to the apartment, her apartment, from the airport, and instead going for the wine fridge under the opposite counter. No one had stocked the fridge for her, but Krista had made sure the wine fridge was stocked and honestly, what more could she want? It took Jo a few attempts to find the wine glasses, mentally making a note to move them to a shelf she could reach without climbing onto the counter, taking her glass and a bottle of something white and sweet looking to the only part of the apartment that was exactly her taste, the massive, pillow-filled couch. 

The wine was thankfully almost as sweet as it looked when Jo finally poured herself a glass. She let out a long, deep sigh, willing some of the stress of the day to melt away. No one in her life seemed to get that the very act of trying to take a break was stressful for Jo because all she was thinking about was everything she wasn’t doing, everything that was going undone, and what the results of the lapse in activity might be. Could she really put her entire career aside for a year? Jo had kicked and scratched and clawed her way to success in spite of a veritable army of men who thought they knew better than her. They tried to tell her she wasn’t talented enough, that she wasn’t a good enough song writer, that she wasn’t a good enough singer, that she didn’t have the “it” factor to make it. She had looked those men in the face, spit on their blatant sexism, and won every award they said she couldn’t, made number one album after number one album, sold out headline arena shows, all before she turned twenty-four. She was, unfortunately for them and the bets they made against her, a ubiquitous in the most unavoidable way possible. 

The only problem was it was also unfortunate for Jo, something she hadn’t even been aware of when she was six dreaming of being the one on stage on the television, something she didn’t fully understand all the repercussions of when she signed that record deal when she was fifteen. Twenty-three-year-old Jo was now reaping the rewards of that contract, and the even more lucrative extension she had gotten two years ago, but paying a steep price for them. She got to live in penthouse apartments like the one she was in and pay for a sweatshirt that didn’t need to cost anywhere near as much as it did while not giving a damn if she spilled wine on it tonight. She got to go to parties people would die for just a glimpse of and hang out with people others dreamed out. But now, Jo didn’t feel like a little girl whose greatest wish came true. She felt absolutely and utterly alone, staring out at the beautiful Denver skyline, high rises and mountains sharing the landscape, without even her work to distract her.

Jo picked Denver much to the surprise of almost everyone in her life. She had grown up here. Well, Jo had done some of her growing up here. Her parents picked up and moved to Los Angeles for the sake of Jo’s dream that wasn’t even close to a career when they did. Jo left before she was even double digits and had tried her hardest for years not to spend too much time here. Nostalgia was a dangerous thing when experienced unchecked. Being in Denver was a veritable fire of unchecked nostalgia for Jo. She looked out and remembered her childhood with those same mountains in the background, remembered when things were simpler, when dreams were just dreams and not her everyday reality. Dreams were meant to be inside one’s head, not out in the world. They were always tainted during the move from one’s head to the real world. Being here in this city, Jo remembered when the life she lived was the purest dream she had ever had and she longed for simpler days. 

Jo debated texting one of the few friends she knew was around the city; people were always coming in and out of Denver, which was just a hop away from her unfortunately beloved Los Angeles. Actually, Jo deeply hated LA and she didn’t really feel all that bad for saying it. She hadn’t grown up there, an LA transplant like almost everyone she knew, so there was no loyalty. The best things in Jo’s life had happened in LA, but so had the worst, some of the things Krista has been referring to when she had told Jo to get her head on straight out here in Denver. Jo wasn’t going to deal with any of that tonight. Instead, she was going to try and think of all the things she could possibly do in Denver that she couldn’t do in LA, both for the constant paparazzi and for the fact that LA had summer and not as much summer as its only seasons. Plans calmed her, even when she wasn’t supposed to have them. 

She could go skiing, or, she could learn to ski anyway, maybe in the winter. It was only September, not exactly peak skiing weather. Winter reminded Jo of Denver always, a place she rarely made it back to anymore since her parents had since moved to Florida, like it seems most people’s parents do eventually. Jo’s success had just allowed them to go sooner than they would have otherwise. Winter made her feel like a kid again, the one that lived here in Denver with big dreams and missing teeth and frizzy hair that was supposed to be curly but no one had known how to take care of it. Jo couldn’t wait for the first snowfall, even though the leaves hadn’t even started to change color yet. Maybe she could go ice skating, if she wore a scarf around her face. Maybe she could build a snowman, even if she had to do it all by herself, and even if she didn’t have any gloves yet.

Maybe a return to Denver would be good for her. The mile-high air could lighten the heavy weight on her shoulders of people’s expectations and the pressure she put on herself because of them, letting her take a deep breath of non-suffocating air, nothing like what she was forced to breathe in LA. Maybe Jo might just learn how to take a break and give herself a break for the first time in a really long time, maybe in her entire life. Tonight though, tonight wasn’t going to solve anything. Tonight, Jo found the bottom of a bottle of cheap wine, the only kind she really liked, and then fell asleep in foreign sheets, but she didn’t really know what her own sheets were supposed to feel like anymore, so it didn’t make a difference. Jo slept like shit anyway. 

Jo woke up not enough hours later, but when she was up, she was up. It had always been one of her biggest problems with remaining rested and level headed on the road; she couldn’t sleep just anywhere, anytime, no matter how tired she was. She stumbled into the kitchen with a sliver of hope Krista had supplied her with coffee along with wine, but her hopes were dashed further and further with each cabinet she opened, until her hopes were nonexistent. She knew her only option at this point was going out, not her strong suit, but a baseball cap from a local sports team, some old Levis, a plain white t-shirt, and pair of Raybans might have hid all of her best features, but that’s exactly what she was looking for at seven shitty in the morning on her first full morning in Denver. 

Jo managed to get through a Starbucks drive through unseen and ended up just driving around under the guise of wanting to get a better feel for her new neighborhood, but really just needing to drive for a bit. A bit turned into hours and hours turned into needing to get gas. She finally checked her phone that day. Her phone was usually the first thing she did in the morning, the last thing before she went to bed, and a whole lot of what she did in between. She scrolled through, a few from her mom, asking about the apartment, some lingering group chats about some party going down in LA tonight, and one from her friend Helena that was actually relevant. 

Hey Jo! Welcome to Denver!!!!! The hometown gaining the BEST old/new resident :) anyway, having a thing at my place tonight, chill people only, I promise. Think you might wanna show that Vogue covergirl face???

Chill people only was LA code for people who wouldn’t take her photo and post it all over the internet with a glazed over look in her eyes that the media would only infer terrible, inaccurate things from. Jo didn’t even get to think about her response before a second text came through. 

Also some REALLY cute REALLY single guys if you’re looking for a little Denver somebody ;) 

Jo was absolutely not looking for a little Denver somebody. Jo was looking for a little Denver nothing. After a series of relationships that all ended the same way with guys who were all essentially variations on the same concept of a man, Jo was not looking for anything at all. Jo thought a lot about love; it’s the reason she wrote music, in a bid to understand her emotions, love being the one she understood the least about. Jo knew that she was difficult to love, at least, that was the core behind every breakup she had ever gone through. The circumstances surrounding her, the ever present hurricane of the media and fans and the prying eyes of naysayers, made her almost impossible to reach, even though she tried desperately to make herself available for people to love. Josephine tried so hard, but the answer was always the same. She would always be too hard to love, require more effort than another nice, pretty girl with good intentions. Nothing about her was worth fighting through the category five hurricane made by the crowds in the stadiums she performed in, and the people outside the walls of them with pitchforks and daggers. No one ever got out from her attempt to love unscathed. She always caused the people she loved immense, insurmountable pain, and there wasn’t a fucking thing she could do about it. She just sat in the eye of the storm because she knew what it felt like to walk through it. She had tried over and over again, each time coming back to the calm of the eye, battered and bruised and worse for wear than the times before. It was uncrossable and as long as it was uncrossable, Jo would be unlovable. So, no, she wasn’t looking for anything in Denver, absolutely nothing at all.

Jo did need more than a couple of friends in Denver and drinking a bottle of wine alone in her apartment for the second night in a row wasn’t exactly the image she tried to portray. She shot Helena back a quick text asking for the details for tonight. Helena was a good person with even better intentions, but if Jo let it slip to even one good person with good intentions that she wasn’t looking for anything, she should prepare for a rumor to get out that she was seeing someone, which would start the witch hunt through her Instagram and Twitter follows, through every public record to find someone it could be. No one Jo trusted, Helena least of all, ever meant to; their intentions were pure. Someone would just tell a slightly wrong person that Jo wasn’t available who would tell another even more slightly wrong person and so on until the game of telephone reached the ears of someone whose mouth would move for a price from the gossip columns. Jo ignored her racing thoughts, rejected the option for a receipt at the gas pump, then drove to the apartment that didn’t quite feel like hers. 

A delivery of groceries, a hot shower, and the removal of some odd pieces of art and decoration someone else had placed did go a long way in making Jo feel like this was more of a home. Jo had fussed around enough for ten people already before noon, so instead she dusted off her old list of shows she swore to various people she would get around to watching when tour was over, letting Netflix play episode after episode until it was actually time to get ready. Jo didn’t take a lot of time to get ready for things, much to the surprise of most people. She preferred sleep, something that she often lacked, so her getting ready routine was condensed to exactly the things she wanted, no more, no less. She wasn’t too picky about outfits either. Almost everything she owned for casual purposes went together. She wore extravagant, out of the box things all the time. Sometimes, it was nice just to be able to put on black jeans, ankle boots, and a black cropped long sleeve shirt and head out the door without any fussing. People fussed about her enough; Jo wasn’t about to join them. 

The address was close enough for Jo to walk, something else she rarely got to do, just go for a walk outside. The early September air was chillier than she thought it would be and she briefly wished she had brought a jacket, but she would be drinking her jacket for the walk back and drunk Jo was liable to forget everything that wasn’t in her pockets. She punched in the code to the building Helena had given her, and made her way up to the penthouse suite, thrilled to find the party already in full swing when she arrived. Arriving too early usually gained her a lot of stares and whispers that made her regret ever getting off her couch. 

Jo walked through the party with her head hung low, in search of Helena and her bright red hair. She was the easiest person to spot at a party because you could hear her from a mile away and if the music was somehow louder than her, she had fire engine red hair you could spot from across town. She was in the living room, tucked among a crowd of people Jo didn’t recognize anyone in, so she veered toward the kitchen instead where the drinks were most likely to be found, grabbing the first thing she could get in a hand on, none too picky after too much time being picky when she was younger and everyone wanted to impress her, to be her friend based solely on their own self-interests. Now, Jo drank anything she could get herself without making too much of a fuss. 

“Hey, are you Josephine Evans? There’s no way, but my buddy swears you look just like her. ”

Jo let her eyes droop shut as she mentally searched for the right personality to put on for this occasion. The problem was Jo wore so many faces, so many different personalities put on in an attempt to protect the real her, that she felt buried under all the faces and the expectations they represented. People always wanted her to look a certain way, talk a certain way, act a certain way, be a certain, pleasing way. What was pleasing to some was abhorrent to others and Jo had fractured herself a very long time ago, putting pieces of her in all of the faces she wore, just enough so they were all believable as the true Josephine Evans. She used to think the faces were entirely false, things she created to protect herself. But if Jo’s time alone so far had told her anything was that there really wasn’t much of her left when you stripped it all away. And she already knew she was a bad actress. 

Jo settled on the version of her that was cool, calm, and collected, could both crack and take a joke without feeling too much about it. The ideal party version of her that contained most of the self deprecating humor she possessed. Jo spun on her heels to face the guy who had spoken. Your standard man, tall but not too tall, medium colored hair, eyelashes that were too nice, a trait too many boys had, and a smile his parents paid good money for. Nothing to write home about, nothing to shrug your shoulders at, a median household income of a human being. 

“I hope you didn’t make a bet on that,” Jo let herself, more like forced herself, laugh it out, “because, yeah, that’s me. Just call me Jo.” 

Just call me Jo was probably one of her most used phrases, the ultimate ice breaker. For some reason, people were convinced that using her extremely public and logical shortening of her name opened a door to friendship, and guys tended to think the door was to her bedroom. It was just her name, like anyone else. The guy was talking and Jo wasn’t listening, hoping her neutral expression with active eyebrows was doing the work for her. His name started with a J, Jacob, Jason, Josh, something like that; all Jo knew is he was hitting on her, swinging way out of his league for the potential experience of Josephine Evan and well, Josephine Evans didn’t really give people who thought like that the time of day. She excused herself from the conversation shortly after it started in search of Helena or really, anyone else at the party who wasn’t like that guy had been. 

Helena was virtually free, as free as a hostess could get, when Jo saw her next and took her opportunity to slide in next to the tiny redhead. 

“Oh my god, it’s so good to see you!”

Helena wrapped Jo up in a crushing hug, impressive given how small Helena really was compared to almost every other person at her own party. She left an arm around Jo’s shoulders, somehow, after releasing her from her grasp. 

“It’s good to see you too, H,” Jo sighed, taking a sip of her beer. “Thanks for the invite.” 

“For you, Jo? Always,” Helena assured her. “So, how’s the time off going?” 

“It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours,” Jo reminded her softly, beer hanging near her lips as she spoke to take another sip when she finished. 

“You and I both know that’s practically a lifetime for you,” Helena laughs. “Wouldn’t surprise me if you’d driven yourself mad or taken over a small country with half that time.” 

Jo nodded softly. Helena might not have been too far off with driving herself mad in all reality. She has too much time to think. Jo with too much time to think led to far too many introspective thoughts that almost always became negative. She couldn’t help it though; she had always and probably would always be her own worst critic, including the people who were paid quite a lot of money to critique her. Jo did it for free, well, at the cost of her relationship with herself, and they lined their pockets with the profits off their critiques of her poorly wrapped as critiques of her art. 

“Well, you know me,” Jo laughed it off. 

“That I do, that I do,” Helena mused softly. “Which is why I single handedly have brought together Denver’s most eligible bachelors for you.”

“H,” Jo started, but Helena waved her off. 

She grabbed a flower from the vase on the window sill, a daisy, but the sentiment was still the same, and tucked it behind Jo’s right ear, much to her chagrin. The look she was giving Helena could melt glaciers, but Helena just smiled wider at her friend, resisting the urge to crumble under Jo’s icy stare. 

“Come on. You’re going to be here for a while. You can’t honestly tell me you want to be alone,” Helena’s small hands gripped Jo’s shoulders and pointed her toward the general population of the living room, “your whole time you’re here. Plus, there’s some real untapped snacks here and you need to broaden your horizons.” 

“My horizons are exactly as broad as I want them to be,” Jo quipped back easily, the response sliding off her tongue effortlessly. 

Helena scoffed and Jo could hear her friend’s eyes rolling, before she verbally blew past Jo, “Anyways, some Broncos players, some classic rich elite who live here because they just really like it, a couple of Denver Nuggets, and I hope you like hockey players, because I think the Avalanche boys are your most solid options in terms of looks and being decent human beings.” 

“H, I’m not interested,” Jo said firmly, fingers crushing the daisy under her fingers as she yanked it out from behind her ear. “I don’t care what sports team they all play for. I’m not looking.” 

“Oh, come on,” Helena groaned softly, popping up and down on her heels a little, making Jo scoff this time. “I get to live vicariously through you.” 

“You assembled all the hot guys in Denver you wish you could fuck so I could do it and then tell you about it?” 

If this was anyone other than Helena, Jo would’ve already been out the front door for this stunt. Helena deserved Jo’s presence more than almost anyone. There was no one who had stuck with her through more tsunamis of bullshit in Jo’s career than Helena. Helena actively supported Jo through thick and thin, ups and downs, diagonals and double-backs and every single ebb and flow. Also, Helena truly did mean well; she just couldn’t read between the lines to save her life. 

“Hey, I did this for you,” Helena pushed back. “You haven’t been seen with anyone since whatever his name was, I can’t remember, they’re all the same. It’s time for you to, you know, dust off the vaginal cobwebs and have some fun.” 

“I could engage with that,” Jo tipped her beer back and took a healthy swig, “but I’m not going to. I appreciate what you tried to do, but it’s just not where my head’s at right now. Maybe in a couple of months or something, but you know me. Too invested for casual, not enough time for serious, forever just drifting in the weird in between, destined to die alone.”

Helena breezed past that, knowing Jo long enough to know she was trying to change the topic by forcing Helena into a corner where the only way out was to accept the change of topic and correct Jo’s self deprecation. Helena knew well enough to know she wasn’t actually in a corner at all, just being made to seem like she was in one. 

“Whatever.” With a shake of her head, Helena surrendered for the night. “Just talk to some of them though. They’re decent guys and you could use more than one friend in Denver.” 

Helena failed to mention that apparently all of these men had geared themselves up for a night on the Bachelorette. Four conversations in that all seemed to start nicely, asking her about her tour, her asking about their seasons or whatever else they did, restaurant suggestions. But restaurant suggestions became asking her on dates. Asking her how she was liking Denver turned into neighborhood recommendations where they just so happened to live. 

By the fifth conversation, some rich guy whose dad paid for him to have an apartment nice enough and a car nice enough that he knew people he didn’t have the talent or personality to know, Jo had officially had it. She needed a break, eyes scanning the party for Helena, but there wasn’t any red hair to be found. She could’ve ducked into the cluster of women in the far corner, but she couldn’t differentiate a single one of them from any of the other girls who looked and dressed exactly like they did at parties crazier than this one in LA. They could’ve been the same women, but even if they weren’t, they were trying to be the same as them and Jo wasn’t in the mood to be asked to follow them all on Instagram and if they could tag her in their stories. Jo spotted the next best thing, a back stairwell tucked out of the way, vacant of any other partygoers, and slipped away from the guy with more hair product than her to make a break for it. 

Any empty rooftop greeted her at the top of the winding staircase and for that, Jo couldn’t have been more grateful. The rooftop air was cool, cooler than when Jo had walked over. She let out a long, drawn out breath, hands gripping the railing’s edge to ground her. She felt weightless in the worst way possible, without substance, like she could float away with the nighttime breeze. Despite the fact that millions of people would probably miss her, Jo felt like no one would if she floated away right now by a breeze from another realm taking pity on her, carrying her to some place that wasn’t this life. People would miss Josephine Evans, their favorite singer, their idol, the girl they could sleep with and instantly catapult themselves to a new level of fame, the girl whose coattails they could ride to the highest of heights. But no one really knew Jo, not even Jo herself, so who would actually miss her? 

Jo felt the tears fall down her cheeks before she even registered that her eyes were cloudy. They came too fast for her to notice. Maybe it was dumb, letting something like too much attention from guys, something a lot of women would kill for, make her cry, but it was all too much for Jo. It just made her feel hollow, like only the faces she presented mattered, not her. Jo was really crying because she knew under the faces people liked and wanted to be seen with, between the girl who went to galas and toasted with ungodly expensive champagne, between the one who Jo consciously chose to be at this party tonight and the brave face she put on for in depths interviews, there wasn’t a whole person left, just a few unused fragments, the least likable pieces of her. That's what was making her cry and had been making her cry for a long time.

Jo apparently wasn’t even allowed to cry in peace because the door swung open in the middle of her moment. 

“So, now is a bad time then, huh?” 

The voice was deep, deeper than she expected, a thick accent, either Finnish or Swedish if she was venturing a guess. Jo wiped her eyes, but didn’t turn to look toward the voice, so she was genuinely surprised when she heard the dull thud and felt the vibrations of a body making contact with the railing next to her. 

“Definitely a bad time to tell you I think you’re pretty, huh?”  

Jo couldn’t help but laugh, but it was clogged, the laugh catching on the lump in her throat from crying. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand and shook her head softly. A weak, pitiful smile pulled at her lips. She sighed before turning her head to look at the owner of the voice. 

“Definitely a bad time,” he said, his voice softly than before. “Need to talk about it?” 

He was everything Jo had expected, but somehow more. She was right to think Swedish or Finnish, but his hair was blonder than she had expected, gentle waves at the ends. Jo wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked. Even in the dark, she could tell his eyes were a stunning shade of blue, the kind that looked like the oceans that he grew up near, the kind people wrote albums’ worth of songs trying to find the right words to describe. His jaw was sharp, cheekbones even sharper, but softened by dimples between them, endearing in a way that made Jo wish she was a better person for a moment. Even with him leaning against the railing, Jo could tell as soon as he stood he would make her feel as physically small as she felt inside right now. 

“No offense, but I’m not interested,” Jo managed to get out in a way that vaguely sounded curt. 

“I’m not anymore either, so glad we’re on the same page,” he told her with a smile that had to have cured cancer somewhere once. “You seem like you need a friend more than you need some other guy telling you that you’re pretty tonight.” 

“And you, random rooftop guy, want to be my friend?” 

Jo couldn’t help but snort a little and roll her eyes at her own question. 

“I’m Mikko,” he told her, “and yeah, I do. I think you could use a friend and I’ve been told I’m a bad texter, but a pretty good friend.” 

“You come up with the intent to what, hit on me, and switch gears into friendship like that?” Jo asked with a snap of her fingers, her voice heavy with disbelief.

Mikko nodded softly, “Yeah, just like that. I came up because Helena said we’d get along and you’re pretty. That second thing is still true, you are, but you need friends more than you need some guy asking you out. So, guess I’ll take the upgrade to friendship.”

“I think you mean downgrade,” Jo corrected him gently. 

“No, definitely upgrade,” Mikko laughed. “I don’t have to buy you dinner or try and impress you, but I still get to hang out with a cool new person who needs a cool person in her life. That’s an upgrade, baby.” 

Jo was careful about the people she considered friends, the people who got to see her cry. Before her life became something unrecognizable to the little girl with a dream, Jo had still been careful about her friends. Jo used to understand that she wasn’t for everyone when she was younger, that she was who she was and people could either take her exactly as she was or they could leave. That girl didn’t exist anymore and her reasons for being careful about her friends came from a place of looking to protect her reputation and her career over herself, because what, in truth, was she really even protecting? But Mikko was different. Jo had moments like this, of someone attempting to become her friend at a party, but this wasn’t that. He already felt like her friend. He felt like someone the little girl with a big dream and no idea what would come out of it would have been friends with too. Jo hadn’t met someone like that in a long time. 

So, Jo took a deep breath and did what seven-year-old Jo would’ve done; she made a friend. 

------

Jo pulled herself out of bed the next morning, displeased but unsurprised at the pounding in her head. She drank and she cried, two things bound to make her head pound the morning after. It was Advil or bust for the first thing she would do today, even before checking her phone, something she religiously did first. Jo let herself fall back into her covers after swallowing three Advil, eyelids drooping closed for another half an hour as the medication kicked in well enough so she could actually do her normal routine the next time her eyes opened. 

She dragged her phone off the nightstand, groaning at the volume of texts that were waiting for her. Thankfully, it seemed to be largely group chats and could just be cleared and ignored. One text stuck out, just two words from an unsaved number, less than an hour old. 

Hey friend :) 

Memories of last night, technically this morning if you were into technicalities or booked a lot of airline tickets, flooded to the front of Jo’s sore head. Mikko. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, debating on if she, now sober, was really going to entertain this or not, which hinged entirely on if she really believed he had set aside any intentions he had walking up onto that rooftop and was capable of keeping them set aside. Jo’s thumbs twitched over the screen, debating on what she should do, but one thought kept coming up again and again. She wanted to understand why she had thought about him like she thought about friends when she was a kid, full of nothing but wonder, still believing in forever and magic and the idea of everlasting happiness. He had reminded her of all of that and Josephine needed to know why. 

Hey friend

Keeping it easy breezy, beautiful, Covergirl. Jo rolled out of bed after saving his phone number then ditching it in the covers before going to wash her face and start a pot of coffee for the day. After the coffee had started to drip into the pot, the best sound hungover Jo had ever heard, she went back to collect her phone, seeing she already had a reply from Mikko. 

Still down to do lunch today? Or are you too hungover from all those tequila shots? ;)

Jo furrowed her brows down, but she couldn’t help but smile a little at the message. 

I don’t do tequila shots, must have me confused with some other girl who you bullied into being your friend on a rooftop last night ;) but lunch is still good

Mikko hadn’t taken no for an answer yesterday on having lunch with him today. He had insisted that friends who caught other friends crying on rooftops during parties didn’t let the aforementioned friend have lunch alone the next day. Jo told him it wasn’t a rule. Mikko said it should be. The bit went on for far too long considering Jo was just fighting about lunch and the fact that Mikko seemed nothing but persistent, a fact he had proven true by texting her before ten in the morning after a night out to confirm her presence at said lunch. Luckily, lunch was at her place so she didn’t exactly have to commute anywhere. Lunch out was risky for her and Mikko’s eyes had lit up at the prospect of being able to wear sweatpants to lunch because if he was going out with her, he could be photographed and might have had to wear jeans, something he’d been horrified of last night. Jo looked over the menu Mikko sent her, pleased that he picked a taco place because tacos were very publicly Jo’s favorite food of all time, and sent him her order. He said he’d grab it on the way to her when practice finished later.

By the time Jo managed to pull herself together enough to shower, she needed to get ready. Well, as ready as someone had to get for lunch at their own apartment with a new friend who had already committed to showing up in sweatpants. Jo figured matching his style commitment was her best play, comfortable joggers and one of her dad’s old Colorado Rockies t-shirts she had confiscated years ago. It reminded her of home, of the city she was in now. Jo was home, technically, even though it didn’t feel like it just yet. 

Mikko more than fulfilled his end of the bargain when he showed up, in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, both carrying the logos of the team he played for, and two bags of take out definitely too full for what they’d ordered, even taking into account that Mikko could definitely out eat her based on body mass alone. Jo didn’t account for the fresh from practice look though, hair still damp, waves more pronounced now than they had been last night. There was a small cut on his cheekbone that looked fresh, making them appear even sharper somehow. In the bright light of her kitchen, a smile like a lazy afternoon on his face, Jo, who was very used to being around very pretty people, was getting a little bit distracted by Mikko Rantanen in her kitchen. Until he spoke, anway. 

“I should get you an Avs shirt,” was how Mikko said hello after already pushing his way into her apartment. “You’ve got to rep the best team in Colorado.” 

“I thought you,” Jo opened a cabinet opposite Mikko who was already ripping into the bags and spreading the food out, “were supposed to be supportive of all of the local teams.”

Mikko smiled at her and Jo felt like that smile could fix a heartbreak and cause it at the same moment, “I am! I just think you need to be more supportive of your friends.” 

“When would you have liked me to have gotten this?” Jo asked Mikko after grabbing two water glasses from the cabinet. “We just became friends twelve hours ago. Is water okay, by the way?” 

“I thought it would be a top priority for you. And yeah, water’s good.” 

Mikko laughed as he talked, something Jo was realizing was common place for him. He was fidgeting, feet tapping on the hardwood floor, unable to settle, but it wasn’t from anxiousness like Jo’s almost always did. Mikko seemed to just have more energy than he knew what to do with, energy fed by pure childlike joy he had possessed every second Jo had seen him so far. His hands fussed with the takeout containers, his right foot hadn’t stopped bouncing, but he was doing it all with a smile on his face, dimple showing itself almost constantly. His energy was overwhelming Jo who was used to people completely unlike him. She was used to people who were so bogged down by the lives they lived that continuing to live them was exhausting in a way that bred negativity and squandered joy. Mikko seemed genuinely happy to be here in Denver in Jo’s apartment with her right now and more than that, he seemed genuinely happy to be Mikko Rantanen, something Jo just couldn’t understand. 

“You seem eager, so get me one and I’ll wear it,” Jo threw back at him, an easy smile coming across her face as she started to fill their water glasses from the fridge. 

“Oh yeah?” Mikko raised his eyebrows at her. “You can afford to get your own. Plates are where?” 

“Wow, rude,” Jo scoffed, but it was fake and Mikko knew it before she’s even finished her rebuttal. “But if you can get me one for free, why would I buy one? And upper cabinet to the right of the stove. Silverware is the drawer below that.” 

“Because you want to support the Colorado Avalanche organization because your friend is a part of it,” Mikko retorted, snagging two plates and way more silverware than Jo thought they needed from the drawer. “I got a few extra things I thought you should try, by the way, since you’re looking at me like I got too much food. I did. I did it on purpose. ” 

With everything spread out and open on the table, Jo placed the waters, her only contribution to the spread, by their plates and sat down in a previously unsat in chair. Everything around here was too new. Things like this would make it feel more like her place eventually. Mikko had pretty much gotten one of everything on the menu as far as Jo could tell from her brief memory of reading it over earlier, but she could see why he had with the pretty incredible smells and sights laid out on her table. 

“Half and half of everything, yeah?” Mikko asked Jo, fork and butter knife already in motion to the taco closest to him. 

“You know,” Jo reached out and placed her hand on Mikko’s hand holding his fork, ignoring how warm and soft and large his hand was under hers, “I’m going to dip into traditional gender roles for a sec and briefly force them on you. How about I get a real knife and do the cutting?” 

“That’s definitely a better idea,” Mikko agreed, the ever present laugh in his voice ringing more prominent.

Jo grabbed a knife out of the block on the counter and got to work cutting everything in half. Mikko took his half as she went, until his plate was full. Jo may have hit him with her elbows a couple of times and whined he was getting in her way. Mikko was apparently experienced enough with being elbowed over food due to having two sisters and the team that he just continued on, acquiring half of each taco, burrito, and side dish he could fit.

“I’m coming for my other halves,” he threatened Jo emptily with his fork when she finally finished the cutting. “Don’t get greedy.” 

“Mikko, I consider myself a woman who can really eat,” Jo informed him, nabbing two half tacos to start, “but I think eating even my half of everything is beyond me.”

“Quitter,” Mikko smirked before shoving a large bite of a taco into his mouth.

“Not a quitter,” Jo countered before taking a bite of one of the half tacos on her plate. She almost moaned at the taste, but kept it inside. “I’m just a girl who knows her limits.”

As they both devoured their meals rapidly, Jo filled up much faster than Mikko who somehow cleared his first full plate and was creating a second, casual conversation flowing easily between the new friends. When Mikko finally reached a point where his inhalation slowed, his plate mostly cleared again, he looked over at Jo, who watched the smile fall from his face for the first time since she sat down across from him. She noticed instantly. It was easy to notice a lack of something that had always been there than to notice new things sometimes. All Jo saw was the lack of a smile on his face, not the genuine concern that had replaced it.

“Want to talk about why you were crying last night?” he asked Jo softly, watching as she pushed unfinished rice and beans across her plate to avoid making eye contact with him. “You don’t have to, obviously, but there’s no way there isn’t something worth talking about.” 

“It’s nothing,” Jo tried to assure him, but Mikko wasn’t buying it for a second. 

“Look,” he sighed, tossing his napkin onto his plate, “I said I was going to be your friend and sometimes friends tell you shit you don’t want to hear. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to, but it just seemed like that wasn’t the first time you cried at a party like that and I don’t think you should be crying at parties is all.” 

