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is-the-sky-blue · 5 months ago

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OVERWHELMED: GOJO SATORU & GETO SUGURU

Fluff, satosugu x reader, reader is called mom, papa satoru, dad suguru

You were overwhelmed.

The warm steam from the pot below you wafted up to your face, the obnoxious low rumble of the range hood sucking up the air as to not let your smoke alarm go off, yet again. The curry bubbled and you stirred the mixture of carrots and potatoes, leisurely. "Mom," it was a troubled call, you turned, facing the long haired child perched in a chair at the table behind you, her brown eyes glassy as she stared at the textbook in front of her.

You were quick to lower the heat, tapping the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot before settling it down on the handles, placing the glass lid atop the stainless steel before shuffling over to her, fluffy socks adorned with a strawberry pattern, given to you as a little surprise from an ordinary grocery run, protecting your feet from the cool tile. "Tsumiki honey, what's wrong," you coo, taking a seat in the chair next to her, the girl's lips pouted in frustration as she pinched her brows.

"I dunno how to do this," she points, pencil led prodding at the textbook pages scrawled in graphite, loitered with jokes and absurd comments that your dear girl would never do, knowing that this, probably twelfth generation textbook's drawings, were presents from students past. It was a math question, simple algebra that she was only introduced to yesterday in class, and your ever keen student was quick to do her homework on Saturday as to not stress out tomorrow, as her Papa promised to take them all out on a fun day trip.

"Let me take a look," you murmur gently, offering a smile to try and quell her irritation as you stared at the notebook pages, neat handwriting full of numbers interrupted as she tried to answer question 6c, smudges of pencil rubbed away by eraser staining the paper and you reevaluate the problem, carefully repeating it onto the sheet. "This one is quite tough," you nod, hoping to show that her struggle was valid, "but basically you have to-" you start, ready to walk her through the steps to find an answer when yet another call drew your attention away.

"Mom!" this time it was a wail.

"Just a second baby," you pat the girl's hair, "I'll be right back," you promise, getting up from the cushioned seat to step towards the living room, crying children hidden behind the couch, as the open concept layout usually allowed you to see all your kids at once.

You spot the two twins, eyes glassy as Mimiko held a doll tight in her grasp, body shifted away from her sister as Nanako crossed her pudgy arms over her chest, tearful glare directed towards the former.

"What's wrong," you murmur, sore muscles slightly protesting as you pulled into a crouch assessing the situation. Your usually two well behaved girls who generally got along with one another were fighting for the nth time today. They were having a rough time, both irritated, grumpy and getting on each other's nerves consistently on this somber Saturday

"Mimiko won't share," Nanako cries, rubbing harshly at her puffy cheeks as salt rivers stain her face, falling in large droplets. You are quick to tenderly grasp her hands, careful touches wiping away the dew. You turn to face Mimiko, knuckles turning pale with the death drip she had on the pink haired doll.

"You two have loads of dolls though," you try to reason, plucking up a different toy, presenting it to the red faced girl.

"But I want that one," she sobs, hiccupping and you tried not to sigh too loud.

"Mimiko," you call, the child pursing her lips as she turned her body away in defiance.

"I want a turn," she huffs when you don't retract your scolding gaze, "Nanako's been playin all day wif her," she shakes the pink haired toy, glittery strands catching light and you don't know what to do. Nanako was crying because Mimiko had stolen the toy, and you knew the girl had been politely asking all day just to be denied.

It wasn't right that she took it, you know that, but it also wasn't right that Nanako hasn't been sharing. You didn't want to just take the doll away completely, even if a nagging voice said that a mere threat wouldn't hurt, but the high percentage that it'd leave both girls' crying already gave you a headache.

They were just tired. Bad dreams plaguing them last night, preventing them from sleep, they needed a nap but wouldn't settle down for one, not even after being cradled and read to. No matter how many picture books you pulled out, or if you just tucked them into their beds, neither agreed to your plan and now it was too late, settling for a nap now would only result in the inability to rest when it was actually bed time.

You bit your lip, their lack of sleep also resulting in your lack of sleep, achy limbs tired as you shut your heavy fatigue ridden eye lids as bawling tears continued to drip, "Nana-" you were about to start only to be interrupted yet again.

"Mom," it was raspy this time and you heed the call, facing a sleepy Megumi, his face florid as sweat beaded on his forehead, duvet you wrapped him in trailing along the hardwood floors as he pulled it onto his shoulders. His spiky hair was slightly matted, eyes a little red, nose running.

"Megumi" you coo, your sick boy padding to walk into your arms, falling into your embrace eagerly as he nuzzled into your neck, his cold nose making you slightly cringe as he burned up in your grasp, fever overheating his tiny figure.

"m'sorry," he begins and you don't want to question what happened as you wrapped the blanket tighter around his little form, "I missed the bucket," he confessed, his fingers timidly grabbing at your sleeve, toying with the fabric and you knew what he meant, the little stomach bug beating up his organs had made you gift him a plastic container for all his vomit. "I didn't mean too," his voice wavers, you could feel your shirt begin to grow damp but all you could do was hold him tighter.

"It's okay," you try to keep the irritation ebbing away at you from your tone.

"Mom."

They all needed you, tears falling down fast as different anxieties permeated your house, home full of grief as they each battled with different problems. Tsumiki struggling with her homework, Mimiko and Nanako bickering yet again over something trivial but huge in their little world, while Megumi tried to fight off a sickness but was currently losing, and you trying to grapple every thing, your sanity quickly slipping as their sadness poured into you, the tired little smiles you kept up slowly fading away as you could feel your own anxieties claw up your throat.

All your children were crying, frustrated wails, and you were barely keeping it together, clutching your son tightly as you tried not to fall into a pit of tears yourself.

You were overwhelmed.

Overloaded with tasks and duties, you had to help Tsumiki finish her school work, settle this doll dilemma, clean up the little mess Megumi made and still finish up dinner. Your list was all consuming, trying to drown you as your house shook, trembled.

Your family was having a rough day.

Everyone was troubled and you-

You couldn't do it all.

You barely registered it, chaos consuming your leaden muscles as you did your best to organize your frantic thoughts, but when a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder the tension in your chest, weighing down on you eased. "Let us handle it from here love," a sweet murmur, his dark hair was messy, result of a tough day at work but he was quick to roll up his sleeves, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, soothing your berating mind and you could only nod, brain refusing to process an argument as he turned to the two twins.

"C'mere Megumi," your white haired counterpart now next to you, reaching out for the duvet coddled boy who merely nuzzled further into your grasp at the call and you can't help but keep him close, quicksand sinking limbs finding their way to cuddle him even further.

"It's okay Toru," your voice is laced with a slow molasses, tired dribbles as you mumble, blinking your stinging eyes, retreating tears falling back from your waterline, "can you just," and you bite your tongue, feeling a strange quiver form in your throat as an inexplicable lump formed, but he's cupping your face, squishing the fat of your cheek with his easy going toothy grin, pink lips parting to let an ever loving smile shine affectionately at your drained visage.

"Can do!" and he's popping to his feet, knowing your sentence without your words, upbeat aura exterminating the lingering gloom that held heavy in a foggy cloud from the ceiling. His call of Tsumiki's name is kind before he's taking the seat next to her, getting to work and slowly your growing checklist of tasks melted, shredding into tiny little strips as they rips apart the paper, taking a chunk to handle by themselves.

Your knees audibly crack as you stand, his warm cheek in the cove of your neck as he put up no fight to slump in your hold. "Let's get you a bath, yeah Gumi," you hum, body gently rocking as you pad down the hallway and towards the bathroom, light flickering on with a warm glow to paint the white tiles.

"M'sorry," he's murmuring again as you set him down, guilt ridden eyes swathed with remorse as you slowly began to fill the tub, squirting out some of the soap from a half-empty bottle of bubble bath, watching as white foam slowly floated to the surface, "I-I'll do better," he sniffles.

"You don't need to be sorry baby," you brush the strands of hair sticking to his forehead away, heat emanating from the slick sweat of his skin, dampening your fingertips as you gingerly peel the blanket off his body, pang of pity hitting your heart as he shuddered, "you didn't do it on purpose," you hum, "and all you need to do for me is drink lots of water, get tons of rest and get back to your strong and healthy self, okay my Gumi bear," you smile, watching the boy cringe at your little nickname.

"Don't call me that," he whines, voice nasally as you help him take off his clothes before settling him inside the water filled tub.

"Why not," you tease, turning off the tap but he could only puff out his chest, no reason coming to mind as he submerged his body into the water, steam slowly relieving his congested pathways.

"I- It's embarrassing," he tries and you coo with a sly little smile.

"Are you embarrassed of me," you purse your lips in faux pain.

"That's not what I said," he rasps out, crossing his arms over his chest as he slumps his back against the porcelain, defeated.

"Mhm I see how it is," you sigh dramatically, snickering at his pout before you lean to boop his nose. "Will you be okay on your own," you ask the boy, observing as he picked up a cloud of soap and squashed it between his palms.

"Mhm," he nodded and you grin, giving him an affectionate rustle of the hair before grabbing the slightly soiled clothing, lingering smell of vomit and sweat clinging to the fabric of his pajamas as you stepped outside the bathroom, leaving the door open just a smidge as you padded towards Megumi's bedroom, the door wide open, readying yourself to untuck his bedsheets only to find his mattress already bare.

"It's in the wash," he murmured against the shell of your ear and you lean into his warmth, resting your head on Suguru's lowered shoulder, "do you need me to take that too," and his hands are quick to take the clothing from your grasp.

You simply shut your eyes for a moment, listening to his breathing, "thank you," you hum out when you blink open, whirling around on your toes to face him.

"It's no problem baby," and he's pressing yet another calming kiss to your forehead, easing the worries that had begun to clamber up your chest, "you should go take a break, I can finish giving Megumi a bath," he murmurs against your skin but you shake your head as he pulls away.

"No, I can do it," you affirmed, the worried look in his gaze doing little to force your hand, "I want to do it," you reiterated and his shoulder's slumped as he acquiesced, letting you have your way yet again.

"If you say so," he's sighing, "but let me know if you need anything, alright, you've already done a lot today, don't push yourself pretty," and he's kissing your cheek this time, flashing you an understanding smile but you are quick to peck at grinning lips, withdrawing much too early for his liking.

"I won't," you reassure, patting his arm, urging him to go and he chuckles, retreating back to the laundry room as you go to grab another set of pajamas for Megumi to wear.

Your heart felt a little lighter, the happy sounds of an understanding Tsumuki echoing down the hallway before she was sharing a high-five with Satoru, a resounding, elating smack reverberating as you take a small peek down the hall, her once pinched brows no longer furrowed with stress as your white haired partner thoroughly explained the topic in a way she could understand, patiently answering all her questions and kindly nudging her along the right path whenever she made a mistake. The sight had you smiling, there were no tears, no yelling, the image much unlike your childhood, her ability to even ask for help showing you that you must be doing something right, after all you didn't want her to face the same struggle you had when it came for asking your parents for any kind of assistance.

Turning back to the bathroom you nudge the door ajar with your hip, spotting your little spiky haired boy with a rubber duck in his hand, pushing it along the water and he's quick to stare at you, meeting your gaze as you plop the fresh clothing onto the counter. "Mom," he calls and the word no longer burdened you with such despair as it had moments ago, of course you loved your title, the very words being attached to you giving you an indescribably joy as your little found family discovered comfort in you as a mother figure, but you couldn't deny that a few moments ago the very call of that label had you broiling with stress.

"Yes love," you hum, quick to pull the stool over, sitting near the edge as Megumi glanced up at you, bubbles staining his fingertips.

"Will Papa still take me on the trip tomorrow," he sniffles, dry eyes blinking up at you with worry.

"Of course he will Gumi," you reach a hand out, petting his hair before cupping his warm face between your palms.

"W-What happens if I don't feel good tomorrow too," he whimpers, eyes going glassy as his lips pull into a pout and you could feel a little tremor shake your heart, small fracture nicking away at it as you pressed a tender kiss to his scalp.

"Then we'll reschedule it baby, okay," you murmur, staring into his heartbroken gaze, "it'll be alright."

"But I don't wanna ruin it," he mumbles so quietly, guilt ebbing away.

"Honey you won't ruin anything," you assure, "no one is leaving you behind, and no one will be sad if we can't go tomorrow, besides it wouldn't be fun if you weren't there."

"Promise."

"I promise my love," and you interlock your pinky with his, rubbing away a stray tear that managed to fall, "now how about we get you dressed and back to bed," you offer, a gentle smile accompanying your words and he grins, nodding.

You were quick, drying the boy before pulling the dog themed shirt on his head, helping his arms through the fabric before tugging it down. "Cozy," you muse, fingers lightly tying the drawstrings of his fuzzy pants.

"Mhm," he hums, fast to find solace in your embrace as you carefully adjust him to settle on your hip, standing up. You survey the bathroom, empty tub still slightly foamy along the edges, drain covered in bubbles that you didn't focus on, preoccupied with dressing the sickly boy, the blanket he had dragged around, abandoned on the floor, crumpled in a corner, the floor slightly imprinted with wet footsteps.

You purse your lips, rubbing small circles onto his back as his face burrowed into the crook of your neck, dark hair tickling the skin but you pay no mind, occupied with your disinterest on cleaning the space, you had left a slight mess.

Shutting your eyes you sighed, maybe you could just pretend it wasn't there for a moment, you tried to offer yourself, turning to head towards Megumi's bedroom only to spot that his bed was still bare and you were soon painfully aware that both pairs of bedsheets you had used for his bed were now soiled and in the wash, the first set vomited upon in the morning when he had felt the brunt of his ailment clawing at his stomach.

You could feel irritation clamber up your limbs, leaving an unsettling itch in your bones as you push your weight onto your toes before rocking back onto your heels, uncertainty bubbling beneath your skin as your frazzled brain wracked for a solution. "He can sleep in our room for a little while," and the bubbles faded into nothing, heat of the element reduced to zero in an instant as your unsettled waters no longer even simmered.

His hand is on Megumi's forehead, checking the little boy's temperature while the other lay relaxed on your hip, leaving an assuring squeeze, "do you want me to take you Megs," Satoru offers, knowing full well he'd be denied, and rejected he was, the boy merely clinging to you tighter with a pout.

"It's fine Toru," you hum, his hands slightly fixing your hair before pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Alrighty then," he snickers, and you barely have to turn your head to know he and Megumi were sticking their tongues out at each other, "I'll go clean up the washroom then," and he shifts his focus to you.

"No that's alright, you should go rela-"

"I should be saying that to you pretty," he quirks a grin, cutting you off, "now go on," and he's shooing you away, hands on your shoulders before lightly ushering you out, "let me work," he tsks, opening the door, letting you walk into your shared bedroom before quickly scampering off with a cartoony whistled song.

You can't fight off your smile before shuffling towards the messily made bed, the rumple of sheets a painful reminder of your inability to focus this morning, waking up to sobs, the idea of making the bed no longer at the forefront of your brain, and it still wasn't. You collapse onto the mattress, lightly tackling Megumi beneath your body.

"Get off me," he giggles, squirming, fists pushing at your shoulders.

"What, you don't want my love," you gasp dramatically, peppering kisses over his face until he's shoving you away, hoarse voice laughing as he wriggles, crawling towards the head of the bed but you grab his ankle, "don't make me fight you," you tease, pulling him back, his happy little shriek of, 'let me go,' making you grin before you lift him into your arms, wrapping around him tight before squeezing him, planting one last firm peck to his cheek, his happy face lessening all your lingering unease before pulling the both of you beneath the covers.

"You're silly mom," he's snickering.

"Oh really," you laugh, resting his head upon the pillow, laying on your side as he puts his hand onto your face, pudgy fingers squeezing at your cheek, contorting your facial expressions, "I think you're pretty silly," you muse, reaching out to smush his face, his lips puckering as you forced him to look like a fish.

"Nuh uh," he huffs pulling away from your grasp before using both his hands to try and force your face the same way, and he's giggling.

"Nuh uh," you mock, "what do you mean nuh uh," you tease lightly tickling at his sides.

"Nuh uh," he shrieks again, squirming before burrowing into your embrace, putting an end to your attack as he cuddled close and you couldn't help but reciprocate. "Mom," he's calling again.

"Yes," you coo, running your fingers through his hair.

"Can we go see a T-rex."

"Hmm," you raise a brow, "where'd that come from," you ask, slightly perturbed by his out of the blue question.

"Yuji told me at school that his papa took him to see T-rex bones."

"Oh, is that so," you coo, rhythmically patting his back, "we can go to the museum and see dinosaurs together when you're all better."

"With Tsumiki and Mimiko and Nanako."

"Of course, we'll take Tsumiki, Mimiko, Nanako, Dad and Papa," you grin, "so make sure to get lots of sleep and drink lots of water, okay."

"Okay," he's murmuring and despite his prior burst of energy his eyes were closing.

"Goodnight," your kiss his scalp, gently rocking his body and even though he drifted off you continued to lay there, weary limbs finally relaxing.

"Wake up love," you don't even remember falling asleep.

You blink your eyes open, "You need to eat."

"Hmm," you groan as you stirred, staring at both their figures and you suddenly realize your arm's no longer hold the weight of a child, "where'd Megumi go."

"Asleep in his own room," Suguru coos, helping you sit up, thumb running over the apple of your cheek.

"What time is it," you ask eyes trying to adjust to the bright light of the digital clock on the bedside table.

"9:30ish," Satoru grins, taking a seat next to you, "the kids are already in bed."

"Why didn't you wake me up," you yawn, leaning your weight onto Satoru, "I could've helped."

"You've already done so much today," Suguru sighs and you hum into his touch, "wanted to let you rest."

"M'sorry," you murmur, suddenly feeling ashamed.

"Why are you apologizing love, we are the ones who should say sorry," and Suguru is settling down onto your other side.

"We left you home alone to take care of all of them, it must've been tiring," Satoru is holding your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles.

"You had to go to work, it's fine."

"Regardless," Suguru tacks on, "but you did a good job today," he praises and you find yourself melting, lip wobbling.

"No I didn't," and a surge of sadness washes over you, your emotions taking over, "y-you came home and everyone was crying, I was going to cry too, and, and I didn't know what to do."

"That's okay my love," and Suguru is pulling you into his arms, "you did your best."

"But still."

"Baby it's hard looking after four kids by yourself, you did amazing, it was just a rough day," and Satoru is kissing your forehead, "we should've come home earlier but even without us you did great."

"I should've been able to handle it."

"You did handle it."

"I got overwhelmed."

"And that's okay," Suguru assures once more, "it's a lot of work and it's normal to feel that way, that's why we're here, okay baby, it's not your job to look after all of them on your own, we're a team, you can depend on us," he continues, soothing your anxieties, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

"My pretty girl had a long day," Satoru coos, lightly pinching your cheek, cracking a coy smile, "let's go eat yeah, I'll warm dinner up again," he grins, reaching for you, carefully picking you up.