Mikko was right. Even Jo, as stubborn as she could be sometimes, could admit Mikko was right. But Mikko could be right and Jo could still not want to deal with it. Those might be conflicting views, but Jo could deal with conflict better than anyone else she knew. She could put it in a box and ignore it, pretending it didn’t exist, pretending that it wasn’t eating her up inside how much she truly felt like there wasn’t anything good enough left in her to be worth anyone’s time, that the dream she first had here in Denver, the dream she had worked her entire life for, meant she lost herself. At least, that she had lost a version of herself anyone could love. 

But that was too much for lunch on a Saturday with someone she had known for under twenty-four hours, even if she felt like she had known him for longer, even if he brought a blanket of comfort around Jo with his words, even if seven-year-old Jo would’ve liked him, even if he was asking.

“I don’t really want to talk about it. It was stupid,” Jo brushed him off. 

Mikko sighed again and nodded softly, “Okay, you don’t have to talk about it, but it wasn’t stupid. How you feel isn’t stupid.” 

How Jo felt was stupid though because she had more than almost anyone could ever ask for. She had apartments like this one. She had the ability to take a year off on a whim. She could go anywhere she wanted, buy whatever she liked. She had friends that other people would kill to even meet, even if a lot of them weren’t what people imagined them to be. She had a life millions of people would kill for, and yet Jo felt like no one really knew her. Jo knew that no one really knew her because Jo couldn’t even find herself, the real her, among everything she created to become that person that lived the life she lived. She didn’t think the real her existed. She was just the personalities and faces she created. It was almost hollow space underneath it all, with just a few useless fragments, the worst parts of her, left floating in the space. 

“Thanks, Mikko,” is all Jo could come up with. 

“You don’t believe me,” he told her, catching on to the sigh in the way she said his name. “It’s okay for today. I’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Jo almost laughed at his words. No one kept trying and that’s how Jo wanted it. She didn’t want to admit everything underneath, the emptiness of it all, because then, if a person who cared enough to keep trying discovered there was nothing worthwhile under the facade of it all, they’d leave too and there was no way Jo could stomach that. Jo didn’t laugh though. She simply nodded and changed the topic to ask Mikko about the preseason game they had tomorrow. He noticed the look in her eyes when she changed the topic, but didn’t say anything. He just memorized it, how her eyes shifted, the heaviness in her face, the glossiness of her eyes, and put it in his growing folder of things he knew about Josephine Evans, even if he didn’t understand the expression at all. One day, he would. He would keep trying until he did.

------

Jo hadn’t gone more than four days without Mikko Rantanen showing up at her apartment post-practice, or requesting her presence at his when he was feeling particularly lazy, with wet hair, a dimpled smile, and some incredible smelling takeout since she moved to Denver a month ago. Even after training camp transitioned into the first games of the season, Mikko showed up, bag of food and charming personality in hand, ready to fight Jo’s demons. Really, just ready to crush her at Fortnite. He was horrified she had never played and brought over his old Xbox so he could teach her and they could play at her place too. Jo was terrible, absolutely tragic at it really, but Mikko made her laugh while trying to play, even though Jo was normally such a perfectionist she didn’t really want to do things she was bad at. Doing things she was bad at with Mikko was the exception. 

A knock on Jo’s door let her know what time it was. Mikko didn’t even text beforehand anymore. He just showed up, several entrees in tow in case Jo didn’t like something he picked out after the olives incident. Mikko had brought Jo over some Greek takeout, a personal favorite of Jo’s because of the prevalence of olives in Greek food. Except Mikko ordered everything on the menu that didn’t contain olives. 

“Why didn’t you get the little olives?” Jo had asked Mikko when he laid out the food on the coffee table. “The yummy marinated ones?” 

Mikko looked at Jo with absolute disgust. His mouth dropped open, lips curling back, before he stuck his tongue out and made a gagging noise. 

“You like olives? Gross, Jo. I don’t think we can be friends anymore,” Mikko told her, fake gagging when he said the word olives. 

Jo shrugged off Mikko’s gagging, “Actually, it means we’re supposed to be friends, if you’re familiar with How I Met Your Mother anyway.”

“Nate talks about that show a lot and Tyson too, but I’ve never seen it,” Mikko told her, sitting down on the couch with a falafel in one hand and a messy plate of food covered in tzatziki in the other. 

“It basically, well, they applied it to couples and stuff, but it totally works for friends too.” Jo caught herself before she could start, trying to walk back how the show had intended the meaning before she came off like she had feelings she was certain she didn’t have for Mikko. 

“Anyway, it’s called The Olive Theory and it suggests that in every relationship, whatever kind of relationship, that there should be one person who likes olives, me,” Jo pointed at herself, “and one person who doesn’t like olives, you,” she pointed at Mikko now. “That way, I can eat all the olives I want and you don’t have to eat any. Plus, I can be your hero and rescue you from olives on your pizza so they don’t go to waste. It’s the whole like, two halves of a whole, opposites attract, people balance each other out, thing.” 

Mikko nodded softly, thinking about Jo’s words carefully for a moment, before saying, “As long as I don’t have to eat any olives, this is good with me.” 

Jo laughed before taking a bite of her falafel wrap, moaning openly at the taste. Mikko might be a shit teacher at Fortnite, and a kind of stupid boy sometimes, but he had figured out exactly the kind of food Jo liked and had never failed her. Mikko laughed a little at the sound, but he enjoyed that she liked something so simple as the food he brought over. Mikko liked Jo, genuinely and honestly and fully. Jo liked Mikko, cautiously at first, but even she, the self-coronated queen of denial, couldn’t deny that she did really like him. She liked being around him. She liked who she was around him and she couldn’t deny it. She noticed herself changing when he was around, that she felt lighter and more at peace, finding it easier to feel happiness and to laugh when he was around. Jo had spent a lot of time over the last month trying to figure out why she was feeling like that. 

People could think about themselves as much as they wanted to, journeys of self discovery, self exploration, what have you, but part of it was looking through the eyes of other people at herself and the life she chose to live. Jo looked at herself through the rose-colored glasses of other people’s eyes all the time for affirmation, for support in her times of self doubt, but she also used it to validate her own negative views of who she was, finding the angriest, reddest view of herself when she felt like she deserved the worst pictures of herself that were out there. Jo had millions of eyes to view herself through, millions of slightly different versions of herself to see, to choose from at any point, but she couldn’t figure out which was the most accurate, many swaying too positive or too negative. It all was so jumbled, people’s misconceptions getting the way of seeing her with clear eyes and an honest mind. It overwhelmed her often. But the most overwhelming thing that had happened to Jo in a long time was realizing she was looking at herself through the eyes of one person a lot now, one person who seemed to actually see Jo, the real Jo she thought was lost in the hurricane forever ago. Jo was starting to think the way Mikko Rantanen saw her was her favorite way to view herself and it scared the hell out of her.

-------

Jo made it all the way to two days before Halloween before Mikko sent her an incredibly aggressive but incredibly Mikko kind of text. 

Since you haven’t been to an avs game yet, I’m assuming you are only my friend because I bring you food. I will no longer be bringing you food until you come to a game. You’re in luck though because I reserved a box seat for you for the game tomorrow and have already pre-ordered one of everything our kitchen makes to the box for you because I do care that you eat, but I feel like our friendship is very one-sided right now and would like to see more effort out of you. Bring a friend if you want! See you tomorrow, Jojo!!!

The text was immediately followed by another with the information on where Jo could pick up her tickets and wristbands tomorrow before the game. As much as Jo had been trying to avoid public places, deeply enjoying the hunt the media was having, “Where In The World Could Josephine Evans Be?” Jo was excited about the prospect of getting to do something. She texted Helena, knowing she would reply immediately, which she did, and want to come with, which she did. Helena ordered a car for tomorrow to pick her up, then Jo, because Helena didn’t want to DD, a fair thing, and neither did Jo, also a fair thing, so calling a car was the only remaining option. Jo sent Mikko a quick text back, confirming her and Helena’s presence at the game tomorrow, and she had gotten a smiley face in return. The little smiley face text had Jo falling asleep with a smile, and waking up with it still on her face the next morning. 

Despite earlier bullying less than a day into their friendship, Jo still lacked Avalanche gear, something that greatly upset Mikko when she had snapped a picture of her watching the first game of the season, an away game, team-spirit-less. His displeasure had been well known, a pouting photo of sweaty, post-game Mikko with his thumb turned down coming over in return that day. Jo still hadn’t acquired any Avalanche gear since that day though. As she was getting dressed later, she realized the closest she could get was a long sleeve burgundy t-shirt and that Mikko would just have to deal with it. She knew she’d get an earful after the game, especially considering since sport-averse until you were talking the athletes Helena was wearing an Avalanche t-shirt when the car picked Jo up later. She didn’t judge Jo for not though, just decided to leave it up to Mikko later. 

Picking up the tickets was easier than Jo had thought it would be and a baseball cap low on her head in addition to the heavy crowds was letting her keep a low profile. Her and Helena managed to make it up to the box level without incident. Jo double checked the box number on her phone, confirming 256, before following the signs towards the box. As Jo got closer, she started to hear more and more people fussing about, boxes inhabited by people nearby. She stopped in her tracks when she reached 256, finding the door wide open, many voices floating out from inside. She glanced over at Helena, who shrugged, fearless in the face of the unexpected, and breezed past Jo to walk right in. Except Jo didn’t realize Helena had wrapped a hand around one of her wrists and pulled her into the box right along with her. 

The first person who made eye contact with Jo, a girl wearing a Compher jersey, went wide-eyed when she saw Jo. Jo immediately wanted to spin on her heels and get herself anywhere but here when the girl turned and aggressively tapped the shoulder of a blonde wearing a Landeskog jersey. Helena on the other hand was already filling a plate full of snacks, blissfully unaware of Jo’s desperate need to throw herself out of this box headfirst to avoid whatever was next in a box of people who recognized her who she didn’t know. Jo was, fortunately, wrong about what she thought would happen next. 

The blonde girl turned around and she smiled brightly when she saw Jo, making a beeline over to her. She wrapped her arms around Jo before she even said anything and Jo couldn’t hide her confused expression when the woman released her from a tight, crushing embrace. 

“He didn’t tell you, did he?” she sighed, then shook her head softly. “I’ll have to yell at him later. I’m sorry. I’m Mel, Gabe’s wife. I’m sure Mikko’s told you about Gabe, right?” 

Mikko had told her about Gabe. And Mel. He often came over to her place after being at the Landeskog’s, in search of a friend without a young child who would kill a bottle of wine with him without any judgement. Still, Mikko loved and idolized Gabe. That much was obvious from how he talked about his captain, and he talked about Mel almost like a mom sometimes. Jo took a deep breath, and then nodded softly, deciding to give Mel a fair shake herself, see what she thought. 

“Okay, good,” Mel laughed a little. “Sorry Mikko didn’t tell you anything. I told him to give you a heads up what you were walking into here.” 

“Yeah, he didn’t tell me anyone would be here,” Jo said, crossing her arms tightly over her chest, a naturally defensive posture. 

“Of course he didn’t,” Mel groaned, head falling back in obvious displeasure with Mikko. She sighed before lifting her head to look at Jo again, “Well, this is where all the wives and girlfriends and I guess some friends watch the games usually. You’re welcome to food and over there’s wine and beer. Everyone’s really excited to meet you, by the way. Mikko talks about you a lot, you know.”

“He does?” 

Jo didn’t mean for her words to come out as floored as they had, shock dripping from each letter. Why would Mikko talk about her to his teammates and their partners? Why was Jo watching the game from this room, of all places? Why would-

“All. The. Time.” Mel punctuated each word, cutting through the fog of questions in Jo’s mind. “We were wondering when he’d bring you around. I think he was trying to make sure everyone would be cool or whatever before he did. Oh, reminds me, he left something for me to give to you.” 

Mel walked over to where she’d been sitting, then came back with a black bag and handed it to Jo, a wide, knowing smile on her face.

“There’s two seats open next to me after you put it on for you and your friend,” Mel told her before sliding back down to her seat. 

Jo felt a little silly opening a sort of present right now, but Mel kept glancing over her shoulder at her encouragingly, waiting for her to open it. Jo looked into the bag and knew what it was. It wasn’t wrapped, so it wasn’t difficult to guess. She grabbed the small Post-It note sitting on top of it first, recognizing Mikko’s sloppy handwriting instantly. 

Figured you wouldn’t pick up any Avs gear before the game because you hate me. Hope it’s not too big :) - Mikko

Jo pulled out the brand new Avalanche jersey from the bag, fingers tracing over the logo on the front, sliding over to the number stitched onto the shoulder. 96, Mikko and Jo’s birth year. She sighed as she flipped over the burgundy and blue jersey, Rantanen in bold letters across the shoulders. She knew as soon as she looked into the bag this was what it would be, but holding it in her hands, standing in a room full of the women who were actually with the guys warming up on the ice below wearing them too, Jo didn’t really feel like she should put it on.

“God, you two are so cute,” Helena whined at the sight of the jersey in Jo’s hands with a plate of food in one of her hands and a chicken wing in the other.

“H,” Jo sighed. 

“I know, I know, I know,” Helena rolled her eyes in reply. “I know you’re not like, boning or whatever, but something is going on. You’re holding the proof and you better put it on. Don’t make me put down this chicken wing to fight you over it.”

Separating Helena from her food was one of the highest crimes Jo could commit. Plus, Helena’s threat to fight her wasn’t completely empty. Jo sighed, defeat sinking in heavy on her shoulders, before she tugged the jersey over her head without a second thought. She slid her arms into the sleeves, letting it settle over her, tugging at the shoulders and the neckline to try and make it feel more comfortable. It wasn’t the fit that was the problem. The name on the back made Jo feel like she was on fire and that fire was seeping into her skin, becoming burning questions Jo was trying so hard to think about. She didn’t want to know the answers to them. She didn’t even want to think about them. She took a deep breath and let it out forcefully, trying to blow out the flames, turn the questions into ash, and forget about it. She was partially successful and that was probably as close as Jo was going to get today. She picked up the Post-It note from where it had fallen on the floor and folded it up carefully, sliding it into her wallet for safe keeping. His handwriting was terrible and his gift was causing her mind to race in directions she didn’t want it to go, but they were both reminders that Jo knew at least one really, really good person. Some days, one good person was more than enough. 

Jo watched the game from her seat between Mel and Helena, mind everywhere but on the rink in front of her the entire time. She was so zoned out, she missed when Mikko even scored, but she didn’t miss his name and face across the Jumbotron for what felt like ages after the puck hit the back of the net. Jo couldn’t catch a break to think about what the gift of a jersey with his name on it along with a ticket to sit among the wives and girlfriends of his teammates meant. There were no other friends present; Mel lied. Jo couldn’t take a break from his face on the screen, his name emblazoned on what felt like every inch of the building, on the screen, on the backs of the fans in front of her. She couldn’t find enough air to try and think about what it all could mean and took it as a sign from the universe that maybe the question needed to go back into the box, into a mental vault, for the time being. A sign that now wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to complicate this, just let a jersey be a jersey and a ticket be a ticket and a Post-It note be a Post-It note. Jo took a deep breath, and locked the question of intent in a deep vault and threw away the key for now. 

She joined the wives and girlfriends down by the locker rooms after the game, getting Mikko straight from the shower, hair fully wet as her reward. He smiled bigger than Jo had ever seen when he saw the jersey actually on her, shuffling over to her with his head rocking side to side with each step. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her up off the concrete, making her yelp in surprise, before setting her down quickly. He was laughing as he did, an open mouthed smile on his face, eyes crinkling shut. 

“Did you have fun?” he asked her.

“I did,” Jo nodded softly, leaving out the internal turmoil she had been working through throughout the game and left purposely unfinished. “Congrats on the goal.” 

“And assist,” he added with a playful smirk. “Were you even watching?” 

“I show up and you critique how I watch? That’s rude of you, Rantanen,” Jo verbally tossed back at him, a smile pulling up the corner of her mouth as she looked up at him. 

“Eh, guess a guy can’t win them all,” Mikko shrugged. “Want to come back to my place? We can watch a bad movie, well, part of a bad movie until I fall asleep. It’s closer.” 

“Was sort of counting on it,” Jo admitted. “Kind of already told Helena she could leave if she wanted to.” 

Mikko put a hand over his heart, face twisting into shock as he faked like he’d taken a shot to the heart. His knees even buckled slightly, trying his best to sell it. 

“Using me for my couch, huh?” he asked Jo with a shake of his head. “My couch and food.”

“Those are your only redeeming qualities,” Jo joked, scrunching her nose up at him as she smiled again. “Come on. Let’s get out of here and to that bad movie, yeah?” 

Mikko threw a heavy, tired arm over Jo’s shoulders, and pulled her into his side for a moment as they headed out toward the parking lot. Jo let him drag her into his side as they walked, enjoying the warmth he gave off in the cool, fall Denver air. 

“Everyone was good, yeah?” Mikko asked her softly when they neared his car. “I told Mel to make sure everyone was cool and not to like, take pictures of you and post them or anything. I really didn’t want to be the person that ruined Denver for you.” 

Jo felt his words hit her chest and soften everything for a moment. The walls she built to protect herself shook from being hit with the full force of how much he cared about her, gaps forming in the walls that his words slid between and found her behind it all. Jo had never said she didn’t want to go to a game because of the risk of people finding out she was hiding out in Denver. Mikko had never even asked why. He didn’t ask because he already knew the answer. He was desperate to make it work for her, to try and make space for her in his life so she could be in it as much as she wanted without feeling like everyone in the world was watching. It had taken him a month to work out the best way to get her at a game, but let her have her privacy, let her be just Jo. 

“Everyone was great, Mik,” Jo replied. “Thank you, for everything, honestly. Everything since I came here really.” 

Mikko’s heart swelled in his chest. Not just for today, but for everything. It was small, nondescript, but the feeling behind the words rang true because it was. Without Mikko, Jo wouldn’t have started to feel at home in Denver. Without Mikko, Jo would know one person in this city. Without Mikko, Jo would’ve never found her favorite taco place and her third favorite Greek restaurant of all time. With Mikko, Jo wouldn’t smile so much. 

Without Jo, Mikko wouldn’t know what it’s like to see someone and immediately realize that that person is supposed to be in your life. There was no rhyme or reason to that feeling, but Mikko had gotten it that night on the rooftop and every single interaction with Jo since had done was prove that feeling to be correct. Josephine Evans was supposed to be in his life and he was supposed to be in hers, the least complicated part of it all. 

------

Jo didn’t think when the year started that this was how she would be spending her Thanksgiving. For most of November, which passed like October had seemed to, Jo didn’t think she would be spending her Thanksgiving like she would get to. Her parents usually travelled since Jo often wasn’t able to make it home for Thanksgiving and Christmas in the same year. One or the other was tied up in some performance or a series of flights that couldn’t time out to get her home when she needed to be for family dinner, so her parents often spent the holidays on a beach somewhere. However, with Jo semi-permanently parked in Denver for the time being, and her younger brother a short flight away in Los Angeles, Thanksgiving was coming to her for the first time ever. Her mom had promised to do a large chunk of the cooking, not because Jo couldn’t, but because her mom’s cooking was her favorite and Jo didn’t get to have it much anymore. 

Jo was like a kid at Christmas, which her apartment was already decorated for, when she found out she was actually going to get her mom’s cooking for Thanksgiving and that her little brother, who was a little annoying but also one of the people Jo loved most in this world, was coming too. Mikko had been over when everything was officially confirmed and Jo started to worry if she had enough serving dishes or not. 

“I’ve only done Thanksgiving a couple of times,” Mikko shrugged when Jo asked him if the stack of serving dishes she managed to collect would be enough, even though she had verbally gone through and assigned each one a dish on her family’s traditional menu. “I really couldn’t say, Jo.” 

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” she asked him when she realized she didn’t actually know. 

“Gabe and Mel usually host something? I’m not really sure actually. No one has really made any specific plans,” Mikko replied, horrifying Jo a bit. 

Someone not having plans for the holidays? Josephine Evans’ true nightmare. She didn’t even think before she spoke. 

“You could always join us,” Jo told him. “You know you’re always welcome with me.”

Mikko smiled so brightly in response to Jo’s words, brighter than all the lights on her Christmas tree combined. He accepted her invitation easily, and promised to bring a dish before he seemed to remember he couldn’t actually cook. He promised to bring whiskey Jo’s dad would like instead of trying to cook, deciding to spare her family from the potential horror show that could be. 

It didn’t surprise Jo when Mikko showed up thirty minutes earlier than she had told him to, her hands a complete mess of flour and pie dough when he knocked on her front door Thanksgiving afternoon. Jo groaned when he did because she wasn’t exactly in the position to get the door. Her mom was an equal amount of a mess next to her, elbow deep in the turkey, and her dad and brother were immersed in football. They hadn’t even heard the door. Jo rinsed off her hands as fast as she could, not fast enough not to earn a second knock from Mikko before she could get to the door. 

“You’re covered in flour, Jojo,” Mikko chuckled when he saw her. 

“And you brought a box?” she challenged, eying the cardboard box in his hands. 

“Brought a couple of kinds of whiskeys Gabe told me to get,” he smiled at her, dimples prominent on his cheeks. “I’m not even going to pretend I picked them out. Anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, stay out of my kitchen,” Jo laughed as she opened the door wider and motioned him inside. “You made a mean box of leftover Chinese takeout, but that’s about it, Mik.” 

“We all have our strengths, okay?” he countered, scrunching his nose up at Jo. He shifted the box to his left hip to free his right hand up to tug on the end of Jo’s French braid, “This is cute.”

“It’s just a French braid,” Jo mumbled, brushing a few loose pieces out of her face in a vain attempt to hide the slight color that had risen in her cheeks from his compliment. 

“It’s cute,” Mikko repeated as he kicked off his shoes, knowing full and well how Jo felt about shoes in her house. “Should I take these to the bar then?” 

“Come meet my mom first, then I’ll introduce you to the father and the brother,” Jo told him. 

He followed her, halving the typical length of his stride to do so, literally making space for Jo, something he did in the figurative sense all of the time. Mikko dropped the box off on the edge of the counter, as far away from Jo’s baking as he could get, when he reached the island. He didn’t want to even sort of maybe possibly get in her way and mess something up for her today. She had been talking constantly about it, smile growing impossibly wider each day as Thanksgiving got closer. Mikko had spent all of his Thanksgivings so far hosted by European transplants who knew next to nothing about the holiday itself. This one, with the Evans men screaming at the television in the living room, the Evans women in the kitchen where they loved being together, there was something in the air that separated this Thanksgiving out from the others Mikko had seen. Family. Mikko could feel it hanging heavy but comfortably in the air. There was a lightness to Jo though, something Mikko had only seen glimpses of before when he’d managed to temporarily lift the clouds. The lightness seemed constant today, something Mikko wished for Jo all of the time. 

“You must be Mikko! We’ve heard so much about you!”

Jo’s mom reminded Mikko of Jo, but it was distant. Jo might have been thirty years younger, but Mikko swore Jo’s soul felt older. Their smiles were the same though, even if Jo’s was rarer, Mikko got it to show more than anyone else and knew it well enough to recognize it on her mom’s face. She was wearing earrings shaped like turkeys with multi-colored feathers and an apron with a corny pun Jo would never be caught dead in, no matter how old she got. 

“Mom,” Jo groaned, giving her mom a firm look for her comment. 

“Aw, Jo does like me,” Mikko joked before giving her a little shove that was a little too hard causing Jo to stumble sideways. 

Mikko caught her wrist, keeping her from stumbling too far. She glared at him as he pulled her back solidly on her fuzzy sock covered feet. Mikko laughed at her glare, knowing Jo who was almost a foot shorter than him really couldn’t do a thing about her anger with him if she wanted to, regardless of her motivation. 

“I like him,” her mom nodded in approval. 

“I’m not even sure you liked me that fast and you gave birth to me,” Jo mumbled, not quite loud enough for her mom to hear, but plenty loud for Mikko to, who snorted in response. 

Jo’s mom surveyed the two before deciding to let whatever she had just missed go in favor of returning to her bird, the turkey that was going to be her number one pride and joy that day, kids included. Jo tugged Mikko’s forearm to get him to follow her into the living room. Mikko grabbed his box on the way, bottles inside clinking together as he walked. Their entrance into the living room went entirely unnoticed by the men engrossed in the football game on the television. Jo cleared her throat as the whistle on the television blew, seeing an opening to introduce Mikko. 

“Dad, Luke, this is my friend Mikko. He brought whiskey.”

Jo gestured over to Mikko, who put on his best smile, the one Jo still thought must have cured cancer somewhere once, and shook the box a little to make the bottles inside rattle. Her dad looked him up and down, the assumption among Jo’s family being that they were either dating or almost dating and for one reason or another not admitting it to anyone, so her dad was giving Mikko the look he’d given Jo’s past boyfriends. 

“Dad,” Jo sighed, “cut him some slack. We’re friends and he brought whiskey.” 

Mikko flushed a little when he realized he was getting the stare down because her dad thought there was something beyond what they could see going on between him and Jo. Mikko fidgeted with the edge of the box where there was a small hole, trying to avoid her dad’s harsh gaze. It was unearned, but it just reminded Mikko more of what he didn’t have, what he couldn’t have, which was all of Jo. Mikko was trying so hard, so incredibly hard, not to fall in love with Josephine Evans, but it wasn’t really working for him. He knew she wasn’t ready. He knew there was too much noise, the storm in her head was too strong, and that he would lose her if he tried right now because he wasn’t through it. Mikko wasn’t even sure he had gotten into the storm yet. He felt like he was just on the edge of it, staring into the darkness of it all, watching the winds pick up and toss aside everything. He couldn’t even see Jo through it all most of the time, but he caught a glimpse of her before, the real her behind it all and she was the most beautiful person he had ever seen, infinitely better than how he had ever imagined someone could be. He was going to get across it. He just had to wait, take his time, otherwise the storm would pick him up and deposit him miles away from her, battered and bruised, unable to even get back to the edge of it again. 

“Whiskey?” her dad perked up, eyeing the box with a raised eyebrow.

Mikko nodded, dropping the box onto the wet bar in Jo’s living room. Her dad was up off the couch and next to Mikko before he could even get the box open all the way. Jo had understated how much her father loved nice whiskey, because his hands were already grabbing a bottle before Mikko could and Mikko was closer to them. Mikko pulled the other out while her dad read over the first one and Mikko thanked his lucky stars that Landy had not just recommended four bottles to get, but also took the time to run Mikko over each whiskey, the important flavor notes, how they were aged, and some basic information about each distillery. Still, he was grateful that the first one her dad had a question about was one Mikko had actually been to the distillery that made it before. 

“Is this local? I haven’t seen it before,” her dad told him, eyes not leaving the bottle. 

“Yeah, it is,” Mikko confirmed. “This local place, treats them sort of like a rye whiskey even if they aren’t. It’s a cool place too, actually. Jo and I have been. They have a bunch of small batch stuff, all really good.” 

“Oh, that place we went with Nate and Landy?” Jo called out from the kitchen, hands already back in her pie dough, figuring Mikko’s personality plus whiskey could manage her father from here.

“That’s the one!” Mikko called back, grabbing a glass with each hand from the back edge of the wet bar. 

“Ah, that was fun! We should do that again,” Jo replied, followed by a loud huff as she worked to combine the crumbly pie dough by hand. 

“Luke, you want one?” Mikko asked Jo’s brother who hadn’t left his spot on the couch. 

“Yeah, pour me whatever you guys are having,” he told him, obvious in his tone that his eyes were still trained on the football game.

Mikko dropped down on the couch, two glasses in hand, and passed one to Luke, Jo’s dad dropping down on the opposite side of Luke with his own glass in hand. Mikko watched her dad sip the whiskey carefully, and let out a breath of relief when he nodded softly in approval and went for another sip. Mikko didn’t know if he was ever going to have to impress Jo’s dad in the way he wished he would have to, but impressing him now would go a long way to making that future conversation easier for him. Her brother was much easier. 

“So, catch me up on the game,” was all it took for Luke to start talking to him.

In the kitchen, Jo’s mom finally got the turkey in the oven as Jo started to roll out the dough for the apple pie. The game picked up in the other room, the boys all shouting at the television over something that happened. Jo’s mom used the increase in volume as cover to try to pull some information out of her daughter that she knew she would never willingly give. 

“You failed to mention he looked like that,” her mom told her with a bump of her hip against Jo’s. “He’s a gorgeous young man. Seems sweet too.” 

“Mom,” Jo groaned, her attention still on the pie dough on the floured counter.

“Josephine,” her mother countered, stealing Jo’s tone, “he’s a catch. Catch him already.” 

“Mom, stop,” Jo sat the rolling pin down, pivoting with her hip now on the counter’s edge to face her mother. “He’s a friend, a good friend, but I don’t want to be with anyone right now. You know that. Being single is good for me right now.” 

“Sweetheart, do you even notice how he looks at you?” her mom replied, exasperation heavy in her voice, but her volume staying low. “He looks at you like you say you’ve always wanted someone to look at you. You’ve literally written songs about how you wanted someone to look at you like he looks at you. He really likes you and it’s so obvious. So what if it’s not the best time?”

Jo wiped her hands off on a dishtowel as her mom spoke. Her mom was genuinely trying, something she often did, but she wasn’t really listening to Jo, something she often did as well. Her mom cared, deeply, but she cared about what she thought other people’s priorities should be, her vision for someone else’s life, more than what the other person actually wanted. Right now, and honestly moving forward into forever as far as she was concerned, Jo didn’t want to put anyone in the war path of her love. Her love wasn’t gentle. It was calamitous, life-altering in the worst way possible. People she loved lost their privacy, their independence, their ability to decide if they even loved her back without the pressure of millions of peoples’ expectations. They also had to endure all of Jo and the chaos in her mind. Jo wasn’t easy to love, so difficult she didn’t even see how loving her could ever be worth it to anyone. Even if someone was stupid enough to decide she was worth it, Jo couldn’t put anyone she loved through the experience of loving her. Least of all someone like Mikko. 

“Mom, if I wanted your opinion, I would’ve asked,” Jo said curtly, knowing her mother would keep pushing if she didn’t stomp out any hope, blow out the candle she had lit for the idea of her daughter with the tall Finnish boy on her couch. “There's no chance that’s ever happening, okay? That’s not how I feel about him. It’s not how I want to feel about him. I want to be friends with him and I am. It’s not settling. It’s what I want. Please, stop pushing.” 

Her mom threw her hands up and shook her head at Jo, displeasure evident on her face, but she let it go. She didn’t even call Jo out for the most bold faced lie she had told her since she was a little kid here in Denver and pushed her brother off the swing and broke his arm. Jo felt a hell of a lot of things for Mikko Ratanen friends didn’t feel, but her mom didn’t call her out on it because she knew her daughter was still lying to herself too. 

By the time dinner was on the table and the Evans family plus Mikko sat around to eat it. Luke and Mikko were in a heated debate, well, heated for Luke, over if football was a better sport than hockey. Mikko wasn’t one to actually get heated. He was just enjoying getting to talk about one of his favorite things in the world, hockey, as much as he wanted with the brother of a person fast moving their way up the list of Mikko’s favorites. Mikko’s fork was in hand, moving toward his plate, ready to consume the amazing spread in front of him, but Jo’s mom cleared her throat and unnecessarily tapped her wine glass. It was unnecessary in a group of five people, but also unnecessary because the glass shattered when she tapped it just the wrong way with her knife. Thankfully, she hadn’t poured herself wine yet and it seemed to break in just a few pieces, but unfortunate because Mikko’s fork had to return to his napkin.

Jo was, as she often was, a step ahead of Mikko, collecting the shards in a spare cloth napkin. Mikko stood up to try and help, but really couldn’t figure out any way to help as Jo was already on her way to the trash can, glass shards in tow. Not even a step later, she was opening the cabinet to grab another wine glass, her mother still flustered and rambling apologies from the table. Mikko saw his opportunity to help as Jo looked up at the cabinet. He watched her shoulders drop when she realized a replacement glass was out of reach for her. Luckily, it was very much within Mikko’s reach. He headed over into the kitchen, sliding up easily behind Jo. 

“Need a hand?” he asked her softly, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

She huffed in reply, knowing her need for his help was obvious and that he was just milking everything he could get out of her actually needing him openly for once. Jo needed Mikko Rantanen more than just for his height, but she definitely wasn’t ready to admit that yet. Jo’s eyes went wide, before she blinked to cover it up, when one of Mikko’s large hands rested on her waist from behind as he reached up with his free hand to grab another glass. The feeling of his warm palm over her shirt over her skin shouldn’t have been enough to send her mind racing, questioning, but it was. It was one simple touch and Jo was ready to do anything to make it stop so she wouldn’t feel her heart picking up in her chest anymore. 

Mikko sat the glass down on the counter in front of Jo, a smug smile on his face as he looked down at Jo who had no choice but to tilt her chin up to look at him. Jo watched Mikko’s smile fall, soft pink lips parting a little as his eyes widened, pupils growing. She saw his eyes jump down from hers to her red wine stained lips, then back to her eyes, then back again. His head moved down just a little, almost imperceptibly, and Jo’s breath caught in her throat. Mikko knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but she was so beautiful and she was right in front of him, right there, with his hand on her waist, and her lips dark with wine, and he just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss her. But he shouldn’t. He couldn’t. Doing this now would mean his days doing it were limited, a trial period he couldn’t extend. He couldn’t do this. He forced a smile on his face, leaned down quickly, and tapped his forehead against hers briefly. He grabbed the wine glass and spun out from her, mind and heart racing with what could have been. He gave up that moment, for the chance at a lifetime of others with her. He’d give up any single moment for a chance at infinite ones. He made that choice again and again, like it wasn’t one of the hardest things he had to do. 

------

November bled into December, Thanksgiving gave way to Christmas, and the last vestiges of fall disappeared under the first blankets of winter snow. Jo watched it all happen, from her apartment, from Mikko’s apartment, from the wives and girlfriends and Jo box at the Pepsi center. She felt the season change, stretching across the two months, but that wasn’t the only thing that was shifting. Jo was shifting towards something she didn’t want to say sometimes for fear saying it would ruin it. She was shifting toward happiness and it was all Jo could think about as the car rolled to a stop in front of Gabe’s driveway. 

Jo she tugged at her sweater, pulling at the sleeves, at the slightly too tight bottom band, at the neckline, really any part that was touching her skin. It was itchy beyond belief, but she was pretty sure that she was about to take home the non-existent prize of ugliest Christmas sweater at the party tonight. Jo had been out with Helena for dinner, so she threw the sweater on in the car on the way over to Gabe’s and was regretting never having tried it on before this moment. But, the look on Mikko’s face when he saw just how ugly the sweater was would be worth her temporary discomfort. 

She punched in the gate code at Gabe’s and made her way up the driveway, smiling the whole way, something Jo had been doing a lot more of lately than she usually did. She told herself it was the hometown air, mile high and clearer than any other city. She told herself it was the fresh snow falling regularly now, deep into December. She told herself it was Christmas and a lot of people were happier around Christmas. Jo’s happiness wasn’t temporary though. It was a shift, slow and steady, a constant pressure forcing her out of the mindset she settled in years ago, the one where she always needed to be pleasing other people to be happy, the one where she needed everyone’s approval to find her own joy. She knew the clearer air, the snow, and the holidays weren’t the pressure. The pressure was a tall, somehow clumsy Finn who wanted nothing more than to see Jo smile every single day.

He didn’t try to make her happy with jokes and gimmicks and other things that were essentially bandaids to Jo’s heaviness. He didn’t try to pull a funny face while jumping just high enough for Jo to see from the other side of the walls she has built to protect herself, the ones she thought were too high for anyone to climb. Mikko wasn’t climbing them, knowing full and well that him getting over them wouldn’t truly help Jo. It would make her just okay for a little while longer, make the way she lived a little more bearable, until it destroyed them both. Mikko was taking the walls apart, brick by brick, his patience and his steadiness guiding the way. He never got frustrated when some of the bricks went back up in the middle of the night while he slept. He got up the next morning all the same and went back to work, taking the walls apart piece by piece, at whatever pace Jo would accept. Mikko hadn’t given up in four months, and he wasn’t planning on it, not until all the walls were gone and the bricks were destroyed, crumbled back into dust, and Jo could see herself the way he saw her the few times he managed to make a hole in the wall and actually see her behind all her defenses.

Jo opened the door into Andre Burakovsky. It was an accident and he shouldn’t have been standing directly in front of the front door and he wasn’t hurt in the slightest, but Jo felt bad about it all the same. 

“I’m dumb, it’s my fault,” he assured her. His mouth dropped open when he saw her sweater as Jo hung up her jacket in the front closet. “That’s the best thing I’ve ever seen and I wish we had a contest because you’d so win.” 

“I would so win,” Jo agreed, fussing with her curls to get them reasonably back into place

“There should be a contest. Maybe you can bully Gabe into getting some sort of prize anyway because you deserve it, ” Andre told her, his signature wide smile on his face. “He’s in the family room last I saw him by the way, since I know you’re looking for him.” 

Jo blushed at Andre’s words. He had caught her eyes tracking over the party that was in full swing, looking for the guy who had technically invited her, but she probably could’ve shown up anyway without his invite. She ducked out on Andre, blush still deepening with him laughing in the background, and made her way through the living room and kitchen into Gabe’s family room. She was old news by now, a days old newspaper no one wanted to read anymore, and it was Jo’s favorite thing about the Colorado Avalanche. She was Mikko’s friend Jo. Full stop. No additions necessary. 

“Jojo!” 

Jo heard Mikko before she saw him. She technically felt him before she saw him either as two heavy, muscled, ugly sweater covered arms wrapped around her stomach and lifted her off the ground, making her squeal.. He was laughing as soon as her feet left the ground. Jo’s hands gripped one of Mikko’s forearms around her waist to steady herself as Mikko rocked slowly side to side, weight shifting from foot to foot, with Jo in the air in his arms. 

“Mikko!” Jo shouted through her laughter. “Put me down!”

“You’re so easy to pick up though, and now you can actually see the party,” Mikko pointed out unhelpfully. 

He set her down anyway, knowing that when Josephine Evans made up her mind, such as wanting to be put down, she was a woman who would figure out how to get her way, Mikko’s shins be damned if that’s what it took. Mikko had a game to play the day after today and wasn’t excited about doing it with shins bruised by Jo’s boots. 

“This sweater,” Mikko breathed out as Jo turned to face him. He was in disbelief as he looked at it, “Jo, this is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” 

“Are you proud?” 

Jo spun slowly on her heels, letting Mikko take in the absolute monstrosity she had bought to wear just for this. Mikko was in disbelief, written plainly all over his face, as he observed the sweater in all its terrible glory. Jo had more than delivered when he texted her and said it was an ugly Christmas party. Mikko loved the sweater, a true ugly beauty, but he thought the best part was that Jo put her hair in those little half space buns, the rest of her hair in curls falling down her back. He thought she was the cutest person he’d ever seen and he only knew one way to deal with it in a healthy way Jo would actually appreciate.

Appreciate might have been the wrong word. 

Mikko reached out with two large hands and gave her little half buns a squeeze while saying, “Your antlers are cute.” 

“Mikko, I swear to god, one day you’re going to die and it’s because I kill you,” Jo informed him with a tone so casual you would think she had just ordered a breakfast sandwich. 

“And what a way to go,” Mikko just laughed in response. “Mel made spiked eggnog. You interested?” 

Mikko knew Jo was interested before he had even asked, which is why it didn’t surprise him in the slightest that she took off for the kitchen, dragging him by his hand to get to the eggnog. Mikko had released when he stepped into Jo’s apartment on November 3rd, almost two months ago now, just how much Jo loved Christmas, because it had already been decorated that day he walked in. She had offered no explanation for the decorations being up so early other than that it was her apartment, she could do what she damn well pleased, and if Mikko didn’t like it, he could damn well leave. He stayed. Mikko always stayed when Jo was involved. 

“Those are some pours there, Jo,” Mikko told her as he eyed the cups Jo was already filling for them from the pot. “Trying to get me drunk?” 

“You’re a growing boy,” Jo countered, shoving a full cup into Mikko’s waiting hand. “Drink your milk and maybe you’ll grow big and strong.” 

Mikko couldn’t help but laugh. He might make Jo laugh a lot and Mikko laughed a lot in general, but no one made him laugh more than Jo. Even on his worst days, even on Jo’s worst days for that matter, she could always pry a full bellied laugh out of him. It wasn’t even prying. Mikko would willingly give it over to her even when all she offered him was a shitty joke in exchange. It wasn’t lost on Mikko why that was. It wasn’t lost on anyone in the room, or really anyone who had ever spent four minutes in the same room as Mikko and Jo. Mikko looked at Jo differently from other people. Debate what you want about loving someone or being in love with someone, Mikko knew Jo didn’t want him to be in love with her and he respected her wishes more than how he wished she felt, but Mikko Rantanen loved Josephine Evans and it had taken only a few months for it to happen. Mikko realized it the other day on the plane coming back from a road trip. All he wanted was for the plane to get to altitude so he could turn on his phone and text Jo about something funny that had happened since his phone had been in airplane mode. All he wanted to do was get home and see her. All he wanted was her. And that’s not how you feel about people you don’t love. 

“Does the alcohol mean that the good stuff in milk cancels out?” Mikko asked Jo with one half raised eyebrow and one fully raised eyebrow. 

He couldn’t lift one without the other, but he tried anyway. Mikko always tried. 

“I don’t know,” Jo shrugged as she put the lid back on the pot, her full cup in her hand now. “Drink it and we’ll see if you grow some more. You’re still a little too small. A couple more inches and a few more pounds and you’ll be perfect to dress as Fezzik from the Princess Bride next year for Halloween.”

Mikko smiled and laughed through his reply, “I’d rather be the Wesley to your Buttercup though.” 

“That’s actually a pretty solid idea. You’re even already blond, no wigs necessary,” Jo smiled up at him, lips at the edge of her cup.

“Hey, Mik, I need a pong partner.” 

Josty was standing in the kitchen doorway, ping pong ball in hand, already with a slightly glazed over look in his eyes, a few drinks clearly already in him. Mikko definitely wasn’t the best pong player at the party, but his long arms meant he could be kind of shit and still get away with it. 

“You good?” Mikko asked Jo, attention focused solely on her as he waited for confirmation. 

Jo nodded and shooed him off with a wave of her hand to go play a round or two or seven knowing Josty. She could see the pong table set up in the corner of the family room from here and watched Mikko’s face light up when he sank the first cup. It might have been the bitch cup, but he lit up nonetheless. Jo lasted all of about thirty seconds at her observation point in the kitchen alone before Mel slid in, leaning up against the kitchen island next to her.

“Nice sweater,” Mel told her, giving the younger girl a little shove on the arm to get her full attention. 

“It’s itchy as hell, but you know the sacrifices we make for beauty,” Jo joked with her, an eye still on the tall blond boy in the corner of the other room. 

“You two are cute, by the way,” Mel told her with a smile edging at her lips. “I know there’s nothing going on, before you even say it. I’m just saying you two are cute together, that’s all.” 

“Mel,” Jo groaned, but the older girl cut her off with a wave of her hand. 

“I said what I said,” was all she offered Jo in response. 

Jo was pretty sure every single member of the team had cornered Mikko and every single significant other had cornered Jo at least twice now since September about their friendship. Several people insisted they were hiding it, a “real” relationship. Jo always turned her nose up at the idea that friendships didn’t count as real relationships because her friendships had always been the most consistent, best kind of relationships Jo had ever had in her life. Her romantic relationships were unnecessarily complicated with what felt like the entire world feeling like they had a right to an opinion. She felt exposed, like she wasn’t allowed to love people without the world’s approval and even if she had it, she had to love at the pace they wanted, which was so fast that Jo felt all the air rush out of her lungs every single time. Romantic relationships thrived on patience and time, letting them flow as they were supposed to rather than forced up a river before the boat was big enough to handle the rapids. Jo had never gotten to do that and so, they all failed. Her friendships weren’t like that; they were genuine and pure and good, like Mikko. She would ruin him if she tried to turn this romantic, him and them at the same time. She cared about him too much to do that, so she never dwelled on the thought, never let it foster. She refused to witness what the world would do to someone as good as him. 

“Don’t overthink it though,” Mel tossed into the mix of everything that was already swimming in Jo’s mind. “Don’t force it, obviously, but don’t resist it.”

Was Jo really resisting it if she tried, even though she wasn’t one hundred percent successful, to never even let a thought form about it? If she never even let herself for a single second daydream about what it might feel like to be loved by someone as good as him, did that even count as resisting it? Besides, Jo wasn’t even sure it was really on the table. For romance to be on the table, they both had to want it and Jo didn’t know if Mikko wanted that. 

“You’re overthinking,” Mel sang softly. “Don’t sell yourself short, Jo, okay? For someone who loves to kick ass and take names, you won’t take the smallest risk here.” 

Mel didn’t get it. Jo wasn’t risking herself. She was already so damaged, bent until she broke, utterly unlovable that it didn’t even matter. She would be risking Mikko. Mikko with his beautiful smile and his positivity and his determination to make Jo realize she was just as good as him when she knew she never would be. Mikko with his kind eyes and his warm hugs and his patience unmatched by anyone else Jo had ever met. She would be risking one of the best people she had ever met and Jo couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t let her life darken him with a permanent ink stain, coating everything bright and good with an inky black residue that would always weigh him down. There was a version of Jo, a version of her that she hated to admit ever existed, a version of her that believed people could be in love with someone and that their love would fix them, that wouldn’t have thought twice about it. She would’ve reached out and taken him anyway, hoping some of his goodness would transfer over to her without a care in the world for if she took everything he had from him. That version of Jo was thankfully dead, but the one that stood in her place only saw the harm she could cause him, would cause him if she exposed him to what loving her looked like. Jo wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t watch it happen, not to him, not if it was the hardest thing she ever had to do. 

So, Jo drank her eggnog. She took photos and laughed and smiled and told Mikko he was her best friend, because he pretty much was at this point. No one else even got half of what he got from her. She wore that itchy sweater all night because Mikko thought it was the best thing ever. She wore it until she got to Mikko’s apartment after the party. His was closer to Gabe's and Jo didn’t feel like the effort of going to her place was worth it when Mikko had the best couch in the entire world. Jo kicked her shoes off and threw herself onto the couch the moment she set foot in Mikko’s familiar apartment. He laughed as Jo tucked herself into the cushions, letting herself be swallowed up in them. 

Mikko vanished down the hallway for a moment, returning with one of his t-shirts and sweatpants for Jo to put on instead of her itchy, but iconic, sweater and jeans. Jo groaned as she took the t-shirt from him, knowing it meant she would need to get up to go to the bathroom to put them on, arm flopping down on the couch in disgust. 

“Could be a little more grateful I’m providing a place to sleep and pajamas,” Mikko told her, not able to fake a scolding tone without laughing for more than a few words. 

Jo glared at Mikko as she lifted her head from her spot on the cushions and slid unceremoniously from the couch to head to the bathroom to change. She changed fast, sleep calling her name from the couch she was forced to vacate, brushing her teeth faster than her dentist would approve of with her purple toothbrush Mikko had gotten for her specifically and left it next to his green one. The toothbrush had just shown up one morning after Jo crashed on the couch and Mikko left early for practice. It had been in the bathroom when she had woken up, a little sticky note with Mikko’s horrible handwriting on it.

Jojo’s toothbrush :) 

They had never spoken about it, the sticky note being the only communication they exchanged. Jo had used it, her mind trying not to think about everything a toothbrush at his place was implying, and had put it in the holder next to Mikko’s, trying further not to think about how her toothbrush was next to his. Jo shook the thoughts from her mind again as she rolled the bottom of Mikko’s sweatpants up so she wouldn’t step on them on her way to the couch. Mikko had pulled her favorite blanket out of the closet for her and was waiting on the couch when she came down the hall. 

“You’re so tiny,” Mikko practically giggled as he saw how big the sweatpants and t-shirt were on Jo. He’d seen it before, but he thought it was hilarious every time. “Little Jojo.” 

Jo hated the nickname Jojo from everyone. Her mom didn’t even use it anymore because of the way Jo’s face scrunched up after she said it, disgust plain as day on her face. She let Mikko use it and it even made her smile sometimes, like just now, and like the toothbrush, Jo didn’t let herself think about what it all meant as she climbed onto the couch and snuggled up into Mikko’s broad, warm chest. Mikko was always the perfect amount of warm, enough that his warmth sunk into Jo’s bones, into the places that never seemed to warm up enough. 

“You should sleep in your bed,” Jo mumbled as her eyes started to close. 

“I’ll leave when you fall asleep,” Mikko assured her softly, letting his thumb rub her upper arm softly, crossing the edge of his too long t-shirt sleeve she was wearing on her skin and back gently. 

“M’kay,” Jo sighed contentedly. 

Jo’s eyes didn’t open again that evening. Her breathing slowed, naturally timing with Mikko’s deep breaths, his chest rising and falling against her back lulling her softly to sleep. She was almost asleep, just on the edge of it, when she heard Mikko’s voice whisper softly. 

“I wish you could see how great you are, Jojo.” 

It wasn’t meant for her to hear, so Jo didn’t reply. She drifted off to sleep, trying not to think about what that sentence meant. She also tried not to think about what the purple toothbrush next to his meant and why she slept better next to him than she ever did by herself. But that was a lot of things Jo couldn’t think about and instead, she fell asleep reminding herself exactly why she couldn’t dwell on all of those things. 

-------

Christmas passed with Jo leaving Denver for the first time since she had arrived to spend it with her parents and brother in Florida. Mikko stayed in Denver, but his family came to him at least. She stayed through New Year’s, taking a week-long trip before her brother had to return to school in the Bahamas with her family. Being on a beach somewhere remote, the sun on her face, sand in her toes, made Jo miss Denver more somehow. A week on a beach in the Caribbean plus a week in Florida on a different beach and she was itching to get back to the snow, back to Avalanche games, back to the mile high air. A part of her brain whispered one more thing she wanted to get back to, back to Mikko. Jo already knew that was part of it, and she knew why that was. She loved him. There was no way around that anymore, no vault she could put it in that would even close due to the amount of ever growing love she had for him. Two weeks apart came with almost daily Facetimes and texts, the Christmas morning one standing out brightest of all. Mikko had sent Jo to Florida with his gift for her, covering in wrapping that would’ve made an eight-year-old proud, but horrified a precocious nine-year-old.

“Mikko, this is half tape,” Jo whined into her phone as she tried to break into the box. 

“Not all of us can wrap like we’re a Pinterest mom, Jo,” Mikko scolded her softly, holding up the box she had wrapped for him as evidence. 

“I’ll teach you.” 

Jo laughed as she said it, and Mikko joined her, because they both knew Mikko couldn’t be taught how to wrap a present. He didn’t care enough about crisp lines and details like that. If it was wrapped, it was good for him. Jo had wrapped all of his gifts for everyone this year, except her own. Hers had been Mikko’s only present to wrap this year and he had done an absolutely horrible job. Jo finally managed to get through all of the tape and into the box. She tossed the tissue paper aside to reveal a candle. A candle, of all things. 

“So, okay, remember how I said you have to come to Finland in the summer?” Mikko told her, offering up his explanation for the seemingly random gift in her hand. “Well, that candle smells like Finland. I did a bunch of research and got like, ten or whatever from Etsy, you know Etsy? Anyway, I smelled them all and that one does smell like Finland. I want you to know what it’s like before you get there and you really like candles and stuff.” 

It was objectively a mediocre gift without the context. In context, it almost made Jo cry. The amount of thought behind it. The effort he went into to find the one that reminded him most of where he grew up. The fact that it was a physical representation of his wish to bring her back to the place he grew up. Jo almost cried looking at it. She popped the top off and smelled the candle deeply, ocean and forest mixing with some smells she couldn’t identify but hoped she would be able to soon. She smiled as she put the lid back on and set it aside. 

“I love it, Mik,” Jo smiled at him now. “It’s one of the most thoughtful gifts I’ve ever gotten. Thank you.” 

MIkko smiled widely, dimple popping out as it often did, “There’s a card in the bottom, but you can read it later. I want to open my gift.” 

Jo laughed as Mikko took one last glance at her pristine wrapping job before ripping it to shreds, busting open the box in an effort to find out what was inside as fast as possible. The fact that he had the present under his tree for three days and hadn’t opened it yet was a miracle within itself. And besides, some beautiful things were supposed to be temporary. Jo felt some days like maybe she was one of those temporarily beautiful things and like her beautiful moments had already passed, then she would see the way Mikko Rantanen looked at her for a second and think that maybe some beautiful things were supposed to be beautiful forever and maybe she was one of those things. 

“Okay, I really hope you like it-”

“Jo, I love it,” Mikko cut her off.

Mikko pulled the sweatshirt out of the box and immediately yankedit over his head, smoothing out the image on the front. It was a cartoon caricature of his dog back in Finland, who he missed constantly during the season and talked about often. Jo ordered Mikko’s actual size instead of his preferred too large one. It fit tightly, but comfortably around his shoulders and arms, sleeves managing to be just long enough to cover his arms and reach his wrist. It fit perfectly and Mikko was staring fondly at the image on the front. Jo had picked the cutest picture she could find, one of his dog wearing one of Mikko’s helmets on his head. 

“Fits perfect,” Mikko told her, bright blue eyes lifting from the sweatshirt to his phone to look at her again, his dimple showing itself again. “I love it, Jojo. Thank you.”

“Always, Mik,” Jo smiled softly at him

Maybe it was the holidays getting to her brain, the warmth and comfort of it all, but Jo was inches away from spilling words she could never take back, ones that might alter the beautiful boy on the other end of the phone in a way Jo didn’t want for him.

“What are you thinking about?”

Mikko knew something was up, something was pressing itself forward in her mind, demanding to be said. He could always tell, even from that first night on the rooftop he could always tell. He was always checking, looking for the smallest signs since Jo had never given anything larger than a single grain of sand compared to a beach of outputs. Mikko knew he must have missed thousands of signs by now, so it was important for him to acknowledge all the ones he saw. The worried glance to the right, following by a tap of her short nails on the table, and a quick sigh. She was overthinking.

“I just,” Jo let out a long breath and Mikko waited. He just waited, giving her time and space to choose her words. Jo wanted to tell him she loved him, but she couldn’t use those words, so, instead, Jo let him in for a moment. “Um, remember how you asked me that, um, first day you came over for lunch why I was crying?” 

“I remember, Jo,” Mikko assured her softly, support coming over through his words that somehow seemed to take a physical form, something Jo could reach out and grab onto now to help stay on her metaphorical feet and continue talking. 

“I was upset because I just felt,” Jo took another deep breath and looked at the face on the screen. Mikko’s eyes were steady and true, grounding her, calming her nerves. “I just felt empty. I felt like, I don’t know, it’s stupid, but I just feel sometimes like I’ve worked so hard that I don’t really know who I am anymore, like there really isn’t anything left of me after everything, after everyone took something, I guess.”

Mikko smiled softly, but it wasn’t pity in his eyes. It was love, raw and real and true. But Jo couldn’t see it. She wouldn’t let herself see it.

“Jo, how could there be nothing left when you’re my favorite person I’ve ever met?”

Jo felt the tears well up in her eyes because she knew they were true. Mikko genuinely believed them. Mikko was a lot of things, but he was a terrible liar. He really believed Jo was his favorite person he had ever met. But what was he seeing that could possibly make him feel like that?

Mikko saw all of the fractured parts of Jo hiding in the pieces of her personality, the faces she put on, all living behind the walls she built. Mikko saw all the parts of Jo and he could put the parts together in his mind and see just how beautiful she was. Broken things could still be beautiful. Things that used to be broken and were put back together one piece at a time could also still be beautiful. Things didn’t have to be exactly as they were originally made. 

The word Mikko didn’t know to explain it was kintsugi, an old Japanese tradition of repairing broken pottery with gold. It wasn’t about trying to make the pieces look like it had never been broken. If you tried to do that, the lines where it had broken before would always look like faults, like unsightly scars. But if you joined it back together with gold, you weren’t hiding the past. You were making it beautiful, letting past fractures create an even more beautiful, unique piece when it was all finally assembled again. That’s what Mikko thought about Jo, that all of her pieces were beautiful and that the person she had been before she fractured herself was beautiful too. But Mikko thought that Jo, stitched back together with trust and love like gold, would be even more beautiful, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He could see her now and who she would be when she put herself back together, and he loved her all the same.

The conversation ended and Mikko didn’t bring it up again while Jo was in Florida and in the Bahamas with her family. He let his words sit with Jo and acted as a constant reminder of the care and love he showed her, confirming them every single day without ever talking about them again. Jo still didn’t know what Mikko saw in her, but he kept the daily FaceTime calls, never missing one while she was away.

When she got back to Denver, he picked her up from the airport, even though Jo had tried to tell him he didn’t have to. There was takeout in the car for her when she climbed in, the best gift a girl could ask for. Mikko had just laughed at her excitement and driven her home, taking his place on her couch, to go container and a fork in hand, and listened to Jo talk about her trip. Mikko was on that couch or she was on his practically every single day in January with the Avs on a stretch of home games for a good chunk of it and All Star break Mikko didn’t feel like traveling for. He wanted to spend it with Jo, so he did. It wasn’t a decision that required much thought for him, nor was it one he felt the need to defend to his teammates who kept pushing for him to go to a beach somewhere with them. He knew where he wanted to be for All Star break, the same place he wanted to be all of the time, with Jo. 

Since the Christmas morning conversation, Mikko was getting more and more pieces of how Jo’s mind worked and what she thought of herself. They didn’t come in big reveals of insecurity like that one. The comments were small, something about missing being a kid without any worries, something about how Los Angeles felt suffocating, something about how she felt like Denver was too good to be true sometimes. After too many glasses of wine one night as January bled into February, Jo let one bigger thing slip out on Mikko’s couch, something that he couldn’t understand how she could possibly think when he was right there next to her, loving her louder than he meant to. 

“I just don’t think I’m really all that lovable,” Jo admitted one night. “I think loving me is too hard for someone.”

It had almost broken Mikko’s heart, not because he loved her and she didn’t see him. It wasn’t about him. It hurt because someone he loved so deeply, who his love for kept growing every second he spent with her, someone he wanted to give all of his love to, didn’t even think they could be loved.

Mikko would keep showing up at her front door. He would keep loving her until one day she couldn’t deny that just because she might be difficult to love, that didn’t mean she wasn’t worth it. 

-------

Let the record show, Josephine Evans vowed to do absolutely nothing other than eat the chocolates she bought herself and watch cringe-worthy Netflix romantic comedies for Valentine’s Day. It was a date she set up with herself and it only involved moving to her couch to attend the date, so she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have a problem making it and therefore wouldn’t let herself down. Until there was a knock on her door in a pattern that had become incredibly familiar to her since her third day in Denver. Jo groaned as she lifted herself from her couch, moving the chocolates to her coffee table and her blanket around her shoulders. He knew about her date with herself today. Why was he here? 

“Mikko,” Jo groaned as she opened the door.

But she couldn’t be mad at the smiling face on the other side of the door. His dark beanie was pulled down over his ears, his coat buttoned up high on his neck to protect him from the chilly Denver air. His cheeks were flushed from his walk from the parking lot he had long received Jo’s second pass to; he was over so much, she finally surrendered and gave it to him. He didn’t have a key yet, but he was well on his way there. He sniffed a little from the cold as he offered her out a red envelope with her name scratched on it in his handwriting. She had never been mad at Mikko, not even for a minute, since they met. She wasn’t going to start now, even when he crashed her self-love date, with his sweet smile and a fucking valentine. 

“If no one is going to be smart enough to ask you to be their valentine, then I will. Jojo Evans, will you be my valentine?” 

Jo looked at the red envelope in his hands, then up to his smiling face, dimple prominent, eyes still a shade of blue Jo hadn’t figured out how to describe. Not an ocean, not the sky. Nothing was quite right. They were all too cold for how warm his eyes always were. Jo was brought back into the moment by Mikko scrunching his nose up at her and wiggling the envelope, waiting for her answer, even though he knew she couldn’t say no to him. Jo sighed and gave him her best displeased look, before snatching the envelope from his hand. Mikko smiled impossibly wider and pushed into Jo’s apartment, taking up residence on the chair by the couch after leaving his snowy boots by the door. 

Jo ripped open the red envelope carelessly; she had never been good at opening envelopes. The card inside was cliche, sweet to the point of being cavity inducing. There was glitter and hearts and everything you would have put on a card in third grade when you made cards for your classmates, except Mikko didn’t hand make this one, which was probably for the better. He had definitely picked out the most obnoxious one he could find at the store though. It was his short note inside that had Jo clutching the card to her chest as Mikko scrolled through his phone in the living room. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, Jojo-bean :) Hope you don’t mind me crashing. Wouldn’t want to spend today with anyone else

With shaky hands, Jo clipped the card to the front of her fridge, like her mom did with Valentine’s Day cards when Jo was little and still lived in Denver and the world was simple. Jo had been thinking a lot about her childhood, well, her early childhood anyway, when she lived in the suburbs of the city. She hadn’t even driven through her old neighborhood since she had been back. She was sort of afraid of it, not because her time there was bad, the opposite. Her time there was so good. It was pure, not yet ruined like Los Angeles where her family had moved after or New York City, where Jo had unfortunately learned what it was like to be an adult judged by millions of people for every micro-movement she made. That neighborhood in Denver was a safe place, housing memories of her childhood untouched by the harsh reality of twenty-four-year-old Jo’s life. She didn’t want to go and ruin it for herself. But she wanted to go. And maybe, maybe if she took the brightest human she knew with her, his light would cancel out her darkness and those memories would stay a safe haven. 