"I can walk," you protest, your arms snaking around his neck as he slid his arms beneath your bottom.

"And I can carry you," he sing songs, padding towards the door while Suguru quietly shushes him.

You were overwhelmed but Satoru and Suguru were quick to help you out.

#jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #satosugu x reader #satosugu x y/n #satosugu x you #gojo x reader x geto #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru x reader x suguru #jjk fluff

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stylesonfilms · 29 days ago

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ink & innocence - 22 *

word count: 8.1k

smutsmutsmut! this is me saying sorry for the wait 😞 ermm pls ignore any grammar issues im not readin allat!! 🗣️ (luv u guys)

Still snuggled into his side, Aspen took a content breath. Her heart happily fluttered in her chest as his words repeated themselves in her head. She couldn't believe she was loved by him, him of all people, and he always had a way of showing it to her. She only hoped she could give him that same satisfaction as well.

To her right, Harry was using his right hand to hold his sketch pencil, dabbling the granite over the sheet of paper in his notebook that was balanced on his knee. The girl took in the sight before her, how his tattoos grazed up his neck past his shirt collar and how his rings danced around his fingers in different directions (which she made a mental note of to twist back properly), how his nails were always painted a sheen black, never matte but somehow always chipped. She wondered if he'd ever try doing something like a topcoat.

Her brown eyes skimmed over his office, spotting the two ceramic pieces sitting on a shelf from their date, which was also when Aspen had asked Harry to be her boyfriend.

"You kept those?"

Aspen's voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as she tilted her head toward the shelf where their two ceramic pieces sat side by side. The soft afternoon light filtering through the window illuminated the edges of the figures—the small, imperfectly painted conversation heart she had made and the abstract, green and gold swirled mug Harry had crafted. Seeing them there, carefully placed amongst his things, made something in her chest tighten.

Harry followed her gaze, then let out a low chuckle, his pencil pausing against the sketchbook. "'Course I did," he said easily, as if the thought of getting rid of them had never crossed his mind. He glanced down at her, his arm tightening around her waist. "Why wouldn't I?"

Aspen shrugged slightly, ducking her head. "I don't know. I guess I just didn't think—"

"Didn't think I'd keep somethin' we made together?" Harry cut in, his voice teasing but warm. He turned his head and pressed a kiss into her hair. "Asp, I love what we made. I wanted to have it here, where I spend most of my time. Where I can look at it and be reminded of you."

Aspen's breath caught in her throat, and her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his shirt. Reminded of her.

She didn't know why those words hit her so hard, but they did. It wasn't just about the ceramics—it was about everything.The way he drew her, the way he sang for her, the way he kept little pieces of her woven into his life. He loved her, and he made sure she knew it, not just in words but in all the little ways he held onto her presence.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the way her eyes burned slightly. "That's... really sweet," she whispered, almost shyly.

Harry hummed, smirking as he resumed the sketch in his lap. "I can be sweet," he murmured. "For you, anyway."

Aspen rolled her eyes at his playfulness, but she smiled, letting herself sink further into him. She watched as his pencil glided across the paper, forming soft, delicate strokes.

"What are you drawing?" she asked curiously, her head tilting to get a better look.

Harry hesitated for half a second, but then, with a small smirk, he tilted the notebook so she could see. Aspen's breath hitched when she realized what it was.

Her.

Her sitting just like this, curled into his side, her face tucked into his chest with that peaceful little expression she knew she had when she felt safe. The details were soft but unmistakable—the slope of her nose, the curve of her lashes, the way her hair spilled over his arm. It was just his side and his arm, a small section of the sofa where they sat, but he had captured her in a way that was exact, as if he took a photo and printed it onto the paper.

Aspen stared, lips parting slightly. "Harry..."

"I told you, sugar," he murmured, his voice softer now, more serious. "I like keepin' you with me. Even when you're not here."

Aspen's throat tightened, her chest swelling with something too big to name. She had no words—nothing that could possibly match the way this felt. Instead, she lifted her hand, fingers grazing over the lines of the sketch as if touching them would make it feel more real.

Harry watched her, his green eyes tracing every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. He wasn't always good with words—not when it came to things like this—but he could show her. He could give her proof of what she meant to him, of how much space she took up in his mind.

After a moment, Aspen turned to him, her brown eyes deep and searching. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this," she admitted softly. "The way you... see me."

Harry smiled, tilting his head slightly. "How's that?"

Aspen's cheeks warmed. "Like I'm something worth capturing."

His expression softened. He reached up, brushing his knuckles against her cheek before cupping the side of her face. "That's 'cause you are," he murmured. "Every damn time I look at you, I see somethin' I wanna keep."

Aspen sucked in a quiet breath, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, something unspoken passing between them.

Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing his in the softest, most reverent kiss. Harry sighed into it, his fingers slipping into her hair as he deepened the kiss just slightly, savoring her. It wasn't heated, wasn't rushed—it was slow, warm, and full of something that settled deep in both of them.

When they pulled away, Aspen rested her forehead against his, her lips curling into a small, shy smile. "I love you," she whispered.

Harry grinned, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the tip of her nose. "I know, little mouse. I love you."

Aspen laughed softly, the warmth of his voice settling deep into her chest like a secret only she was meant to hear. The words lingered between them, wrapping around her heart, sinking in slowly. She still couldn't quite believe it sometimes—that someone like Harry, with his rough hands and soft heart, loved her.

Harry pulled her closer, tucking her against him like he never wanted to let go before leaning down to capture her lips in another sweet kiss. His lips moved slowly, tenderly, like he was savoring the moment, like he was trying to tell her things he couldn't put into words. Aspen sighed against his mouth, the familiar warmth of him sending tiny sparks through her veins.

"You know," Harry murmured against her lips, voice thick with affection, "I don't think I'll ever get over kissin' you."

Aspen blinked up at him, still caught in the haze of his touch. His gaze flickered between her eyes, down to her nose, then to her lips, before coming back up again, taking in every part of her like he was trying to memorize the way she looked beneath him. She tilted her head just slightly, her silent way of asking for more, and Harry smiled.

"I used to be... light on kisses," he admitted, his voice quieter now, as if he were confessing something important. "Never was my forte, but then you came along, and it was the only thing I could think about. Amongst other things, of course."

A slow, teasing smirk crept onto his lips, his tone laced with playful insinuation.

Aspen let out a breathy laugh, rolling her eyes even as heat crawled up her neck. Harry had a way of saying things—of looking at her—that made her feel entirely too flustered. "Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt. "But I like kissing you, too."

Her voice came out in a shy squeak, and Harry lived for it.

"You've got the mouth of an angel," he mused, the corner of his lip twitching in amusement. "Quite literally. Guess that practice paid off, eh?"

Aspen's eyes widened as the realization of what he meant hit her like a freight train. "Harry!"

She smacked his arm lightly, but the damage was already done. His grin stretched wide, shameless and absolutely unrepentant.

"What?" He chuckled, rubbing his arm dramatically, though they both knew she hadn't hit him hard.

Aspen narrowed her eyes, her face practically burning now. "Says you!"

Harry quirked a brow, his teeth catching the metallic ring of his lip piercing, playing with it before releasing the jewelry again. He always did that when he was amused, when he knew he was getting under her skin in the best way possible. "Says me what?"

Aspen huffed, crossing her arms as if she could shield herself from his relentless teasing. "You've had multiple... practices before," she muttered, her tone shy but her eyes still locked onto his.

Harry let out a deep chuckle, one that rumbled through his chest and sent a pleasant shiver down Aspen's spine. He reached for his notebook, setting it aside with an easy motion before focusing all his attention on her.

"Maybe," he admitted, his voice dropping just enough to make her breath catch. "But none of them compare to you."

Aspen swallowed, her fingers curling into the hem of her shirt.

Harry leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he added, "Especially not the way you taste."

Aspen let out a tiny, involuntary squeak before promptly burying her face against his chest again, utterly defeated.

Harry threw his head back in laughter, his arms wrapping around her securely, holding her tight as she tried (and failed) to escape his teasing. "Ah, sugar, don't hide from me now," he mused, running his hand up and down her back.

Aspen groaned. "You're so..."

The man hummed in amusement, his hand carding through the soft strands of her hair. The cherry vanilla scent hit his nose through the motions. "I'm so what? So handsome?"

The girl only groaned again and kept her flaming face buried in Harry's chest. A soft rumble of laughter fell from his lips again as he shook his head. "Hey, don't get me wrong. I love that you practiced f'me."

When she didn't respond, and Harry could feel the warmth of her face through his shirt, he continued with a smirk.

"The thought 'f you even thinking of something like that does somethin' to me. But come to find out my sweet, little girl was on her knees and putting her sweet throat t'work jus' t'please me." Harry sighed, heavy with his accent. His tongue came out to run over his own lips before his fingers tucked under the girls chin, tilting her head up to look up at him. His thumb ran over her bottom lip as her face wore that deep red once more, yet she kept her eyes on his.

"And when you had actually got down to your knees in front of me? Fucking hell, Aspen..." He muttered, a slight furrow forming in his brows while the image flashed in his mind again. "You looked so lost down there, hm? Your small hands and these pretty lips," the mans thumb pushed passed the barrier of her parted lips, resting his pad of his thumb on her tongue, hooking her mouth open slightly more, "these pretty lips that could barely wrap around my cock."

Harry sucked his teeth slowly and sighed once more, his eyes ripping from her mouth to her eyes again. "Don't worry, hm? 'M going to make sure I train this gorgeous mouth of yours."

Aspen's eyes fluttered shyly, her cheeks hot as her breathing slowed and got heavier. With the words that spilled from his mouth, the girl's stomach couldn't help but coil in embarrassment but also satisfaction. She wanted that just as much as Harry.

She nodded hesitantly, closing her lips around the mans thumb. Aspen hollowed her cheeks around the digit as she kept her eyes locked on his green ones, now a glint of something deeper than his usual shine.

Her tongue pressed up against his thumb as she slowly and carefully moved it side to side. Her eyes grew shy, the burning desire to shut them or turn away, but she couldn't look away from Harry's parted lips and furrowed brows as he looked down at her in what seemed to be awe.

Harry slowly pulled his thumb out, her teeth grazing along. His thumb pulled down her bottom lip as he did so, his lips immediately pressing onto hers before his thumb could fully remove from her bottom lip. Aspen's hands came to rest on his chest as his large hands came to grip her hips, pulling her to a seat on his lap.

His tongue glided along the girls bottom lip, taking her parted lips as a quick invitation. A groan fell from his mouth and tumbled into hers. His head was swarming with everything Aspen. The man would have never expected her to be the way she was, expected her to shy away from his finger in her mouth or swat him away. His tongue ventured through her warmth, tangling along with her own as she let out a breathy whine against his lips.

Harry tilted her hips down with a firm grip as he shifted his hips under her. Aspen let out a small gasp as she felt the familiar bulge press up against her clothed clit before it disappeared just as fast as it came. Her hands slid up towards his broad shoulders and took ahold of the fabric there as she let out another sound against Harry's open mouth.

Harry’s breath was heavy, warm as it fanned against her cheek before he tilted his head and pressed his lips just beneath her jaw. The sharp inhale Aspen took didn’t go unnoticed by him, nor did the way her grip on his shirt tightened, fingers curling into the fabric as if she needed to ground herself. He liked that— liked knowing that he was the one making her feel this way, making her shiver beneath his touch.

His lips trailed lower, slow and deliberate, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat. He lingered when he reached the delicate spot just beneath her ear, where he knew she was sensitive, and when he dragged his tongue lightly over her skin, she let out the sweetest little sound, barely more than a breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered against her skin, his voice gravelly, strained. He could already feel himself slipping, getting lost in the way she felt, the way she reacted to him like she was made for this, for him. His hands flexed at her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh as he guided her just how he wanted, feeling the way her body molded against his own.

Aspen whimpered as Harry kissed lower, his lips brushing against her collarbone before he nipped lightly at her skin, his teeth scraping just enough to make her tremble. “Harry...” she whispered, her voice breathy, filled with something between desperation and awe.

The sound of his name on her lips, so soft, so needy, sent a deep warmth curling in his stomach, and he knew he was toeing a dangerous line. He was getting too carried away, too caught up in the way she moved against him, in the way her fingers dug into his shoulders like she never wanted to let go.

And God, neither did he.

He swallowed between kisses, his hips pressing up against her for a longer moment, keeping her there. With furrowed brows and wet lips, he moaned against her sweet skin as she whined out above him, wiggling her hips a small bit as to tell him to keep it going. And truly, her wish was absolutely his command.

He continued to guide her hips in slow rolls to meet his, grazing his teeth along her neck between soft pants. Aspen, the way she squirmed above him and how his name came out between her gentle whimpers, drove him crazy.

The girl slid her hands from his gripped shirt to cup his jaw, pulling his face from her neck to look up at her. It was only for a second until his lips came crashing up to meet hers. He swallowed every little sound she made, though he knew her well enough to know she was aiming to keep herself quiet. His hips met hers in a particularly hard roll, his breath faltering in a gasp that matched hers.

"Let me hear you, pretty," He muttered against her lips before it was her turn to navigate down his jaw and to his neck. Harry groaned, his head falling back against the couch for a brief moment as he tried to rein himself in. His hands smoothed over her hips, slipping under the flowy material of her top while moving up the sides of her waist before settling at her lower back. She was so warm beneath his touch, so intoxicating.

To Harry's surprise, even without his hands guiding her hips, she continued the movements. And who was he to stop? The way she moved against him, he was sure he couldn't stop anyways. The way her warm thighs swarmed his lap and just the mere thought that she was getting off to this? He felt like a stupid teenager again, but he was pleased to be here with her.

Aspens hips faltered as she whined out a moan, a bit louder now, resting her head in the crook of Harry's neck. Her stomach coiled with need for Harry, for him to just touch her, but she couldn't stop the movements of her hips. If she did, she was sure she'd have to shoot herself from the loss of contact.

Even she couldn't believe what was happening. With every drag of his firm cock along her clit, the girl's panties bunched between her folds with ease. She gasped softly at the wet feeling pooling between her thighs, a red rushing over her cheeks. She lifted her head once more and latched her mouth in wet kisses over Harrys neck, which had his own head spinning.

Aspen's lips were soft, warm, and hesitant at first as they brushed against Harry's skin. She had never done this before—at least, not in the way she wanted to now. But she had seen it, knew the basics of what it was supposed to be, and she had the overwhelming urge to mark him, to leave something behind that said he's mine.

Her kisses trailed along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat, and she felt him swallow thickly beneath her lips. Harry’s breathing had gone uneven, his chest rising and falling with a little more force now as her mouth explored his neck.

"Shit, baby," Harry muttered, his voice rough, strained. His hands squeezed at her hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of her shorts, and Aspen felt a rush of pride at the way he reacted to her. He liked this. She was making him feel this way.

So, emboldened by the way his grip tightened on her, by the way his head tilted back to give her more access, she decided to take it a step further.

Aspen let her lips part against the warm skin of his throat, sucking lightly, testing the waters. She wasn’t sure how much pressure to apply, wasn’t sure if she was even doing it right, but when she grazed her teeth ever so slightly over the spot she had just sucked on, Harry let out the most guttural sound she had ever heard from him.

His hands clamped down on her hips, his fingers digging in as a deep groan rumbled from his chest. His reaction sent a thrill straight through her, and she felt something hot and needy coil in her stomach. That had worked. That had sent him spiraling.

"Jesus Christ, Aspen," he gritted out, his voice hoarse, wrecked. His head fell back against the couch, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips jerked up into her reflexively. Aspen whimpered, guiding her hips down once more.

She smirked against his skin, her chest swelling with a newfound confidence, and she did it again—this time, sucking just a little harder, letting her tongue swirl over the spot before nipping at it lightly.

Harry growled.

"You're gonna kill me," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly at the end. His ring clad fingers twitched at her sides, gripping and releasing as if he was trying to control himself, trying not to flip her over and take what she was so teasingly offering.

Aspen pulled back just enough to admire her work, her lips tingling from the effort. There, on the side of Harry’s neck, was a deep, blooming mark, proof of what she had done to him. She felt a flicker of satisfaction curl in her chest. She had done that. It was small, nothing too extreme, but the feeling of pride swelled her chest.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress her growing smile, but Harry caught the gleam in her eyes. His own gaze, dark and hooded, met hers as he smirked lazily, his hands shifting from her hips to slide up her back, holding her close.

"Proud of y'self, are you?" he murmured, his lips twitching.

Aspen shrugged, feigning innocence, though her cheeks were flushed and her heart was racing. "Maybe a little."

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, his fingers threading into the hair at the nape of her neck as he tugged her down just enough so their noses brushed. "You should be," he admitted. "That was fuckin’ cruel, baby. Doin’ me like that when I can't do a damn thing about it."

Aspen swallowed, her lips parting slightly as she realized exactly what he meant. He was still at work. They couldn’t do anything more right now.

But God, the way he was looking at her, the way his hands held her close like he was barely keeping himself together—it made her want to push him just a little further.

So she leaned in, her voice soft and teasing as she whispered, "Guess you'll just have to wait, then."

Harry groaned, letting his head fall back again, his hands sliding back up to her bare waist as he exhaled a shaky breath. "You're evil, you know that?"

Aspen giggled, pressing a sweet kiss to his jaw, feeling entirely too pleased with herself. "You love it."

Harry let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, I do."

Harry’s grip on Aspen tightened as he let out a slow, controlled exhale. His girl—his sweet, shy Aspen—had just marked him, left a deep, dark bruise on his skin like a quiet claim of possession, and fuck if that didn’t send him spiraling. He had never seen this side of her before, at least, not fully. It was hesitant, still laced with that same softness that made her her, but there was a growing confidence in the way she moved, in the way she touched him, and he was absolutely, completely gone for it.

Not that he wouldn’t have loved her the same if she never changed at all. Harry was in too deep already, too consumed by everything she was. He would’ve happily spent the rest of his days kissing her through her shyness, easing her into his arms as she stumbled through her words, adoring the way she still blushed at his teasing. But this? This was something else entirely, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t love every second of watching her come undone like this—watching her bloom for him.

And if she thought she could get away with teasing him like that without consequence? Oh, she had another thing coming.

Harry smirked, tilting his head back up, his green eyes dark and full of something wicked as he met her gaze. “You think you’re so clever, huh?” he murmured, his voice deep and slow, dragging over her skin like a caress.

Aspen blinked at him, her lips still curved in the smallest, most innocent smirk, but he could see the way she swallowed, the way her breath hitched just slightly at the tone of his voice. Good.

Before she could respond, he moved. His hands slid up her back, gathering her closer, until his lips were hovering just over her ear. “My turn,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise.