“Hey, did you have anything planned?” Jo shouted out to Mikko as she made her way into her closet, reaching for a pair of jeans to throw on. 

“Honestly, not really,” Mikko admitted. Jo could hear him talking around the chocolate he’d definitely stolen and was currently trying to hide from her in his mouth, but she let it go with a smile and a shake of her head. “Anything you want to do?” 

“You ask a girl to be your valentine and you don’t even have a plan, Rantanen?” Jo chirped, well, as good as she could chirp, as she yanked on a comfy Avalanche sweatshirt Mikko had gotten for her. 

Mikko laughed and played it off well, “I figured if I was crashing your plans, maybe I’d see what you wanted to do together instead?” 

Jo grabbed her snow boots and a gray hat with a bobble on top she knew Mikko would bat at before they even made it out the door before heading back into the living room where he was waiting. There was chocolate on the corner of his mouth and there was definitely more than one extra empty space in the box, but Jo let it slide. 

“Would you be down to take a little drive out to the suburbs near where I grew up?” Jo asked him as she sat down on the couch to start lacing up her boots. “I haven’t been since I got this place and I kind of want to go?” 

She said it like a question, a bad habit she had picked up in an effort to sound more flexible to other people’s needs, diminishing her own at the same time. Mikko knew what she was doing as he lifted himself out of the chair to grab his boots, staying by the door so he didn’t track snow through Jo’s pristine apartment he’d never seen even a pillow out of place in until he messed it up himself. Mikko knew Jo was trying to hide the fact that she really wanted to go to her old neighborhood, so to her old neighborhood was where they were going to go. 

Mikko drove since Jo really didn’t drive much anymore, at least, that’s why she told herself he drove. It wasn’t because she liked being able to look at him while he drove, large hands on the steering wheel, sunlight across his face, making his eyes look like a different color Jo still couldn’t describe for the life of her. That definitely wasn’t why Mikko usually drove. Mikko let Jo control the music. He’d play exclusively Finnish rap music if she didn’t and besides, music was her job. She had introduced him to so many incredible things he could probably never thank her enough, but really, he always let her control the music because she’d talk about it if he did. She’d walk him through the song, commenting on its construction, the originality, the way it fit together, her passion deep in each analysis. If you were ever lucky enough to hear a person you love talk about their deepest passion in life, you should let them talk as long as they want to. At least, that’s what Mikko thought and that’s why Jo always controlled the music in the car. 

Jo directed them into the suburbs, streets becoming more and more familiar as they exited the city. A sense of home Jo hadn’t felt in a long time flooded her as Mikko took the turn into her old neighborhood, her memory flashing back to all the times her mom and dad had taken that turn with her in the backseat, all the times the school bus she rode as a little kid, all the times she turned that corner on her bicycle. She learned to ride it on this street. The feeling of home was distant, almost foreign in how far away it felt from her. 

“Turn right at the next street, Mik.” 

Mikko nodded, shifting to bopping his head to the music as he turned. Jo added the song to the playlist on his Spotify simply titled “Jo’s Music.” Any time she played a song in the car for him and he seemed to like it, she added it to a playlist for him, in case he wanted to go back and listen to it later. Jo didn’t know that Mikko listened to it every single day without fail. It was his everything playlist. When he didn’t have a specific type of music he was looking for, he put it on. It played when he first got up in the morning as he made himself breakfast and in the car on the way to the arena. It kept him company on flights back to Denver, flights back to Jo, after losing roadies. Every time he played it, he remembered these moments, moments with Jo and him alone, something he knew that when she left Denver eventually he wouldn’t get many of anymore. When each song played, wherever he was, he could hear her voice singing over it, hear the little comments she made, see her bad but still better than his dance moves in his passenger seat. He saw her when it played like she was right there next to him, living his life with him.

“Turn left at the next street, then it’s the third house on the right. It used to be yellow, not sure if it still is.” 

Mikko flicked on his turn signal then turned as Jo instructed. It was easy to spot the house Jo grew up in as soon as they turned the corner. The house was still yellow. And somehow, the fact that the house was still yellow, a color Jo demanded her parents paint it when she was three with no concept that it would make the house look like a bumblebee when they put the black shutters on it, made tears come to her eyes. She wiped them on the back of her hands as Mikko rolled to a stop in front of the house, hoping he didn’t see. He did see, but he let her have a private moment in the passenger seat of his car, ready to step in if her tears shifted from ones sponsored by her childhood to something else, something negative she drove herself to instead. 

“I remember making a snowman every year right there,” Jo told Mikko softly, a hand pointing to the spot on the grass near where the driveway met the walkway. “I wanted to pick the most visible spot to the street, I guess.” 

Mikko nodded softly, then turned the engine off, surprising Jo. He grabbed his keys and slid them into his pocket before stepping out of the car without a word to Jo. He had an idea and he was going to see it through and he knew if he told Jo what it was, she would try to hold him down in the driver’s seat to stop him. Mikko was already knocking on the front door by the time Jo had opened the passenger door of his car and had started to shout to ask him what he was doing. 

The front door opened before Jo could reach Mikko, despite her best efforts to run through the snow, in her large snow boots, to peel him off some poor person’s front porch before he created what Jo thought would be a disaster. Mikko put on his best smile as an elderly woman appeared in the doorway, a confused expression on her face as she surveyed the two twenty-somethings on her doorstep that were too well dressed to be trying to sell her something. 

“Hi there,” Mikko was really trying to pour as much European charm into his voice as he could. “We’re sorry to bother you. I’m Mikko and that’s Jo behind me. This might be a kind of weird request, but Jo actually grew up in this house when she was little and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind if we built a snowman on your front lawn? We won’t come inside or cause any trouble, I promise. We just want to build a snowman, or really, I want to build one with Jojo like she did when she was a kid.” 

The woman looked at Mikko and Jo watched her absolutely melt under his dimpled smile and kind eyes. Her hands came up over her heart, one on top of the other and she gasped softly. She looked at Mikko like he was heaven sent, which Jo thought someday might not be too far off from the truth. She turned to Jo, the look of adoration on her face staying strong. 

“Your boyfriend is the sweetest little, well, big, piece of peach pie I’ve ever seen,” she told Jo, the adoration on her face dripping from each word. “Of course, build away!”

The door closed before Jo could correct her, that Mikko wasn’t her boyfriend, just her boy friend, her best friend really. No one else was even coming close to vying for that job title anymore. Mikko turned and smiled at her and Jo sort of forgot why that distinction even mattered for a second, lost in the moment of one of the sweetest things anyone had done for her in awhile, or, at least since Mikko had show up at her door this morning with a valentine for her. 

“Get our gloves from the car and we’ll get started, yeah?” Mikko asked her. 

Jo turned on her heels to head to the car, but Mikko’s hand grabbing her wrist stopped her and pulled her back to him. He was chewing his bottom lip as his eyes shifted to look at the concrete beneath his feet. Jo used his hand on her wrist as an anchor and leaned into him, her other hand falling on his chest making him lift his eyes back to hers.

“I didn’t overstep, right?” he asked her, his voice much softer than for his first question. “Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

“No, Mikko,” Jo said firmly, her voice solid and sure, strong and supportive. “You surprised me, but this whole day so far is one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me in a long time. You’re the best, Mik.” 

Mikko pulled his lips tight over his teeth, nodded softly, then let his trademark smile come back over his face as he looked down at Jo. Mikko slowly let a part of him he kept tucked far away from the surface come up, letting it guide his hand to transition to holding hers instead of her wrist, fingers lacing together. Mikko tugged Jo closer by their conjoined hands, her boots shuffling against the floor to comply easily with his request. 

Mikko Rantanen wasn’t harboring a secret love for Josephine Evans. It was clear as day to everyone, even Jo herself. It was in his shaky handwriting on the card from earlier. It was in the purple toothbrush at his place. It was in the car rides. It was in the hugs after games. It was in the texts that always started with, “Saw this and thought you’d like it.” It was in the knock on the front door of her childhood home. It was in the way he was looking at her right now. His love was right there, breaking on the surface, begging Jo to jump into the deep waters of his ever growing love for her. Mikko loved her more than she could understand, probably more than he could fully understand either, but he could feel it. She could feel it as his head slowly leaned down towards hers, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt his warm breath fanning out across her face.

But Jo couldn’t jump in. The water might have been deep and warm and crystal clear, the kind she wanted to swim in forever. But Jo was still a hurricane. She would cause a storm over that water, over the lands that made up Mikko touching it, and wreak havoc on it all. Her winds would cause his love for her to destroy him, the water crashing to shore, washing away everything that made him her favorite person, water damage rotting the parts that didn’t wash away.

Jo couldn’t jump in, but she never wanted anything more as she could feel him, his lips inches from hers now. Jo was saved from the moment by the front door to the house she grew up in opening again. Mikko recoiled back before Jo could even open her eyes. 

“Oh, sorry!” the elderly woman said. “Sorry, I interrupted you two sweethearts. Would you like some hot chocolate? I can get a batch going on the stove. Don’t want you two getting too cold out here.”

Mikko looked at Jo all the same, like that moment hadn’t just happened, but it was almost like it hadn’t. Because Jo never had time to pull away. She never stopped it, something outside of both of them did, so Mikko’s love remained untouched, calming waves still washing over her through his soft eyes and kind smile, through the very day he created for her and her alone. She loved him too. Standing on the porch of her childhood home, she loved him too. She loved him as deep as he loved her. That was so clear to her in the place where her heart felt lightest. He knew she loved him too. He knew today wasn’t the day she could share with him, the walls still too high. Mikko believed one day she could. Jo didn’t. And that made all the difference. 

“Hot chocolate would be great,” Mikko told the woman softly, his eyes staying on Jo. 

“Coming right up!” The woman spun to head toward her kitchen, the door almost completely shut before it opened again so she could ask, “Marshmallows?” 

“Of course,” Jo smiled at her.

“Me too,” Mikko added, his voice as embedded with happiness as ever. 

“You got it!”

With that, Jo and Mikko were back to being alone on the front porch. There wasn’t an awkwardness in the air though because Mikko didn’t feel turned down. He didn’t feel pushed aside. He simply felt like it wasn’t the right time and that the right time was just a little further down the road. Some days it seemed a little further down the road than others. Today it seemed close. It didn’t matter how far it was to Mikko though. He’d keep going anyway, even if the right time never came. If their lives changed and Jo found someone else, then he would too, but he’d never stop loving her. The love would just shift and Mikko would continue to keep on walking and being in Jo’s life. You can’t say you love someone, then stop if they can’t love you the same way you love them because then you don’t love them. You love the idea of them. Mikko loved Josephine, not his idea of her. So, he kept going. Today, keeping going meant walking to the car to grab their gloves to build a snowman on the front lawn of her childhood home. 

Mikko tossed Jo’s gloves at her, hitting her square in the chest, as he rejoined her by the snowman spot. Jo glared at him, but it fell into a smile quickly when Mikko laughed at her glare. Jo rolled her eyes at his laugh as she slowly gathered up some snow in her hand, packing it down tightly as Mikko squatted down to start creating an initial ball for the base of the snowman. Jo took her newly formed snowball and shifted it solely into her right hand then, without thinking about any possible repercussions, she threw it as hard as she could at Mikko’s left shoulder. The look on Mikko’s face when he looked over his shoulder at Jo made her instantly laugh, but she covered her mouth to try and be a little sympathetic. Mikko’s jaw was slack, blue eyes wide with artificial horror. His head was shaking softly from left to right as he stared at Jo. 

“Jojo,” Mikko drawled out slowly, taking his time to harp on each syllable like a frustrated mother with a petulant toddler, except Mikko was very, very bad at it. 

“Mikko,” Jo drew out the last vowel in his name as long as she could, until a smile forced itself onto his face. 

“Expect payback when you least expect it,” Mikko vowed. “Now, are you going to help me build us the best snowman ever or are you going to cause problems?” 

“Who said I can’t do both?” Jo smiled slyly as she joined Mikko on the ground. 

“Touché,” Mikko laughed, nodding softly as he did. “Touché, Jojo.” 

The day Mikko had first used that nickname she had hated since she lived in this house was far in the past now. Jo realized as she started to roll a giant snowball around the front yard of her childhood home with her best friend who was too large for this activity in all reality that she didn’t hate it anymore because she couldn’t think about that nickname without hearing it in his voice. Mikko had attached himself to that nickname and Jo was pretty sure there wasn’t anything Mikko was capable of that could make her hate him. The bottom snowball got too big for Jo to roll around quickly, but Mikko easily took over and let Jo get started on the second one instead. Even though it was just snowballs, it felt like a representation of them. Jo’s life felt too big, too tough for her to ever push aside, or to ever brute force into being something beautiful in spite of how messy it really was. But she could do parts of it, the early stages where everything could easily fall apart, Jo was working on her life, part by part, a section at a time. If the snowball fell apart, she tried again. She didn’t fall into her couch and surrender with a bottle of wine anymore. She let out a deep breath and tried again because she knew she wasn’t alone. There was a tall blond boy, rolling a snowball around the yard, would would help her push her life into the shape she wanted it to be if she asked for his help. Jo didn’t even really have to ask. He could see clearly when she was struggling, when she couldn’t get to the end of something, when she couldn’t finally delete that toxic person’s phone number, when she couldn’t cut the final thread holding someone in her life who didn’t deserve to be there, when she was so close to getting out of a thought spiral. Mikko stood behind her, his warm presence and her least favorite nickname, encouraging her with a patience unmatched by anyone she had ever encountered. Any sane person would’ve given up by now. But people in love weren’t really all that sane. 

“Hot chocolate! I even found some to go cups so you kids don’t have to worry about anything.” 

Of course this angelic grandmother would have to-go coffee cups for hot chocolate. Of course she would. And of course she would go to all the trouble of finding a carrot for the snowman’s nose and bringing some coals from her grill out back out front for them to use as buttons and eyes. Of course some people on the planet were this good and pure and wonderful and absolutely deserving of love. 

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Jo sighed gratefully as she took the hot chocolate from her. 

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she hushed Jo with a careless wave of her hand. “I’m happy to help you two kids out. It’s like my grandkids are here, well, like when they were here when they were eight.” 

She disappeared back into the house with another wave of her hand, telling the two of them to have fun. Jo took a sip of her hot chocolate at the same time Mikko did, both of them sighing contentedly at the the warm, sweet beverage. A shiver ran down Jo’s spine as the hot chocolate heated her up from the inside out. Jo scrunched her nose and smiled at Mikko over the top of her cup and of course he smiled back. It was never a question of if he would. 

“I think you might need to be done with that boulder of a snowball you’re making,” Jo noted as she observed Mikko’s handiwork. “You’re going to make it so big that the second one is going to have to be so big we can’t lift it.” 

“You might not be able to lift it, but you’re tiny so,” Mikko trailed off as a smirk lifted the corners of his mouth. 

“Not all of us can be giants,” Jo rolled her eyes at him. “The worlds needs shorter people who don’t mind climbing cabinets and counters and shelves and other people to get what they want in life.” 

“Pretty sure no one could ever stop you from getting what you want, Jo,” Mikko laughed. “At least, I wouldn’t want to be between you and whatever you wanted. Seems like a dangerous place to be.” 

Except there was really only one thing Jo wanted and she couldn’t stop thinking about how badly she wanted it as Mikko set his hot chocolate aside to roll the base snowball into place and transitioned to taking over the second one so Jo could start on the snowman’s head. It was the only thing she could think about as Mikko helped her stack the two smaller snowballs on top of the first, as he accidentally shoved the carrot almost through the snowman’s head in excitement, as Jo had to stop him from directly handling the coals to prevent him from making a mess of his hands. He grabbed some nearby twigs for arms and Jo found the perfect one to bend to make a smile. The elderly woman came out and took their photo with their snowman who was obviously a little lumpy, but Jo thought it was the best snowman she had ever made. 

Still, there was only one thing Jo could think as Mikko slid his hat back on and they climbed back in his car, declaring the day well spent. 

The only thing Jo wanted was Mikko Rantanen and the only thing standing in the way was Jo herself. Jo was only standing in the way because she loved him. She would stand in the way for as long as it took, just to protect him from it all. Jo would stand in the middle of a hurricane for Mikko Rantanen, rooting herself into the ground to keep herself there, category five winds and all. She would stand there for the rest of her life if that’s what it took to make sure he was still this optimistic, still this kind, still her favorite person because she wouldn’t let anyone else ruin him. She wouldn’t. 

------

With the Avalanche in a playoff push from late February to late March when they finally clinched a spot, Jo had seen Mikko on her couch less, but she hadn’t talked to him any less. He insisted she was his good luck charm and talked to her every single night, even if the team had gotten blown out the game before, he still claimed they would definitely lose if he didn’t talk to her. But Josephine Evans wasn’t all that lucky anymore. All the luck she had, her life’s allotment, had been used to get her to where she was now, in this apartment, with her childhood dream made a reality. Teenage Jo was lucky. Adult Jo? The opposite of lucky. 

She had just gone to the grocery store. She was missing one ingredient to bake oatmeal cookies, Mikko’s favorite, and he had asked her early that morning if she could make them to celebrate clinching the playoffs. He didn’t really need a reason to get her to bake them. Jo baked for him whenever he wanted, the smallest token she could give him to show her appreciation for him, her love for him that she couldn’t admit. It had just been brown sugar, stupid brown sugar, and suddenly six months of a secret had been destroyed, photos of her in an Avalanche sweatshirt in a Denver supermarket were everywhere. The only lucky part was that unlike almost everything Jo owned with the Avalanche logo on it, it was a plain sweatshirt, absent of the number ninety-six or Rantanen on it. Mikko was still unknown. He was still good, still untouched by her real life, the one she was starting to wish she wouldn’t have to go back to. 

Jo couldn’t even bake because her hands were shaking so badly. Today was supposed to be a good day, a great day, because her best friend had achieved something great and it was sunny out. Sunny days were supposed to be good days. Instead, there was a barrage of articles slamming Jo about how she had left her career to do absolutely nothing in Colorado, how she was a “has-been” now since no one has seen her in six months. Then the crazy theories started picking up. Rehab was a popular one Jo saw; there were lots of good facilities in the Denver area apparently, unknown to Jo. Her sweatshirt was baggy, so naturally Jo had to be pregnant, a constant rumor that showed itself every six months or so at the press’s whim. The stories were crazier from there, some nonsensical as always. People were saying they wished she would never come back, picking apart every single part of Jo they didn’t like, turning them into reasons she should just stay out of the public eye forever. Everything, from her hair to her smile to the way her voice sounded to the way she talked in interviews, that list quickly becoming too personal, people saying they were the reasons all her relationships had failed, all the reasons no one loved her. Normally, Jo could handle it, but six months without it had made her softly, more vulnerable, more normal, and everything hurt. Her head was spinning and her heart was pounding. Jo needed to stop reading. She threw her phone across the room and took a show to try and catch her breath for a moment. She turned the water up too hot, willing it to burn the negative feelings that were eating her alive to no avail. They were all internal. 

When she got out of the shower, her phone had blown up with the Avalanche girlfriends, wives, and Jo, as it was now named, group chat. Everyone was talking about the bar for later for the celebration. In the chaos of the day and the heavy feeling in her mind and her chest, Jo had forgotten she had promised Mikko she would meet him at the bar with the rest of the team when they landed, the real celebration. The cookies Jo had failed to make were supposed to be used as sponges for the alcohol they would be consuming so Mikko could actually make it to practice in the morning. 

Jo tried. Jo really, really tried. She got all dressed up, black bodysuit, black jeans, black heels, red lipstick, hoping that looking good would make her feel good enough to get out of her apartment. She got as far as her hand on the door knob, purse over her shoulder, before her eyes clouded up again and she realized she couldn’t do this. She tried so hard to put on a brave face, thinking she could get through today and deal with the overwhelming feeling that maybe they were all right and Jo had just given up, taken the heat and let it burn herself away for the sake of success, but the fire was too untamed, too strong, and it burned away everything instead, meaning losing herself was for nothing. The winds were too high, the storm was too strong, and Jo wasn’t making it to the bar. 

Hey Mik. I know you might not have landed yet, but I’m not feeling too good, so I’m not going to be able to make it to the bar. Have a good time without me!

Jo sent the text without reading it over again and tossed her phone aside, knowing if she held onto it, she would just go looking for more things that would feed the hurricane already verging on a category five in her mind that Jo felt like was sucking all of the air out of the room. With still shaking hands, Jo fumbled with her heels, her skinny jeans, the bodysuit she had picked out because it made her feel confident, and returned to her baggy sweatpants and big t-shirt she had been wearing earlier. She went to light the candle on the nightstand, but realized it wasn’t the one she wanted. She pushed around half used candles in the drawer below, until her hands wrapped around one that had made the journey from Denver to Florida in a terribly wrapped box, and back, tucked safely in her suitcase, the one the boy she was in love with gave to her because it smelled like his home. Jo lit the candle after almost dropping the lighter twice then climbed into bed. Jo took deep breaths, trying to calm herself with what Nousiainen, Finland was supposed to smell like and how that made her think of the person who made her happiest, the boy who was from there who wanted to take her there and show her around the place that made him, him. 

Jo wished she was there right now. She wished she was in a place she had never been before and it didn’t fail to dawn on her just how fucking pathetic that was. She hated fame, the thing she dreamed about every night, the thing she wished for when she blew out her birthday candles when she was seven, the thing that gave her everything around her right now, that she wished she was in a place she had never been before. Jo had hundreds of stamps in her passport, but she wished she was somewhere she had only seen in the pictures she painted in her mind from the stories Mikko told about it. She wished she was there because of the way Mikko smiled whenever he talked about it, a calm, warm smile, steady and sure. Home. It was his home, something Jo wasn’t even sure she really had anymore. She was from Denver. She lived in Denver now, technically still temporarily, but she didn’t have a home. She wanted to be home right now, but there was nowhere in her life to get that feeling, so she wanted to see if maybe the home of the person she loved was close enough. 

Maybe that was part of the reason Jo felt empty all of the time because she never truly settled anywhere. There was no place on earth her soul was at rest that she was allowed to stay. She didn’t have a safe haven, just more empty apartments and hotel rooms in cities that tried to swallow her up. Maybe she left pieces of herself in all the places she had been, trying to make a home for herself. But that’s not how homes worked, so Jo had just failed and lost herself in her failure. 

Today, Jo was standing in the middle of a spinning hurricane, getting battered by the winds and the things they threw even though she was trying to stand in the eye, trying to stay out of its way, it was hurting her anyway. And she felt so deeply alone all she could do was cry. 

Except there was a knock on her front door and Jo felt the hurricane stop for a moment. The winds ceased, everything they picked up frozen in time and space as Jo walked to her front door. She opened it without even checking, even though the only person who normally knocked was at a bar, having a great night like he deserved. 

“Okay, I didn’t know what kind of not feeling good you were, so I picked up wonton soup from your favorite Chinese place in case you were feeling sick, ice cream in case you were upset about someone getting engaged or having a baby again, and Sour Patch Kids in case- Josephine, what’s wrong?” 

Josephine. In six, almost seven, months of knowing Mikko Rantanen, he had never called her Josephine. Not once. 

Jo couldn’t answer. She just cried, a sob wracking her body. Mikko shifted forward, dropping the bags on the front table, and reached for her. He pulled her into his chest, one arm around her back, the other letting his hand cup the back of her head protectively. 

“Josephine, what’s wrong? What happened?”

Jo’s hand fisted into his dark t-shirt, the material soft and forgiving under her hands. She was crying harder, sobs shaking her body over and over again. She felt Mikko press a gentle, lingering kiss to her hair. 

“Jo, I’m right here. I’m right here,” he told her softly. “It’s me, Mikko. I’m right here, baby.” 

Mikko was right there, but it was more than that. He was standing next to her in the hurricane. He wasn’t on the outside looking in. This was it. This was what the eye of the hurricane looked like. The storm blocked out all light, anything good, it was pure negativity, daring him to become part of it.Mikko didn’t know what to do. It was the most overwhelming feeling he had ever felt, feeling the storm licking at his back, trying to rip him away from her, but he had her. She was right here, in his arms, and nothing was taking her away. Mikko didn’t understand it all, but he didn’t have to. He just had to be there. He just had to stay. 

Mikko scooped Jo into his chest, arms securing around her waist, just so he could get her to bed. He kicked his shoes off by the door, knowing Jo would still be mad at him if he tracked mud through her apartment even on her worst days. This was the worst day Mikko had ever seen, but she was still Jo, even on her worst days. He still loved her more today than yesterday and he’d love her more tomorrow than today. 

He stripped off his jeans and tossed his jacket into the chair in her room, sliding into bed with her without even thinking about it. Jo wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her face into his chest and continued to cry. Mikko slowly worked his fingers through her hair, doing his best to keep it out of her face as she cried. He knew it would upset her if it stuck to her face, so he tried to fix that. He couldn’t fix Jo tonight, but he could fix her hair sticking to her face. 

“I’m sorry,” Jo mumbled. “I’m ruining your day. Today is supposed to be a good day for you and I’m ruining it.” 

“I want to celebrate with you, Jo,” Mikko told her softly. “It doesn’t have to be today. It’s okay if it’s not today. I care about you. If this is what you need today, this is what we’ll do. We’ll celebrate tomorrow, okay?” 

Mikko kissed her forehead sweetly, lips lingering on her again. Jo shuffled in the bed next to him, adjusting so her arm was around his hips as she settled against her own pillow, tears finally slowing. Mikko reached a hand out gently, cupping her face and letting his thumb rub cross her skin to wipe away the tear stains. 

“They found me here,” Jo admitted. “Someone posted a photo.” 

“I’m sorry, Jojo. I know that’s not what you wanted,” Mikko spoke softly, careful not to upset her further.

“I knew it would happen at some point,” Jo shrugged, eyes clouding up again. “I guess I had just been able to hide here for so long I started to think maybe I would never be found? Maybe I could just stay here and I wouldn’t have to deal with it all, you know? I just, I feel like myself here, more than anywhere else, but now I feel like it’s ruined and I’m ruined with it.”

“Jo, you’re not ruined,” Mikko assured her, thumb gently passing over her lips he desperately wanted to kiss. “Things can be damaged, but still be beautiful. You’ve dealt with a lot of shit, Jo, and you’re still here and I’m so impressed by you always.”

Mikko cleared his throat softly, before daring to add, “For what it’s worth, you’re the most beautiful person I know. This version of you. This crying, messy version of you, this real version of you, is the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I feel lucky to know you, Josephine Evans, so lucky.”

“Not sure you should, Mik,” Jo told him. “I can be a pretty rough friend.” 

“I play hockey for a living,” Mikko cracked his first smile since walking through her front door. “I like it rough sometimes.” 

Jo smacked his chest, hard, and he just laughed, chest shaking under her hand. Jo tried so hard not to laugh, but Mikko’s laugh was infectious, replicating in her, making her laugh too. His laugh was like sunshine breaking through the clouds hanging over Jo’s head. The storm was breaking, the winds slowing, and Jo felt like there was finally air in the room again. Jo took time away because she couldn’t stop working and she couldn’t stop working because she was trying to please a mass of people she would never meet who only wanted to say terrible things about her. Today, they won, but Jo was starting to see that she wasn’t perfect. She made mistakes, like the angry mob with pitchforks said she did, but a broken clock was still right twice a day, but was wrong for the other one-thousand four-hundred and thirty-eight minutes in a day. 

“Hey, Mikko?” 

“Yeah, Jo?” he replied softly. 

“Is there ice cream melting on my front table right now?” she asked him, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, noticeable in her voice. 

“No,” Mikko replied smoothly. “It was very frozen when I got here because your favorite flavor was almost sold out and I had to get a frosty one from the back of the freezer, so I was just warming it up to the perfect temperature for us right now. I’ll go get two spoons because it’s definitely perfect right now.” 

“If you say so, Rantanen. If you say so.”

------

From the moment Jo woke up with her legs tangled in Mikko’s, his shirt shed to the floor in the middle of the night, an arm secure around her waist, and his golden hair a mess on top of his head, Jo knew she didn’t want to wake up next to anyone else, maybe ever again. She also knew that if she wanted to, if she asked him to stay forever, he would. There was never a doubt in Jo’s mind that Mikko loved her, not since she unwrapped that candle, sitting on her nightstand now. That was never in question. There was no question really. Jo knew he loved her, but she also knew she loved him. Even if everyone on the outside was wrong, they would still rip him apart. Insults don’t have to be based in any truth to sink deep, to leave cuts and scars. Even if Jo somehow got a handle on herself and could block some of it out, she couldn’t protect him. He would get the same treatment, the beautiful boy with the beautiful soul who loved her, no questions asked. She couldn’t watch it happen to him. Even if she put herself all the way back together, watching him take beating after beating wasn’t an option. She loved him too much to let it happen. 

Jo untangled herself from him as best as she could, sliding a pillow into his grasp as a replacement for her, smiling when he sleepily tugged it into his chest. Jo set out to do something she could do really well, make Mikko pancakes and oatmeal cookies. An absolutely unbalanced breakfast, but the first of things Jo could think to do to thank him for skipping out on his team’s celebration, his celebration, in favor of wiping her tears and braving it all just to hold her as she slept. The least she could do was make him breakfast today, and throw his clothes in the laundry so he could take home clean clothes, while also returning a shirt and sweatpants she stole from him, and send him home with a container of cookies. 

Three dozen oatmeal cookies in the oven, laundry in the dryer, and pancakes on the stove later, Mikko made an appearance in her kitchen. 

“You stole my clothes,” he mumbled, voice gravely with sleep. 

“They’re in the wash. I left you a t-shirt and sweats I stole before,” Jo said, not even bothering to turn around. 

Mikko slid up behind Jo suddenly, and arm wrapping tightly around her waist. From the feeling of him pressed against her, he’d found the sweatpants, but forgoed the shirt she left him. Jo couldn’t help but lean back into him. Mikko’s free hand found Jo’s braced against the counter’s edge next to the stove and tugged her wrist until she lifted her hand to lace their fingers together. His head leaned down, back arching away from hers so he could put his chin on her shoulder. 

“You’re making me pancakes,” he muttered. “God, Jo. I- fuck, you’re killing me.” 

“Did you want blueberry pancakes? I wasn’t sure, but I can add some,” Jo started rambling. “Or should I have made something healthier? Fuck, I’m just feeding you bad food, aren’t I? I’m sorry. I can make you eggs. Over easy right? I think I have some turkey bacon?”

“Josephine,” Mikko said softly, sleep slowly edging out of his voice. There was her full name again. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. You know what I was going to say.” 