Aspen barely had a second to react before his mouth was on her.

He didn’t go for the obvious spot—no, he had learned her far too well to be predictable. He aimed just below her ear, right against the pulse point where he knew she was most sensitive. The second his lips met her skin, Aspen gasped, her fingers clenching at the fabric of his shirt, her entire body shuddering in response.

Harry smirked against her, pleased with himself as he latched his lips around the delicate skin, sucking lightly at first, testing the waters, before he increased the pressure.

Aspen let out a shaky breath, her fingers sliding up to tangle into his curls. “H-Harry—”

“Mmm?” he hummed, not letting up, his tongue flicking against the mark he was making before his teeth grazed the spot ever so slightly.

Her breath hitched, and then—God above—she let out the softest, neediest whimper against his shoulder, and Harry damn near lost his mind.

He groaned, his grip on her hips flexing as he pulled her just a little tighter against him. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips dragging to a new spot, just a little lower, just to hear her make that sound again.

Aspen was melting against him now, her head tilting to give him more access, her breathing uneven as he worked at her skin. And he wasn’t holding back—if she was going to mark him, he was going to make damn sure everyone knew she was his. The spot under her ear was already darkening, but he sucked just a little harder, his tongue soothing over it before he pulled back, admiring his work.

The mark was bigger than the one she had left on him. That wasn’t even intentional—he had just gotten too carried away, too lost in the way she responded to him, the way she let him do this to her.

Aspen shuddered against him, her fingers still clinging to his shirt as she exhaled a trembling breath. And then, after a beat, he felt it—her smile.

"You’re smug, aren’t you?" she muttered, her voice breathless, but there was a small, proud lilt to it that had Harry grinning against her skin.

"Damn right, I am." He pressed a final, lingering kiss to the mark before pulling back to look at her. “Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as he took in her flushed cheeks, the way her lips were slightly parted, swollen from their earlier kisses. “My sweet girl’s not so sweet anymore, huh?”

Aspen huffed out a small laugh, but she ducked her head, still shy despite everything, which only made Harry’s heart throb harder in his chest. He loved that about her—how she could switch between this confident, teasing version of herself and the soft, timid girl he had fallen for. She was both, and he adored every side of her.

“I… I liked that,” she admitted quietly, still playing with the hem of his shirt, not quite meeting his eyes.

Harry felt something warm and achingly fond settle deep in his chest. He tilted her chin up with his knuckle, waiting until her brown eyes met his. "Yeah?" he murmured, his voice softer now.

She nodded, still bashful. "Mhm."

Harry smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, slow and tender. "Good," he whispered against her mouth. "Because I’ll be doin’ that a lot more from now on."

Their mouths met again, urgency laced in every touch as Harry’s hands roamed her body, mapping out every curve as if he hadn’t already committed her to memory. His fingers trailed down her sides, brushing over the thin fabric of her top before gripping onto her waist, steadying her as she shifted against him. A low groan rumbled from his chest at the feeling, the soft, deliberate roll of her hips against his cock making it nearly impossible to think straight.

Aspen’s fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging ever so slightly as she deepened their kiss. The reaction it pulled from Harry sent a thrill down her spine. She was beginning to realize just how much power she had over him, and that knowledge sent a rush of warmth through her. He had always been the one in control, always the one guiding her, teasing her, unraveling her—but now, she could feel the way he was unraveling beneath her, just from her touch.

Harry’s lips trailed down her jaw, slow and deliberate, before finding the sensitive skin just behind her ear. He pressed a lingering kiss there, his breath warm against her skin before his mouth traveled lower, just beneath her pulse point. His lips parted, his tongue flicking out before he sucked lightly at the delicate spot.

Aspen gasped, her nails biting into his shoulders as her body instinctively melted into his. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt—hot, dizzying, intoxicating. A soft whimper escaped her lips when she felt him smirk against her skin.

"That’s better," Harry murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he pulled back slightly to admire the mark he’d left behind. It was hidden, just beneath her ear, but it was there. His.

His fingers traced over it gently before his hands wandered lower, gripping at her thighs. One of his hands slid inward, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of her inner thigh, dangerously close to where she ached for him most. He squeezed gently, teasing, reveling in the way her breath hitched, the way her body tensed with anticipation.

"Can I touch you, love?" His voice was hoarse, thick with need as his fingers danced just shy of where she wanted him. He didn’t push—he would never push—but the question was there, hanging between them, heavy and full of promise.

Aspen swallowed thickly, her lips parting slightly as she tried to steady her breathing. She had never felt this kind of anticipation before, never known what it was like to want something so badly and feel it just within reach.

Her heart pounded as she looked at him, as she took in the warmth in his green eyes, the way he was holding himself back, waiting—always waiting—for her. The care he had for her, the patience, the devotion, it was enough to send her head spinning.

Still catching her breath, she nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

Harry’s lips curved into a slow, pleased smile.

"Good girl," he murmured before pressing another searing kiss to her lips.

Harry hummed in satisfaction at her breathy response, his lips pressing once more to the tender skin beneath her ear before he let his fingers resume their slow, torturous exploration. He didn’t rush—not yet. He wanted to savor this, to let Aspen feel every bit of what he was doing to her without ever truly giving in just yet.

His palm smoothed over the inside of her thigh, warm and firm, fingers pressing lightly into the soft flesh before giving a slow, deliberate squeeze. Aspen shivered, her body reacting instinctively to his touch. Her hands tightened in the fabric of his shirt, a quiet whimper escaping her lips as he did it again—squeezing, then releasing, then squeezing just a bit higher, inching closer to where she needed him most.

Her head tipped back slightly, her lips parting as she sucked in a slow breath, but before she could even fully exhale, Harry’s fingers traced up, skimming along the crease of her thigh.

Aspen’s entire body tensed, her stomach clenching with need as his fingers flirted with the edge of her underwear through her thin shorts, barely grazing the sensitive skin beneath. She let out a soft, shaky moan, and that sound alone was nearly enough to undo him.

Harry groaned lowly, his free hand gripping onto her hip to keep her still as she instinctively shifted forward, silently begging for more. "Easy, love," he murmured, pressing a kiss just below her jaw, his lips curling against her skin. "We’ve got all the time in the world."

Aspen let out a frustrated whimper, her fingers tightening against his shoulders as he continued his agonizing pace—fingertips trailing, teasing, dipping between the soft skin of her thighs but never quite touching where she ached for him.

"You��re so sensitive," he mused, his voice deep and laced with amusement. His fingers ghosted over her one more time, and when she let out another needy sound, he chuckled softly. "So needy, aren’t you?"

Aspen bit her lip, hiding her face against his neck in embarrassment. She didn’t know how he could reduce her to this with such minimal touches, but she knew it wasn’t fair. He was enjoying this—he was reveling in her reactions, in the way she melted into him, in the way she chased after his touch like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

His hands traveled lower again, massaging the backs of her thighs before coming around to her ass, kneading the soft flesh there with a firm grip before sliding forward again, fingers dipping teasingly over the thin fabric of her shorts.

Aspen let out a gasp, her hips bucking slightly at the sensation, only for Harry to pull back at the last second.

A whine of protest left her lips, and Harry grinned against her shoulder, clearly pleased with himself.

"Patience, angel," he murmured, dragging his lips back up to her mouth, capturing her in another slow, languid kiss. "You’re makin’ the prettiest sounds for me already, yeah?"

Aspen huffed softly, knowing full well he was taking his time on purpose, that he was enjoying this as much as she was suffering from it.

"You’re mean," she whispered against his lips, her voice a breathy little thing.

Harry only smirked, his hand slowly traveling back up her thigh, tracing the same path as before. "Oh, sweetheart," he rasped, fingers pressing firmly into the soft crease of her thigh once more. "You’ve no idea."

His fingers danced their way back to where she needed it most, over her clit. This time, however, he didn't pull back. He pressed his fingers up against her, in slow circles at first as he kept his eyes on her expression.

The mans fingers slid down to press over her entrance, the gentle give of squish giving away how wet she way. A satisfied smirk crawled over his lips. "All f'me, huh?"

The girl let out a breathy moan with a nod, swallowing around air as she rolled her hips down against his fingers while they pressed and slid back over her clit. He worked his hand with ease to match her needy pace, his gaze dropping down to where he touched her and flickered back up to her expression of need.

Harry's cock throbbed under the material of his jeans. It didn't go unnoticed, twitching against Aspen's thigh which made her lips fall open in another moan. As her eyes closed, the image of his cock, heavy and thick, resting in her hand and on her tongue filled her mind. She'd do anything to have him in her mouth once more.

The newfound feeling coiled in her stomach. She sucked in a breath and let it out in a needy whimper, her hands resting on the curve of his neck now with her thumbs pressing into his warm flesh as she ground her hips down to meet the feeling of his fingers. Her hole fluttered around the open air, desperate for his thick fingers to slide into her like they did before and draw out another orgasm.

Harry could tell she was close, that she needed that final push. Her breathing became more shallow and her moans became higher in pitch, her eyes closed and her head pushed back. His eyes gleamed over the mark he left which made his cock twitch once more.

And just as she thought he might finally give in—just as her breath caught in her throat in anticipation—he pulled back again, leaning away slightly as his hands came to rest innocently on her waist.

Aspen groaned in frustration, her head dropping to his shoulder as her whole body trembled from the teasing. "Harry," she whined, her fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt in protest.

Harry chuckled, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her temple. "That’s enough for now, little mouse," he murmured, his voice teasing but firm. "Don’t wanna start something I can’t finish, yeah?"

Aspen pouted, peeking up at him through her lashes, but she knew he was right. The last thing they needed was to get carried away in his office when anyone could come knocking.

Still, the fire in her veins refused to die down, and the way he looked at her—eyes dark with something she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen in them before—made it clear that this was far from over.

"Please?," she mumbled under her breath. Her thumbs ran small circles into the skin on his neck, her nail catching skin lightly which made him groan softly, nodding.

With fumbling and quick hands that moved in need and desperation, his fingers slid under the band of her shorts and quickly met with the warmth of her clit. Even over her underwear, which she completely soaked through, Harry could feel the pulse of her clit against his fingers.

He wasted no time in drawing circles over the sensitive bud. Her lips parted and a broken moan, louder than the others, fell from her lips. The sound shot down to Harry's dick, which he took one of her hands and placed it over. He gave an encouraging squeeze, guiding her hand to move to the pace of his.

Aspen's hand merely covered the outline of his cock. Dizziness filled her head as she swiped her thumb over where his tip would be, with more pressure than she would've used if he was bare. Harry dropped his head onto her shoulder with a groan, his fingers busily working over her clit. They peeled back her panties, tucking them into the curve of her thigh, before his middle finger ran through her slick folds.

"Fuck," he muttered into her skin, collecting her arousal on both of his fingers now before dragging it back up to her clit. The feeling sent a shudder down her spine, eliciting another sweet moan of his name.

"One day," Harry grunted, his hand still guiding hers as he swirled his fingers over her clit with ease, a sense of professionalism, before dipping down between her folds, "I'm going to fill you up with my cock, so, so good." He licked his lips and pushed his middle finger past the woman's tight entrance.

Aspen arched into the feeling with a gasp, his words sending both a raging blush to her cheeks and a pleasant coil to her stomach.

"I don't know if I'd be able to stop," Harry moaned into her shoulder at a particular squeeze, pumping his finger slowly. Deciding she was wet enough, practically pooling in his palm, he pushed another finger in alongside.

The girl whimpered at the burning stretch but quickly found comfort when he began to move his fingers.

"Hell, I don't even know if I'd be able to start. You're so fuckin' tight," he grunted once more, guiding his fingers at a pleasing pace. Her thighs quivered every few seconds from the feeling and she couldn't stop the flow of moans and whimpers from her mouth anymore. She raised her free hand to cover her mouth with the back of it as her brows furrowed, his fingers curling inside her now.

Aspen's back arched as she ground her hips down to push his fingers deeper into her. Harry raised his head from its place on her shoulder, his own look of awe on his face as he beamed up at her.

"Don't do that," Harry grumbled, using his nose to nudge her hand off her face. "This is my fucking shop, and if I want to have my girl— to touch my girl— I'll do jus' that," he growled out, lips latching wet kisses back onto her neck.

"Oh, God," she quivered, her hips jerking as her stomach coiled. She felt like a stupid virgin, and technically, she was. Her orgasm grew closer with each word he muttered. The gruff edge of his voice only added to the feeling, shooting through her and straight to her core. She did her best to work her hand over Harry's twitching cock still in his pants.

Harry only chuckled, fading into a small groan. "Shit—," He gasped, his abdomen tightening as he felt his own orgasm creeping up.

"My innocent little virgin, huh? Need to come already?" Harry swallowed the groan in his throat as she let out a moan of her own, her eyes finally opening to meet his. And fuck, she looked a mess. She clenched around his fingers and nodded desperately.

"Please, please, please," She gasped in her small voice and trailed off in another moan, dropping her head back once more as the movement in her hips grew sloppy. Harry was right behind her with his movements, his hips after chasing its own high in her hand.

With last minute thinking, Aspen reached both hands to the mans belt, undoing it with clinks and slips of leather to unbutton and unzip the material before reaching to tug his cock out.

She whined softly, pleased now that the weight of his cock was finally in her hand. She licked her lips as she stared at how she couldn't even wrap her own hand around it fully, her thumb gliding over his glistening tip.

A dribble of spit left her red lips as she tilted her head down and looked up at him, her gaze broken when he curled his fingers in a way that had her fall into his chest slightly. Harry, with surprised eyes and a racing mind, couldn't help but let out another guttural moan at the sight.

Fuck.

The girls hand slid over the slick spit, rubbing it all over his heavy shaft to the pace of his fingers. "Please, H..." She whimpered, thumbing over his slit as she ground her hips into his fingers messily again, clenching around his thick fingers once more. She wasn't sure what she was begging for, for his come or for her to come, but she needed both.

"Please, Daddy?"

Harry groaned, his fingers pressing impossibly further into her as his jaw fell slack, nodding. Where the fuck was this side of her coming from?

"Come for me, baby. All over m'hand, get Daddy's hand all messy."

His words shot straight to her pussy. She clenched around his fingers sloppily while shifting her hips until it finally hit her. Aspen cried out a moan of Harry's name, her thumb sliding over his tip once more before stuttering in its motions.

Harry came right after her. The feeling of her flooding around his fingers, her thighs buzzing, chest rising and falling, her words, he was bound to lose it. His come, hot and loaded, spurted over the girl's small fist, groaning strings of curses and her name thrown in the mix, as well as praises.

Harry's free hand came to snake up the back of her neck and card between the strands of her hair as he brought her head down to capture her lips in another kiss. He swallowed every moan and whimper of hers, returning some of his own with his fingers pumping and curling through her orgasm while his thumb slowed their circles on her clit. When she whimpered and her hips started to shy away, he carefully slowed his fingers and slid them out in a way they didn't get her messy.

When they pulled away for a breath, he licked over his lips and swallowed, falling back against the sofa cushions as he looked up at her, his hand leaving her hair to rest on her thigh. He caressed up and down in soothing motions, catching his own breath while she caught her own.

Without any hesitation, Harry raised his two fingers to his lips, resting them on his tongue and wrapping his lips around them with a smirk. Aspen looked down at him with her doe eyes and flushes cheeks, lips parted as she drew in breaths. She watched his hand meet his mouth intently and a thought flickered in her mind.

Mimicking his motions, she lifted her hand carefully from his cock to her lips. Before she could pull her tongue out and lick her hand clean, Harry's hand caught her wrist.

"Don't."

Aspen tilted her head, feeling herself flutter and clench around the open air. His eyes still carried that same dark tone, his curls falling over his forehead and his lip ring. Fuck, his lip ring.

"I can't see you do that. 'm not gonna be able to control myself, Asp."

His voice came off with a warning edge. Aspen only huffed softly and pulled her wrist from his gentle grasp, raising her palm back to her mouth. She kept her eyes on his as her hand slowly inched forward, her tongue poking out to lick up some of his mess on her hand. With a content hum, she took her bottom lip between her teeth as she bit back a teasing smile. Aspen leaned forward, her other hand on his shoulder and sliding down to his chest as she took another small taste.

"Then don't."

Just as Harry let out a low, nearly desperate groan at Aspen’s teasing, a sudden knock sounded against the door, making them both freeze.

"Oi, mate," Niall's voice rang through the wood, laced with amusement. "Hate to break up whatever moment you two are havin’ in there, but Justin is here, your client."

Aspen's eyes widened in mortification, her entire body tensing against Harry’s. Her face burned as she let out a soft, embarrassed squeak, immediately burying her face against his shoulder.

Harry, on the other hand, exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose, his fingers pressing firmly into Aspen’s waist as he closed his eyes for a second, clearly trying to gather himself. He knew they were cutting it close, but he really hadn’t wanted this moment to end just yet.

"Yeah, yeah, be out in a sec," he finally called back, his voice slightly hoarse from restraint.

A low chuckle sounded from the other side of the door before Niall's footsteps retreated down the hall, but not before calling back something about how he at least let them get one round in.

Aspen groaned softly, still hiding her face against him. "That was so embarrassing," she muttered, her voice muffled against his skin.

Harry huffed out a laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head before tilting her chin up so he could look at her. His eyes softened instantly at her flustered expression, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

"Could’ve been worse," he teased, trailing his fingers along her side before reluctantly shifting beneath her.

Aspen let out a little huff as she sat back, her hands clutching at his shirt as she watched him fix himself—pulling his pants back up properly and adjusting his belt. He worked quickly, but before he stood, he leaned forward, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to her forehead.

"You should go freshen up, yeah?" he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as his thumb brushed the soft skin of her cheek. "Bathroom’s just around the hall. I'd do it myself, work my magic with my mouth," he grinned, licking his lips, "but Justin is waiting f'me. You'll be okay, yeah? Stick around after, too. In here or out there, I'll take y'home."

Aspen nodded, still feeling flustered but completely wrapped up in the way he looked at her—soft, affectionate, like she was the only thing that mattered in this moment.

She reached up, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth before sliding off his lap, smoothing down her clothes as best as she could.

Harry smirked as he watched her, his head tilting slightly. "You’re cute when you’re all shy like that, y’know?"

Aspen shot him a playful glare before rolling her eyes. "Shut up," she muttered, though her lips twitched at the corners as she turned for the door.

Before she could open it, Harry caught her wrist, tugging her back for one more kiss—a slow, lingering press of his lips against hers.

"Go on, little mouse," he murmured against her mouth. "I’ll see you in a bit."

Aspen exhaled softly, nodding before slipping out of the office, her heart still racing in her chest as she made her way down the hall.

And as Harry watched her go, he couldn’t help but grin to himself, already counting down the minutes until he could have her all to himself again.