Mikko’s hand squeezed hers softly as she felt his head leave her shoulder. She gasped when he shifted suddenly, hand leaving hers to let his arm around her spin her to face him, spatula ditched in the pan. He was right there, forehead finding hers. He was right there, steady and sure and so ready for her. Except she wasn’t ready for him. He could see it. He could see it in her eyes, the anxiousness, the uncertainty. She wasn’t ready, but she wished she was. Mikko couldn’t kiss the girl he loved, the one who slept in his arms last night, the one standing right in front of him. But he could see the walls falling. He was seeing more of her now, the parts of her that were real, the parts that he knew loved him too. But it wasn’t about Mikko seeing it. Jo needed to say it. She needed to be ready to love him too, and she wasn’t today. And that was okay. 

“It’s okay,” Mikko told her. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” 

Mikko lifted his forehead from hers, letting his lips drop to where his head had been, kissing Jo’s forehead gingerly. He gave her hips a little squeeze, a smile coming across his face. Just like that, like it never happened, like it wasn’t an open conversation just then about how Mikko Rantanen was in love with her and was ready to love her if she was ready too. Just like that, he was her best friend again, loving her still, just from the other side of the kitchen island, throwing the blueberries she grabbed out of the fridge at her because Mikko did in fact want blueberry pancakes. Jo added blueberries to the pancakes, and letting Mikko pelt her with a few, giggling the whole time, 

The pancakes and the laundry and the oatmeal cookies were just the start. Jo spent the entire playoff run doing her best to do anything she could for Mikko, to try and say thank you. Thank you for that night. Thank you for the previous eight months by the time the playoffs came to end for the Avalanche. Thank you for still being just as patient with her as he’d been the first night on the rooftop. Thank you for seeing something real and worthwhile in Jo, even when she couldn’t. 

Jo watched the Avalanche’s season end on her television since it didn’t end in Denver. All Mikko did after the loss was text Jo and tell her they were coming back that same night and the time they would land. It was an ungodly time, but Jo didn’t hesitant. She slid on leggings, a big sweatshirt, and some sneakers when the time came. The streets of Denver were quiet as Jo drove to the airport. She waited in her car, knowing Mikko wouldn’t want her to make a big fuss. She watched him come across the tarmac, spotting her car. He tossed his suitcase in the back, then climbed in the front seat without a word. 

Jo put on some soft music, something new she’d found during the first series when Mikko was away. He was quiet as Jo drove back to her apartment, just letting his eyes close even though Jo knew he wasn't asleep, just listening to the music. It wasn’t until they were close to Jo’s apartment Mikko finally spoke. 

“Can I stay with you tonight?” 

Mikko’s voice was soft in the worst way, hesitancy, insecurity, and vulnerability showing. He needed her tonight, desperately. He wasn’t asking to stay on her couch. He was asking to stay with her, to fall asleep holding her, in her bed, with her. He’d only done it once before, that night when clinched the playoffs, when Jo needed him. Mikko didn’t ask much of Jo usually, just that she showed up. He was asking for a lot tonight and he felt so guilty for it. 

“Of course, Mik. Anything you need.”

“I need you to come to Finland.” 

The words slipped out before Mikko could stop them. He didn’t mean to say them. He felt that way, like he wanted to pack Jo up in his suitcase and take her with him, but he wasn’t supposed to say it. 

“For a visit in the summer,” Mikko added too late for it not to clearly be an afterthought.

Jo was a better person than everyone often gave her credit for. She took a deep breath and let Mikko’s last minute addition be the full statement to her, even though she knew what he meant. He didn’t want her to visit. He wanted her to come and spend the summer with him. He wanted her to come back to Denver with him the following September and stay. He wanted her forever. That’s what Mikko wanted. That’s what he meant. But Jo, for his sake and hers because that couldn’t be talked about on a night Mikko was torn up about the loss, pressed her foot on the gas, put her eyes back on the road, and pretended like it wasn’t. 

“Well, my little brother’s graduation is in two weeks,” Jo told him, choosing her words carefully. “Then we’re all going to Hawaii to celebrate that. Surprisingly, I do have other friends, a couple bachelorette parties. And you’ve got that trip with your friends mid-June, right?” 

Mikko nodded softly, blue eyes fixed on the road ahead as Jo drove. 

“How about I come for Midsummer?” Jo asked him. “You’ve talked about how great it is. That’s the end of June, yeah? Seems like the perfect time. I don’t really have any firm plans after that honestly, so maybe I’ll just come and we can figure out when I’ll leave later? Leave it open ended?” 

“I’d really like that,” Mikko breathed out. 

It would be seven weeks before he got to see her again after he left. He’d seen her for the next few days as he packed up his life, cleaned out his apartment here, but after that, he wouldn’t see her for seven more weeks. But the thought of having her in Finland, of getting to show her his home like she had shown him hers on Valentine’s Day, of getting to show her off to people Mikko knew wouldn’t give a shit that she was Josephine Evans, and to do it all without an expiration date. Just him and her, for months if he wanted and god, did Mikko want that. But first, he would get to hold her as he fell asleep tonight. 

Jo didn’t even say anything that night when he cried a little into her hair. She just pressed a kiss to his shoulder and snuggled in tighter, which was exactly what Mikko needed. He talked a lot sometimes, arguably too much when he was excited, but when he was hurting, he just wanted silence and assurance that everything would be okay. Nothing assured him more that everything would eventually work out than Jo because he knew things with her would eventually work out like they were supposed to. The chips would fall, a picture would form, the world would keep spinning, and Mikko would keep on loving Jo as best as he could, waiting for her to realize there wasn’t anything that would make him stop. 

------

Jo looked around her physically unchanged apartment, but it still felt different. Mikko hadn’t even been gone twenty-four hours yet and her apartment already felt different. He had been absent from it for longer than that since she had known him, several times over on road trips, but it was different knowing he wouldn’t be back in it until September, if Jo even decided to keep this place. Jo was kidding herself if she thought she would get rid of it though and didn’t even pretend she would for a second. Even when Jo would have to go back to Los Angeles, go back to a version of her life she didn’t like herself in as much, she still wanted to have Denver be an option for her whenever she wanted. When she wanted might happen to frequently line up with home games played by a certain blond Finnish boy, and he would be grateful if that was the choice she made, which meant she was going to make it as often as possible. 

Krista, who had stayed almost completely silent since Jo arrived in Denver in September, reached out under the guise of just checking in on Jo, but really making sure that she was still planning on coming back and getting started on her next album by the end of the summer. If she was, they would need to start looking at possible arena dates for two summers from now because that’s how far that sort of thing gets booked. Jo just answered curtly, saying that was still her plan, and tossing her phone aside. The thought of going back to it all was overwhelming and the one person who made it all go away with a smile and a laugh was nine hours ahead of her where it was three in the morning and she wasn’t going to wake him up for this. 

Jo opened the top drawer of her nightstand all the way, finding the plastic bag tucked safely in the back. She had to put them in plastic because the Valentine’s Day card kept getting glitter in everything else in the drawer. Jo had saved the cards Mikko had gotten her and every Post-It note he left. There was the Post-It note that had been on the now well worn jersey hung up in her closest. There was simple, yet confusing at the time but incredibly unconfusing now, one identifying a purple toothbrush that lived next to his green one as hers. There was the glitter bomb of a Valentine’s Day card where he asked her to be his valentine in the most sickeningly sweet way possible. If Jo ever doubted if she had Mikko Rantanen’s heart, one look at the collection of items covered in his terrible handwriting in front of her would confirm she’d had it for longer than she realized. 

There was a card from when he bought her flowers for his birthday to say thank you for baking him a cake. Of course Mikko would buy her flowers on his birthday. Of course he would. 

Just wanted to say thanks for the cake. Might have been the best birthday cake I’ve ever had, but don’t tell my mom yours is better :) - Mikko

Jo smiled at the memory of the beautiful flowers that Mel had definitely picked out because there was now way Mikko knew any flowers other than roses and the bouquet hadn’t been roses. She found what she was looking for, the card from Christmas. The card itself was simple, very few words or images printed on it by the company who made it, mostly just a little snowman on the front corner and Merry Christmas inside. It was Mikko’s writing on the card that Jo was looking for. 

Hi Jojo, 

Merry Christmas! I hope you like the candle and that you don’t think it’s a silly gift or something. I don’t think you will, but if you do, don’t tell me, okay? I spent way too much time on it :) 

I hope your Christmas is good and that you have a really good New Year’s too. If I can make a suggestion, I think I know what your New Year’s resolution should be this year. (I googled that word to spell it right for you, hope you’re proud.) Anyway, I think your resolution should be to try and realize how amazing you are. I know I haven’t known you that long, but you’re kind of the best Jo, not even kind of. You are the best, Jo. I know that’s a hard resolution probably, but lucky for you, my New Year’s resolution is to help you see it too. :) Because you’re one of my favorite people and I really hope one day, this upcoming year, you can understand why.

Merry Christmas, Jojo-bean. Happy to be your friend always. - Mikko

The words on the card were a little blurred because Jo was crying now. She had waited her entire life, dreamed internally in her mind and openly in the songs she put out, to find someone like him, someone who loved her without any reservations. Mikko Rantanen loved her selflessly, not looking for anything for himself in his love for her. His love was pure and real. Jo could feel it when he was around, in the way he hugged her, in the way he spoke to her, in the constant effort he put in to spend as much time with her as he could, in the message on the card in her hands. His love was focused on her.

Jo took a deep breath and slid the cards and notes back into the bag, a calm coming over her that only came from Mikko. Jo wanted to accept every ounce of love he offered her, let it fill her forever, but in opening herself up to allow that, her toxicity would flow into him. The toxicity Jo picked up from her life would flow back into him and ruin him and Jo didn’t want that to happen, but Jo was starting to wonder how long she could really keep him at bay. How long could she really keep him out? In trying to help her, he was breaking down walls she’d build to protect herself, but also protect people like him from her. She would keep trying to make sure he stayed at arm’s length, make sure he stayed separate from her, because that was the best way she could love him, by preventing him opening himself up to a world of negative feelings and experience he didn’t fully understand. Jo had seven weeks to try and figure out how to keep him at a distance when he was next to her without any other commitments or distractions, when she was so far from her life that she could barely feel it anymore, when it would feel like none of the reasons she kept him out were real. 

Seven weeks did nothing for Jo. Not a damn thing. She got on a plane, knowing she was torturing herself by doing it, giving herself a taste of what she could never have, but she got on the damn plane anyway. She got on the plane anyway because she loved Mikko Rantanen anyway, even though she shouldn’t. She got on the plane anyway because she didn’t know how to do anything else. 

------

“Did you sleep on the plane?” was the first thing out of Mikko’s mouth, spoken too loudly in Jo’s ear as his arms were already around her at the airport. 

Mikko had picked Jo up, her legs wrapping around his muscular waist, before the two had even spoken. His arms were around her, face tucking in her neck. She smelled like the fancy conditioner she used, lavender, honey, and something Mikko couldn’t figure out, and like Jo. He never wanted to kiss her more than he did when her face appeared from the airport tunnel. Seven and a half weeks without her was longer than Mikko ever wanted to go. She wasn’t his, but with her arms about his neck, legs around his waist, the smell of her overwhelming him, in one of his Avalanche sweatshirts with his name on the back, she felt like his to him. Jo felt like she was his too, so much like it was all real for a moment, like with her arms around him like this, he was hers. But he wasn’t hers. The closest Jo could get was a quick kiss to his cheek that travelled a little too far down, hitting more at the corner of his mouth than his cheek. Mikko sucked in a hard breath when she did, wishing more than anything he could tell her she missed and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. Instead, he smiled and helped set her back down on the ground with steady hands like his heart wasn’t screaming in his chest, like he wasn’t undeniably in love with her. 

“Uh, yeah, I slept pretty good actually,” Jo told him after clearing her throat, both of them trying to ignore their flushed cheeks, their own and the other person’s.

“Want to drop off your stuff then get brunch?” he asked her. “There’s a place with good mimosas near where I live.” 

“Now you’re speaking my language, Rantanen,” Jo laughed, putting one of her bags in his outstretched hand, knowing better than trying to take care of everything herself. 

“Actually, I think you’re going to have to learn a little of my language, Evans,” he chirped back, a smirk crossing his face. “Come on, car’s this way.” 

They talked on the drive to Mikko’s apartment, Jo handling the background music as always. In six, verging on seven weeks apart, Jo had filled some of her spare time not spent with Mikko listening to even more music than she normally did, an arguably absurd amount. Jo had also started writing music again, for the first time since her move to Denver, something she hadn’t admitted to anyone yet. Anyone included the tall, tanned, Finnish boy in the driver’s seat who knew enough about her to fill a series of novels. She couldn’t tell him because everything was about him. All the songs were about him now and Jo still didn’t know what shade of blue his eyes were. 

They dropped Jo’s stuff off, her bags going in his spare room when Mikko really wanted them in his even though he knew that thought shouldn’t cross his mind. He fussed with his phone while Jo got changed from the plane, a message from Burky in the team group chat catching his eye. 

Mik, is your not girlfriend here yet? Bring her to Sweden. It’s nicer here. 

Mikko barely stifled an audible groan at Andre’s text. His teammates knew. Really, everyone knew he was absolutely head over heels, write home to your mom, risk it all, in love with Jo. He couldn’t hide it if he tried. He wasn’t even hiding it from Jo anymore. He was actively acting upon his love for her, asking her to come home to meet his family, see where he grew up, meet his home friends. There was a cabin booked for Midsummer in a few days with friends, a room planned for him and Jo to share, which she said she didn’t mind and Mikko was hoping to whatever higher power that existed she’d fall asleep in his arms one night they were there. That was his favorite thing in the world, the few times Jo had fallen asleep against his chest on his couch. She was right there, safe in his arms. No one could touch her. No one could hurt her. He could just love her as hard as he wanted when she was right next to him, with no one around to say a damn thing about it. Still, Mikko took a deep breath and pulled himself back to center. 

Jo was closer now, closer than she’d ever been before. She felt like she was right there and all Mikko would have to do is reach out and take her hand to pull her in. But Mikko knew better. He knew if he let himself want everything that had just come through his mind, if he openly wanted that, he’d pull her in and if he pulled her, he’d lose her. There was no world in which Mikko Rantanen could do a damn thing other than wait about loving Josephine Evans. If he did anything at this point, with her so close he could practically feel the warmth of her hand near his, he would lose her. He could wait. If she was this close for years, he would wait. He would rather bunch his hands into fist so hard his nails drew blood holding himself back and then lose her.

Still, Mikko let himself act on his love, showing it to her as plainly as he could, showing her he was right here, his love was right here, ready for her whenever she decided to take it.

“Ready to go?” 

Shorts, a t-shirt, a baseball cap, and sandals after an over ten hour flight and she was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Mikko led her out of his apartment, opening every door on the way, and pointed across the street when they got onto the sidewalk. Jo looked both ways and went to step into the street, but Mikko caught her hand with his. 

“You’re in a foreign country. You shouldn’t cross the street without holding someone’s hand. Something bad could happen,” Mikko told her, his sweetest, most innocent smile on his face.

“By that logic, I should be holding your hand whenever you cross the street in Denver,” Jo retorted, making Mikko smile even bigger. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

Jo rolled her eyes, but a smile pulled across her face anyway and she laced her fingers through his. His hand dwarfs hers, warm and strong, practically pulling her across the street to keep up with his long strides. They talked like nothing had changed, like this was something they had done a thousand times already. Jo wasn’t worried about who saw. There were no cameras, no people with cell phones waiting to see. She could just hold the hand of the boy she was in love with and walk to a restaurant for brunch. That’s when Jo realized Finland was her favorite and least favorite place she had ever been. It was her favorite because she could love Mikko here, openly. There was no one to hurt him here, no one to hurt him through her. She could just love him as loudly as she wanted. They could be together here, love each other until they were old and gray and they didn’t understand how technology worked anymore and could barely hear anything, loving each other the entire time. It was her least favorite place because Jo couldn’t stay, but the thought of that, of a life with him, was the most heartbreaking thought she had ever had, because it was nothing more than a dream that couldn’t become reality, a thought that could never manifest into an action. It would move from her head, to chest, and fester there, rotting her from the inside out, eating her alive. 

Mikko slid down into the seat opposite Jo when they reached the restaurant, the drink menu already confiscated by Jo before he could even get settled in his seat. Mikko crossed his arms over his chest, a smirk rising on his face as he watched Jo realize she had made a critical mistake. The menu wasn’t in English and she couldn’t read a word of Finnish. 

“Got a problem there, Jo?” Mikko laughed as he asked her, making her blush. “If you ask nicely, I might be able to help you out.” 

“Mikko,” Jo said through gritted teeth, “can you please translate the menu for me?”

“Sure,” Mikko laughed louder, sporting his best shit-eating grin. “Come on over.” 

Jo groaned before tossing the menu carelessly over to him, making him laugh harder. She grabbed the seat of her chair and shuffled herself a quarter of the way around the table, sitting near enough to read the menu together now. Mikko had other plans. He reached one hand out and gripped the seat of her chair and tugged, hard, until the seat of her chair bumped against his. His arm shifted to rest across the back of her chair, like he hadn’t just pulled her closer to him shamelessly, and he propped the menu up between them against his water glass.

“Well then,” Jo mumbled. 

Mikko couldn’t help himself. A grumpy Jo was one of the cutest versions of Jo for him because she was the least threatening person he had ever met. She called Mikko once thirty minutes before midnight because there was a big spider in the corner of her room and she couldn’t sleep if it was still there, but she couldn’t go anywhere near it. Mikko drove twenty minutes across town at midnight to kill a spider for her. He would’ve driven an hour, probably more than that if he was really being honest with himself. Mikko dropped a kiss to Jo’s temple, the fondness of that memory and the cuteness of her grumpiness overtaking his better judgment for a moment. Jo didn’t freeze like he thought she would. Jo just leaned closer into him, accepting the contact, and Mikko swore his heart was about to beat out of his chest when she put a hand on his thigh to lean closer toward the menu. 

“Um, okay,” Mikko stuttered, trying to center himself. “The top one is just a regular mimosa.” 

“Thank you, oh great Finnish speaker,” Jo teased him, giving his leg a squeeze that had Mikko’s mind spinning hard enough he was pretty sure he couldn’t speak Finnish or English anymore. “I got that from the picture next to it. Got any other helpful insights?”

Mikko let a laugh calm himself before walking Jo through the different flavors of mimosas she could try. She settled on the pineapple one before exchanging the drink menu for the food menu so he could walk her through that. It was the littlest thing, but for just one moment, Jo actually needed Mikko in a way she could admit. If something as small as translating a menu could make Mikko feel so warm inside, then what would her being in love with him make him feel like? Mikko didn’t have any way to wrap his mind around how that would make him feel. All he knew was when Jo slid back to the other side of the table, he missed her, even though there was only four feet of distance between them and she hadn’t actually left.

Mikko’s eyes shifted when he heard laughter down the street. Jo’s eyes followed his. It was a little girl, already wearing a flower crown definitely meant for Midsummer at the end of the week. 

“Midsummer thing?” Jo asked him. “Sorry, I’m a novice.” 

“Well, I’ll make you an expert by the end of the week,” Mikko promised. “Maybe, it’ll even be your favorite holiday, if you can let yourself be open to thinking there are holidays better than Christmas out there.” 

“That’s a tall order there, Mik,” Jo laughed before taking a sip of her water. “Maybe aim a little lower?” 

“Don’t tell me to dream smaller,” Mikko countered, a lazy but sure smile on his face. “I’m dreaming big while you’re here. I dream big when you’re involved.” 

------

Mikko had told Jo that Midsummer would become her favorite holiday if she let it be. Less than an hour into the sunny night, something Jo definitely wasn’t used to, she was pretty sure Mikko was right. It seemed like everyone in Nousiainen was here. Guaranteed, it wasn’t exactly a large place, nothing in Finland was, but Jo hadn’t ever been to anything like this before. In her lacy, loose white dress, a cup of white wine in her hand because drinking red while wearing white was just asked for trouble, with Mikko’s arm around her waist, she had never felt more content before. Jo watched the youngest kids from the village run around, carefree and happy. She watched as Mikko’s parents interacted with everyone else from the village, beaming as they constantly gestured to where Mikko and Jo were standing among his friends. Like everyone else, they thought the two were just private. The lines of friendship and romance had blurred on this trip under supportive gazes from Mikko’s family and friends and under stolen touches Mikko would’ve normally kept to himself. But he was home. He was in the place where all his purest memories rested, during a holiday his favorite memories from his childhood came from, with the girl he was in so incredibly in love with. He couldn’t help but secure an arm around her waist and pull her into him. Even if it would hurt when he couldn’t do it back in Denver later. She was comfortable and Mikko would always take up whatever space Jo allowed him to in her happy moments, trying to show her in them what it could be like if this could happen all the time. 

“Are you having a good time?” Mikko whispered softly in her ear, bending down low to do so.

“I’m having the best time, Mik,” she told him, honesty obvious in her voice. “Thank you again for inviting me for this. It makes me feel really special that you wanted me here.” 

Mikko wanted to make Jo feel how special she was to him all of the time, not just here in Finland. He wanted her to feel special all of the time. She deserved everything good the world had to offer. Jo was the purest soul Mikko knew. She had just been handled careless by too many people for so long. They created cracks in her, tried to steal pieces of her goodness for themselves, and covered her in dark stains she tried so hard to get out, but couldn’t, so she just excepted them as who she was now. They weren’t her. They were still stains and Mikko was washing them away day by day, moment by moment, with the crashing waves of his love for her. Jo had built up walls to protect herself, put on thick, clunky armor to try and block the good parts of her that were left. Jo didn’t seem to understand that all of the good parts of her were still left. They just needed to be cleaned and gently put back together so they could shine again and that when they were back together, the world would be a better place if she took down her walls and retired her armor so the world could see her shine. 

Jo was shining right now, in Finland, in the prettiest white dress Mikko had ever seen, during his favorite holiday of the year. There was no pressure here. No one cared who she was beyond that she made Mikko, their local boy, happy. That was the only metric they measured her on and she made him happier than anyone else. Mikko never wanted her to leave if she was going to shine this bright here, if she was going to be this free and happy here. This is how Jo deserved to feel all of that time. 

“Jo!” one of Mikko’s sisters called out from the right of them. 

She walked past without stopping, slowing just long enough to push a flower crown into Jo’s free hand and shout, “Midsummer!” then continue on. 

Mikko laughed as Jo looked softly at the delicately weaved flowers and ribbons in her hands. Mikko sat his drink down on a nearby table so he could take the flower crown from Jo’s small hands. 

“Let me do it,” he told her softly. 

She nodded as Mikko gently smoothed her hair out with one hand first, before gently setting the delicate weaving of flowers and ribbon on the crown on Jo’s head, situating the ribbons to fall with the soft, dark curls of her hair down her back. Jo put a hand on the flower gingerly as she turned to face him. Mikko’s hands fell to her hips naturally as he looked at her, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his entire life, the flush in her cheeks from the wine, the flowers in her hair, a real smile on her lips, her eyes bright in the evening sun, and he had never been more in love with her. He didn’t know how to say it. He didn’t know any words in English or in Finnish or in the little bits of Russian he’d picked up from Zadorvo or Swedish he learned from Gabe that could express it. The only thing he knew how to do to make sure she felt his love was kiss her, but he wasn’t doing it for the first time under the eyes of everyone he grew up with. Instead, Mikko let his eyes close slowly as he dropped a lingering kiss on her forehead, just below where the flowers started and wished they weren’t surrounded by everyone he knew, wished it was just her and him somewhere else so he could make sure she knew how much he loved her. 

Jo’s small arms wrapped around his waist after he pulled his lips back from her skin. She pressed her face into his chest and hugged him tight. Mikko’s strong arms wrapped around her back, securing her to him. Mikko couldn’t pour the same amount of love into a hug. Hugs were too casual, but he was trying. He was trying so hard that he was gripping Jo a little too hard, like she would float away if he let go. But this was the first time Mikko was sure she wouldn’t. If he let go right now, he was sure she’d stay. 

The bright evening passed by quickly, filled with laughter and games and food and the bonfire customary to Midsummer’s Eve, Jo’s hand in Mikko, Jo on his lap, his arm around her waist, always touching her, always checking in, always there. Jo wanted him and it was radiating out of her and into Mikko through every touch, every gaze, every moment he spent with her today. It occurred to him at some point during the evening, a terrible thing to think really, that Jo might look something like she did now on her wedding day and Mikko desperately wanted to be the guy at the end of the isle waiting for her. He’d wait for her for his whole life. He’d wait for her even if she never walked down the aisle to him and he would consider it a life well spent because he spent it loving the single most incredible woman he had ever met.

Normally, most other years, Mikko would have rented a cabin with friends for the evening, woken up too early in the morning considering how late he was up celebrating with all of Nousiainen, but he hadn’t done that this year. When Jo said she’d come, Mikko had still gotten a cottage on the lake, but tonight he had wanted it to just be him and Jo. His friends would show up tomorrow late in the day to join them then. He wanted a night just with Jo with no one around to ask questions and he was so grateful for that decision as he pulled up to the cottage. He’d stopped drinking hours ago so he could drive and so Jo could keep drinking if she wanted to do so. 

“It’s so pretty, Mik,” Jo commented as she climbed out of the car, eyes trained on the water that was still lowly lit by the setting sun, something Jo still couldn’t believe with how late it was in the day. 

“I thought you’d like it,” he told her as he grabbed his bag and hers from the backseat. “Want me to throw these inside and I can meet you out on the dock?”

Mikko didn’t have to ask Jo twice. She was already heading out onto the water before he had even finished his question. Her excitement was child-like, pure and good, something Mikko rarely got to see from her. He felt like he was truly seeing Jo, the one he had only gotten glimpses of before now, the girl he loved more than anything. He carelessly tossed the bags down inside the front door and came as close to running to meet Jo on the dock as he could. She was sitting on the edge when he joined her, her shoes left on the grass at the end of the dock, Mikko’s now next to hers, kicked off haplessly on his way to join her. Mikko dropped down on the edge of the dock next to her, feet dangling into the cool evening water unlike Jo’s which couldn’t reach. 

“Thoughts on Midsummer so far?”

Mikko watched Jo carefully, flower crown still on her head, as a warm smile came naturally across her face. She didn’t have to say anything for Mikko to know she loved it. 

“It’s no Christmas,” she joked, making him laugh, “but it’s pretty spectacular. Thanks again for inviting me to do all this with you.” 

“Anything for you, Jo.” 

Mikko meant it and Jo knew he meant it. It wasn’t something he said as a joke. It was real and raw, sincerity infused into the words.

“Hey, Mikko?” 

Jo’s voice was timid, unsure of both of the words even though they were two she said with incredible frequency. It wasn’t those words she was unsure of. It was the ones that would follow that had her voice shaking, a symptom of her heart quaking in her chest.

“Yeah, Jojo?” Mikko replied, keeping his voice quiet as not to overwhelm hers. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she could get out.

“What are you sorry about, Jo?” 

Mikko lifted his feet from the water and spun to face her, folding his legs in so he could slide closer to her. She froze when he reached a hand out and placed it on her forearm. Her eyes were trained on his hand on her skin, warm and steady and strong. Mikko didn’t move it, just pressed her again verbally, gently, afraid she would break under the slightest pressure at this moment.

“What are you sorry about, Jojo?” 

Jo took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, before she tried to explain, “I’m sorry that I can’t love you, Mik. I mean, I do. I really do, but I’m sorry I can’t be in love with you because if I let that happen, it’s going to ruin you, I’m going to ruin you. Everything in my life is going to come into yours and corrupt everything good about you. I can’t let that happen, not to you. You’re too good. You’re the best person I know, Mikko, and I can’t open a gateway the entire world will try to use to rip you apart. I can’t watch it happen and that’s how I know I love you. I never thought about it before. I never thought about what my life would do to someone else. I just jumped in and let the chips fall where they wanted. Really, I let grenades go off in other people’s lives and walked out right before they could hurt me. I’ve hurt everyone I’ve ever loved just by trying to love them, Mikko. I can’t do that to you. Hurting you, knowing I hurt you, would kill me.” 

Mikko really only heard three words out of the entire thing. He heard Josephine Evans, the girl he loved more than anything, say she loved him. Mikko wasn’t staring at walls anymore. The only thing between him and her was Jo herself and if there was anything Mikko had learned in the almost year he’d known Jo, it was how to reach her through the noise in her own head. He could reach out and take her, but he wouldn’t do it. He was just going to stand there with open arms and wait, because if he pulled her in, she'd just pull away later. He was going to sit here on this dock and show her his open arms with as many words as it took for her to see him standing right in front of her, already having braved the hurricane she was scared of to get this close to her. The hurricane wasn’t her life. It was Jo’s fear of what her life would do to the people she loved. Mikko had already decided Jo was worth whatever storm could come and no one could change his mind, not even Jo. 

“Jo, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so smart who chooses to be so blind to everything before,” Mikko told her, his voice breaking as he let out a tight breath. His hand rubbed her forearm softly, trying to ground himself in the moment and not the one he hoped would follow. “Jo, stop being so scared of what everyone else has been like and look at me. See me, Jo. Stop seeing your exs and shitty people who never really loved you in the first place. I love you, Josephine. I fell in love with you way too fast and it sort of scared the fuck out of me, but I decided to stay anyway, decided to see what loving you could really be like and I have never been happier with a decision I have made in my entire life. I see you, Jo. I’m right here. I’m right in front of you. Just open your eyes and really look at me. You’ll see I’m not going anywhere. I’m exactly where I want to be forever and that’s with you.”

Mikko shifted slowly, letting his hands ease up toward her face to take it gently between them. He applied just enough force to encourage her to turn to face him. Her eyes were still looking down, unable to meet his. Mikko gently ran his thumb over her lower lip softly.

“Josephine, look at me. See how much I love you.” 

Jo closed her eyes and took a shaky breath in and out. She didn’t want to look. She was so scared she would look and see nothing and that everything would fall apart in front of her when she couldn’t see it. But Jo couldn’t close her eyes forever. She had to face this moment before she could move to the next one, before she had to deal with the consequences of this one. Jo took in another shaky breath before opening her eyes softly, greeted by Mikko’s.

She knew what color they were. After almost a year of trying to figure it out, she knew what shade of blue his eyes were. Real love wasn’t loud; it didn’t draw crowds. Real love didn’t need to scream itself from rooftops and in song lyrics and in front of the entire world. Real love was quiet, honest and true. It was peaceful and pure and good. And it was in Mikko’s eyes. It was Mikko’s eyes, at least, to Jo anyway. Someone else might look at them and think they were another color, but color was individual. No one ever experienced it the same as anyone else. Mikko’s eyes showed his love for Jo in the most true way she had never imagined possible, in their very color to her. He loved her deeply, deeper than the oceans, deeper than the darkness of Jo’s saddest moments. He loved her fully and honestly. He loved her not in the way Jo had ever written about because she didn’t know this could exist. He loved her in a way that Jo knew, just by looking at him now, that he always would, that he would weather any storm to continue to do so, as long as she loved him too. 