#harry styles #fanfic #one direction #zayn malik #niall horan #fanfiction #wattpad fanfiction #wattpad #louis tomlinson #harry styles fanfiction #smut #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing

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thefandomsfervent · 11 days ago

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JayVik x Reader Personal Pigments (Part 25) -Permanent Green Light

Gala chapter coming soooon <3

Find my imagine that inspired it here. Previous and next chapter will be linked at the bottom.

This fic may enter a hiatus after a few more chapters so I can start other projects. Stay tuned and Thank you for reading <3 These aren't beta read, didn't really edit this one. May fix it up later this upcoming week <3

╔═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╗

Summer was supposed to wait another week or two but this heat was formidable. The halls of the Academy were stuffy at the best of times and now they were stuffy and hot. A truly wonderful combination, one that you didn’t detest in the slightest. It didn’t make you miserably sweat through your shirt in the first hours of the day. And it certainly didn’t make you irritable. These past few days you’d had to opt for less formal clothing. As a guest of the Academy you weren’t required to wear the uniform but you had tried to maintain the same level of formality. Layering and coordinating to appear put together. Not today. The cut of your shirt was looser and lower than you’d usually wear, instead of keeping the button up closed it was open. When it fluttered as you walked, it gave a cool breeze on your back.

You gave simple greetings to Viktor and Jayce when you entered the lab, settling at your station. Today’s humidity meant that your paint would take forever to dry and you’d rather not get frustrated working on something just to put it down. Instead, you set up your drawing board. It’s been a minute since you had it propped up like this, your warm up sketches were usually just quick scribbles in your sketchbook. The window was open to get as much fresh air in as the lab would allow. For naught it seemed, no breeze shook the leaves today. A monotonous buzzing filtered in past the clanking sounds as your easel was repositioned and the board was set upon it. Neither of them look at you while you set up, the heat forcing all of you into a subdued silence. As if speaking would somehow make the heat, any extra movement considered unnecessary.

You could feel the sluggishness in your limbs, heavy arms and clumsy hands. pulling out sheets of paper and clipping them to the wooden board. The sounds were grating on your nerves. The clattering of pencils and pastels were too sharp, the tearing of paper droning, the scrape of the stool so agonizing you choose to not sit on it out of spite. It takes more time than you’d like to get everything sorted but it gets done. When you finally settle you give yourself a moment. If you started to draw anything now you’d just get more frustrated. After a few minutes of focused breathing you let your eyes wander the lab. Jayce was sitting at his desk, reviewing tomes and notes. There would be an occasional heavy sigh before he scratched something out. He had undone his tie, letting it hang on either side of his neck.

Viktor was in a similar state, vest on his chair and tie loosened from his neck. His back was to Jayce while he engraved runes onto various bits and bobs. He should be wearing his goggles, but those too were hanging off his neck. Things that if you asked him about you could get a whole lesson on, and on another day you would have loved to indulge hearing them talk about the process. Would have loved to take in their heat flustered attire. But today was so unbearably hot and there was work to be done. You keep scanning, looking for anything to catch your eye that wouldn’t make the heat worse. There was a stack of books on the floor, a ray of sunlight a foot or so away that would slowly creep up to it. Following the light you’re brought to the open window, the glass panes shimmering with the gold of the sun and the surrounding architecture.

Your gaze shifts to the collection of colored sticks on your table. A wide array of options, of different materials and hues to pick from. You grab slate grays and blues, browns, yellows, lighter tans and off-whites. The now separate collection sits to the side for later, awaiting more sorting. Viktor says something to Jayce but you can’t quite make it out, ignoring it in favor of picking up a freshly sharpened lead pencil to sketch the base of today’s drawing. A crisp sound against the paper, light and fast. It’s quick work, the whole thing was mostly rectangles and triangles. Gently smudging out mistakes and revisiting lines until they were close enough to move on to the next part. Another round of reviewing after that, of fixing before you start to lay down color.

You’re looking over the general selection when Jayce stands, saying something about water. You say your thanks and give him a wave as he makes his way out the lab. Putting some of your colors away keeps your attention. Pulling the too-green yellows and too-bright blues and setting them back into their respective tins. It’s a quiet groove you find yourself in, not full of the peaceful but excited energy you had found last week, but something just as magnetic. A large swipe of yellow, and smaller swipes of blue. Gray and brown speckling past the weaving of faux gold brown. You let your hands brush away the crumbled dust of pastels from your table and board. In doing so, you knock a pencil to the floor.

“Shit.” The annoyance is small in your chest but it’s still there, a quick pinch in your stomach as you bend down to grab it. It fades just as quickly as it came when you stand back up, the air rushing down your back. Especially when the lab door opens and there’s Jayce carrying in liquid gold in the form of ice water. It’s a sigh of relief when he sets the first glass down by you.

“Thank you,” barely gets past your lips before you drink it, the glass itself feels like heaven in your hand.

Jayce gives a quiet laugh before looking over your shoulder, "The window today?" You set the water down to answer him, picking up a pencil.

"Just something quick, the sun is hitting the glass just right." Waving the pencil towards the source of your drawing, you give him a smile.

"I see," he says as he walks over to one of the many messy tables near you to set down the tray. He brings the other glass to Viktor and you turn back to your work.

When you look up at the two of them they are both back at work, red tinging Viktor’s ears. The heat had to be getting to him. He must sense you looking because he turns around. His eyes meet yours, tired and a little surprised? You give him a lazy smile and he smiles back. The silence of the lab returns, each of you with cold water to balm the heat.

╚═*✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧-✦-✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧*═╝

--.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙-Part 24.-Next Part will be linked here.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .--

------------‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙· Master Fic List *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊--------------

#personal pigments #arcane #viktor arcane #fanfiction #viktor league of legends #fanfic #viktor lol #x reader #jayvik #jayce talis

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yellowjacketsfashion · 4 months ago

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While there are lots of options as to where you can buy a replica of the Yellowjackets Letterman Jacket, they’re not always easily attainable. Last year for halloween I made my own letterman and I figured others could find my process helpful. (The supplies I used were things I already had or were accessible to me but there are other ways to create the same thing. If you have different materials that also work feel free to make suggestions or use them in your process).

HOW TO MAKE A YELLOWJACKETS LETTERMAN JACKET:

Supplies:

• Gold/Navy Letterman jacket

• Printer

• White Printer paper

• Gold Felt

•Chalk

• Heat ‘n Bond

• Embroidery floss in the colors White, Black, Gold and Gray (I ended up needing two packs of white).

• Embroidery needle

• White (or light colored) tissue paper

• White fabric (I used cotton)

• Embroidery hoop

• (Optional) White and Black thread

• Glue stick

Step 1: Aquire your jacket.

You can do a lot of different things for the plain base jacket. I bought mine off Amazon but if wanted too you could probably sew one or buy one second hand etc. The only specification is that it’s Gold and Navy. It is important to do this first because everything else builds off of this step.

Step 2: Print out designs.

Use the photos I provided below and paste them into a word document. From there you can size them up or down to reach the size that you like for printing. The “Yellowjackets” logo is for the back of the jacket so when I did it I kind of split the photo in half and put it on two different pages. In the end it turned out to be just shy of 13 inches length wise. The round patch goes on the front and mine was 4.25 inches in diameter.

Depending on the size of your jacket your patches can be bigger or smaller, but once your happy with the sizing you can then move onto the next step.

Step 3: Gather supplies.

The gold felt is to be used to create the back patch. Because of the size of mine I was able to get a little 50 cent sheet of it (I was able to place the logo at an angle to fit it) but because the patch sizes will be different it’s important to bring your print out of the logo when shopping to make sure you have enough. Most craft / fabric stores should have this in stock. It’s also a good idea to bring your letterman jacket with you to try to color match the shades of gold/yellow as best as possible.

The embroidery hoop, floss, white fabric, and thread are for the front patch as I hand embroidered mine but in theory you could use an embroidery machine or printable fabric sheets to create your patch. If you use these other methods you’ll need different supplies and different instructions that I can’t give.

The Heat ‘n Bond is to iron the patches onto your jacket so they stick (though I’ve had to re iron my back patch because the fibers of the wool make it hard to stick to). It will essentially act as double sided tape.

Step 4: Creating & attaching the back patch

• Cut out a piece of Heat n’ Bond that covers the area where your logo will go.

(i am using colored paper in the example pictures. Yellow represents the felt. White represents the heat and Bond).

• Once you have the right sized piece of Heat n’ Bond, iron it onto the back of your piece of Gold felt (make sure to follow the instructions on the Heat n’ bond packaging).

•Use your printed template of the logo and cut out the words on the felt. You can cut out the logo on paper first and trace it or attach the paper to the felt and just cut them both at the same time. (I moved the dot on the J down so that it’s still attached just to make it easier but you can do whatever you want).

• Put on your Letterman and use the chalk to mark where on the back you want the patch to go. For this step it can be helpful to have someone else assist you (though it’s possible to do it yourself).

• Take off the jacket and lay it flat to align the patch up with your chalk markings. Once it is where you want it you can Iron it onto the back of the jacket (according to the instructions on the Heat n’ Bond).

You now have a finished back patch!

Step 5: Creating the front patch.

• Trace the design of the front patch onto tissue paper (I would suggest a dark pen or sharpie so you can see it really well). If you have trouble seeing the design underneath it can be helpful to hold it to a window pane when it’s sunny or another light source. The photo of the logo I included has a white border around the black words but the patch in the show doesn’t have it so I just ignored it. From there you glue the traced tissue paper onto the fabric.

• Cut out a piece of white fabric big enough for your embroidery hoop and glue the tissue paper sketch onto the fabric.

• Put the fabric/tissue paper into the Embroidery hoop.

• Thread the needle and start embroidering the design. I found it good to use different techniques on different areas of the patch (long white stitches on the wings versus short ones on the background etc. I also thought it was helpful to embroider in color groupings (so like white all at once or yellow all at once etc. so you don’t have to switch out the floss that much). Save the white outer circle and black outline for last though to help clean everything up. The white and black sewing thread can be used to outline smaller details or neaten up some of the floss.

• Once the patch is done cut out a piece of Heat n’ Bond that covers the back of the patch.

• Put on your jacket and mark with chalk where you want to put the patch. In the show it’s placed by the second from the top button. (See Jackie reference photo at the top of the post).

• Iron on the Heat n’ Bond to the back of the patch (following packet instructions).

• Iron the Patch to the jacket based on your chalk markings.

• You have completed the front patch!

Above are some photo examples of my jacket (please ignore my messy hair in the left picture, being in the snow got it ruffled up).

Sorry for the long post but I think I got everything covered. I hope you guys found this helpful but if you have any questions about the jacket, my process, or anything else feel free to ask!

#yellowjackets #fashion #costume #diy #jackie taylor #taissa turner #akilah yellowjackets #gen yellowjackets #shauna shipman #natalie scatorccio #van palmer

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magicshopaholic · 4 months ago

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Part 2: A Stormy Night

Summary: Namjoon is on holiday with his girlfriend - and without Namjoon, all hell breaks loose.

Pairing: OT7 x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Humour, fluff, angst, smut, chaos

Word count: 20 fkn K (idk how I did it)

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, making out, oral sex, sex, dirty talk, masturbation

A/N: I have no words because way too much happens in this fic and I am exhausted. Starts right from the end of A Rainy Day. Highly, highly recommend reading Part 1 first - this story will make almost zero sense without it.

Tagging: @bbl32@quarter-life-crisis2@dreaming-with-happiness@faearchives@margopinkerton@purpleseoul7@confessionsofamarshlily @jiminjhang @xjoonchildx @tarahardcore @infinitehobi @handfullofcandids @whoisbts @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)

Listen to: “bittersweet symphony" by the verve

teaser | part 1 | main masterlist

On a warm summer afternoon, a young girl walked home alone. The pavement under her feet was rough, poking the soles of her feet through the thin flip flops. She brushed her fingers absently against the picket fences on her way, unaware - or simply uncaring - of the beautiful day it was; the green gardens; the picturesque street of her childhood; the bees hovering lazily over colourful flowers.

Perhaps she wasn’t at the age where she understood the beauty in the simple things. Or perhaps she was distracted, and somewhat sad, that she was walking home alone on such a beautiful day. It was, after all, her birthday.

When she reached home, her mother was sifting through mail at the dining table. The birthday cake she knew she would cut later this evening sat on the kitchen counter in a pink cardboard box, and she could see her name through the transparent top, written in chocolate icing.

Her mother noticed. “You’ll just have to wait till this evening,” she sang, wiggling her eyebrows in exaggeration.

She responded with half a smile; maybe her mother hadn’t realised, but she was fourteen today, much past the age where her birthday cake was the highlight of the day. Still, she was grateful her mother was trying, that she was here - unlike everyone else.

“Anything for me?” she asked hopefully.

“As a matter of fact,” said her mother, pushing a small pile of differently coloured envelopes towards her, “there is.”

For the first time this afternoon, she felt excited. Reaching for the pile, she scooped them into one hand and hopped off her chair, immediately running upstairs to her bedroom and shutting the door behind her.

If her friends were not in town for her birthday, at least they might have wished her from afar. She had received a couple of e-cards: brightly coloured animations that opened in another window of Internet Explorer, slowing down the internet connection in her entire house.

But this whole year, all the cool kids in school had gotten into the fad of writing letters. It probably had something to do with the new drama that had come out last year, set in the nineties where the characters made it through the entire plot mostly through letters across the country.

Naturally, everybody had become inspired, finding emails and text messages too bourgeois, and opting to write letters to each other even if they lived in the same block.

She understood it. There was something extremely satisfying about folding the sheet of paper, placing it in a crisp white envelope, sticking a stamp on it and depositing it in a mailbox, watching it disappear into the abyss and waiting for the day your friend’s response arrived in the mail.

Now, she fell onto her stomach on the bed and picked the first one to read. Everybody wished her a happy birthday, talked about their spring vacation, missed home and gushed about meeting once the semester resumed. Each letter was like a little wave from a different part of the country; subconsciously, one letter kept getting set aside until it was the only letter left, the last pastel blue envelope with her name in a familiar scrawl.

Hey birthday girl,

I hope you’re not too lonely without me (and all your other friends, but mostly me). You know I wish I could’ve been there to smear your face with cake and watch you get all dramatic about it but since I can’t, I’m just going to picture it and laugh my ass off (LMAO).

Busan is nice but it’s so hot! My favourite cousin didn’t come this time so I’m stuck with her two little brothers who spend all their time playing with sticks they found in the garden and pretending they’re swords. I wish I could join them but it’s honestly been way too long since something like that sounded fun.

Speaking of which, did you like your birthday present?? I totally wanted to see your face when you opened it! But when my parents told me I wouldn’t be there, I gave it to your mom that morning you got late for school and asked her to give it to you.

(And here I hope you’re reading this AFTER she gave you the present, otherwise the surprise is ruined LOL)

Anyway, I know we were supposed to go out on your birthday so I promise we will when I’m back… but it won’t be your actual birthday so I’ll DEFINITELY make it up to you next year. Or if that seems too far away, we can celebrate your half-birthday - whichever sounds better. Maybe all three (although I hope not because I’ll probably run out of pocket money by then).

Hope you have a great day and you BETTER write back. Splotch some icing on your face from me.

- Your favourite person on Earth (you KNOW I am)

She read it three times, giggling quietly and wishing he were here so she could flick his forehead every time he cracked a lame joke. Her cake and future present forgotten, she clambered off the bed with the letter and sat at her desk. Reaching for the light pink stationery set her aunt had gifted her this morning, she tucked her hair behind her ear and began writing her reply.

—

The rain is pouring with a vengeance now, and Jimin blinks it out of his eyes as he hurries into the hotel manager’s office. His hair is wet and the AC blows a gust of freezing air through it, making him shiver.

“Sir,” he begins, then stops. The manager turns around and Jimin blinks. “Um… Mr Moon?”

“Oh - he is busy with another client,” says the manager. “I’m Mr Jang - Jang Jiyeong - at your service. The deputy manager.” He reaches forward to offer a hand that Jimin takes, confused.

“But I just spoke to Mr Moon on the phone - I’m his client,” he says, a bit hassled now. “I called him an hour ago about booking the gazebo for the night and he assured me it was free - and dry. And now I can’t get ahold of him.”

“I’m sorry - let me see what I can do,” mutters Mr Jang, dialing a number and looking up at the ceiling as the phone rings. Jimin stares at him for a minute until he puts the phone down. “Apologies, Mr…”

“Park. Park Jimin.”

“Mr Park Jimin, yes - you see, I can’t -” He stops abruptly and his eyes go wide. “Park Jimin, the idol? My daughter loves you! Would you sign an autograph for her?” he asks, eyes shining excitedly.

“I will come to her in person and thank her for being a fan,” says Jimin deliberately, hearing his own voice shake, “If you can please help me get in touch with Mr Moon.”

“Ah, yes, Mr Moon. I apologise,” he says quickly, apparently remembering himself. “I’m sorry, sir, I couldn’t reach him. But I’m sure it’s just because of signal issues. In fact, if you wait right here, I’m sure he’ll -”

He’s interrupted by the door slamming open and Mr Moon stumbling in with a wet umbrella. “Oh, Mr Park, you’re here,” he says, sounding relieved. “Sir, I’m sorry to tell you but we’ve run into a slight problem. You see -”

A loud clap of thunder makes them all jump and is on cue, the lights fizzle out and the office is plunged into darkness.

“- we seem to have lost power.”

—

“Okay - what? Wait, slow down.” Taehyung winces at Jimin’s incensed shouts on the phone. He looks up to see Jungkook approaching, pushing his sweaty bangs back with a headband and taking a seat at the lateral pulldown machine. He raises his eyebrows and Taehyung puts the call on the speaker. “So - okay, so where are you now?”

“I’m driving down from that stupid hotel back down to Gangnam!” he answers, sounding livid. “Apparently half the city has lost power including a damn five star hotel - so I thought I could try the astronomy museum across from the office,” he adds sullenly.

Jungkook frowns, wrinkling his nose. “The one we all went to after we debuted?”

“Yes, well, I don’t have a lot of options,” sniffs Jimin, followed by the sound of water splashing. “But it had that auditorium where you lie on the ground and they display the history of the universe or whatever. I figured fake stars are the best I can do tonight,” he grumbles.

Taehyung raises his eyebrows, sensing that telling his friend that Sooah will like whatever he does would be unhelpful at this time. “There’s that Japanese place next door to it, too, if you want to pick up food from there.”

“Yeah, that’s probably what I’ll do because the caterer that I booked today has gotten stuck in the rain because their car broke down. All I have is a single bottle of champagne that wasn’t even my first choice, my hair is wet and not in a sexy way, and now the gourmet meal I’d planned is going to be replaced by takeout sushi! This is the worst birthday ever!”

“Doesn’t Namjoon hyung have a liquor cabinet in his studio? He might have a bottle of champagne you can borrow.”

“Yes, he does, and I called him to ask for the password to his studio but he didn’t answer.” There’s the sound of a screeching horn, followed by Jimin swearing under his breath.

Taehyung and Jungkook look at each other, both lost for words. “Hey, uh, Jimin hyung,” says Jungkook slowly, looking up at Taehyung for approval, who nods at him to go on. “Listen… we won’t keep you, but let us know if you need any help, okay?”

“My socks are drenched!” With that, Jimin hangs up.

“Wow.” Taehyung places his phone on his hand towel, folded neatly by his water bottle. “This is the most stressed he’s ever been in… like, years?��

“Since that outdoor taping of Filter, where the wind kept blowing the hat off his head mid-routine,” remembers Jungkook, and they snicker. “I’m glad I’m not out there right now. Although the rain does look kind of nice from here,” he comments, pointing to the window by the treadmills.

“I take it you did cancel your date finally?” Taehyung asks, stretching his triceps over his head. He hadn’t intended on doing much at the gym except for giving Jungkook some company, but Jungkook had been so excited about teaching him this new exercise his trainer had taught him that Taehyung had gone along with it and surprisingly enjoyed the endorphin rush.

“Yeah, I wasn’t too keen on it,” he replies dismissively, reaching up for the bar and pulling it down in a smooth motion, face screwing up slightly with the weight.

“Really? Because the first time you saw her - wait, what’s her name again? Haneul?”

“Hana.”

“Right - the first time you saw her when you went to get your first tattoo, you couldn’t stop talking about how hot she was,” he recalls. “Remember? You called me when I was at my parents’ and kept saying you’d just met the woman you were going to marry? And then you corrected yourself and said you probably wouldn’t marry her but you could see yourself proposing at least once?”

“Oh, man.” Jungkook grimaces, the tip of his ears reddening. “I was a stupid kid.”

“Nah, you were cute.”

“Stupid,” repeats Jungkook, grunting as he finishes his last rep of the set and lets go of the bar. Taehyung offers him a sip of water, grinning at his embarrassment. “But she’s still hot. And she’s pretty chill, too, but… I dunno. Not feeling it today. But I’ll probably catch up with her after Sooah’s birthday lunch tomorrow,” he adds, straightening up and beginning his second set.

“Sure, if Jimin hasn’t had a nervous breakdown and cancelled the lunch in a fit,” says Taehyung, rolling his eyes. “God, my arms are going to kill me tomorrow,” he mutters, turning to the wall mirror and stretching his biceps again.

Jungkook flashes him a toothy smile in the mirror. “No pain, no gain, hyung,” he says wisely.

Taehyung gives him a playful smack on the shoulder and moves towards the mirror, observing his biceps from different angles in the light, wondering if today’s workout is actually making a difference.

“Looking sexy, hyung,” remarks Jungkook, finishing his second set and standing up.

“I know, right? C’mon, we have to take a picture,” he instructs, waving him over and reaching for his phone. “Let’s commemorate my last gym session for the rest of the month.”

Jungkook chuckles, pushing the sleeve of his t-shirt up to reveal his own biceps. “The fans will get a kick out of this.”

Taehyung flexes his own and points the phone at the mirror and clicks, then groans. “No way, your muscles are way too big,” he complains, reaching over and shoving Jungkook’s arm out of the way. “They make mine look so silly.”

“Nuh-uh, your face looks better in the picture -” Jungkook starts to say, trying to force his arms further in focus as Taehyugn tries to push them away. They grapple jokingly until Jungkook pulls him back in a pretend headlock and faces the mirror, his biceps firmly in the centre of attention.

Taehyung snorts but has to admit that the pose looks hilarious, so he flexes his own bicep and holds his phone up with the other hand, and both of them grin at the mirror. “Perfect.”

Jungkook laughs and lets go of Taehyung as the latter starts typing a caption. “Is ‘gym bros’ too predictable?” he asks.

“Nah, it’s fine. Wait, are you posting it on Instagram or Weverse?”

“Neither. I’m sending it to Dilara.”

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses, long enough for Taehyung to look up at him. “Do you… I mean, you think she’ll be okay with that? Us hanging out?” he adds when Taehyung raises an eyebrow.

Taehyung blinks, then sighs heavily. “Alright, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, properly. Look - let it go.”

When he doesn’t continue, Jungkook frowns. “Let, uh… let what go?”

Taehyung tilts his head and gives him a look, not fooled. “Look, it’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I get why you did it, alright? She’s your friend,” he says simply. “And that’s separate from our relationship. You were a good friend to her when I couldn’t be there for her and it’s not fair to assume that that won’t continue just because we’re back together now.”

Jungkook’s eyes, huge and doe-like, seemingly process this information. “She’s my friend,” he murmurs in agreement, almost as though he’s saying it to himself.

“Yes. She’s your friend. And as we’ve established over the many, many years we’ve known each other, that you get protective of your friends,” explains Taehyung. “Like the time that interviewer made fun of Jin hyung, or when that fan was taking pictures under Nayeon’s skirt when she was at the edge of the stage? You stood behind her and accidently kicked the phone out of his hand?” Both of them shudder at the memory.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker to Taehyung and he slowly nods. “She’s my friend,” he repeats, “and I get protective of my friends. She’s my friend,” he says, half-chuckling, sounding almost relieved that Taehyung apparently seems to understand this now.

Taehyung raises his eyebrows at this effusive response but goes along with it. “Yeah, she is. So… you know. I get it.”

“Right. So… so we’re really cool?” Jungkook asks.

His eyes shine hopefully, enough to make Taehyung’s heart break just a little. He places his hands on either side of Jungkook’s face. “Yes, you ridiculously muscled kid,” he says seriously, squeezing his face. “Now will you please chill the fuck out about this?”

“You got it,” says Jungkook immediately. “And, uh… Dilara, too?”

“Even more so, if it’s possible. In fact, she, uh -” He takes a step back, moving to leave. “She asked me to ask you if you’ve got the sequel to the last Resident Evil… Hazardous Waste installment or something on your Playstation. And since I couldn’t care less, maybe you could text her yourself and let her know?”

“Definitely.” Jungkook nods, sounding relieved. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, this is more than enough exercise for me. It’s kind of getting in the way of my lying around time,” he points out, grabbing his things and waving.

“Alright. Oh, send me the picture!” Jungkook calls, seeing Taehyung’s thumbs up before he disappears out the glass doors.

—

The auditorium in the astronomy museum is less than ideal but Jimin knows he is fast running out of options. While the museum is almost shutting down for the night, he manages to keep it open for a sum, for a private tour with whom the manager refers to as his “lady friend”.

He’s at the gift shop, ruminating over a blanket and some fake champagne flutes, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Expecting the manager again, he fishes it out and tucks it in between his ear and shoulder.

“Hello?” “Jimin?”

Jimin drops the items he’s holding and picks up the phone. “Sooah? Hey, I was just going to -”

“Jimin, where the hell are you?” she yells, her voice barely audible over the rain. “It’s so dark - how do I even find you?”

“What do you -” And suddenly, Jimin’s heart stops, for he does know what she means. This can’t have possibly happened, he reasons, his heart pounding and stomach dropping at the same time. Somewhere, in the midst of securing one venue after another, coordinating with various sellers and bitching to his friends while driving in a storm, he has forgotten to inform the birthday girl of the change in plans.

“I’m at the park! Chim!” The sound of the rain is even louder now. “I’m holding the yellow umbrella at the front gate but, babe, it’s pitch black,” she tells him, sounding uncertain. “Are you sure this is even a good idea tonight?”

Jimin falls to the ground, resting on his heels, and presses the ball of his palm to his eyes. This night was already starting to seem unsalvageable, but now it suddenly feels like an all-time disaster.

“Sooah,” he starts, feeling exhausted and defeated all at once, “listen, I’m… fuck, I am so sorry.”

“What? Chim, I can barely hear you,” comes her voice, slightly muffled through the rain. “Listen, the night guard here just told me the park is closed? Can you please come here? Or - or can you come to the Caffetta across the street? The rain is just way too strong here.”

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Yes, yes - I’ll be right there.” He hangs up and abandons the shopping, heading straight to the parking lot and going to Sooah. This drive feels like a blur; Jimin tries to ignore the disappointment, knowing that if he doesn’t rein it in now, he’s bound to start crying and that’s the absolute last thing Sooah needs after the hideousness that’s been this night.

He spots the logo of the Caffetta coffee shop as he’s nearing the park, the place where it all began today, and slows down the car. A brand new coffee chain borne out of a coffee brand, with branches all over Seoul, the place looks incredibly cozy and warm from where Jimin is, in the cold and the rain surrounded by dim streetlights and nothing else. He hurries inside, no longer caring if he gets wet in the process.

Sooah is in a cushy armchair, finger combing her hair when she looks up and spots him and, in what is probably the only highlight of Jimin’s day so far, she beams at him.

“Hey, I was starting to get worried,” she says as she walks up to him, immediately moving to hug him. He hugs her back, feeling his face start to morph as the urge to cry in anger starts to take over, until he takes a deep breath to force it away.

She squeezes his shoulders before stepping away. “What happened? You sounded really stressed over the phone,” she says, taking him by the hand to the table she was sitting at.

Jimin sinks into the chair next to her and sighs, wondering where to begin. He looks around briefly; it’s a pretty café, full of warm brown and yellow toned furniture, beanbag chairs and a corner booth - but it’s also almost empty. Aside from one table with a man and woman who look to be in their forties, and one younger man with headphones around his neck and a laptop in front of him, Sooah is the only other patron.

He turns back to look at her, eyes roaming over her damp hair. Her sweater had clearly gotten wet; she’s taken it off and draped it across the back of her chair, left only in a thin full-sleeved shirt and jeans.

“I tried to…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I tried. I really did. I wanted to give you an amazing birthday, booking out the park and getting gourmet catering and falling asleep under the stars, but…” He rubs his eyes. “Everything got so fucked up.”

Sooah frowns slightly but it disappears, being replaced by a growing smile. “That actually sounds amazing.”

“Yeah, I knew you would love it!” he exclaims, feeling even worse now. “And then it started raining so I tried to move it and then I tried to book a hotel - but then the stupid power went out everywhere and the food never arrived,” he lists, “and all I had left was the champagne… which I now realise I left at the museum.” He swears and drops his head into his hands.

“Oh, my God.” Sooah is silent for a moment before moving, and he feels her soft hands on his. “Jimin. All I want for my birthday is to be with you. Anything you do will be lovely - I’ll love it no matter what.”

“It’s your first birthday since we got back together,” he says in a small voice, sniffing and looking up. “We’re always on-and-off and I don’t want this time to be like all the other times. Starting with this.”

She bites her lip, and Jimin is somewhat glad to see how affectionate she looks. “God, you really still are the sweetest guy I’ve ever known,” she murmurs, brushing back a stray lock of hair. “And you look cold. It means everything that you tried, baby, but I promise - I don’t care about that stuff.”

Jimin gives her a look. “That’s just not true. You… you’re - ” He struggles for the words, then gives up. “You’re Kim Sooah!”

She frowns, bewildered. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You love grand gestures! All the way from that chocolate-based treasure hunt in high school. And you just said the park thing sounded amazing.”

“Okay, yes, I would’ve loved that,” she admits, a little sheepishly. “I would’ve been blown away. But not at the expense of your evening. Chim, no grand gesture is worth you taking this much stress over it. And that part is true.”

Despite how much of a bust this evening has been, Jimin finally cracks a smile. “I promise lunch tomorrow will be better.”

“A simple restaurant, as long as it’s just you and me.”

“Yup,” he confirms, straight faced. “Totally.”

She pokes his forehead teasingly before kissing him. “Oh, wait. What was your original plan at the park, anyway? Like a picnic?”

Jimin shakes his head. “It was going to be a movie screening, just for us. Delicious food, champagne, a couch, the night sky above us… It would’ve been pretty spectacular. But honestly, I’m just tired now. Not to mention freezing.”

“I’m glad you said that because you know what? So am I.” Sooah stands up and heads towards the front of the shop and begins to order something.

Jimin jumps to his feet. “Absolutely not,” he says firmly, hurrying over and sliding in between her and the counter, before turning around to face her. “You are not going to pick up the tab on your birthday, too. Not unless you want me to kill myself.”

“Dramatic much?” she asks, making a face but moving away anyway. “Fine, a hot chocolate for me and…” She cranes her neck to read the menu. “And a hotdog. I’ll get us a better table,” she adds as he waves her away, brandishing his wallet in the air.

When Jimin returns with the food, it’s to see Sooah at a table in the back of the cafe, this time on a plush couch right by the window. She reaches eagerly for the hot chocolate, even before he’s set the tray down. He doesn’t go for the food, though; instead, he sits back on the couch next to her and sighs. The streets outside are dark, with the rain blurring every shape in the city and only the glow of streetlights piercing through the storm, like little charms. Now that his hair is drying, the view actually looks pretty.

“You okay?”

“You know, in a really twisted way, I’m glad the whole thing got ruined to the point where I just can’t salvage it, no matter what.” He gives her an apologetic look. “I mean, I wish it had worked out, but… God, this is the first time all day that I’ve finally relaxed.”

Sooah snickers, reaching over and kissing him on the cheek. “I was just thinking, though - maybe it’s not a total bust,” she points out, unlocking her phone and getting ready to type. “What was the movie?”

“Guess.”

“I dunno. Star Wars?”

“You -“ He gasps, affronted. “You think my romantic evening was going to be with Star Wars? Damn, Sooah, I thought you got me. It was going to be Grease.”

“Best movie of all time,” she agrees excitedly, typing it in. “And my favourite. And what do you know?” She turns the phone screen towards him. “It’s on Netflix.”

“Convenient,” he says, nodding. “But this wasn’t really how I’d pictured -”

“Things very rarely happen the way we picture it, Chim,” she says wisely. “But, as Chaeyoung told me that one day my face broke out right before a work event and I was out of concealer, we just have to make the best of it,” she says, placing her phone against the cute little tissue dispenser on the table so it faces them. “And I didn’t believe it would work either,” she adds, handing him one of her Airpods, “until she helped me discover the beauty of simply being who you are.”

“Wow.” Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes. That and BB cream.”

He nods, feeling so lucky in this moment that he feels sorry for every other individual out there who doesn’t have someone like Sooah. Taking the Airpod and tucking it into his ear, he picks up his own hot chocolate as she starts the movie. Maybe a movie on a big screen under the stars with gourmet food and champagne simply wasn’t in the cards tonight. Maybe this, shared earbuds and cuddling on a couch with hotdogs and hot chocolate, while the rain poured outside, was their BB cream.

“Oh, hang on.” He stands up and places his hot chocolate on the table. “I forgot something; I’ll be right back.” He jogs out of the cafe and runs to the car, wincing at the rain again. Determined to make at least one thing go according to plan tonight, he throws open the passenger door and retrieves the Gucci hoodie.

—

When their car almost hits a pothole, the jerk from swerving out of its way makes Yoongi feel like his stomach is falling out his back.

“Oh, my God, will you please drive in a straight line?”

Yoongi grits his teeth and exhales sharply out of his nose, barely hanging on to his last shred of patience. “Hey, you know what? If you think you can do a better job, you drive next time.”

“Oh, really? Do you think you’ll actually let me in the drivers’ seat of your precious Range Rover next time?” Miso snaps, but it lacks its usual bite.

Yoongi chances a glance at Miso, looking away from the chaotic windshield for a moment. Her back is pressed to the passenger seat and her hands grip the edges, knuckles white. Her pale face looks a bit green but when another flash of lightning occurs, her entire face comes into view for a fraction of a second.

“Eyes on the road, Min Suga!”

“I can’t see anything!” Yoongi exclaims, turning back to the road and clicking his tongue in frustration. “There are too many trees and the damn leaves are flying everywhere! Fuck!” He swears, hitting the steering wheel. “One thing can’t go right today!”

“Oh, God,” mutters Miso. “Not this again.”

“Why the fuck not?” Yoongi demands. “I had been preparing for this meeting for weeks! Do you have any idea how many presentations and budgeting meetings I sat through with the management? Preparing demo after demo, just for you to get all prissy in there and ruin it?”

“Prissy? I was defending you, you prick!” she retorts. He can see her shift slightly to orient herself towards him, probably so she can yell at him more easily. “That guy was treating you like dirt, acting like you were some silly singer who didn’t know jack shit about business!”

“So what? He’s an arsehole - everybody knows it!” he argues, maneuvering through a blind turn on the highway. “But we need his money! We needed this investment because my - a lot of things depend on this! And now -” He huffs and breaks off, shaking his head and trying to focus on the treacherous road.

“You were really okay being spoken to like that? I don’t believe it,” she states. “You have way too much pride for that - and I can’t believe you’re getting mad at me for standing up for you.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you didn’t just stand up for me - you insulted him to his face!” Yoongi scoffs, more out of frustration than anything. “It’s not about pride, Miso. Nothing comes for free, so if him making his little digs was going to ensure he gives us what we want, it’s fine!”

“What we want - you mean his money? He insulted your whole career - aren’t you the one who always says that music is the soul of this company?” She reminds him. “That that’s why you feel so protective over it, because you built it or whatever?”

“I - that’s still true,” he admits, reeling a bit at the realisation that she remembers a conversation from ages ago. “Music may be the soul of the company but it still needs cash to run. You probably don’t value it as much because you’ve always got it so easy, but some of us have to take shit -”

“Oh, here we go,” she interrupts loudly, and he can hear her rolling her eyes. “Obviously I can’t make it through one investor meeting because I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth. Because I eat gold and burn money for fun. Is that it?”

“Your words, not mine.”

“Jesus. You talk big about taking shit to make a company run - is that why you’re still agonising over a fucking collaboration because you’re afraid it will hurt Namjoon’s feelings? Even though it’s sure to top the sales of any solo this company has ever put out?”

Yoongi grips the steering wheel so hard it makes his forearms hurt. “That is a completely different thing. I’m not okay with betraying someone I’ve worked with for so long - someone I lived with for over a decade for a project.”

“Why not?” she argues. “How is it different? He’s in the business, too, isn’t he? He’s a smart guy - he probably knows it’s okay to take a couple of digs if it means getting what you want.”

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, finally approaching the end of the highway, Seoul now almost within view. “Fucking hell, the road is flooded.”

“Shit.” Miso sighs. “Are you sure your car has enough ground clearance?”

“Only one way to find out.” He pushes on, the wiper blades working over time. “Damn it, how did it get so late?”

“Maybe you took one too many digs on a rainy day.”

“God, will you shut up for two seconds?”