Mikko saw Jo see him. He watched the moment she truly understood, just for a moment, how much he loved her. All he needed was the one moment. He could show her the rest. He didn’t hesitate this time. He leaned forward, slowly and steadily, and brushed his lips softly over hers. Jo didn’t hesitate either. Her hands reached out and fisted into his t-shirt, pressing her lips against his more firmly this time. One of Mikko’s hands slid down her neck, down her arm, dipping over to her waist so he could pull her into his lap as he kissed her. Mikko wanted to live like this, Jo as close to him as he could get. He never wanted to not be kissing her now that he'd done it. This was easily his favorite thing to do now, have her under his hands and her lips on his. 

“I love you,” Mikko whispered against her mouth when he pulled back before transitioning to kissing down her jaw.

“I love you,” Jo replied easily, the words she had been so scared to admit that now were the easiest words to say in the world. 

Mikko groaned as his hand cupping her face journeyed slowly down her body, fingers tapping slowly down her neck, outlining the neckline of the white dress he was never going to be able to get out of his mind until it was replaced with her in a different white dress with a certain piece of music playing in the background with all of their friends and family watching. His mouth moved back to hers, pressing his lips firmer against hers. His hand trailed down to join his other on her hips, keeping her grounded against him as he poured everything he had into the kiss. His words could only do so much. Mikko was trying to show her how he felt, pour his love for her into her as he kissed her.

“I love you,” Mikko repeated against her lips, not realizing in his haze of unbridled happiness it had slipped out in Finnish.

“I love you too,” Jo replied in English. 

She didn’t speak Finnish in the slightest. She barely knew a couple of swear words, but those words had felt the same as the others. Based on the way the words made her heart pick up faster in her chest, she knew what they meant. 

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met,” Mikko mumbled softly, his lips beginning to work gently up and down her neck.

“Ever met yourself?” Jo joked, making Mikko chuckle against her neck.

“I’ll keep that in mind, rakas,” Mikko hummed softly against her skin before kissing her neck gingerly. 

Mikko pulled back to look at Jo again, flower crown slightly askew on her head, cheeks flushed due to breathlessness rather than wine now, her lips a deeper shade of pink, slightly swollen. Mikko knew his looked the same. The strap of her dress was pushed down her shoulder, something Mikko must have done accidentally when he was enjoying the feeling of her skin under his palms. She was absolutely angelic like this and she was all his to get to love, to get to cherish, to get to make sure she knew how absolutely, earth-shattering, life-altering loving her was, to get to make sure she knew he considered it the greatest privilege of his life so far.

Jo tried to hide it with a hand over her mouth, but she yawned and Mikko laughed at her poor attempt to hide it. She pouted for him, bottom lip sticking out in a way that made Mikko want to take it between his teeth, but that wasn’t what tonight was. Tonight, he was going to get to fall asleep with Jo in his arms, something she was clearly ready for as he watch her eyes droop closed, and never have to leave her on the couch alone, because she wouldn’t be on the couch anymore. She’d be in his bed with him the entire time and Mikko almost cried at the very thought of opening his eyes and seeing Jo as the first thing he saw on a new day every day. He didn’t have to imagine how her hair would look spread out across his pillow when she slept peacefully. The only time he’d seen it before either Jo had been a wreck or he had and that wasn’t the same. He didn’t have to imagine the way their legs would tangle together as they slept next to each other every night. He would see it and he would feel it in a few short hours. Mikko didn’t have to wait for anything anymore, except maybe seeing Jo in an even prettier white dress. 

“I think we need to get you to bed,” Mikko laughed softly when Jo yawned for a second time. His thumb rubbed her cheek softly now, moving in smooth circles, lulling her softly closer to sleep. “Want me to carry you?” 

“I can walk,” Jo smiled softly at him, “but thanks, Mik.” 

“Anything for you.”

He echoed his words from before, but they meant more to Jo this time because she truly understood what was behind them. It wasn’t cliche in the way that people often meant it, too sickeningly sweet, sticking to everything uncomfortably with artificial love like artificial sugar, only to leave a bad taste in your mouth later. Mikko said it and it was real. He meant anything, from dancing with her in her brightest moments, to holding her hand in her darkest hours; from telling her when she needed to pick herself up, dust off her knees, and get herself back in gear, to using all of his strength to get her back up after she was knocked down. Mikko could say he would do anything for Jo because in saying it, he would do whatever needed to be done to ensure Jo was the happiest, truest version of herself, that she was the woman she wanted to be. 

As Mikko pulled Jo into his chest to fall asleep, he didn’t have to be careful. He didn’t need to worry he was holding her too close, if he was crossing a line he wasn’t supposed to even realize existed. He could just hold her now. Jo fell asleep easily, the exhaustion of the day wearing heavier on her, pulling her to sleep moments after they climbed into bed. Mikko looked down at the beautiful girl against his chest and he smiled because she was smiling. She fell asleep like that. Mikko willed himself to sleep with the promise of that smile being the first thing he would get to see tomorrow morning, what he had been dreaming of for almost a year now, what he wanted to see every morning for the rest of his life. 

------

Jo opened her eyes slowly and she immediately knew it was way too early to be awake. Finland getting less than six hours of darkness in the summer would have been fine if there were blackout curtains like at Mikko’s apartment, but here in the cottage, that wasn’t the case. Jo wanted to fall back asleep, but that wasn’t in Jo’s skillset, so she was up now whether she liked it or not, and she most certainly did not. Mikko had Jo locked against his chest, his strong, heavy, still sleeping arms wrapped around her keeping her there. She fished around under her pillow, sighing with relief when her fingers wrapped around her phone. The time was atrocious, not even seven in the morning yet, but Jo was still happier than she had been in a long time as she let herself look at the boy whose arms were keeping her warm. 

Mikko’s hair was sort of all over the place, blond strands going in multiple directions. His face was soft, dimple hidden since this was one of the rare moments Mikko didn’t have his customary wide smile on his face. His lips were slightly parted, practically begging to be kissed, and Jo couldn’t resist. She knew it might wake him up, but she wanted to kiss him. Jo leaned her head up, wiggling in his tight grasp enough so she could press a quick, barely noticeable kiss to his lips. Except Mikko noticed. Mikko had been thinking about how her lips would feel against his since that September night on the rooftop and he was not going to miss an opportunity to actually feel it, sleep be damned. 

He hummed softly as he reached up to cup her face, keeping her in place as he pressed into Jo’s supposedly quick, unnoticeable kiss. The kiss was broken by both of them smiling into it, the best reason to break a kiss. Mikko titled his head up to press a kiss to her forehead as Jo smiled.

“Morning, rakas,” Mikko told her softly. “A little early for you, no?” 

“Morning, Mik,” she sighed contentedly, burrowing her head under his chin, into his neck, and pulling herself flush against him. “Sorry I woke you up.” 

“No worries,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to her tangled hair now. “We can sleep more whenever.” 

“Aren’t your friends coming up later?” Jo reminded him hesitantly. 

Mikko groaned before Jo could even finish her question and Jo laughed before Mikko had even half finished his groan. He pressed his face into her hair and pulled her tighter into his chest. Jo managed to get her head up a bit to place a kiss on his jaw, drawing a long sigh from him. 

“If I pretend they aren’t coming, will they still come?” Mikko asked the universe more than he asked Jo. “I just want to spend the whole day with my Jojo.” 

“Your Jojo, huh?” Jo teased him, following her teasing with a kiss to his jaw, the only thing she could reach with his tight grasp on her. 

Jojo squeaked when Mikko suddenly shifted, taking her with him. She was on her back now, Mikko’s large hands on the bed beside her head, strong arms holding him firmly above her. Like this, his body blocking out everything except how the sheets felt under her hands, Jo was reminded just how much bigger he was than her. More than anything though, Jo couldn’t take her eyes off him, with the sunlight pouring in from the window, making his eyes seem even brighter and lighter, shining through his golden waves. He was the most beautiful person Jo had ever seen and he was all hers. 

The funny thing about being in love with someone, about being two people who come together to create something that is somehow more than the two of them were separately, is that sometimes they think the same thoughts. As Mikko looked down at Jo, hair fanned out across the pillow, sunlight showing the golden flecks in her eyes, her lips slightly parted, a deep shade of pink leftover from yesterday, Mikko thought Jo was the most beautiful person he had ever seen and she was all his. 

As Mikko dropped down, his elbows coming to rest where his palms had been, so he could press his lips to hers, all he could think about what how much he loved Jo and how good it felt to be loved by her in return. It was all he could think about as one of his hands trailing down her side, feeling the curves of her body under his palm. All Jo could think about was how lucky she felt to being loved by him and get to love him back, even though she had held herself back from him for so long, thinking she was undeserving of this happiness. With his lips on her neck now, a hand under her shirt on her waist, and one of her hands tangled into his hair, he felt so right to Jo. Everything about him was right, the softness of his hair when she ran her fingers through it, the way his hand felt sliding over her skin, the strength she felt in his shoulders under her hand. Everything about Mikko was right. 

“Mikko,” Jo breathed out when he tugged down the neckline of her t-shirt to keep kissing more of her, “you can just take it off.” 

Mikko held back a sound deep in his throat at her words. This was what he never let himself think about. If he thought about this, he couldn’t have been her friend over the past year. The thought of this would have corrupted that, weaving its way into how he treated her. He never let his mind go here, imagining what it would be like to have her in his bed like this. She needed him to be her friend, so he forced the thoughts from his mind, knowing they would poison everything he was trying to be for her. But now, now this is what she needed. This was what she wanted. He didn’t have to dream about it. He could just live it, right now. 

Mikko took his time. He was pretty sure he would get to do this countless times over the course of the rest of his life, but this would always be the first time he got to make her absolutely breathless, speechless, and he wanted to take his sweet, sweet time. Jo, who normally wanted her life to run at the pace her mind usually did, wanted Mikko to take his time as he pushed her shirt up and off her body, as he kissed every inch of skin as he revealed it.

He took his time learning every curve, every spot that made her gasp, every one that made her giggle. He took his time exposing her in front of him, except Jo didn’t feel exposed. She felt damn near worshiped when Mikko settled between her thighs, kissing her, tasting her, making her fist her hands into his hair desperately. Slow and steady, like the calming waves of the ocean, Mikko pulled Jo over the edge again and again until she couldn’t be patient anymore, until she needed him more than anything else. 

He kissed her as he slid inside of her for the first time, a sensation that made Jo cry out and Mikko almost lose it with how good this moment was, the softness breaking a little as he cursed into her neck, desperately grabbing for anything inside to anchor him before this moment broke way sooner than he would’ve liked. He anchored in the most stable thing he’d ever felt. 

“I love you, Jo.”

“I love you too, Mikko.” 

The entire world seemed to slow down, letting them live in this moment for longer than they thought possible. As long as the world was going to spin a little slower, Mikko was going to spend his extra time like this, with soft moans falling from Jo’s mouth, whispers of his name between them, as he slowly rolled his hips into hers and slowly lost his mind a little at the feeling of her, at the sight of her. Mikko collapsed down onto her when he finally finished, head collapsing into the crook of her neck as her hand ran through his hair gently.

“I love you,” Mikko repeated again. “I’m never going to get tired of saying it, so I hope you never get tired of hearing it.” 

“It’s my favorite sound in the entire world, Mik,” Jo said breathlessly. “I’m never going to get tired of it.” 

Mikko kissed her neck again before he slowly rolled over onto the bed next to her, pulling her partially on top of his chest in one smooth motion. He ran his fingers through the ends of her hair, working out the tangles gingerly as his breathing slowed to normal, as the world starting to spin at the right speed again. 

“Hate to ask and ruin the moment,” Jo spoke as she idly traced circles and swirls onto Mikko’s bare chest, “but what time are your friends coming?” 

“Oh, that’s not happening anymore,” he groaned, reaching for his phone to cancel the festivities that were supposed to be coming their way. 

“As much as I want to spend the day with you, here, you can’t cancel day of,” Jo pressed softly. 

“Watch me,” Mikko laughed, kissing her forehead. “Sanna’s dad has a cottage we were originally going to go to before I found this place. They can figure it out. I’ve got something way better to do right here already.” 

“Mikko!” 

He laughed as Jo smacked his chest, her cheeks turning pink at the literal and intended meaning of his words. He kissed her temple, eyes fixed on his phone screen as he typed out a terrible excuse to his friend group. It was a boldfaced lie. Mikko said that he and Jo both had gotten sick after last night and that it wasn’t a pretty sight and he didn’t want any of them to catch what they had, so they should just go to Sanna’s instead. The lie worked for the length of time it took someone to respond in the group chat, which was about twenty seconds, telling Mikko that if he wanted a private sex trip with his girlfriend, he should’ve just told them that from the beginning. They were teasing, all in good jest, and Mikko knew it, but they also weren’t far from the truth as to why he was telling them they needed to change their plans. 

“They’re good with it,” Mikko told Jo after tossing his phone back onto the nightstand, gratefully she couldn’t speak Finnish so she couldn’t read what specifically had been said. 

“I find that hard to believe that’s how they said it, seeing as you laughed,” Jo called him out easily, “but I’ll let it slide because this is what I want too.” 

“Mmm,” Mikko hummed softly, hand rubbing Jo’s arm softly. “Want to celebrate getting this place all to ourselves today in the shower?” 

“I could be convinced.”

------

Jo ran a towel through her hair again, trying to get a little more of the water out so she didn’t trail it around the cottage. She decided how it was now was as good as it was going to get, slid on one of Mikko’s large t-shirts he left for her and some comfy shorts, then headed into the kitchen where he was. He was shirtless, hair wet from the shower they shared, his hands busy pouring two cups of tea. Jo sighed as she reached him, letting her arms wrap around his waist from behind. Mikko put the kettle down in order to give one of her arms a quick squeeze. 

“Hi there,” Mikko said softly. “Tea’s good right?” 

“Tea’s perfect, baby,” Jo replied before kissing his shoulder softly.

Mikko hummed softly at the feeling of her pressed up against him, her lips on his skin. Mornings with her like this had been the thing Mikko craved most because what they had before had been so close to this, having breakfast together, spending the quiet moments of the morning together. But it was so much sweeter now, now that they were damp from the same shower, now that Jo was pressed up against him, now that she was truly his to love. 

“Want to drink these outside? There’s this big couch,” was all Mikko had to say to get a happy noise from Jo and get her turning for the back door. 

Mikko carried the tea, just enough steps behind Jo to be lucky enough to see her launch herself into the large round couch. She tunneled herself into the pillows as Mikko laughed. He didn’t really understand his girlfriend’s love affair with comfortable couches, but he could get behind it and make sure she had as many as she wanted. Mikko sat the cups on the side table and climbed onto the couch with her. He settled himself among the pillows before he patted his thighs, stretching out his legs for Jo to come sit between them. She slid in between his legs happily, her back pressing against his chest. Mikko wrapped an arm around her waist, large hand spread out across her stomach. He grabbed Jo’s mug and handed it off to her with his free hand before grabbing his own.

Jo was fiddling with the tag on her tea bag and Mikko knew something was on her mind. He didn’t have to push this time. He just gave her a small, supportive squeeze with his arm around her and she let him know what was going on inside her head.

“Do you want to like, tell people? By people I mean like, everyone,” Jo asked him softly. 

“Jo, I want you and have you,” Mikko replied, like what he was saying was the most natural and obvious thing in the world. “The rest of it doesn’t concern me. I don’t care what people say. I care what you have to say. You’re my only stake in all of this, the only part I care about. Whatever you want is good with me. You want to put it on Instagram? Go for it. You want to write songs about me? I’d be honored. You want this to just be us and never talk about me in public? I’ll be just as happy as long as we have our friends and family and I have you. I don’t care about the details, Jo. Whatever you want is good with me. But don’t think you need to protect me, okay? I’m a big boy and I love you more than enough to handle anything to keep loving you, okay? I’m not changing my mind. I’m not going to get overwhelmed. I have you and the rest of it doesn’t matter to me.”

Jo almost cried at his words. She didn’t have a way to express the way her heart rose in her chest and then settled back down, cushioned by just how deeply she loved him, at his words. She didn’t have words for that feeling, so she had to settle for a sort of joke. 

“Sort of already started on the song thing, so good to know that’s okay,” Jo laughed a little as she talked, hands fidgeting with her mug. 

“I can’t wait to hear them, Jojo,” he replied, kissing her temple with a smile on his face. “You don’t have to play them for me, obviously. But if you want to, I want to hear.”

“Of course I’ll play them for you, Mikko,” Jo said as Mikko took a few long sips of his tea. “They’re for you. The rest of the world will just get to hear them at some point.” 

Mikko smiled against the edge of his mug and pressed his nose softly into her hair, letting his eyes close, just breathing in the moment as best as he could. He settled back into the couch, bringing his tea and Jo with him, tea secure in his hand and Jo secure against his chest and Mikko realized there was no place he would rather be. A comfortable silence fell over them as they drank their tea and Mikko’s hand rubbed in smooth circles over her stomach. Jo’s free hand rubbed up and down his forearm as she looked out at the water, thinking there was no place she would rather be either. 

“Thank you,” Jo said softly, breaking the silence after a few minutes. 

Mikko just kissed the side of her head and took a sip of his tea in reply.

“Thank you for being patient with me,” Jo spoke softly this time, voice hesitant, “for waiting.”

“Josephine Evans,” Mikko smiled as he spoke, “I’d wait for you my whole life if that’s what it took.”

Jo sighed, letting herself put all her weight against his chest, and let her love for him settle throughout her, through every inch of her, where it had always belonged. Mikko kissed her head again, face pressing softly into her hair. Mikko would have waited for her his entire life, but he was so happy he didn’t have to.

“Hey, Mikko?” 

Jo’s tone was lighter than when she had spoken the same words yesterday. The question was hesitant, but there was unbridled joy behind it.

“Yeah, Jo?” he replied, just so she knew without a doubt he was listening. 

“I think we should get married here someday.” 

Mikko sat his now almost empty mug down to wrap both arms around her tightly, dropping his face into her neck. He kissed her neck softly and sweetly as his heart swelled on his chest. He had her now, the person he wanted more than anything else in his life, but hearing her say that, those eight words, Mikko knew there was something he wanted more for certain. He wanted her in a pretty white dress, by the water, promising in front of the people who mattered most to them that what they felt was forever. Mikko could see it now, the flowers down the dock, the chairs by the water, he could see it all. He could see Jo barefoot in the kitchen ten years from now, a ring on her finger and a child on her hip. He could see her when she was eighty-five, hair long since gone gray, still making him smile. He could see her in every part of his future, loving her all the same in each thought that felt like memories that had yet to actually happen. 

Mikko had spent almost a year trying to get across the hurricane in her mind to find the girl he loved behind it all. It has been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but holding her now, staring out at the water, with the world quiet except for the small waves crashing on the shore and the feeling of how much they loved each other, thinking about marrying her someday sooner rather than later, Mikko didn’t have a single regret. 

“Whenever you're ready, Jo, I’m ready.”

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Silver

Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.

It’s challenging to finish up discharge summaries and operative reports when one’s vision keeps blurring, as it turns out. And when one keeps pressing fingers to their lips in disbelief. A poetic sort of procrastination, indeed.

Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 2/?: A Poetic Sort of Procrastination, Indeed

Sakura saunters home late in the evening, admiring the stars above her in a daze of spring air and clutching her tote bag to her shoulder as if her very life force is tethered to it.

In the flurry of emotion, she completely forgot about returning her library books, but she doesn’t give a damn.

She drudged through her entire pile of paperwork, though it was an almighty effort requiring every ounce of her discipline. Even after Sasuke left, she kept tearing up and just gawking at the impossibly beautiful gift he’s given her, affection requited bubbling up inside her ribcage and unleashed into the air she breathes like some sort of ambrosial perfume she can finally afford to bask in. She has always known there is a softer side to him, that there is much more beneath the surface than he lets on with his laconic demeanor, but this is something else.

It’s challenging to finish up discharge summaries and operative reports when one’s vision keeps blurring, as it turns out.

And when one keeps pressing fingers to their lips in disbelief.

A poetic sort of procrastination, indeed.

She hangs her tote on its entryway hook and carefully removes the box inside once she reaches her apartment. After she’s padded her way to her bedroom, she flips on the two lamps before placing it tenderly on her bed.

Sakura briefly contemplates taking the lid off then and there, but she knows she really should shower first, because otherwise the evening is going to quickly spiral away from her, whirlpool of tender feelings that it already is.

It’s the quickest shower she’s ever taken in her life; berry-scented soap floods her body and seems to take forever to rinse clean in her haste, although it can’t actually be more than a minute or two in reality. It’s also the quickest she’s ever toweled off and changed into pajamas, scurrying back to her room and grabbing the first pair she lays eyes on from her dresser drawer.

Once she has shimmied them on, she opens the box again, and just looks.

It still exists - it doesn’t disappear or dissolve as a figment of her imagination - so she picks it up with careful hands.

It is so, so pretty, exquisite in a way that makes her heart hammer relentlessly against her sternum, a catharsis in her chest sweeter somehow than anything she’s ever experienced.

It’s unavoidable; her eyes well with tears again, because he said he had it made for her. Not found in an antique shop off the beaten path or some happenstance market who knows how many miles away. Not just something that reminded him of her.

Made for me.

Which means he thought of this himself. Silk that shifts colors like the Uchiha crest, fastidiously stitched petals, and a cherry blossom tree, carved light wood that is startlingly similar in tone to the accents here in her bedroom.

And the way he looked at her, after, a storm of silver and obsidian that took her breath away.

And he kissed her.

Sakura doesn’t know how she’s supposed to fall asleep tonight, deliriously happy as she is, or how she’s going to spend any of her free time from here on out not staring at this supernal treasure. She strokes the wood with careful fingers, bringing the carving upwards for closer inspection. Every inch of it is gorgeous; she is especially enamored with the pink and pearlescent stitching, coruscant in the low light. She assiduously counts the slivers of bamboo, too, and follows the rivulets of fine branches stretching upwards to the boundaries of the framework. Upon her inquest, she notices an impossibly tiny etching, faintly whittled on the interior of one of the slats of bamboo. Tai Ro, it says; she assumes that must be the craftsman’s signature. She wonders where it came from, which far-off land Sasuke traveled through to commission something so resplendent.

She has never seen anything so bewitching, except maybe silver flecks.

Tearing her gaze away from the fan, Sakura eyes the vanity by her balcony door, an idea brewing.

It’s an aged piece, of a bygone style featuring small drawers on each size and a sunken point in the middle, from which rises a large circular mirror. A framed copy of their original Team Seven portrait sits pushed against the framing, right in the center. She placed it there because she enjoys seeing it as she gets ready for the day. It’s a good memory, one of her favorites, sentimental in a way that makes her heart swell, after everything. A pale wooden hairbrush also sits perched atop its surface, given to her by her mother forever ago while she was still at the Academy.

“I found it in the market today, just after swinging by to pick up rose food from Ino’s mother. It’s old, an antique, but I think it suits you, my dear,” she’d said, ruffling her hair, still long at that point and chattering a mile a minute in the overbearing way she has always tended to. She’d brushed her already combed locks in the manner that Sakura thinks all mothers must with their daughters, even when they are starting to become too grown for that sort of thing. “What I wouldn’t give for your hair! So unique; you should have something lovely to brush it with. You’re already such a pretty girl, but someday you’re going to bloom, and when you do, heaven help the boys.”

There’s a cherry blossom on it, too, adorning the back simply with five perfect petals.

When Sakura moved out of her parents’ house, she chose the tones of her bedroom accents, inclusive of the frame, with it in mind; she’d been using it for years by then, and had developed a fondness for pale wood rooted in familial nostalgia. Most of her actual furniture in the room is secondhand, of an older variety and painted with a white stain to make them somewhat match - she prefers things with a little bit of history, has since her mom gifted her that hairbrush - but the few frames and wall-mounted shelves are lighter washes of wood.

Many of the surfaces in her apartment are cluttered with books and other knick knacks she has accumulated through the years, but she tries to keep the vanity’s top clear, almost like an altar, an ode to the things she finds lovely atop it to give her hope with which to greet the day.

Still clutching the gift tenderly in her hands, Sakura ventures over to it.

She holds the fan close to the frame as well as the brush, comparing the color, near an exact match, a fresh memory making her heart swell in a completely different way, a way she had previously thought was maybe unrealistic.

She’ll get a stand for it, she decides, and display it in the spot the frame currently sits; it would look perfect there, the curvature echoed above it in circular looking glass, a hairbrush of a similar stain beside it. Then she’ll be able to gaze at it every morning and evening. There is no way something this precious to her could ever be stored away in a box and only seen on special occasions; it’s the same reason she struggled with the idea of hiding his letters away in one.

No, Sakura is resolutely sure that admiring it will be a daily ritual.

She can relocate the photo frame to her bedside table, maybe, next to An Introduction to Electrocardiography , or perhaps to her living room, though it doesn’t really match the wood out there.

That gets her thinking. We’re... together now, right? He’s kissed her, and she really hopes he will again, surprisingly soft lips against hers, an aroma of woodsmoke, and butterflies unleashed in her stomach. Maybe she should put the frame on the shelf in the main room. He might come over, sometime; it would be good to have it visible, situated in a place where he can see it.

With the utmost care, she lays the fan on the surface in front of her. Sakura combs through wet locks, coaxing out tangles with an old gift and appreciating a new one with watery eyes. When she’s finished, she carefully clutches it again and admires it atop a lavender comforter for the better part of an hour, alternating between mentally mapping its fine stitching within the confines of her hippocampus and paging through her book of Sasuke’s letters in a way that is more than fond, affection freed from her chest after so very long. The jubilance crests to a sense of omneity as she does so, moon glow filtering in by way of the gauzy white curtains that shield the balcony’s glass door.

She absolutely can’t wait to see him tomorrow. She sincerely hopes she’s not dreaming all of this.

She is so enamored with it that she doesn’t even drink her customary evening tea, her being warmed in an entirely different manner she is as of yet unaccustomed to, better than earl grey or some variety of dessert. It’s immensely difficult to pry it from her own hands when the time comes to do so.

Always is the last word she thinks of before she succumbs to slumber, curled up in soft colors and hoping he has found somewhere comfortable to sleep. Treasured memories emanate from objects old and new, brewing together before a looking glass where she’s placed them for safekeeping and admiration.

XXX

When she awakens in the morning, Sakura jerks upright in bed, turning to her vanity to ascertain if it was all a dream, cozened in by her subconscious as she slept.

It wasn’t. The fan is still there, precious and so enchantingly beautiful, dawn flavoring the memory of Sasuke’s return just as sweet as it had tasted yesterday with his lips on hers.

She brushes her hair again, working at the task way longer than necessary and trying not to cry out of sheer happiness. She feels so light, as if being pulled upwards by a latterly existent force of gravity, theoretically possible in terms of relative physics and with the right circumstances, but never actually experienced.

Birds are singing on the balcony when Sakura finally steps outside, snacking on seeds from her bird feeder as she gives her fledgling plants a drink before leaving for work.

It is such a lovely morning.

XXX

Sakura makes it through work as if encapsulated in a brand of inertial navigation system, floating as if she’s a bizarrely sentient cloud from patients to test tubes. She feeds the mice and records the brief observations she usually does on Wednesdays, and then a Genin is being brought in with a linear fracture in their tibia, twisted wrong and impacted during training. She gives instructions to nurses, too, taking care of smaller tasks in between, part of her feeling like she is barely there.

Well, not barely. She still keeps her wits about her and heals people; she takes pride in what she does. She just… daydreams a little, too, sage, smoke, and silver occupying her spare moments, flitting in between the corridors of her head as she flits from exam room to exam room.

She’s sitting at her desk, eating an early dinner and working on a new pile of paperwork before her next appointment arrives at five thirty, when one of Naruto’s clones bangs on her window.

Her gaze shifts to the glass at the familiar boisterous whining of her name - “Sakura-chaaaaaaan!” - and she rises to open it the rest of the way, allowing him entry into her office, an easy grin coming to her lips.

“Naruto!” A million thoughts run through her head. He has to know Sasuke’s back at this point, right? Has he seen him? He must be so happy.

Cyan bores into her, and he grins as he steps down. “Sakura-chan, teme’s back! Can you believe it? Though I guess you knew since yesterday.”

Sakura’s cheeks warm at the implication of that, wondering how he knows this information, but her friend is plowing onwards.

“Anyways, wanna have an original Team Seven reunion dinner on Saturday night? Or maybe Sunday night? Kakashi-sensei said Saturday would be better for him, if it works for you. And we should also make it a housewarming party for teme, but Kakashi-sensei says DON’T tell him that, or he won’t agree! It’s a surprise.”

Laughter erupts from her chest, rich and joyful, because it is crystal clear in that moment that Naruto is as elated at Sasuke’s return as she is - okay, maybe not quite on the level that she is, but close - even through a clone. “Of course, we should! I don’t have anything planned for Saturday night.”

Her teammate grins, all infectious happiness in the way that is so utterly characteristic of him, eyes crinkling at their corners. “Good, great, awesome! Be sure to mention it to him when you see him at seven. I’m sure if you suggest it, he’ll definitely agree.” Sakura blinks in surprise, cheeks staining darker. “Man, this is gonna be so great! Team Seven is fucking back ! I can’t wait to get a mission! It’ll be just like old times. I gotta tell Hinata-chan, too!”

She can’t help it; she smiles so wide that it hurts her face, tears paying her another visit. Sasuke’s back. He’s really back. And-

“Well, anyways, I’ll leave you to eat your dinner, Sakura-chan, but we have to force him to be social. I can’t wait to spar! But also, we gotta have a picnic, and no tying me to the pole this time. We could even challenge Kakashi-sensei to get off his ass and give us another go at the bell test. And, and! We should have a movie night. And go drinking! I’ve never seen teme drunk. I bet he’s a lightweight, and he’ll probably say all sorts of embarrassing shit! And-” Naruto’s clone’s expression turns unexpectedly serious, blue eyes suddenly narrowing in a way that is all-seeing and a tan finger suddenly pointing at her accusingly.

“-I mean social outside of you and him, Sakura-chan! Don’t think for a second that you’re gonna escape my questions later, when my brain isn’t fried from staring at that stupid scroll Kakashi-sensei has me slaving over. I want answers. ”

And then Naruto’s clone disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving her blinking in a strange combination of bewilderment and somehow, shyness, too.

And ebullience. Mostly ebullience.

She stands there grinning like an idiot for a long time. She can’t wait to see him at seven.

[rune-writes]

A Flower Just For You

Fandom: Persona 5

Word Count: 2988

Rating: G

Summary: Ann has been receiving flowers in her shoe locker for the past few weeks and she couldn't help but hope that they're from Ren.

Note: This is a piece I wrote for @thezinearcana, focusing on love confessions and flower languages.

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

Ann froze at the sight of a single white flower in her shoe locker that afternoon. This was the third time she had received it, and like its predecessors, it had neither name nor note attached to it.

A pair of familiar voices rose above the hum of conversation at the school's entrance hall. They sounded close—too close—and before she could think, Ann slammed her locker shut so hard the people around her jumped in surprise. She hoped they hadn’t noticed. But as her heart thundered in her chest, Ann noticed they’d gone quiet.

The silence was deafening.

“What’s wrong, Ann?” Ryuji asked.

“Nothing—” Ann half-turned, one hand still on her locker. But her voice sounded unnaturally high, and she barely stopped herself from grimacing.

Ryuji broke into a grin. “You’re hiding something,” he said, stalking towards her with hands in his pockets, his grin grew wide at her obvious discomfort. “A love letter?”

A joke. It was a joke. But the thought hit too close that Ann was caught between a stutter and a scoff. She willed her face not to go red even as her pulse picked up its speed. “Are you stupid?”

“Then what’s—”

“Ryuji,” Ren called from the other end of the locker, where he was changing his indoor shoes for his outdoor ones. “Ogikubo.”

A single word. That was all it took to make Ryuji huff and shuffle toward his own locker. “Aren’t you curious?” she heard him say. Ren only shrugged.

Her heart still drummed in her ears when Ren closed his locker and turned around. Ann didn’t realize she was staring until their eyes met. He offered her a smile that pulled at her heartstrings and Ann hoped her face didn’t betray her emotions.

“See you tomorrow,” he said with a wave of his hand before nudging Ryuji on the shoulder and nodded toward the doorway. Ryuji looked back only to give her a small nod of farewell, then joined his friend who had gone out ahead of him.

***

“Maybe it really is from Ren,” Shiho said on the phone later that night. Her friend was the only one who knew about the flowers.

Ann scoffed, turning to her side on her bed. “Haven’t we ruled him out of the potential suspects?”

“Don’t call them suspects,” Shiho said, laughing.

Ann shrugged. “They could be a mistake. Or even a prank.” She could imagine it—Ryuji coming up with such an elaborate joke. Though maybe he wouldn’t have thought of using flowers?

“Then why do you keep bringing them home?”

On instinct, Ann looked up at her desk, where three white flowers stood in a glass vase a little to the corner by the window, where they would get a lot of sunlight in the day. The corners of her lips quirked up. Dark green leaves beneath layers of voluminous white petals. Like a rose, but not exactly a rose. Beautiful.

Why did she bring them home? Because she felt sorry? With no name and no note, Ann couldn’t know for sure they were for her. She couldn’t return them nor could she give them to their true recipients.

“Anyway,” she went on, “It couldn’t be Ren. He wasn’t even interested in it.”

Shiho’s voice seemed to be caught between a sigh and a laugh. “If he’s not the least bit interested, that can mean two things: either he’s not interested in you, or he’s the one who sent it to you.”

“Or he’s just being respectful.”

Shiho sighed. “Ann—” she began, but whatever she was going to say was cut short, because Ann could hear a distant voice calling for her friend and Shiho answered it with a, “Be right there, Mom!” She had to leave. “Don’t think too much about it, Ann,” she said.

The call ended. Ann stared at the blank screen for several silent moments before letting the phone fall onto her bed. A soft sigh escaped her lips. Maybe Shiho was right. It’s not that the thought hadn’t crossed her mind but admitting it could mean her loss. They had only known each other for several months, but they were friends and they were comrades. She knew for sure Ren had never seen her like that.

As though summoned by her thoughts, her phone beeped. She looked to see a text notification from Ren and paused, staring at the name for a few more moments before the realization finally hit her and she sat up straight, her heartbeat skyrocketing.

‘You owe me one.’

Ann stared at the message, then carefully typed, ‘What do you mean?’

His reply came not even a minute later. ‘The love letter.’

Her heart constricted. It was one thing when Ryuji said it, but when those words came from Ren—

‘It’s not a love letter!’

‘Then what is it?’

It’s…

Ann paused, then deleted the word. What could she say? That they were flowers? That was the same as admitting the love letter.

‘What,’ she paused, then braced herself as she added, ‘Are you jealous?’

‘Pfft! Jealous? Me?’

The reply didn’t come as quick as before, but still, her heart stung. See, she wanted to tell Shiho. It couldn’t be from Ren. Ann wanted to laugh at herself for even thinking otherwise.

However, just as Ann was typing her reply, another message came. ‘Do you want me to be?’

Ann’s fingers jerked to a stop. She waited a moment, then another, but Ren didn’t say anything else, and neither did she.

Ann didn’t know what to say. Her brain had stopped working at all the implications his question could have and it made her heart race. She could just picture it—him lying on his bed in the cluttered attic that was his room, holding his phone up above his head, waiting for her reply.

She almost told herself to throw the phone and forget the conversation ever existed. She almost convinced herself that he was joking, that she was thinking too much and she should hurry and say something before he thought she was taking things too seriously and he’d feel bad and she’d be embarrassed and—

Her phone beeped again. Ann looked at the screen. A new message had appeared. ‘Sorry, that was a joke.’

That was a joke. She should have known. But her jaws were tense, and her fingers clutched her phone so tight her knuckles went white. Ann drew a breath and loosened her muscles, gulping air past the lump in her throat.

It was a joke.

But why did her heart clench so painfully?

***

The idea came to her in the middle of the night. If she didn’t know who it’s from, Ann could just catch the culprit in the act. She set out to stake out her locker the next day. She’d hide behind the wall around the corner, with bread on one hand and her phone on the other, scrolling through it while occasionally glancing up to spot if anyone had gotten near her shoe locker at all.

No one appeared during lunch break. She decided she could extend her mission to the hours after school, but even then, no one went anywhere near her locker or lingered long enough to have slipped something inside. They couldn’t have put the flower inside in the early mornings, could they? Ann would have found the flowers when she came to school. But all this while, she had only found them after school was over.

“You’re here early,” Ren said one morning before class started. Outside, clouds that had gathered since early morning had broken and rain was drizzling. With her head on her table, the hum of conversation in the background, complete with a chill in the air and the fact that she had woken up an hour earlier, had lulled her into sleep, woken up only by the sound of Ren’s voice and the scrap of chair against tile.

Ann gave a noncommittal grunt as she sat up straight and stifled a yawn.

“Didn’t get enough sleep?”

She didn’t. She couldn’t get her mind off the flowers that she only fell asleep after midnight. Shiho had said Ann was being too obsessed. “Doesn’t it make your heart flutter, though?” her friend had asked last night.

It did. Her heart fluttered every time she saw them, thinking that someone out there thought of her enough to give her flowers. No one had done that before. Yet that’s exactly why she hated it.

“What happened with the love letter?” Ren suddenly asked.

Her eyes ablaze, Ann whipped her head around and hissed, “It’s not a love letter!”

“Sorry.” Ren raised his hands and backed away, as far as the back of his seat allowed him. “Just that you’ve been hanging around your locker a lot recently—” He paused, his gray eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me—did you stake out your locker this morning?”

Ann pursed her lips and looked away. She heard a quiet snort and glared up at him. “Sorry,” Ren muttered, averting his gaze, finding purchase at something on his lap.

Ann stared at him for a couple moments before leaning her back against the window.

“It’s not a love letter,” she began, her voice soft. Gaze locked on the cuticles of her nails, she fisted her hands and braced herself. “It’s a flower. That time you saw me was the third.”

She waited for the snort, or the laughter, or any sort of teasing remark or jibe. But none of them came. Only silence. And silence was worse, because it spoke more volume than if he had pestered her like Ryuji.

Ann sneaked a glance from the corner of her eyes and found a perfectly schooled poker face. She scowled. “Forget it—”

“But isn’t that good?” Ren asked just as she turned around to face forward again. Ann’s fingers twitched. That confirmed it, then: Ren wasn’t interested in her at all. The flowers were definitely not from him.

She grabbed her books from her bag. Class would start soon.

“I guess it’s not.” She felt his eyes on the back of her head, but Ann didn’t feel like meeting them.

“You’re not happy with them?” There was a quietness to his voice that made her pause, that made her think twice again and again that maybe she was wrong and Shiho was right, no matter how many times Ann was proven right.

Ann sighed. No more.

“I am,” she quietly said.

“Then…?”

Ann let the question hang. The bell rang not a moment later and everyone took their seats. All throughout class, Ann would feel his eyes on her, a lingering glance when her name was called, or a look when she stood up to get something for lunch. He never said anything. She never gave him the chance to.

***

After school, the dark clouds plaguing the day finally parted. Ann didn’t feel like scouting her locker anymore, so she headed home, without much thought of it. Maybe Shiho was right. She should just be happy for receiving the flowers. But if they weren’t from Ren, Ann saw no point in getting happy over it anymore.

Light glistened on the trees and the puddles on the pavement. On her way to the subway, she noticed a little store just off to the side, with potted flowers and plants at the front. Ann stopped in front of it. The lingering scent of rain made the flowers smell stronger and sweeter, and before she knew it, her feet had already led her past the boxes and through the door at the center.

A bell jingled overhead. A woman in a blue shirt looked up from the cash register counter with a smile. “Can I help you?” the florist asked.

Ann looked around. More flowers lined the walls in pots or vases or stacked on shelves—roses, lilies, and hydrangeas to name a few. The florist came over to her just as Ann’s eyes fell on a vase of white flowers—the same ones she now kept in her room.

“What are those?” she asked.

The florist followed her line of sight and a bright smile spread across her face. “Gardenias,” she said. “Beautiful, aren’t they?” She plucked a few and held them out to Ann. “They’re lovely and elegant, perfect to give someone you love.”

Someone you love.

Ann smelled the flowers. A sweet fragrance filled her nose. Yes, these were the same ones. Gardenias.

“Did you know?” the florist went on. “These flowers also mean secret love.” That took her off guard. The florist met her surprised look with a knowing smile. “Long ago, when people used flowers to convey messages, they would often give gardenias whenever they wanted to express their love but still remain anonymous. Romantic, isn’t it?”

It was. And it was too similar with her own situation that it rendered Ann speechless.

“It’s been gaining popularity, too,” the florist added. No wonder, if she had told that story to every customer who came here.

Then again, maybe Ann shouldn’t have been surprised. Whoever had given her those flowers had probably fallen into the florist’s marketing ploy. She felt sorry for the guy. Not only did she have to turn him down, he would have spent his money in vain.

The store bell jingled again, and the florist looked up. “Ah! Amamiya-kun!”

Ann froze as the florist left her side. “Another gardenia?” she asked her new customer. “Or are you finally getting her a bouquet?”

The laughter that followed was indeed Ren’s. Ann couldn’t bring herself to turn around. All sorts of thoughts occupied her mind, trying to figure out what brought Ren to a small florist like this. But then he said, “Another gardenia, please,” and Ann stopped thinking.

The florist chuckled. “Send her some bouquet some time. She’d love it.” A shuffle of feet—the florist headed towards her, where the gardenias were.

A soft laugh. “Yeah, well…” Ren’s voice trailed off. Ann felt the moment his eyes found her. She could almost hear his intake of breath, caught on a secret she shouldn’t know. The silence seemed to stretch for a lifetime, and when he finally spoke her name, his voice quiet and hesitant, it was as though a spell was lifted.

She really shouldn’t have come here.

Placing the flowers on the nearest surface she could find, Ann kept her head down as she quickly made her way out, thanking the confused florist on her way. She ducked past Ren without looking up, then, once she was outside, sprinted as fast as she could to wherever her feet carried her.

Her face burned. Her heart raced. Blood pumped in her veins as she pushed herself farther and farther away from the flower shop at the side of the road.

“Ann!” came the dreaded voice, strained and out of breath. Ren pulled her to a stop, hand gripping her arm. “Ann, wait, let me explain—”

A glimpse of a scene, in middle school. A boy told her he liked her due to a dare between friends.

“Was it a joke?”

“What?”

She didn’t care what the flowers meant anymore. She only wished they were genuine, and not an effort to mess with her feelings. Because she liked him. She liked Ren.

“Was it a joke to you?”

Ann waited for an answer, but it never came. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was a joke. Who was she kidding? There was no way Ren would—

“Did you think it was a joke?”

She had expected him to scoff, and to smirk, to let go of her arm and said sorry, my friends made me to. But his voice was devoid of any emotions, and it struck her harder than any jeer he could have thrown at her.

His grip around her arm tightened for a fraction of a second, before he let her go, and sighed. Ann finally looked up, and the look on Ren’s face was enough to break her heart.

“I didn’t want you to know,” he began to say. “I didn’t think you needed to. You looked so happy when you first got it, I thought it was okay if I stayed anonymous.” He paused, hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head as he looked away, eyes finding purchase on a tree or a passing cloud.

Ann let his words sink in, feeling the knots slowly unravel in her mind. The tinge of red on his ears and his refusal to meet her eyes spoke loudly enough. Ren was being true.

Ann swallowed past a lump in her throat. “Then, if it’s not a joke, what is it?”

A self-deprecating laugh, a small awkward smile. “Do you really have to ask?”

She didn’t, apparently. Even without the words, Ren’s feelings were loud and clear. From the way he’d smile at her in such a soft and gentle way, to the way he’d look at her as though she was the only girl in the world. He had listened to her and given her his full attention. It would be a lie if Ann hadn’t felt some sort of deeper connection in her time knowing him.

And yet, it was for that precise reason that it had hurt her all the more when she thought he might have been playing with her feelings.

“I’m sorry if they were a burden,” he quietly said. “I didn’t mean to.”

And Ann believed him. Because if there was one thing she knew about Ren was that Ren would never do anything to upset his friends.

“Don’t you know why they made me happy?” she asked. He finally looked at her, and her face broke into a small smile. “The only reason I was happy, Ren, was because I hoped they were from you.” The dumbfounded look on his face was the most endearing thing she had ever seen. “I wanted it to be you.”

~ END ~

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 34 - Nostalgia

Author’s Note: Happy Nayeon Day everyone ;)

---

And so you do your best to hold on as her small, tight little body writhes and quivers on the bed, burying yourself completely inside her so you could both feel every ounce of pleasure that her orgasm had to give. Her fingers dig almost painfully into your forearm; but the pain from her nails only heightened the feel of her pussy pulsating around your cock.

When she finally comes down from her high her body is a quivering, mewling mess on the bed - but the fire in her eyes is undiminished, and the conviction and determination that were always at the core of her personality takes over.

“Baby,” she says, her voice low but firm, “I want you to take me.”

“Hmm?” you ask as you bend to nuzzle the side of her face. You knew what she meant, knew what she wanted you to do - but you had to hear her say it.

“I want you to be the first.”

“The first to what, Nayeon?”

There is silence for a few moments as Nayeon reaches up to your neck, bringing you close for a brief, passionate kiss before bringing her lips to your ear.

“I want you to be the first to fuck my ass.”

---

A chorus of hushed whispers washed over the room as Nayeon’s video finished playing. Jeongyeon was the first to speak up.

 “Who are those girls? What was Irene doing with them?”

 “Kidnapping them, probably,” Seolhyun quips, a stern look on her face as she crosses her arms. “More recruits for all her bullshit.”

 “They didn’t seem like they were going with her against their will - it’s almost like Irene was helping them escape from that YG building,” Tzuyu notes.

 “Those four girls were part of YG’s Blackpink division,” Nayeon explains. “They were essentially YG’s corporate espionage division, similar to what Red Velvet does for SM. Intel has dried up on them since this video - they’ve basically disappeared.”

 “Probably because they’re dead in a ditch somewhere after Irene got what she needed from them,” Seolhyun replies, still on edge about Irene. You decide to ignore her anger for now, hoping the young woman could at least channel it into something useful.

 “Regardless of Blackpink’s current whereabouts, our next course of action is clear. We have the evidence we need to put Irene away. The only matter now is finding her and arresting her - is that correct, detectives?” you ask.

 “Yes,” Jihyo answers from her seat at the front of the conference table, “but finding her is the hard part. After our mission at SM HQ she must know we’re on to her, so she’s likely gone to ground. We each need to reach out to any sources we may have that can help us track Irene down.”

 “What about Momo?” Jeongyeon asks, turning to you, “Maybe she has leads on Irene? It seemed like they were working on something big when they rescued us. I think they were closing in on her.”

 “Yup. And those two members of Red Velvet that we just saw get captured are now on Momo’s team as well. Maybe they know something that can help us - and I’d like to know how they managed to escape YG,” you add.

 “Okay, get in touch with her and find out what they know,” Jihyo says with a nod. “The rest of us can work any other leads we have. Maybe we can comb through the data we retrieved one more time to find any possible Red Velvet safehouse locations or schedule data. We can meet again on Monday morning and form an action plan.”

 Your assembled team rises from their seats and leaves the conference room, each of you spending the rest of the day doing everything you could to track down Red Velvet’s leader.

 ---

 Summer in Seoul was being a bit like being in an inescapable oven.

 Air conditioning was almost a necessity, what with temperatures averaging around 35 degrees and flirting with nearly 40. Despite this, you decided to leave the artificially cooled interior of JYP’s Seoul office to hopefully enjoy some quiet time to yourself on the roof.

 The office was almost empty now, most of the staff running off to enjoy their Friday night. You were happy to find the rooftop completely empty, and you grabbed a seat in one of the folding chairs in the small, shaded picnic area by the hot tub - remembering, briefly, the intimate encounter you’d had with Seolhyun there not so long ago. The memory brings a smile to your face, and you quickly found yourself reminiscing about the way she’d gone down on you, and the steamy shower sex you’d had soon thereafter.

 Your eyes involuntarily close as you lean back in the folding chair, raising your feet to rest on the chair opposite. You’d brought a file of Irene-related documents with you to the roof to study, but you were happy to take a short break - and maybe a nap - in the late afternoon sunlight.

 “You never were any good at studying,” comes a female voice, one that you knew all too well.

 You open your eyes to find Nayeon standing over you. Had you fallen asleep? You shake your head and rub your eyes in an attempt to gather your wits and focus on the young woman’s pretty features as she takes a seat in one of the other folding chairs. She is wearing a simple white sundress, one that is just slightly translucent, if the hint of a dark bra beneath its clean white fabric is any indication.

 “Oh, hey,” you answer, still shaking off the cobwebs of sleep, and unable to really say anything more. You sit up in the folding chair and lower your feet to the floor.

 “Sorry, I must’ve dozed off there for a second.”

 “No problem. But really, it’s me that should be apologizing.”

 Nayeon’s face is blank, and her features don’t give any indication as to her thoughts or intentions.

 “For what?”

 “You know for what,” she answers quickly, “For leaving you yesterday, during the mission.”

 The image of Nayeon standing in that alleyway, as she debated with herself whether she should leave you there to fall into the clutches of SM, flashes before your mind. The image of her finally making up her mind and running away came to mind soon after, although that image was significantly less pleasant to remember.

 “You don’t have to apologize. I ordered you to run. It was important that we get the data, otherwise the whole thing would’ve been in vain. Momo ended up rescuing Jeongyeon and I anyway - all’s well that ends well.”

 “But you didn’t know that at the time,” Nayeon answers, “and for all you and I knew I was leaving you there to be captured - and probably tortured, or worse.”

 You look away from her for a moment, unable to meet her gaze. It was true that her running away left you and Jeongyeon to an uncertain fate - one you were lucky to escape.

 “What good would it have done? If you’d stayed you would’ve been captured right along with us. There were almost a dozen of them and only three of us. They would’ve overpowered us eventually.”

 There is quiet for a few moments as Nayeon weighs your words in her mind. She fiddles with her fingers in her lap, trying to find voice and words to the emotions inside her.

 “I would at least have known I didn’t run away when you needed me. I would have known that I stayed when you needed me - like she did.”

 The image of Jeongyeon standing next to you, a fierce look in her eyes and a length of wood in her hands, ready to go down swinging, comes back to you. She also had the chance to run, right along with Nayeon; but instead she’d picked up a weapon and made a stand next to you.

 “That’s irrelevant,” you tell Nayeon, “what happened happened. We have the data and Jeongyeon and I are okay. That’s all that matters.”

 “No,” Nayeon snaps, “no, that’s not all that matters. I ran away. And I spent the rest of the day thinking I’d made the biggest mistake of my life. It wasn’t until Jihyo got that call from you last night that I found out you were okay. I thought you could have been dead.”

 The girl looks away, the strong front she had put up slowly beginning to show cracks. Her lip quivers slightly. The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, pondering the weight of Nayeon’s words.

 “When Jihyo recruited me for this and I found out you were involved, I jumped at the opportunity,” she begins, her voice a little weaker now. “I still had feelings for you, but I wasn’t sure if they were for real. I thought if I saw you again I’d know for sure.”

 Nayeon takes a breath, as if to compose herself. She looks back out at the empty rooftop, unable or unwilling to meet your gaze.

 “And when I found out you were sleeping with all these other girls and acting like an asshole, fucking them in front of me - I thought all those feelings for you disappeared. When that girl showed up wearing that blue hoodie I bought you - I wanted to strangle you.”

 She quickly swipes at the corner of her eyes - ostensibly to remove some bit of dust, but in reality to wipe away the beginnings of a tear.

 “But last night convinced me otherwise. Thinking I’d left you there, and that I might never see you again - it convinced me I still love you.”

 “Nayeon, I-”

 “I don’t care that you’re fucking all these other girls. I don’t care about the way we broke up, or why. I just care about you. We shouldn’t have broken up. We should still be together.”

 She looks at you now, and despite the tear that has finally broken free of her eyes and has slowly begun to fall down her left cheek, she still looks defiant, proud, just the way she always was.

 “We can be together again,” she says softly.

 Silence reigns for a moment as you gather your thoughts; you would have been lying if you’d said that Nayeon’s reappearance in your life hadn’t rekindled feelings for her. You’d always thought that the reason for your breakup and the way that you did it had left things so unresolved… and you’d spent many long nights since wondering what could have been.

 “Nayeon…” you begin, unable to really find the words to say anything more.

 “You don’t have to say anything,” she states. “At least until after we get Irene.”

 “I understand,” you answer.

 Apparently satisfied with the conversation, Nayeon gives you a soft nod before quickly wiping away the remnants of the tear from her cheek. She smiles softly - a smile that seems forced, as though it took all of her strength not to simply break down in front of you. Standing up, she begins to walk away.

 “Nayeon,” you say, her name a gasp upon your lips. She turns around with an almost imperceptible sigh, as though she were hoping you would stop her.

 “Do you… like, want to get super drunk or something?”

 Nayeon laughs, and although she tries to suppress it the way someone does when they don’t quite want to laugh, she nonetheless lets the soft, musical sound of her giggle escape her mouth.

 “Yes,” she answers, “yes I do.”

 ---

 “I got 34% on that econ midterm, and I have no one but you to blame.”

 “Oh please. Cramming doesn’t work. Scanning five chapters of a textbook the night before your exam isn’t going to magically turn you into an A student. You should have studied each chapter the week it was assigned, and not five chapters the night before the midterm. The night before the midterm is for a final review of all the major concepts.”

 “If I recall correctly you had a lot to do with keeping me up the night before the midterm.”

 “Psh. As great as the sex was, saying I kept you up ‘all night’ is a bit of an exaggeration.”

 “You wanted it three times. Then a fourth time as we were heading to campus.”

 “My point still stands. You had plenty of time for studying in between sessions.”

 “Awfully hard to study when your girlfriend ties you up to a chair and fucks your brains out. You slapped me a couple of times, too.”

 “Pain brings the brain to full alertness. I wanted to make sure you were alert and ready to study.”

 “I’m not complaining. The first time was fun. So was watching you walk around naked in the room afterwards.”

 “I wasn’t just walking around the room. Sometimes I was sitting. Or lying down.”

 “On top of my textbook. Which was hot as fuck, but not conducive to effective studying.”

 “I’m pretty sure I was nicer to look at than your textbook.”

 “I don’t doubt that. I’m just saying that the time between sessions would have been helpful for some last minute review, had you not distracted me the way you did.”

 “It’s not my fault you’re easily distracted.”

 “The second time, you literally bent over the kitchen counter and shook your ass at me.”

 “I didn’t say anything - it was you that decided to get up from your studying and come fuck me. I was just minding my own business, happily making us dinner and ensuring you had the energy for your studies. It was you that interrupted me.”

 “You looked over your shoulder at me with your ‘fuck me’ look and licked your lips. If that’s not asking for it, I don’t know what was.”

 “I wasn’t asking for anything. I was just tasting the food I made, to ensure it was delicious and nutritious enough for my boyfriend.”

 “And the ass shaking?”

 “I was dancing. We were playing music at the time, if you’ll recall. Music can aid the brain with memory retention.”

 “You had a hand between your legs. You did all your cooking with your left hand. Dancing gets you that hot and bothered?”

 “I wanted to improve my dexterity with my off hand.”

 “You were wet as hell when I got to you.”

 “Is it so wrong to say that my boyfriend made me wet?”

 “I think it was the thought of me fucking you over the kitchen counter that made you that wet, and you couldn’t help but touch yourself. Still think you weren’t asking for it?”

 “You’re crazy. I don’t ask for sex. I get it.”

 “Oh, you definitely got it. And the third time - giving me that blowjob under the desk while I was studying, what do you call that?”

 “I was cleaning under the table to ensure your feet weren’t injured by sharp or pointy objects while you studied. Safety first.”

 “And so not only do you cook naked - you clean naked too?”

 “It ensures clothing doesn’t get in the way or distract me from my chores.”

 “And the blowjob in the car on the way to campus?”

 “It was to ensure you were in the right mindset for the midterm. Orgasm releases endorphins to the brain which can improve examination outcomes.”

 “So four orgasms provide the recommended daily dose of endorphins, is that correct?”

 “That’s correct. For males, at least. It’s seven for women in the same time frame - you only gave me six, unfortunately. I had to get the seventh on my own.”

 “The picture you sent me of your wet fingertips just minutes before the midterm is enough proof.”

 “I was trying to provide visual support.”

 “You were insatiable, Nayeon.”

 “Were?”

 “Am?”

 “Am. I have to admit, I liked the way we tied each other up when we fucked. That was hot as fuck. But that night before your midterm - I was left wanting a little bit more, to be honest.”

 “Four times in twelve hours wasn’t enough?”

 “No, the number of times was enough.”

 “So? What more could you have wanted?”

 “Remind me again - where did you cum?”

 “On your back once, after you tied me up. Inside you, in the kitchen. And in your mouth twice.”

 “Hmm.”

 “Hmm?”

 “If only there was another place you could cum.”

 Nayeon finishes her beer in one long gulp. She slams the glass on the table and licks her lips with the same ‘fuck me’ look she wore in that room years ago. She gathers her purse and jacket and leaves the table. You quickly drop some bills down to pay for your meal and rush after her.

 ---

Sleeping with Nayeon was dangerous, to say the least, given your history together and your current circumstances. Sex with exes always made things so complicated. 

 But when she dragged you into her hotel room and your lips and bodies crashed together, you made no effort to resist. She was so familiar, her body so well known to your lips and fingers, that all thought of stopping fled quickly out the window. You’d spent so many long nights since your breakup wondering what could have been - and more than a few nights reminiscing about her body.

 The years were kind to Nayeon - when you were in school she was a little too thin, a little less curvy - but nature and long hours in the gym had sculpted her body further, and now she was a fully grown woman, curves and delicious skin and toned muscle all coming together to create a goddess in the prime of her life.

 You raise your head from between her spread legs, your tongue and chin dripping with her juices. You lick the delicious honey from your lips, savoring her taste as you kiss a path back up her slim, firm body, delighting in her tight stomach and cute, round breasts. You reach her neck and give her a quick peck there before you give her a deep kiss, Nayeon’s tongue sliding into your mouth to taste herself.

 “You always ate me so well,” she says, her cheeks flushed from recent orgasm.

 “You always tasted so fucking good,” you answer.

 “Fuck me now,” she hisses, and you are quick to oblige, positioning yourself between her spread thighs, reaching down and aiming the tip of your stiff cock at her dripping folds. You swirl it around the slick flesh, delighting in the soft moans that leave the girl’s lips as your tip slides around her clit.

 “Stop teasing. I need it. Fuck me, please.”

 You grin devilishly as you press your tip against her opening - but your grin turns into a gentle sigh as the feeling of slipping into Nayeon’s slick, hot pussy overwhelms your senses. 

 She felt exactly the way she did back then - tight, wet, hot - and it was all a little too much to handle. When you fill her completely you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and you open eyes you didn’t know you’d closed. Your vision is filled with Nayeon’s beautiful face, her cheeks flushed pink, her eyes and lips and nose overwritten with pleasure at being filled for the first time.

 “Oh god,” she gasps, “oh god, I missed you so much.”

 She grasps the back of your neck with her hand and brings you close for a kiss - one that is desperate, and full of need.

 “I’ve missed you too, Nayeon.”

 “Fuck me now,” she hisses, “fuck me like you used to.”

 You eagerly follow her demands, and you slowly begin to pump in and out of Nayeon’s slick, tight pussy, her body tightening around your cock with every thrust in and out, lathering your length with juices that glisten in the low light. The sound of her sighs and gasps quickly rise in volume, a beautiful backdrop to the sounds of your wet shaft penetrating her slick pussy again and again.

 You quickly find your rhythm, and you almost lose yourself in the feeling of her; you knew it was partially nostalgia - you felt like a university student again, enjoying himself and his girlfriend, not yet having to worry about corporate espionage or physical danger - no, there was only pleasure here, and indulging in it. For long minutes you fuck Im Nayeon, losing yourself in the feel of her body beneath yours, her limbs wrapped around you and your ears filled with her gasps and moans.

 The sounds were amazing, but it is the sight of her beneath you - the girl you’d long that was the one that got away - fed your desire more than any drug could have. You increase your rhythm, and the words that spill from Nayeon’s lips tell you she welcomed it.

 “Oh god… yes… fuck me, baby. I’m yours.”

 You decide to surprise her, slipping out of her needy pussy for a moment to turn her on to her left side. Straddling her left leg and raising her right leg so that it is on your right shoulder, you slip into her again, sliding easily inside her body and filling her completely, the position allowing you to get even deeper inside her.

 “Oh god!” she gasps, her mouth frozen open in a soundless “o”, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. You take a moment to let her adjust to the newfound depth of your cock - but her pussy is too wet and hot and slick to fight the temptation much longer, and soon you find yourself sliding in and out of her, fucking her with a hard, strong rhythm.

 Nayeon’s body bounces deliciously with every entrance and exit of your cock sending impacts that rock her form from head to toe. Her breasts, now stacked on top of each other due to being on her side, bounce hypnotically - you grab her right mound, squeezing softly and delighting in the feel of her stiff nipple in your palm.

 “Oh god… I missed this… I missed… mm, your cock inside me! Oh… oh god, I’m cumming!”

 When Nayeon orgasms it takes every effort on your part not to simply join her in bliss - her pussy tightening deliciously around you made it all to easy to pump inside her and fill her with cum that she would have been happy to be filled with; but you knew you had to hold on, had to give her what she asked for earlier that night.