“Sure, probably around the same time you grow a spine. You know, you can give me a little credit,” she continues, cutting Yoongi off just as he turns to her furiously. “I was sent here with you for a reason. You may know a lot more than me about music but this is more than just artistry - it’s a business. And as the only person in this car with a business degree, I think I can -”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! You think you were sent for this meeting because of your degree?” he retorts. “You were sent because you're Kang’s Jaesung’s daughter, another billionaire who invested in the company! They hoped that guy would see you, find out who your father is, and see him as a viable example to invest! That’s why you were sent here - you’re a proof of concept!”

There’s silence in the car, the rain sounding loud and like a hundred gunshots on the roof of the car. Yoongi breathes heavily, grimly satisfied at finally having shut her up - not least because the road ahead looks chaotic as hell.

“What the -”

There’s the faint sound of honking in the distance, followed by two cars driving by them in the opposite direction and spraying a wall of water on his car as they do. Yoongi wants to wonder out loud but he stops himself, deciding there’s no way to go but forward.

At that moment, his phone rings and he answers out of habit, ignoring Miso’s quiet scoff. “Hello?”

Seokjin’s voice emanates out of the speaker. “Yoongi!” he exclaims, voice sounding urgent. “Listen - have you ever seen the resting rooms on the top floor of the company building?”

Yoongi swerves a bit, trying to avoid branches and leaves on the ground that have turned to mulch. Next to him, Miso straightens up, her eyes up ahead on the road. “Shit,” she mutters.

“What?”

“The resting rooms on the top floor,” says Seokjin, apparently thinking Yoongi’s question was intended for him. “Have you seen them? What are they like?”

“Oh… that. The ones for the idols?” Yoongi asks absently, starting to spot some kind of commotion up ahead - but the rain is making it too blurry. “They’re fine, I guess. I’ve crashed there a couple times after all-nighters.”

“Really?”

But Yoongi hardly hears him, for his headlights don’t shine on the tree trunk blocking the road until he’s only a few feet away from it.

“Yoongi - that’s a tree!”

“Fuck!”

Miso’s hands appear out of nowhere and turn the wheel with surprising strength, just edging the car out of the trunk’s way. Yoongi’s foot hits the brake automatically and the car screeches to a painful stop.

Yoongi turns the car off, his heart thumping madly. Miso’s hands disappear just as quickly as they appeared and he turns to see her just as shaken as he feels, brushing her bangs off her face. She meets his eyes, glares and looks away.

“Uh, hyung?” Yoongi says, realising suddenly that they aren’t alone. “I’m going to have to call you back.” Without waiting for Seokjin to answer, he hangs up.

Once again, there’s silence inside the car. The tree trunk is blocking almost the entire road and now that they’ve stopped, Yoongi can see barricades up ahead, along with traffic police carrying flashlights.

“Are you okay?” he asks Miso, giving her a sideways glance.

“Spectacular.” She doesn’t turn away from the window. “Let’s go,” she adds in a smaller voice.

Yoongi obliges, turning the car back on and driving around the trunk up to where the barricades are. “The road looks blocked,” he says, but she doesn’t respond. It isn’t until one of the policemen, shrouded in a thick plastic raincoat, tells them the same thing and informs them that this is only the first of many tree trunks blocking the highway and that it will take all night to clear the road to Seoul, that Miso speaks.

“What do we do now?” she asks, almost to herself.

“Well, we’re not getting out of here tonight.” Yoongi sighs and moves the car to the side of the road, before turning off the engine. He runs a hand through his hair; this is not how he saw this evening going. “I’m guessing we can’t call a car from Seoul either.”

“No, we can’t,” she confirms in a mutter, looking at her phone. “If there was any way into Incheon, Seungkwan would’ve found it. I’m telling him I’m checking into a hotel for the night,” she adds, shaking her head.

Yoongi nods, glad he doesn’t need to create a fake plan so people don’t come looking for him. He knew her father was out of the country, which meant her neglectful mother might be the only one capable of realising she’s missing.

Miso catches his eye, almost as though she knows what he’s thinking. “My mother is on a spa weekend.”

“Okay. Well, now that you’ve covered your bases…” He trails off, asking the obvious question with a shrug.

“I guess we find some place to kill the night,” she finishes.

A combination of Google Maps and dubious road signs later, Yoongi and Miso find themselves checking into a motel by the highway. It doesn’t look too secure in terms of safety but Yoongi reasons that they just need to make it to daybreak, once the rain has stopped and at least one road is cleared out.

The receptionist looks tired herself, looking to be in her early thirties at best, with her hair in a ponytail and faded sweatshirt, circles under her eyes and a complete disinterest in the guests she’s checking in. The only thing that strikes him about her appearance is a pair of thin gold earrings with a brilliant green stone in the middle.

“ID?” she asks listlessly, barely looking up at them.

Yoongi and Miso exchange a wary look; without speaking, they hesitantly place their drivers’ licenses on the counter. If the receptionist sees anything familiar in either name, she doesn’t show it. She simply checks them in, the green earrings catching the light of the table lamp next to her.

“Room 104, straight down. Follow me,” she says in a monotone, taking a big yellow key off a board on the wall and starting to walk down the hall. It’s a small, unassuming establishment, with the ground floor opening up into the open, a patch of grass separating it from being right on the sidewalk.

Frowning, Yoongi follows her after making sure Miso is, too. The receptionist stops in front of a room and unlocks it, jiggling the key a couple of times before the door creaks open.

“Water is complimentary, snacks are chargeable. Check-out is at ten am. Have a lovely stay with us.” Her face unchanging, she turns to leave.

“Wait a second,” says Miso, stopping her. “We’re two people. And we’re not together,” she adds pointedly, ignoring Yoongi’s sigh as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

The receptionist seems to not register the implied statement for a few moments. “We only have one room left,” she states. “If you wish, you can look for something else up the highway.”

Miso bites her lip, her jaw hardening. All of them turn to look at the street, the rain coming down in waves of fury as gusts of wind change its direction. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at Miso, who rolls her eyes and looks away, but doesn’t argue. Nodding, Yoongi holds out his hand for the key.

“Thank you. We’ll let you know if we need anything.” He waits until the receptionist is out of earshot before turning to Miso. “It’s just for a few hours.”

“Fine. Whatever.” She stalks in, dropping her bag by the door and shrugging off her jacket.

Yoongi shuts the door behind them and takes off his as well, shaking out his damp hair. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal,” he says, walking inside. “It’s not like we have…” He trails off as he walks further inside the small room and stops. “Okay, there’s only one bed.”

Miso stops next to him and folds her arms across her chest. “Oh, my God, there’s only one bed.”

—

The sprint from his car to Chaeyoung’s apartment drenches Hoseok to the bone and by the time she opens the door, his teeth are chattering.

“Hoseok? What are you doing here?” Chaeyoung steps aside and ushers him inside, closing the door behind him. It’s dark with minimal light, just as he’d expected. “Jesus, did you drive? That’s so dangerous, oppa - there’s a storm outside!”

“I know,” he replies, still shivering as he tries to drink in the warm and dry interior of the apartment. Compared to his woolen hoodie and thick jeans - all of which are wet now - she’s dressed far more freely in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, her feet tucked in a pair of furry blue house slippers. “I heard the power was out in this area. I called you - but you didn’t answer,” he points out, trying to keep his limbs from shaking. “And I got worried. Why the damn hell didn’t you answer?”

“My phone is out of charge.”

“Then why didn’t you charge it?”

“Because there’s no power!” Chaeyoung frowns and tilts her head. “Seriously, is that why you came all the way here? Because I didn’t answer my phone?” When Hoseok opts not to answer, partly feeling silly and partly because he doesn’t want her to hear his teeth chatter, she sighs. “You’re crazy, oppa.”

“Yeah, you know what? You seem totally fine so this was just - like, a false alarm. I’ll head out now,” he says quickly, turning to leave when she grabs his arm.

“Whoa, no way. I’m going to get you a towel. Hang on.”

She disappears inside and Hoseok steps further into the small apartment, now allowing himself to shiver a bit more visibly. He takes off the wet hoodie and that’s when he notices her living room, lit up with a dozen suns. Just beyond the couch and television area, between the closed balcony and the dining space, is a mattress on the floor and at least ten to fifteen candles in various spots around the room, the flames small but bright. There’s music at a low volume playing from somewhere, sounding like Taylor Swift.

“Okay, here.” Chaeyoung steps out of the tiny laundry room with a stack of clothes in one hand and a towel in the other. “You can dry off and take a shower if you want. And these I presume are Jimin’s,” she explains, handing him the clothes. “It’s just a t-shirt and tracks because unfortunately, I couldn’t find boxers. Not that I looked,” she adds quickly.

“Not that I would wear another guy’s boxers,” he mutters. “Er, thanks. Should I…” He waits for her to point to the bathroom before ducking inside. Like most things Chaeyoung suggests, she’s right about the shower. After peeling off his cold, wet clothes and feeling the hot water against his skin, he feels reborn as he throws on Jimin’s borrowed stuff and traipses back out into the living room.

“Tea?” Chaeyoung asks as soon as Hoseok steps out and because he is taken by surprise, he nods and gratefully accepts a cup of steaming green tea. He notices her outfit a little more closely this time. Unlike her usual outfits which seem carefully styled and perfectly coordinated, all the way down to her shoes and accessories, she seems almost bare without it all. He reminds himself that this is likely what is underneath all that - this is simply the first time he’s seeing it.

“How come your phone’s out of charge?” he asks, taking a sip and feeling the heat start to return to his bloodstream. “Where’s your power bank?”

“I lost it,” she admits sheepishly, sitting on the edge of the mattress and tucking her knees under her chin. “I think I left it on the bus a couple weeks ago.”

Hoseok half-chuckles and takes another sip of the tea, looking around the room again. He realises now that some of the candles must be scented; he catches a whiff of lavender and inhales it, the storm outside becoming a distant memory.

“Feeling better? The tea,” she says, pointing to his cup when he raises his eyebrows.

“Oh. Yeah, actually. Thanks.” He gestures to the room. “You’ve got a hell of a set up here, huh?”

Chaeyoung shrugs. “I guess. I figured it would be a good night to stay in but then the power went out and… well, my room got pretty dark and there’s this branch outside that looks like a hand which just freaked me out.” She shudders. “So I got my stuff out here. The apartment feels less empty this way.”

Hoseok nods, spotting the pillows neatly set up at one end by the balcony, a soft purple blanket folded at the other. There is another half-finished cup of tea on the floor next to the blanket, along with her tablet which is open on Spotify, a flashlight, a book and what looks like a knitting project next to it.

“Oh, that’s a new hobby,” says Chaeyoung, following his gaze while he takes a seat next to her. “I didn’t think crocheting would be fun but I have to say, it kind of grows on you. Check it out,” she adds excitedly, leaning over him across the mattress to pick up a little figurine he hadn’t noticed. “My first finished project,” she declares, holding up what looks like a crocheted bear, a little smaller than the palm of his hand.

“You made this? Caterpillar, this isn’t half-bad,” he says, impressed. “I like the tail. Except… oh, I think its eye is a little loose…” He holds it out so she can look at it, amused when she groans. “It’s okay, he looks kind of cool. Like a pirate bear.”

She grins. “Yeah? Is that a thing?”

“Sure. Anything or anyone can be a pirate. Doesn’t even have to be about the eye, although that’s a bonus.”

“Pirate vibes,” she offers.

“There you go.” He goes to hand it back to her but she shakes her head.

“Keep it. I mean, if you want.” She gestures to the half-made crochet project still on the needles. “I have a lot more where that came from and the last thing I want to do is become a crazy lady surrounded by her creepy crochet animals.”

“This isn’t creepy,” he argues, tucking it into the pocket of Jimin’s tracks.

“Yeah, because it’s just one and not an army.” Chaeyoung exhales and stretches her legs out in front of her, her long hair falling down one of her shoulders. She looks warm and dry and cozy, especially surrounded by the clean cotton and soft candlelight, but he thinks he catches a bite in her tone.

“How’s Sooah? Was she excited about tonight?”

“Not sure. The last time I spoke to Sooah was…” She checks an imaginary watch on her wrist. “Six days ago.”

Hoseok frowns. “What?”

“Well, unless you count a cursory hi or a good night or do we have any milk left? Otherwise, it’s pretty much a lot of texts from her telling me she’s staying over at Jimin’s so not to wait up.” She bites her lip. “Sorry. I probably sound really bitter.”

“Not bitter,” he says reassuringly. “Maybe a little resentful. It’s understandable, though.”

“I’m happy for her,” she admits in a low voice. “And Jimin. They’re cute and - and she’s in love. It’s great. But… it’s kind of come to my attention that Sooah is my only friend in this city. And when she’s away…” Chaeyoung sighs heavily, looking slightly embarrassed. “It gets kind of… lonely. Which is my fault, not hers, I guess.”

Hoseok stares at her, waiting for her to look at him and raising his eyebrows when she does.

“What?”

“Well, not to be dramatic or anything, but I would say that a person who drove across the city in a storm because you didn’t answer his calls could be counted as a friend, too.”

Chaeyoung’s cheeks go slightly pink and her eyes widen slightly, before she laughs. “You’re definitely my friend, too, oppa,” she says, leaning over and hugging him. “I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hoseok rolls his eyes but can’t help smiling, too. She smells of lilies and he shifts slightly closer to her. “I get it, though. Namjoon was that way a little bit in the beginning, when he started dating his girlfriend. She didn’t live here, though, so it wasn’t as bad, but… it’s a tough change.”

“I guess. You know, I’m trying really hard to shut up that tiny paranoid voice in my brain that’s insisting that Sooah was just pretending to be my friend until she found a more worthwhile person to be with. I know it’s ridiculous,” she says quickly, rolling her eyes. “I don’t actually believe it.”

“Good. Don’t. It’s just the honeymoon period,” he says, setting his cup down and leaning back on his hands. “And if you think she’s slipping away, you’re allowed to ask her for one on one time, you know? Friends have a right to ask that of each other, within reason.”

Chaeyoung looks doubtful, but also hopeful. Her eyes are wide and doe-like and Hoseok has to repress the urge to brush his thumb against her cheekbone.

“Maybe I will.” She nods and holds his gaze for a few seconds. “So, uh…” She clears her throat. “Did you really drive across the city in the storm just to check up on me?”

Hoseok doesn’t look away. “Is that so hard to believe?”

She doesn’t answer immediately, but the pink tinge returns to her cheeks. “You didn’t have to.”

“Well, if I’d known you’d prepared this well for it, I probably wouldn’t have.” He pauses. “But I’m kind of glad I didn’t.”

This time there’s no mistaking it; she’s definitely blushing.

“In fact, uh… I was a little unsure,” he admits after a moment, looking at his feet. “I mean… maybe I’ve been imagining it, but…” He looks up at her again, searching. “Have you been avoiding me lately?”

Chaeyoung blinks. “I - of course not. Why would you think I was?”

Hoseok’s mind flits through the abrupt texts and strange excuses he’s heard over the last few weeks. “I don’t know. Just felt like maybe you were.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

“Okay.” He nods, sensing a slightly defensive tone but unable to be sure. “But… hypothetically if you were,” he ventures, “and hypothetically if it was because of something I did… I’m sorry. For whatever I did, hypothetically.”

Chaeyoung bites her lip, not quite meeting his eyes. “You didn’t do anything. Hypothetically, if I were avoiding you,” she adds. “Which I wasn’t, so…”

“Mhm.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You made a sound! You don’t believe me,” she accuses him, scowling dramatically.

“Yeah, because you’re a terrible liar. You always have been.”

She swats him on the shoulder and he mock-gasps, grinning when she huffs and stands up. “To think I gave you my debut crocheted stuffed toy. I’m going to make the next one so much cooler, believe me,” she declares, picking up the needles on the ground.

“If it has two intact eyes, at the very least. Oh, come on, that was a joke,” he implores, laughing and lightly grabbing her ankle as she starts to walk away and sits a few inches away in the centre of the mattress. “I love the bear. I am sorry I barged in on your night, though,” he adds honestly.

“Oh, don’t be. I’m happy you did,” she admits, and the pink tinge returns to her cheeks as she looks down at her lap. Hoseok’s heart skips a beat, trying to think of anything and everything else he can say that can keep those faint pink spots from disappearing.

He turns properly to face her and is about to say something, when he spots a writing pad he hadn’t noticed next to her tablet. “What’s this?”

“Oh -“ Chaeyoung reaches over and snatches it out of his grasp, hiding it behind her back.

Hoseok, still reeling, looks up in confusion. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to -“

“No, it’s fine,” she mutters, shaking her head and waving him off, apparently a little embarrassed at her reaction. “It’s just… notes. Work stuff.”

“You got that defensive over work stuff?”

She gives him a look and he thinks she’s about to respond smartly, but instead she sighs. “Okay, I’ve been dying to tell someone, I guess… I kind of want to ask my boss if I can transfer to the creative team. You know, the one that actually works on the themes and end-to-end campaigns? Well, there’s a spot open there and all those teams are under my boss…”

“But?”

“But it’s a higher designation. So I’m essentially asking for a promotion,” she finishes. Her shoulders deflate slightly. “It’s a long shot, but… God, I really think I can do well there, you know? I have the ideas, I’ve worked on a couple of projects with the creative team, too. My entire internship during college was with a team like that.”

Hoseok leans forward. “So what’s stopping you?”

She looks at him like it’s obvious. “I mean… I have to actually ask for it. It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it’s not easy,” he agrees, his voice gentler now. “But you’ll never get it if you don’t ask. Are those notes for that conversation?”

Chaeyoung nods. She visibly hesitates, but then passes the writing pad to him.

Hoseok shakes his head, though. “I don’t need to see it. But if you want, you can practice with me. I’ve had my share of experience asking for things. And getting rejected a fair few times, too.”

She looks doubtful, but she sits a little straighter. “Really?” Her brows furrow slightly. “You won’t make fun of me?”

“Never.” He gives her knee an encouraging squeeze. “Go on.”

Chaeyoung nods and sits up on her knees, resting her hips down on her heels. She holds the pad up and begins a clearly rehearsed speech, occasionally looking up at Hoseok for his reaction. He nods as she goes along, giving her his feedback only when she stops and asks for it.

It’s probably the longest conversation they’ve had in months and it’s only towards the end, as Chaeyoung gets more confident and has added another half a page worth of notes to her original set, that he realises how terribly he’s missed her.

“You’re a lot more talented than you think you are,” he remarks when she sets the writing pad to the side, looking far more at ease than before. “Any team would be lucky to have you.”

“Thanks,” she says gratefully. “I was just spiralling a bit, I guess. Especially because I was going crazy just keeping it to myself. Are you hungry?” she asks suddenly. “I managed to store just enough hot water in my thermos when the power outage warnings started.”

Marvelling at her ability to plan, far better than he or any of his friends did, he nods wordlessly. They devour a cup of instant ramen each while they chat, and then split a brownie she’d baked earlier in the day.

“Damn it, this is really good.” Hoseok takes another bite, the chocolatey goodness melting in his mouth. “You really baked this this morning?”