 And so you do your best to hold on as her small, tight little body writhes and quivers on the bed, burying yourself completely inside her so you could both feel every ounce of pleasure that her orgasm had to give. Her fingers dig almost painfully into your forearm; but the pain from her nails only heightened the feel of her pussy pulsating around your cock.

 When she finally comes down from her high her body is a quivering, mewling mess on the bed - but the fire in her eyes is undiminished, and the conviction and determination that were always at the core of her personality takes over.

 “Baby,” she says, her voice low but firm, “I want you to take me.”

 “Hmm?” you ask as you bend to nuzzle the side of her face. You knew what she meant, knew what she wanted you to do - but you had to hear her say it.

 “I want you to be the first.”

 “The first to what, Nayeon?”

 There is silence for a few moments as Nayeon reaches up to your neck, bringing you close for a brief, passionate kiss before bringing her lips to your ear.

 “I want you to be the first to fuck my ass.”

 When you raise your head you find a newfound determination in her eyes - that ‘fuck me’ look, magnified a thousandfold. Before it was sexy - now it was downright lustful.

 Nayeon turns her body so that she is lying face down on her stomach, spreading her legs to allow you between them. When she looks back at you there is nothing but need and lust in her eyes.

 Your cock is already slick and wet with her juices, but you take a moment regardless to spit into your palm and stroke your rock hard shaft, ensuring it is lubricated enough for what was to come. You feel your heart beating fast and hard - the anticipation made your skin tingle.

 When Nayeon reaches behind her and spreads apart the cheeks of her ass, revealing her small, tight asshole - you had to remind yourself to breathe. It takes some effort, but you soon place the very tip of your glistening cock at her entrance, and you take a moment to spit one more time, the saliva landing right where your bodies met. Using your right hand to guide your shaft, you tease her ass with your tip, lubricating it as much as you could.

 “Enough,” Nayeon hisses, her face half pressed into the mattress, “fuck me now. Fuck my ass, baby. I want you to take every part of me. I want you to fuck my ass.”

 You push forward, and while it takes some effort, you finally enter Im Nayeon’s ass.

 Her body tries to fight you every step of the way, but soon the tight ring of her ass gives way to the unyielding flesh of your cock, and eventually your tip is fully inside her. Nayeon lets out a pained gasp into the mattress, and you watch as she grits her teeth as more of you enters her.

 “Are you okay, Nayeon? We can-”

 “No, don’t stop. Keep going. I can handle it.”

 You continue to push forward, your hands caressing her back and shoulders in an attempt to ease her into it. Her tightness is almost overwhelming, her ass a tight ring of muscle that squeezes every inch of your shaft as it enters her. It might have taken a minute, it might have taken an hour - but eventually you are fully inside her, buried to the hilt inside Nayeon’s ass.

 “Oh god,” she gasps at the feel of being filled, “oh god, I feel so full.”

 “Are you okay?”

 “Yes… yes, I want this. I want you in my ass. Now fuck me.”

 You withdraw your cock for the first time - and when you look down and watch every inch of your shaft appear from between the round cheeks of her ass - it is almost overwhelming. But just as wonderful is the feeling of entering her again, and finding your soft, steady rhythm as you begin to fuck Nayeon’s ass.

 “Oh, oh god,” Nayeon says, repeating that mantra, “oh god, keep going like that.”

 Satisfied that you’d found a rhythm that didn’t cause her unnecessary pain, you continue to pump in and out of her, relishing every entry and exit into and out of her young, firm body, her ass clenched tightly around every inch of you as it penetrates her again and again.

 Nayeon is the first to raise the stakes.

 “Get on your knees,” she says. You bury yourself fully inside her, drawing out a gasp of pleasure from her lips before raise yourself to your knees. Taking care to keep you fully inside her, she gets on her own knees before you, until you are both kneeling on the bed with you behind her. The newfound intimacy of this position was welcome, and you wrap both your hands around her slim torso, cupping her small, perfect breasts in each of your hands.

 “Fuck me like this,” she says softly, “fuck my ass like this.”

 You resume pumping in and out of her, the position allowing you easier access to her butt - but you are surprised to find that she is rocking back and forth on her own, driving herself back to meet each of your thrusts. For long minutes you continue to fuck, your shaft drilling in and out of Nayeon’s tight, hot ass, her body pounding back against you with each thrust. Your hands roam her tight, sweaty little body, sometimes squeezing a breast, sometimes clenched around her waist or shoulders - anything to grasp her in your arms, tighten your grip on her as though you never wanted to let her go and lose the delicious pleasure that her body was giving you.

 Nayeon breaks free from your grasp, eventually, leaning forward with her arms. She continues to push herself back onto your cock as you thrust forward - every thrust, every feel of her tight ass clenched around your shaft driving you closer and closer to orgasm. You look down, watching your wet cock slide in and out of her hole - and you think you might pass out.

 “Oh, fuck, Nayeon - that’s so fucking hot.”

 “You like it?” she says, the words a breathy hiss, “you like fucking me like this? Fucking my ass like this?”

 “Fuck yes, Nayeon… Oh! Fuck… fuck, you feel so good. I’m not gonna last very long.”

 “Mmmmm oh god… Just cum when you want to… just cum for me… cum inside me… cum inside my ass. I want you… to be the first… to fill my ass with cum.”

 You are almost ashamed to admit it, ashamed that her first anal sex experience might be too short - but her body was too overwhelming, too wonderful to fight. It was all too much - the residual feelings from your past relationship, her reappearance into your life, her beauty and sexiness and utter physical perfection, the fact that she wanted you to be the first to claim her ass - all too fucking much to resist.

 “Fuck, Nayeon, I’m cumming!” you hiss, and Nayeon’s only reply is a breathy moan that turns into a plea.

 “Yes… cum inside… my ass!”

 You bury yourself as deep as you can inside her, your hands clenching tightly around her waist and hips as you finally lose control and tumble willingly over the edge into pure bliss, your shaft pulsating as it sends stream after stream of thick, hot semen inside Nayeon’s clenching ass, the white cum painting her rectum with white.

 It might have taken you hours to recover from the stars that dazzle your vision and the feeling of lightheadedness as your orgasm overtakes each of your senses. You are only vaguely aware of slipping out Nayeon’s body, and the needy, high pitched whine that escapes her lips when you finally leave her. A trail of thick white cum soon emerges from her hole, a trickle that becomes a stream that flows down her thighs and onto the bedsheets.

 There are no more words that could possibly be said between you, and so you fall into a tangle of exhausted limbs and sweaty bodies, your arms entangled with one another. You find her cheek, bring her face to yours, and the kiss that you share makes you feel like you’d found something you’d long thought was lost.

 ---

 Nayeon was right - she was still insatiable.

 The shower you shared when you both awoke only turned into one after you’d fucked again - when she dropped to her knees and took you into her mouth you didn’t think you’d ever get around to actually cleaning yourselves. But after you’d picked her up from the shower floor and fucked her against the cool tile, you both finally managed to achieve some semblance of cleanliness - even if the sight of her wet body as she rubbed a bar of soap all over herself, your own cum still dripping from her pussy, made it difficult to concentrate on actually cleaning yourself.

 You’re the first out of the shower, and you collapse onto the bed while Nayeon finishes drying her hair in the washroom. You grab your phone off the nightstand and scroll through your messages.

 The first few texts were from Jeongyeon - memes, mostly, and one or two messages telling you she was bored, and had nothing to do; it was far too late to respond to them now, however, and you felt some momentary guilt at having missed what was obviously an invitation from her to meet up.

 Sana came next - in the form of a few suggestive photos of herself in various skimpy outfits, all seemingly from a clothing store’s dressing room; in each one she was leaning forward, giving you a good look at the tight cleavage she was so fond of showing you. “Maybe these would look better on your hotel room floor,” she said in a follow up message that was far from subtle.

 A single text from Mina surprised you and brought a smile to your lips - “I’m getting promoted to head of legal affairs at JYP,” she’d said, “so I get my choice of post. Save me a spot on your team.”

 The last message came from Momo - a simple address of a meeting place she’d chosen. You’d asked her the night before if she and her team were willing to meet to discuss the next stage in the operations against Irene. Her response was just an address and a time to be there - a far cry from the long, cutesy texts she used to send you all the time.

 You allow yourself a moment of sadness at that last thought, but it is one that quickly flees your mind when Nayeon re-emerges from the bathroom. She is naked, of course, her skin still flushed and glistening from her shower, her hair still damp and falling around her head in thin, wavy strands. 

 In her hands is a shiny object, something you were quite familiar with long ago, something you never thought you’d see again - a red leather collar, to which was attached a length of silver chain.

 She doesn’t speak a word - not when she gets on the bed, not when she straddles you, not when she places soft kisses on your body that start on your stomach and begin to trace a path up your body, until she places a soft kiss upon your lips.

 She straightens, sitting atop your lap in all of her naked glory, water dripping deliciously down her perfect round breasts and her flat stomach. She undoes the clasp of the collar with long, dainty fingers, and places it around her neck. When it is sufficiently tightened, she gathers the chain in her hands, finding the end of it with her left hand. She bends once more to kiss you, her left hand tracing a path along your right arm. When she reaches your hand, she pushes the phone in it away with her own hand.

 The phone falls over the side of the bed - and Nayeon replaces it with the end of the silver chain. She bends her head, kissing your cheek, before bringing her lips to your ear.

 “How would you like to take me, master?”

[shimmeringclouds]

Chapter 2

'Another day wasted.'

It was the first thought to come to your mind when you had awoken the next day, the sun already high above the horizon and glaring through your windows.

You didn't feel well rested, despite having slept for hours on end. Your mind was tired, your heart still ached, you didn't feel as if you had the strength to open your eyes. You just lay there on your bed, unmoving and unbothered.

You would have stayed there all day, had it not been for your hunger. Clutching at your stomach in pain, you remembered how you had barely eaten anything the previous day, too busy wallowing in self pity to even think about eating.

With a groan, you slowly sat up on the edge of your mattress, blinking away the sudden head rush that came with the movement. The floorboards felt cold beneath your feet, sending shivers up your spine as you placed them flat on the wooden flooring. You rubbed at your eyes as you stood up, stumbling out of your bedroom to go and wash up.

It was unbearably hot in your living room, prompting you to open up the patio doors to allow some air inside, the humidity increasing as a new wave of warm air wafted into the room. The echoing sounds of cicadas that rested on tree trunks beyond your fencing filled the air, buzzing and buzzing until that white noise in your mind was finally cancelled out.

You chewed slowly on your food, maybe to waste more time so that the sun would go down and you could go back to sleep. But it was barely noon and the sun was still hovering high in the sky, scorning you with its intense rays as if to punish you for wishing it to leave. It was going to be a long summer's day, and you were already sick of it.

Sick.

You suddenly placed your half-eaten plate of food down with a clatter as you scrambled to your feet, slapping a hand desperately over your mouth as you felt it rise and boil in your throat, barely making it to the bathroom as your stomach spewed out bile into the sink.

It was happening again, you realised as you continued to gag, fumbling to turn the tap on to wash away the disgusting sight before you, prompting you to choke again. It was all going so well, and now it's happening again. Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed them shut. Just make it stop. Please make it stop.

Your legs finally collapsed from beneath you and you tumbled to the tiled floor, hands still clutched to the edge of the basin as you crouched down, head low and breaths heavy. A cold sweat had broken out over your skin, leaving you shivering and abnormally feverish.

It wasn't fair, you thought miserably. Nothing had happened. Nothing had gone wrong. But apparently something did go wrong. Things always go wrong. You can never seem to be at peace, no matter what you try. The sudden waves of anxiety that hit you when you least expected it wasn't your fault. And yet it was entirely your fault. Nothing made sense. Nothing ever made sense. You were too stupid to understand. You could never understand.

'If only I didn't go outside yesterday.'

But it still would have happened. This would still have happened. You didn't know why, but it would have. Because that's just how it works. It's not supposed to work that way. But for you, it does. You didn't need to understand. You just needed to let it happen. Even if you didn't want it to. You have no power, no control. Just fall to your knees and cry, as you always do. That's how it always works.

You stood up shakily, hesitantly staring back at the face in the mirror. She looked better than you did. Smiling, happy, glad she was behind the glass and wasn't there with you.

You blinked, and the image changed. That was you. You, with the messy hair and the dark, tired eyes, the sickly skin and pinched cheeks, frail and weak, gaze sullen and dazed. Lost and confused. Sad and pitiful. That was who you were.

Unable to look any longer, you twisted the faucet back on, cupping handfuls of cold water and splashing it over your face multiple times, scrubbing harshly at your eyes and mouth, rinsing it out to get rid of the sickening taste of bile. You didn't dare look back into the mirror as you grabbed your towel, rubbing it over your face and tossing it aside before exiting the bathroom.

Breakfast didn't sound appetising anymore, and you regretfully threw the rest of the food away. You stood in the middle of your living room, glancing around from the couch to the TV, to the console next to it, to the small bookshelf stuffed with a few books you had decided to keep for whatever reason, your fingers furling and unfurling against your palms.

They finally landed on a slim, black, hard-cover book shoved lopsidedly into the bottom shelf, it's ringed binder hanging out over the edge of the dark wood.

You reached for it, gingerly pulling it out of the shelf with the tips of your fingers, holding it at arms length as if it were some kind of wild animal. The first few pages were frayed and withered, but the rest were crisp and clean, untouched and unused.

You stared and stared at the tough cover, running your gaze over the blank darkness, as if you were searching for something. But you knew everything you were searching for was inside the book. The courage to look was dwindling away as time tricked by.

You suddenly grasped the corner of the cover, flipping it open with force and coming to a halt at the sight of the first page. All you saw was coloured blotches, streaking across the otherwise empty paper in messy lines. The blues and greens merged together in a disgusting mesh of hues, the watery disarray of paint unable to form any real structure.

After staring at it for a long while, face stoic, you flipped over to the next page. The paper was stiff and wrinkled, less like paper and more like cardboard, crackling with the slightest amount of pressure applied to it.

It was just the same as the previous one, if not, worse. You couldn't look at it for longer than a couple of minutes before moving on, and that time hastily shortened down to a few seconds until you finally reached a blank page.

With a shaky breath, you grabbed a pencil from one of the pots on your shelf and silently seated yourself down at the low table behind you. You hovered the lead over the white canvas, carefully moving it along with your hand, the sound of the pencil scratching against the paper filling your ears.

Your arm made jerky movements, wrist flicking left and right as you attempted to make an outline of something you had seen before, with the lead eroding away ever so slowly with each stroke. You watched your hand wander to every corner of the paper, pausing with a flinch every now and then when it moved just a little too far off the intended path.

The clock ticked on and on, seconds to minutes to hours, with you sat at the low table in the bright light of the sun in your living room, scratch, scratch, scratching away, even as your pencil became blunt, forcing it to mark out the lines of a seemingly misshapen landscape, thin and delicate lines becoming thick and crooked veins.

It wasn't until the pencil began stabbing the paper with its splintered tip that you finally stopped, moving your hand off the page to look down at the horrible mess you had made. It was the same picture as the others, only much, much more awful, with less colour and less sense of mind.

That same stoic face stared down at the page. Your grip on your pencil was now limp, your hand dropping to the floor by your side and the tool now slipping from your fingers, rolling over the floor and out of your reach.

You can't do anything right, can you?

The sting of tears in your eyes was going to drive you mad. You stood back up, ignoring the needle-like numbness in your lower limbs as you staggered to your bedroom, the urge to get out of the deathly silent house growing stronger.

You changed out of your clothes into an oversized beige hoodie and shorts, thinking that it wouldn't draw attention to yourself, only to realise that it would draw attention because what kind of idiot would wear a hoodie in the middle of summer? So you tossed it aside and pulled on a white vest and a grey dress-shirt on top instead, thankful that the loose fitting clothing would at least cover your curves.

You slipped on the first pair of sneakers you saw and left the house, your keys, purse and phone stuffed into your back pockets. You stood in front of your door for a moment, unsure of where to go, then ultimately decided that it really didn't matter, and you turned left and started walking.

You kept your head low, hands awkwardly swaying by your sides, unsure of where to put them because you had no other pockets. The sun was lower in the sky now, gently stretching your shadow behind you as you walked further and further down the street, following it wherever it took you because who cares where you would end up?

As always, there was no one outside besides you. The gentle patter of your footsteps against the cobbled pathway was the only sound you could hear besides the familiar twitter of birds above you. It was moments like these when you began to miss the sounds of the city, with its constant bustling streets and roads filling that emptiness in the air and somewhat reassuring you that you weren't completely alone in this world.

But here, you were. You were entirely alone.

You always thought you would be okay with that, and yet you were now hating it more than anything. How pathetic.

Glancing upwards, you noticed with a blink that the houses in the village were now far behind you. You paused, turning to look over your shoulder to see the shrunken structures in the distance, and your surroundings were instead replaced with rolling green fields of tall grass, mutely swaying in the breeze. How long had it been since you had started walking?

Despite your confusion, you turned back around and continued onward. You shouldn't think about it too much. You didn't want to think at all anymore.

And so, you walked. You walked and walked and walked. You had no idea where the road was headed towards, you had no idea if you were even in the Akashika District at that point, but that was fine. The unknown was welcomed with open arms. Anything to keep your mind quiet.

Unfortunately for you, though, all good things must come to an end. That end came far too quickly when your legs and feet began to ache. Your body was becoming tired — most likely due to you not having any food in your system — and your shortness of breath under the brutal summer heat was making your head spin. You needed to stop soon, unless you wanted to faint.

With great reluctance, you steered yourself to the side of the road, kneeling down with your knees tucked into your chest and your forearms hanging over them. You pushed your hair away from your face, disliking the sweat accumulating on your temple. Whilst you caught your breath, you looked back again down the road you had walked up, and the town was now a lot smaller than it was before.

You would have to walk back there eventually, you reminded yourself, and you outwardly groaned. You didn't want to do that. But you guessed it was your own fault, anyway. You deserved this. It's the consequence of your actions, isn't it? You acted irrationally, and now you had to suffer further.

The sound of a car horn startled you from your thoughts. You whipped your head over to your right with wide eyes, watching as a white car rolled to a stop a few feet ahead of you, its tires crunching against the dirt. The engine died down into silence as you heard the clutch being pulled into place with a squeak, catching a brief glimpse of a shadowy silhouette through the windscreen as it shuffled to get out of the car.

You were frozen in place as you watched a man step out of the vehicle, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes as he regarded you with a curious look, raising a brow as he stepped closer. His rounded face looked so familiar, as well as those large, half-lidded eyes, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. He wore a white shirt complete with a deep blue tie, which hung loosely under his unbuttoned collar. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbow, exposing his forearms.

"Are you okay there?" He asked, sauntering to a stop as he stood over you. You stared up at him, breath caught in your throat, unsure of what to say. No, you were not okay, but you couldn't just tell people that, could you? You had to be okay, you had to be normal.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you." You attempted to smile, the strain of forcibly stretching your lips across your cheeks paining you greatly, and you would have kept it up if the man hadn't frowned at you. The smile that was more akin to a grimace slowly slipped off of your face, replaced by a nervous pinch to your lower lip instead.

"You don't look 'fine' to me," he stated bluntly, leaning down a little so that his head was mere inches away from your own. "What are you doing all the way out here on the ground?"

You inched yourself back slightly, wobbling under the uneven balance on your limbs. Excuses, you had to come up with excuses, but that was becoming an increasingly difficult task when the man interrogating you seemed to know that you were lying before you even spoke.

Just as you were about to lose your balance in your crouched position, he grabbed onto your upper arm to steady you. The warmth radiating from his palm seeped through your sleeve, your already boiling skin heating up further from the touch. You felt your cheeks heat up, too, the unfamiliar touch of this (admittedly attractive) man leaving you in a slight daze.

"I-I was just out for a walk, and I got tired, that's all," you quickly stammered, unable to look him in the eyes lest you burst into flames. His scrutinising look didn't falter, instead increasing as he squinted at you harshly.

"You look like you're gonna faint. I think you're a little more than tired, lady."

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest at his words. You were fine, totally fine, why couldn't he just accept that?

You gasped as you suddenly felt yourself being lifted off the ground, your arms pulled forward as he forced you to follow behind him. He was leading you to his car, his grip on you firm as if to say that you didn't have a choice.

"Where are you taking me?" You couldn't exactly trust a man you had just met so easily. He stopped in his tracks, turning to look back at you with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Ah, sorry! I'm gonna look weird if I just start dragging you over here, huh?" He released your arms to bow mockingly, peering up at you through one eye as the other closed in a wink.

"The name's Akashika Ozo. Taxi driver, at your service." He grinned widely, seemingly proud of himself for the little skit he had pulled. Ozo straightened back up, taking a hold of your forearm tenderly this time and gesturing towards his car. "I was just planning on giving you a lift to wherever it is you're going. If you want one, that is."

[tothemeadow]

Commissioned by @azurenocturne​

Douma x Reader

- After your friend disappears while investigating the Eternal Paradise, you decide to follow after her. Little do you know, but the leader of the cult, Upper Moon Two, is as beautiful as he is conniving... - 

warnings: mentions of death, blood, and gore

words: 2.1k

-

Birds of a feather flock together, but not this time. She’s walking on an unfolded road in a distant dream, long gone, almost forgotten. Sometimes, her laughter rings in your ears. Sometimes, when you close your eyes, you can see that very day, cloaked with white and the chill of winter.

It’s because of her that you’re the person you are today.

Seasons have passed, as have many moons; day by day, you wait for your crow to bring you an ounce of good news, but to no avail. Months have gone by, and yet your friend has still not uttered a single word.

You’re confident in her skills, of course. She’s a tough fighter, practically too stubborn to die, but paranoia follows you around, wraps around you tightly during the night’s long hours. You figure it must be because of the façade she must put up – to be captured means death.

The lead she told you about was strong, and she was more than determined to follow it to its ends and meet the leader for herself. The Eternal Paradise, as she explained, where Upper Moon Two leads blind followers to their deaths. It’s disgusting, isn’t it?

From your understanding, some demon sat on a pile of corpses and bones with an entourage of mindless sheep waiting for slaughter. It is disgusting, down to the tiniest detail. You encouraged your friend to take down such a damned blood-thirsty creature, but you sent her off with plenty of warnings in your stead. If anything looked to shady or dangerous to deal with, you begged her to make her return home. She didn’t deserve to die in a place like that, not to people like those.

You wish you were naïve. You wish you could tell yourself that it would be okay, that your friend will come back to you safe and sound someday, but that’s not the case. Your gut told you otherwise, warned you of the truth. She was in danger and needed help, whether she liked it or not. You had to follow down that same road, seemingly disappear and become one with this so-called “organization.”

She was going to come home.

-

“You’ll like it here, sister,” Hanako says, voice devoid of all emotion. Hanako was appointed as your ”guide,” told to show you around the mansion, provide the ins and outs of how the cult worked. Unlike the others straggling in the halls, her expression is plain and lifeless. With hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes, you wondered what hell she must’ve been through to find herself living in the halls of the Eternal Paradise.

As you pass the others, they turn to you with way too pleasant smiles, their eyes squinting to the point where it looks painful. There’s no way that they’re that happy to be here, right…? Surely, they’d have to notice how some of their fellow followers randomly disappear from time to time. It’s possible that their demon leader manipulates them to forget, or straight out threatens them to keep silent…

“You’ll be staying in here,” Hanako says, coming to an abrupt stop in front of a room. The room itself is on the smaller side, nearly devoid of any furniture besides a rolled-up futon sitting to the side. “This is where I reside,” Hanako continues. “There used to be another, but then they decided to leave.” Stepping inside, Hanako unceremoniously drops the spare futon and pillow she was holding onto the floor.        

The hairs on the back of your neck stand straight at her ominous words. “Uh, what do you mean, they left? I thought anybody who became part of the… Eternal Paradise would never want to leave?” Saying the words leaves a nasty taste in your mouth; you’re a slayer, for gods’ sakes. You shouldn’t even be here, but you’re determined to find your friend. It’s partially your fault that she came here all by herself; you should’ve tagged along, made sure she wasn’t alone when going up against a cult.

Hanako blinks at you, her eyes a cold, empty shell. “They died.”

What?

“Everyone lives, everyone dies. That’s life, after all,” Hanako says. “They left before they passed. To die in this sacred place… It’s repulsive. Our lord doesn’t deserve such disrespect. Imagine if I woke up to a corpse and had to tell our lord? He’d punish me for not dealing with it.”

Swallowing thickly, you turn away. If Hanako was afraid of telling the demon that somebody died – that in itself raises an alarm, jeez – then what were they even like? Cruel and ruthless, obviously; why so followers, then? Don’t they know who they’re even dealing with?

“Hmmm, I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” a new voice says.

Hanako squeaks, then, whirling around to the door and snapping over in a deep bow. “Fool,” she hisses at you, “what do you think you’re doing? Show some respect!”

Glancing towards the door, your entire mouth goes dry in an instant. A large, muscular man almost completely fills the doorway, his wide shoulders nearly spanning the entire length of the opening. He’s beautiful, simply put; birch hair, multicolored eyes, a face carved by the gods. The man’s entire being oozes with power and intensity, yet his enticing scent is tinged with blood. So, this is the leader, Upper Moon Two, it seems. After another moment’s hesitation, you follow after Hanako and bend at the waist.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Hanako stammers. Rather than her monotonous tone before, she addresses her leader with the outmost respect. “The newcomer obviously needs to learn the proper mannerisms.”

The demon giggles. Shivers run down your spine; he isn’t like any other demon you’ve encountered, not by a longshot. The room becomes even more cramped as he steps in, his large body mere steps away from you. “Stand, my darlings,” he purrs.

Hanako shoots upright, her usual blank expression twisted into a pleased grin. Wringing her hands before her, she rocks back and forth on her heels, seemingly having a bit of trouble holding back her excitement. Like her, you stand straight, but you take the chance to truly analyze the man before you.

True, while he is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen, you’re all too aware of what he really is, what he really does. Cocking his head, his long hair sweeps over his shoulder, frames his attractive face. He flashes you a knowing smile. Heart dropping to your stomach, you wonder if he knows who you are, just like you know who he is.    

“I don’t think that will be much of an issue,” he continues. Offering his hand to you, he silently urges you to take it. “Welcome to the Eternal Paradise,” he purrs, “My name is Douma.”

-

You’re a fool. A total, complete fool.

How… how could you be so stupid? After all this time, after all the effort into finding your friend… You should have never come. That bastard stole your heart even though you knew it was wrong, terribly so, and yet you did it anyway. Despite knowing Douma is a demon and that he kills people for the fun of it, you fell for him. Hell, you should slit your own stomach for pulling such a move.

He played you this entire time, pulling at your heartstrings and treating you with utmost kindness. You let love get in the way of your mission, cloud your thoughts; for a short while, you believed that maybe things would turn out okay, that you would somehow have a happy ending to the story you call life.

But no, that isn’t how things work. Karma, that bloodthirsty queen, always gets what she wants.

You’re not sure what’s worse – the slurping of blood or the smell of it. No, scratch that; it’s the look in Douma’s eyes, the surge of power and unadulterated hunger. Violent rivers stream from your eyes, ungracefully drip from your chin and onto the wooden planks below. That’s your friend he’s eating, her blood that he drinks.    

“I’ve always preferred female flesh, female blood…” Douma begins, tongue flicking out over his lips. His fangs gleam ruby as he flashes you a smile. “They’re so sweet, so wonderfully soft… How do you do it, love? How is your kind so delicious?”

“Don’t you dare call me that!” you growl. “You don’t have the bloody right to.”

Placing a bloody hand to his chest, Douma has the audacity to look offended. “That’s not what you said last night.” The corners of his mouth curl salaciously, a dark giggle spilling from his lips. “If I recall correctly, you were begging for more, my little slayer.”

That makes it even worse. Cursing yourself internally, your grip on your blade tightens. There’s no point in trying to hide it anymore; Douma knew exactly who you were from the get-go. Both yours and your friend’s missions were complete and utter failures. You’ve entered a damned slaughterhouse, for gods’ sakes. You should’ve seen this coming, but your feelings got in the way.

“You never loved me, you twat,” you spit.

Douma cocks his head, drops your friend’s severed hand. “No, no, no,” he begins, drawing himself to his monstrous height, “that’s where you’re wrong. The truth is, well, I’ve never loved anyone!” He breaks into a malicious cackle, then, his whole face twisting with mirth. “And to think you fell in love with me! I’ll admit, I liked you better than the others, but loved? Don’t flatter yourself, dear. Nobody could ever love you, especially not me.”

“I’ll pin your fucking head to a spike and watch you burn.”

Through your torrent of tears, you spring at him, an animalistic growl ripping itself from your throat. Despite the grotesque, bloodcurdling rage surging through your veins, you have to remind yourself to breathe. People used to tell you all the time that you’re worthless, weak, and that you should give up on becoming a proper slayer. At the time, you’ve become so angry that they were right; being a Breath of Water user, you could never get the technique correct. You envied others (mostly Tomioka Giyuu, the Water Pillar) for their abilities.

If it weren’t for your friend taking you to that viewing on that magical winter’s day, you would have never grown. No, you weren’t a Breath of Water user anymore; you honed your skills into something new, something wonderful. Breath of Ice is something to behold in itself, albeit relatively new. You’re proud of your graceful, fluid movements, but that nagging voice in the back of your head tells you that it’s pointless, just like what everyone else said before.

You didn’t want to do this, swirling around in a furious blizzard of snow and ice, floating and skirting around your friend’s remains. Douma follows through with each attack, nimbly dodging your blade, your range of attacks. In time, your body is covering with miniscule cuts, barely thicker than a hair, but the sheer amount of blood pouring from them is obscure. How much you’ve lost, you don’t know, but seeing crimson decorate the floor and Douma’s metallic fans tells more than you want to know.

It’s no good; he’s too strong, too fast, and he seems to know every single move you plan to make. Your face is wet with blood and tears, your vision blurring, snot running from your nose. A punched-out groan bursts from your chest as you’re knocked to the side, back colliding with the wall. You collapse to the ground with an unceremonious thump.

Gasping for breath, you scramble for your blade, fingernails digging into the wood in your desperation. A foot comes down on your hand, then, making you cry out in pain.

“I really thought you’d put up more of a fight,” Douma sneers. Dropping to his knee, he leans down over you, his hair curtaining his face. “Trying to take on an Upper Moon with an underdeveloped breathing technique… You’re so stupid!” With another cackle, he presses the tip of a fan to your throat. “You came all this way to save your little friend, and now look where you are! She’s dead! Funny how that works…”

“I’ll kill you, you lying bastard,” you wheeze.

“Love, you aren’t really in the position to say such things,” Douma says, his voice suddenly turning softer. It’s the same tone he used during the lovelier moments, the moments where he held you close and stroked your naked body. “I’ll let you stay with me forever, though. You’d make such a great decoration!”

“Douma, no-“

Splat.