“I told you, I’m pretty bored these days. And my fingers started cramping after the first hour of crocheting, so I thought I needed a change,” she jokes, popping a piece into her mouth.

Hoseok chuckles and helps himself to some more, watching as she does the same. The candlelight makes her skin look like silk, throwing the softest shadows around the contours of her face. Without thinking, he reaches out and touches her cheek with the back of his hand.

Her eyes widen and he immediately yanks his hand back. “Sorry, there was, uh… cake. On your… yeah.”

“Oh.” She brushes her face a couple of times. “Did I get it?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Hoseok nods. Wanting to avoid catching her eye, he looks at the balcony doors behind her. The rain is still pouring heavily, streaks of lightning appearing in the sky, trees blowing in the wind and making it seem like a horror movie out there. Inside, it’s warm and lit and dry, just their voices and soft music in the background.

Hoseok doesn’t want to leave. He hopes she won’t ask him to; even if she denied avoiding him, he wasn’t fooled. But whatever it was that made her avoid him, she seems to have let it go for now - or she’s just too nice to ask him to go back home in the storm. Whatever it is, he’s glad. It’s never been like this before; she’s never opened up to him this much, this easily, this… readily. He feels like he’s seeing someone else - or it’s the same girl he’s always known, but it’s a side of her that hasn’t come out around him.

“Are you planning to sleep out here tonight?” he asks, patting the mattress and leaning back against the side of the sofa.

“Yeah, I was. I figured Sooah would sleep over at Jimin’s again so I’d have to literally weather the storm myself.”

She tries to play it off as a joke, but Hoseok spots the corners of her mouth turning down. “Dude, I know she’s got a boyfriend but trust me, okay? Just ask her to lunch or say it’s a girls’ night or something. She’s not going to turn you down.”

“Oh, she won’t turn me down,” agrees Chaeyoung. “But a girls’ night will just turn into a girls’ night, plus Jimin.”

“Call me the next time that happens. I’ll kick his arse.”

That makes her laugh. “I’m sorry, oppa, I can’t picture you kicking anyone’s arse. And I like Jimin,” she adds with a shrug of her shoulders. “He’s sweet, always comes with booze and his facemask application technique is out of this world. I just… don’t like being left behind,” she confesses.

Her eyes flicker towards Hoseok, lingering before looking away, and it makes him wonder if there’s more to this than she’s letting on. He’s not sure if he wants to ask, though. Her vulnerability feels too delicate to disturb; the last thing he wants to do is cause her to clam up.

“Well…” He searches for something to say. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back working sixteen hours a day again before you know it.”

Chaeyoung frowns. “Why? Didn’t you just finish touring? And I thought you said it’s the first time the company's given you a break after a tour.”

Hoseok’s heart stops for a moment. “Wow, you really do remember a lot of our conversations,” he mutters, mentally slapping himself.

“I do. So why will Jimin be back at work?”

He bites his lip. Chaeyoung looks genuinely curious; compared to the company or his members or anyone else, she seems like the only other person in the world right now.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asks, holding her gaze and waiting until she affirms it out loud. “We… the group… we’re going on a hiatus soon.”

Chaeyoung’s eyes widen. “What?” she asks in a hushed voice. “How - I mean, when? Why?”

“Soon,” he repeats, “and… it just seems like the right time. But listen, Chae - you can’t tell anyone. Okay? This is top secret stuff - even most people in the company don’t know it. Once the Hybe takeover happens and they release some more content under the new label, we’ll probably announce it. But until then, you have to keep it to yourself. No one at work, not Sooah - nobody finds out.”

“I - of course I promise,” she says quickly, looping her little finger around his when he holds it out. “But what do you mean it’s the right time?”

“I mean… we don’t want to do it exactly,” he admits. “We kind of have to, if we want to grow as artists at all. We’re getting pushed into a mould and it’s just not working anymore. Plus we’ll have to start enlisting soon…” His stomach jolts weakly. “We all have so much we want to do. Yoongi wants to tour, Namjoon wants a series of collaborations with artists half of us haven’t heard of, Taehyung wants to have fun, whatever that means,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Jungkook -”

“And what do you want?” Chaeyoung asks, interrupting him.

Hoseok doesn’t answer immediately. The answer has been noodling around in his mind for years now; first as a pipedream, then as a personal goal, and more recently, as a scary but real possibility if things worked out right. Now, it’s at the tip of his tongue, ready to be said out loud for the first time ever.

“Okay,” he says hesitantly. “Just… don’t laugh, okay?”

“What?” She scoffs. “Hobi, I just roleplayed a scenario with you where I asked for a promotion at work. Of course I won’t laugh.”

He nods. “I want to headline a music festival,” he says. “Like Coachella or something. I fucking love concerts,” he confesses, feeling his chest expand at the realisation that he’s finally saying it. “I love the preparation, the rehearsals, the costumes, the high on stage, the audience singing along. I’ve done tons of them with the group but I want to do one myself. Just to see what it would be like.” Just to see if I can.

Chaeyoung is starting to smile, and it makes Hoseok nervous. “Maybe it’s stupid,” he says hurriedly. “It’s stupid - just forget I said anything at all. It’s just a -”

“Oppa.” She interrupts him again, this time accompanied by a light slap on the shoulder. “If you score me a ticket to this festival, I’ll scrounge up enough cash to fly out there myself and watch you,” she says. “It’s not stupid.”

Hoseok regards her suspiciously. “It’s not stupid?” he asks, uncertain.

“It’s not,” she confirms. “In fact,” she continues, getting on her knees and leaning across from him to reach for her glass of water, “it sounds pretty on brand for you.”

“That’s - no, come on,” he stutters, feeling his face turn hot - and suddenly aware that he isn’t wearing anything under his joggers.

“I’m serious. I know you probably didn’t think you’d actually find success with BTS at first, but believe me - where you are now is exactly how I pictured you’d end up when you left Gwangju.”

He considers this. It had been a big decision, especially for his parents to balance their anxiety and desire to support him. His sister had given him some rare, sisterly advice at a time when she’d started building her own life, Chanyeol had called their classmates over for a farewell party, while young Chaeyoung had been a extra in his life - part of the extended family circle, but only by her association to the Kang family.

Confessing his secret lifelong dream to her hadn’t been on Hoseok’s bingo card. But there’s no one he trusts more at the moment, and possibly very few others he would drive through a storm for.

“Just let me know which festival and when,” she says after a moment, tone slightly teasing. “I’ll crochet a new, two-eyed bear for you.”

He nods. “That’s a long time to be crocheting. How did you get into it, anyway?”

Chaeyoung shrugs, not meeting his eyes. “It was a gift from… from my stepmom.”

Hoseok doesn’t respond immediately. She looks up at him, and he leans forward and kisses her. The rain is just in the background now, like the candles, the music - everything except Chaeyoung.

Her hair smells sweet and her lips are soft; it’s exactly how he’d imagined it would be. The last time they had kissed had been over in a flash, too quick for him to appreciate every single physical aspect of it. He had been too consumed by the fact that it had happened at all, but it’s so fitting right now, as though every single thing that happened today was leading to this moment right here.

Chaeyoung kisses him back; if his hunch is correct, if the racing in his stomach is indicative of anything, it’s that she probably wants this as much as he does. He feels her fingers in his hair and her nails light against his scalp; he moves his hand from her face down her arm and reaches for her hand. He feels her move; a moment later, she’s climbing onto his lap.

Hoseok is afraid for a moment that she will feel just how much he’s wanted this and how long he’s wanted this but before he can think it through, he has her in his arms and the thought leaves his mind instantly, along with every other thought. His hands are at her hips and he’s so aware that it’s Chaeyoung, young and lifelong family friend Chaeyoung, that he stops them from moving any lower. It’s difficult, though; he tugs at the ends of her t-shirt and it’s harder to resist it this time. He moves his hands under the cloth, feeling the waistband of her shorts, her slender waist and the light indents of her ribs.

“Chae,” he murmurs against her lips, somewhere hearing her name sound on his tongue like it never has before. She hums in response but doesn’t move away. “Are you… are you a virgin?”

There’s a pause and Hoseok freezes, terrified he’s ruined the mood. Then she snorts and shakes her head. “No, Hoseok, I’m not.” She pulls away slightly and slips off her t-shirt, revealing a faded grey sports bra with thin straps disappearing over her shoulders in an X. “Don’t worry,” she assures him, tilting her head and kissing him again.

He doesn’t stop her; he can’t imagine ever wanting to. There’s a lot more skin now, soft and smooth; his lips glide over sections of it, the side of her neck, her collarbones, the base of her throat. Somewhere during it he gets his t-shirt out of the way and feels himself pulsate in his tracks and knows there’s no ignoring it longer, especially now that he thinks he knows where this is going.

“Chae.” Reluctantly, he pulls away again. At the sight of her swollen lips, flushed face and particularly her somewhat exasperated expression, he almost forgets what he was going to say. “Listen, I… this is…”

“Do you want to stop?” Her voice is even, but there’s a hint of disappointment he doesn’t miss.

“No,” he says immediately. “The… opposite. I just think I need to tell you…” He swallows, finding it hard to think straight amidst her raised eyebrows and her hand absently resting on his chest. “Um, so when this happens, when I - when I do… something like this… I tend to get kind of… carried away.” He swallows and waits for her to react, painfully conscious of her warm crotch against his, the hem of her shorts having ridden up all the way.

It seems to take Chaeyoung a few seconds to work out what he means. “Carried away?” she repeats. When he nods, she bites her lip and for the first time in a long time, he thinks he spots a hint of shyness. She bites her lip and her cheeks redden slightly, but she nods, tossing her tousled hair back and wrapping her arms around his neck. “Gotcha,” she mutters, and this time he kisses her.

The last time Hoseok had hooked up with a girl was almost a year ago. He’d been recording a song in Los Angeles and met her at a party and despite the fact that they didn’t have much to talk about, they’d carried on a casual fling for the three days that he’d been there, during which time she had remarked with some admiration that he had “the stamina and determination of an athlete”.

She hadn’t been the only girl to say this to him in his life, and Hoseok had gathered that this was just something he brought to the bedroom and probably didn’t need to apologise for it. He wouldn’t have actively warned anyone else, but Chaeyoung didn’t feel like just anyone. She knows now, though, and despite the fact that he would’ve thought she’d be the last person to ever know this about him, finally telling her, seeing her blush at his admission and her clear desire to keep going, lets loose what he’s been suppressing around her for a while now.

Deciding that Jimin would probably not want these track pants back, Hoseok pulls her closer to him before leaning forward and easing her onto her back. Her head hits the pillow and she looks momentarily surprised at the impact but Hoseok kisses her again and she responds instantly. She sighs against his mouth and he hardens, feeling it against the inside of her thigh, where she bends her leg at the knee and pushes her hips up to meet his.

One hand stays on the mattress to support him and the other runs down her body, past her waist and around her hips to stop between her legs. She’s warm through her shorts; the thought of what’s in there makes his cock throb and he palms her and squeezes. Her surprised moan fills the room and he pulls away from her mouth abruptly, reaching up to take off her shorts. The mismatched black panties make his erection even more apparent and he drops down to her body, kissing her sternum, her willowy ribcage, the smooth skin of her abdomen down to the elastic of her underwear where, without hesitation, he slips it down her legs.

Hoseok glances up at her from between her legs, just in case he’s misreading anything, but the sight of her arched back, her closed eyes and long hair splayed on the white pillow wipe any and all doubts from his mind.

Chaeyoung tastes incredible. Hoseok takes his time going down on her, starting with his lips on her thighs, exploring every single fold with his tongue before reaching her clit. It dulls his senses and heightens his desire at the same time, reeling him in as he holds her legs open, devouring her and welcoming the taste, the only other sensations being her fingers in his hair and her sweet, sweet voice moaning his name.

He knows when she’s about to cum; he pulls his hips to her face, hearing her gasp in between the sounds that are reaching higher and higher in pitch and frequency. She clutches at his hair just as she climaxes, her warm wetness filling his mouth and her legs trembling slightly as he sets them down. He sits up slowly, wiping his mouth with one hand while the other absently strokes her thigh, watching as her chest rises and falls in the aftermath of her orgasm, the orgasm he just gave her, and feels his heart jolt.

Hoseok crawls to her side to lie beside her, using his elbow for support and resting his head on his palm as he waits, patiently, for her to open her eyes. When she finally does, they’re slightly unfocused as they find him. He says nothing, but simply brushes her bangs out of her eyes.

“Wow,” she says softly. “I’m really glad I left my power bank on the bus.”

Hoseok chuckles and a moment later, both of them laugh.

—

It’s very nearly dawn - probably.

The sky is dark outside and the sound of the rain outside is calming. The city is sprawled underneath them and the moon is the only source of light in their hotel room, the massive windows illuminating the bed, the rumpled sheets and Kaya’s naked body straddling his.

In the three years or so they’ve been together, their intimacy has never been a source of conflict or stress. It’s only ever been the opposite; whether it was distance or work or disagreements, the thought of her skin on his and her mouth on his body reduced triggered the most primal form of attraction, despite the cerebral aspect of their relationship he prided himself on so much.

Sometimes she is under him: he loves the sight of her underneath his body, encased and safe, for his view only as he thrusts into her. Sometimes her back is to him and he pulls her in, feeling sensations and strength as their hips meet with force; sometimes it is against a wall or a table and she wraps her legs around his waist as they struggle to stay quiet, only their silent gasps mingling as he fucks her into a wall.

But nothing - nothing - compares to when she rides him.

He doesn’t know what it is - maybe it’s the visual of her entire body up there on display for him, her long hair falling down one shoulder as she rolls her hips into his, eyes closed and neck tilted up. Maybe it’s the way her back arches when she hits a sweet spot, and her head falls back as she moans, or maybe it’s the sight of her taking charge, speeding up and slowing down as she wishes, edging him until he’s compelled to grab her hips and take matters into his own hands.

They shouldn’t have maintained any hopes of getting any sleep tonight, not in the last precious hours of their trip before the morning arrives and after three amazing weeks, they have to part again. Even though they’d fallen asleep for a bit, it hadn’t been long before he’d been awoken by her tugging at his arm, waking him up to make love on their last night together, just as they’d done throughout the holiday.

Namjoon had lost count of the number of times they’d had sex by the third day of their trip. It had been impossible to stay away, to keep his hands off her, to resist her advances even if they appeared in semi-public. Throughout the trip - and possibly their entire relationship - those urgent sex sessions that began with filthy words and roaming hands in public and culminated in desperate and earth-shattering sex in private, dominated.

She’s so beautiful. His eyes roam her naked body, committing it to memory until the next time they see each other, knowing it’s what will keep him going until they do. He moves one of his hands up her waist and to her chest, stopping underneath her breast before lightly brushing her nipple with his thumb. She bites her lip and moans softly, when a buzzing sound interrupts them.

Her frown deepens and the erotic sounds change as she groans in annoyance. Namjoon clicks his tongue and turns to look at his phone on the bedside table; the screen lights up and Hoseok’s name flashes on the incoming call. He reaches over and declines the call, just as he’d done the last time Hoseok had called five minutes ago.

The call ends and Namjoon catches a glimpse of a trail of messages left by his friend, none of them particularly coherent, but Namjoon can’t begin to decipher them right now. In the last six hours, every single one of his members had called him at least once, all coincidentally during moments when he couldn’t or didn’t want to answer. They’d tried to leave him alone for most of the trip but apparently, they couldn’t keep it going for long.

A movement distracts him and he looks up to see Kaya sweeping her hair off her neck, her skin sweaty and glowing. All thoughts of his members clean out of his mind, he sits up and wraps his arm around her waist to flip them over.

—

The rain is deafening as Nari stares at him in silence. Seokjin’s eyes fall again to the papers in her hand and the thick socks on her feet, hoping she will respond soon.

“Seokjin,” she says slowly, “it’s not my birthday. My birthday is in -”

“May, I know.” His heart stutters slightly as he realises for the first time that coming here might have been somewhat stupid. “But we weren’t exactly on the best terms in May and I was on tour anyway… so today is kind of the next best thing.”

Nari frowns for a moment before it dawns on her. Her forehead clears and she starts to smile, pursing her lips in amusement. “Of course it is,” she agrees, nodding.

Massively relieved, Seokjin smiles back. “I’ll rephrase: happy half-birthday, Nari.”

She laughs. “Thanks. You did wish me over text, so it’s not like you forgot.”

“No, but an in-person wish is the bare minimum. I tried my best to make it here before midnight but the streets are fairly empty. I thought they’d be jammed all the way to Hongdae.”

“Yeah. Wait - you drove in this?” Her eyes widen and she glances at the window behind him. “Are you kidding? Is that why you’re wet?”

“Kinda - I had to run from my car to your building because there’s a pothole open right… there,” he answers, opening the window wider and pointing to where he’d left his car. Nari comes up next to him to look at it, resting her hand with the papers on the wall.

Unfortunately at that exact moment, a strong gust of wind blows through the street, making them flinch away and cover their faces, and a few of the sheets in her hand fly out of the window.

“No!” Nari shouts in panic, reaching for them as though hoping they will fly back to her.

“Shit, that was - wait, what the hell are you doing?” Seokjin watches in confusion as she darts back into her apartment and out of it in a second, her feet in slippers, and dashes down the corridor. “Nari!” He hurries after her as she runs down the stairs and out into the street, splashing in the direction of the papers.

“No, no, no…” She shakes her head and looks around wildly, wiping her wet hair off her face. She whips around to face him, blinking through the rain. “Help me look for them!” she yells.

“What are you talking about? Nari, they’re gone!” Seokjin yells back, still at the doorway of the building. When she doesn’t respond, however, stepping further into the puddles, he runs out after her. “Nari, you’re going to fall sick!” he says loudly over the rain as he reaches her, grabbing her arm and trying to tug her back.

“I can’t! Those were my notes from a medical seminar about a groundbreaking clinical trial!” she cries, still looking around. “I need them for my application to be a part of the research - and now they’re gone!” To his surprise, she turns around and hits him on the shoulder.

“Ow! Just print out another copy!” he yells back, rubbing his shoulder.

“They’re handwritten, you idiot!”

“What? You wrote notes in this day and age?” He asks incredulously. “What happened to the Macbook I got you for Christmas two years ago?”

“You know that typing distracts me while I take notes,” she reminds him, glaring as her wet hair sticks to her face. “What am I going to do?”

“What about your friends? Can’t you borrow their notes?”

“I - mine were colour coded with different highlighters!” she argues, but she takes a step back. “But… yeah, I guess I could. Damn it, Kimbap!” She slaps him on the arm again, but it’s lighter this time.

“Hey!” He reaches over and shoves her shoulder. “It’s not my fault!”

“Of course it is!” she retorts, shoving him back.

“I came here to wish you a happy half-birthday because I missed your real one,” he points out, the rain starting to blur his vision. “And you gave me a lot of grief for it in middle school, in case you don’t remember.”

“I - that was - that was so different,” she stutters, before her shoulders fall. “But kind of accurate,” she mutters.

Seokjin scoffs, placing his hands on his hips. “You really thought you were going to find your notes floating around in the sky? The ink must be smudged beyond comprehension!”

“Don’t remind me,” she groans. “I worked really hard on that. And now we’re probably going to get hypothermia!”

He shrugs uncertainly, looking around the deserted street, the branches of the trees swaying and rivulets of water flowing down the street. Clearly there were kids playing on the street before the real downpour began, for a football, a couple of tennis balls, and a pair of what look like water guns have been abandoned on the pavement in front of the building.

“Didn’t you have one of those?” he asks, pointing to the guns.

Nari turns and her annoyed expression instantly fades. “Oh, yeah,” she says, chuckling. “I got it right after Eunbi’s birthday party where her parents took us all out to that water park. And, no, I didn’t forget,” she adds quickly, holding her hand up to him, “that you’re the one who got it for me.”

Seokjin nods in satisfaction. “I did - I had to save up for, like, four months for that. Was it your fifteenth?”

“Fourteenth.” She eyes the guns before looking back up at him. “We’re both thinking the same thing, right?”

“If we aren’t, then one of us is an imposter.”

She laughs and they sprint for the guns at the same time, grabbing one each and immediately filling it with water from the puddles on the road. Seokjin reaches them first but waits for Nari to shoot him first, feeling it hit his shoulder as she cackles, and proceeding to return the favour. It’s a complete one-eighty from when they’d run out of the building five minutes ago, in a state of confusion and disarray, only to be using water guns for the first time in over a decade while the city of Seoul drowns in the rain.

“Ugh - that one was right in the face, Nari!” He shouts after a bit, wiping his eyes as she hoots in the background. “That’s not fair!”

“I have better aim than you - just accept it, Kimbap,” she crows, coming over and peering at him from a distance. “You’re fine. Now come on!”

“I think you just blinded me, you ghoul,” he accuses her, blinking rapidly. When she comes closer, frowning slightly, he raises his gun and shoots her right on the college logo in the middle of her sweatshirt.

Nari gasps. “That’s - I’m going to get you for that, I swear to God!” They resume play, splashing through the puddles and laughing whenever they get in a good shot, until she aims at him and pulls the trigger, only for nothing to come out.

“Oh, shit - okay, hold it! I’ve been compromised!” she declares, checking her gun frantically as Seokjin narrows his eyes, wondering if it’s a tactic.

She looks up, panting slightly. “Okay, I think I may have broken some kid’s water gun.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes!” She nods, jogging over to the pavement and dropping the gun where they found it. “Shit! I’m going to have to buy this kid another one, aren’t I?”

“I - probably!” Seokjin joins her and places his gun neatly next to it. “I don’t know. Do you even know whose it is?”

“Not really.” She swallows and looks up at him, wiping her hair out of her eyes again. “Or… I don’t know - who leaves their shit outside like this instead of taking it home? Anything could have happened to it!”

“You’re right,” he says. “Anything could have happened to it!”

She raises her eyebrows at his tone, which he returns with an incorrect shrug. A smile spreads across her face and she shakes her head. “I guess that’s true!”

Seokjin winks at her conspiratorially and she laughs, raising her hand. She presumably intends it to be a high-five and he obliges, but somewhere along the way, in the rain and wet sweatshirts and water ricocheting off every surface, they reach for each other and meet in a kiss.

Something explodes in Seokjin’s stomach and the aftershocks continue even after it’s gone. It’s a new sensation, with the water and the cold and the entirely unexpected nature of how it occurred, but before he can wrap his head around it, she pulls away.

The rain pours around them, a ridiculous secret about water guns in the middle, but now that the guns are gone and so are her notes and it’s just them remaining, the cracks start to form.

“Shit,” she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut and dropping her head.

Seokjin doesn’t saything, the bursts in his stomach now dwindling away to form a knot that feels uncomfortably like guilt. “I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely, taking a step back but she shakes her head.

“It’s not right,” she states, her voice trembling slightly. “You have a girlfriend and I have… it’s not right,” she repeats, swallowing and looking up at him, seemingly with some effort.

There’s nothing more to say. Seokjin feels a dangerous lump in his throat, the impending complications looming before him. “I’m going to go,” he says, turning around and feeling defeated.

“Seokjin.” Nari tugs at his sleeve. “Just… hypothermia.”

“Come again?”

“You’ll get hypothermia.” Nari opens her mouth to say something else but then closes it. A moment later, she gestures to the building. “You need to towel dry your hair, and drink something warm. And… at least put on a dry hoodie before you leave.”

He’s about to decline; he wants to get out of here, suddenly be as far away from here as possible before his mind goes into overdrive. But his fingers are frozen - he may not even be able to grip the steering wheel properly. Plus… Nari is asking. She’s really asking, meaning what she says and after a moment, Seokjin nods.

Apparently convinced that he’s listening to her, she beckons to him and they walk back into the building together.

—

Yoongi can’t believe how this night is turning out. He’d pictured it so differently: prepping for the meeting in the morning, calming his nerves during the drive from Seoul to Incheon, finishing the meeting and hopefully securing the investment he needed, having the rest of the evening to himself.

Most of all, for once, he and Miso would get a few hours outside of the office and away from the Seoul elite. Her father is abroad for work and it shows; she’s far less on edge and the fact that Seungkwan hasn’t paraglided onto the doorstep of their motel room to whisk her back to her prison is proof of that.

Taking her on a date seemed like an alien concept, in those words, at least. He didn’t know if that was actually something he wanted and he definitely couldn’t imagine her ever agreeing to one either. But he reckoned that even just a day away, seeing her with her guard down, actually spending time with her, hooking up in his car before he dropped her seemed like something to look forward to.

That’s what he reckoned.

“What is wrong with you that you can’t see how fucked up it is that you don’t care what the outcome of your behavior is?” he demands, standing by the edge of the bed, next to the bathroom door.

“My behaviour? You know what - I’m sorry, Yoongi,” she snaps. She’s at the other end of the tiny room by the window, the curtains blow in the wind entering through the cracks, brushing her arm. “I’m so sorry that I ruined your precious meeting that no one senior from the company couldn’t even be bothered to make it.”

“It’s for my tour!” he bursts, livid now - and frustrated, because while he’s admitted why it matters so much to him, it’s a coin toss to see whether she will care. “I’m going on tour next year so yeah, I’m the one that needs to secure the investment!”

“If you’re going on tour, you’re still doing it for the company!” Miso points out with irritating condescension. “You’ll be making them money and losing sleep and working yourself to death - and they couldn’t be bothered to have someone from management come with you?”

“I chose you,” he says bitterly, shaking his head and turning away. “The board suggested it and I pushed for it. And now I’m starting to regret it.”

“Why wouldn’t you? Just a proof of concept, right?” she sneers, although it lacks its usual bite. She folds her arms. “All I had to do was sit there and shut up and let my last name do all the work. No wonder you chose me.”

Yoongi sinks onto the chair next to him and drops his head into his hands, tired. There’s no explaining this to her; it’s too complicated. He would have to reveal things he’s barely acknowledged himself, only for her to get defensive and throw it back at him.

He struggles but forces himself to recall how she’d switched teams and taken her name off a record for him, ages ago. Where is she, though? Her disdain for the company and its dependence on her father’s money is expected, but he can’t fathom why she wouldn’t care that she’s sabotaged his future, too.

“You’re not a proof of concept,” he says hoarsely, trying again. “I shouldn’t have said you were.” He looks up at her hopefully, only to see her face still and stony. “And I get it - I get that you thought you were trying to defend me, but -“ He shakes his head. “God, Miso, all he did was act aloof and say that rap doesn’t sound like real music to him - which a lot of people think,” he adds quickly. “I don’t agree but who cares what he thinks? You insulted him and his business to his face and just be honest, alright? You did that because you knew he couldn’t touch you, because he knows who your father is.”

A dark shadow passes across her face. “I promise you, my father is not who I was thinking of at that moment,” she says coldly.

“No, but you were able to say all that because you knew you’d get away with it,” he presses. “You’ve never had to face a single consequence in your life so you just -“

“Fuck me - you don’t think I’ve face consequences?” she interrupts furiously. “You wouldn’t last one fucking week in my life, Min Yoongi,” she spits, pointing a finger at him. “You and your self-righteous bullshit would be crushed under my father’s shoe, believe me.”

“But you’re still there, aren’t you?” Yoongi retorts, standing up and shrugging. “If you’re facing all these consequences then why aren’t you - God, Miso, why don’t you just leave?” he asks, and his voice cracks on the last word.

He knows she’s heard it, too, because she doesn’t respond immediately. He retreats; it’s a thought he’s managed not to say out loud to her so far, despite wondering about it constantly, because there’s no telling how much he would be prying. Going to find out now, I suppose, he thinks grimly.

“That’s - it’s complicated,” she mutters, turning away from him.

“What is complicated?”

“It’s not as easy as just packing up and leaving,” she snaps. “There’s a lot more in the picture.”

“What are you talking about? You’re twenty-nine - most people your age are living alone,” he points out, frowning incredulously. “You must have savings, don’t you? Just - just find an apartment and leave. Or - or you can stay with me until you find something, but at least try -”

Yoongi breaks off when she takes a deep breath and exhales loudly, suddenly feeling like a child explaining things to an adult. It makes him fume.

“You know,” he starts again, then pauses. “You keep talking about how terrible your life is. Your shiny, perfect life on the outside but behind that, with your narcissistic parents and stalker of a driver who follows you everywhere. But you have to get out of it yourself, Miso. You can take help where you need it but you’re the one who’s going to have to take the first step.”

She scoffs. “Why? Because there are no handouts in the real world?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately. “You’re clearly unhappy but… why are you still there? In your father’s house, under his thumb? Is it because you’re scared? Because… I don’t know, you think the heir to the Kang empire can’t leave or something?”

Miso’s stance doesn’t change but there’s a flicker in her eyes. Her face relaxes minutely and she exhales again, but this time it isn’t impatience. Yoongi can’t be completely sure, but he thinks it might be relief.

“Oh, my God.” The words come out without thinking. “I’m right? You’re not leaving because you’re the heir to his fortune?” As he says it, Yoongi knows he is right. Her father’s words from the dinner come back to his mind, as does her evasiveness when he’d questioned her about it in his studio.

Something contracts in his ribcage; the air isn’t reaching his lungs fast enough or his lungs aren’t accepting it or… he closes his eyes and takes a deep, deep breath, feeling his stomach slowly start to loosen, just enough to keep him standing up.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” he asks, watching how she doesn’t seem caught or surprised. “You’re the heir to his… what did he call it? His legacy? His fortune?”

Miso doesn’t answer immediately, but her eyes shutter over a bit. “I deserve it, don’t you think?” she asks quietly. “After everything he’s put me through?”

“Really? So you’ve been taking his bullshit all these years because you know you’ll get Kang Industries at the end of it? That’s what your freedom is worth?”

“Two hundred billion dollars?” She shrugs, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’ll take it.”

Yoongi sighs shakily; somewhere, he knows he hasn’t processed this fully, that it will hit him in full force later, what it really means. But for now, he just wants to know.

“Are you serious? After everything you’ve told me about him, every time you’ve looked so scared of him - all of that is worth it because he’s going to give you his company when he retires in twenty years?” He’s bewildered, angry, disappointed. “And you’re just going to keep taking it?”

“He doesn’t have any other children,” she says. “He has no choice. One day, he’s going to have to look me in the eye, sign over his company to me and know that his life’s work is in my hands.”

“Two hundred billion dollars,” he repeats.

“Sounds like a fair deal.” She scoffs again, but there’s no force behind it. “But I’m sure you think it’s money-hungry or egotistical for me to think that.”

“No,” he says. “I think it’s sad.”

She licks her lips and swallows. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” she whispers, but her voice trembles. “I’m making the best of my situation, something you will never understand.”

And Yoongi explodes.

“You think I don’t know what making the best of a situation feels like? Are you serious?” he shouts. “I delivered food to people to pay rent! I couldn’t afford the bus, or dinner! I made music using a second hand laptop and knocked on the doors of producers before getting the Big hit audition - an audition!” He glares, panting slightly. “I had to audition for the opportunity to make something of myself - not be born into two hundred million!”

“Are we back to this again? I grew up with money and you didn’t so that makes you a more morally superior person somehow?” she demands.

“No, but it makes you a hypocrite!” he retorts. “All this time, I thought you were different but you’re just like them! You’re a regular old chaebol who’s selling out for the money - except you’re selling away your entire life for it! Can’t you see how fucked up that is?”

“For two hundred billion? You’re right - I am a chaebol,” she states, her cheeks flushing now. “I was born into it and I can’t do anything about it. But that’s how it is, okay? Every single time my father has treated me or my mother or anybody else like crap, it’s been for his company. For his money. And one day, I’m going to be in charge of it.”

“But what about your life? Fucking hell!” Yoongi kicks the edge of the bed in frustration, noting how she flinches very slightly. “Your father’s money, your money - there’s a world outside money, Miso! There’s family, there’s friends and loyalty and - and passion and love - and so much else!”

Miso frowns incredulously, then gives a harsh, derisive laugh. “Family? Friends, love… what - what the hell are you talking about? You sound like a children’s book, Yoongi,” she accuses, scoffing. “My father added a bonus to my trust fund every time I got a good grade - that’s the extent to which we’ve been a family.” She shakes her head but a flash of lightning lights up her face for a moment and even through her glasses, Yoongi is startled to see her eyes wet.

“I get it, but -”

“No, you don’t! Where the hell do you get off acting so high and mighty, huh?” she argues. “You’ve spent this whole evening bitching at me because you didn’t get an investment for your little tour! Isn’t that about money, too?”

“That’s different! That’s for my job, that’s for - it - “ He struggles to articulate it, realising he never thought he would have to. “It’s not a fucking coping mechanism, Miso! Because that’s what you’re doing - you’re using this heir thing to cope with your family’s bullshit!” he points out. “You’ve never even mentioned this to me in two years!”

“Yeah, telling you I’m the heir to my father’s company would’ve worked out great for our relationship,” she snarls, rolling her eyes. “You could’ve added chaebol to the nepo kid crap you kept giving me.”

“Don’t turn this on me,” he says dismissively. “The only time I’ve ever seen you care about anything has been music, when you’re stuck in the studio for hours and hours, eating cold takeout and Diet Coke! You don’t care about the company - that’s just what you’re telling yourself. What - do you go to sleep screaming two hundred billion two hundred billion into your pillow every night?”

“Watch yourself, Min Suga,” she snarls, her eyes flashing.

But Yoongi is too far gone right now. Everything seems unfamiliar and his only defense is offense. “You’re putting up with all this crap - you’re giving up your whole life just so you can inherit your father’s billions! At this rate, you’re probably going to turn out just like him!”

In a flash of a movement, the cordless phone hits the wall next to him and crashes to the ground at his feet.

“Get out.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. He turns around and wrenches the door open, stepping out and slamming it shut behind him. He needs air - fresh, rainy air and space to breathe. It’s still raining, albeit not as heavily as before, so Yoongi makes his way under the roofed area to the end of the corridor and lights a cigarette, wondering if he should just drive back to Incheon.

The thought disappears as soon as it enters his mind. He smokes in silence, his heart heavy and disappointed, but most of all angry at how he’d never considered this possibility at all.

Or had he? Yoongi struggles to remember. Hadn’t he always had some amount of contempt for her and what she represented? Where had it changed? Was it when he’d started seeing her as a victim of her situation, too - and if had, had he been completely wrong about all of it?

Not all of it, a voice reasons in his mind. Yoongi remembers the bruises on her wrist, her agitation the entire day leading up to the dinner at her house. She hadn’t been faking that. She’d seemed like a cornered animal just now but the brand new realisation he’d made made her seem like a completely different person. Yoongi doesn’t want to think about why that hurts so much that he can’t breathe.

“Uh… sir?”

Yoongi turns tiredly to see the receptionist back at her desk, a dim lamp lighting the small area up. The brilliant green of her earrings match the lone fake plant at the end of the desk.

“You’re not allowed to smoke here.” She points to a sign on the wall.

He pauses but doesn’t get rid of the cigarette immediately. “Why not?” he asks, hearing the defeated, almost-whine in his own voice. “There’s no one here and we’re outdoors…” He doesn’t have the energy to argue further, simply waving his hands to indicate the rest.

The receptionist evidently doesn’t have an answer to this; if anything, she looks just as tired to care. Her eyes fall to the cigarette in his hand, her right hand twitches, and she looks away.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows and fishes the pack out of his pocket. “Would you like one?”

Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth to answer, before abruptly looking around, presumably to see if anyone else is there. She steps out from behind her desk and hesitantly picks out a cigarette, lowering her head in thanks, and taking the lighter he offers.

“Do you live around here?” he asks after a minute, since she continues smoking next to him. He looks around as well at the rain, wondering how anyone is supposed to get the hell out of here.

“I live in Seoul,” she answers. “But I’m working the night shift tonight and also it’s raining…” She trails off.

“You come here every day from Seoul?”

“Yes, there’s a bus.” She pauses. “I like Incheon more but my siblings go to school in Seoul and… well, I heard there are better schools in Seoul.”

He nods, not actually knowing whether that’s true. “Are you from Incheon? Because you don’t sound like it,” he adds, having recognised an accent in some of her words.

“Oh… no. I’m from Daegu, actually.”

She sounds almost ashamed of it, until Yoongi says, “Yeah? So am I.”

Something changes in her face and she smiles a bit, still looking exhausted. “Good to know,” she says, her accent suddenly changing completely to a Daegu one. “My parents still live there. Do you go back home often?” she asks.

“Not as often as I’d like.” He looks up when she tosses the butt of her cigarette on the ground and kicks it off the elevated corridor. When he offers her another, she shakes her head.

“No, thank you.” She gives him a small smile again, the green of her earrings catching a flash of lightning. “Thank you for the smoke. Good night.” As abruptly as she’d appeared, she turns around and disappears into a small room behind the desk labelled “Staff”.

Yoongi lights another one and takes a long drag. It occurs to him suddenly that he should’ve asked for the receptionist’s name, the one from Daegu who’s working a night shift before returning to Seoul in the morning, to the younger siblings she’s clearly the guardian for.

There’s more than a little that’s familiar there. It makes no sense, he reflects with some chagrin, how he’s now found himself so deep in the water with the most unfamiliar of people, a chaebol he met at his work because of a nepotistic hire. His people were like the receptionist, hard workers from the provinces who came to the capital and worked to the bone, doing what they could to take care of their families.

Miso wasn’t his people. He hadn’t ever assumed she was, but this chasm between them, vast and of unfathomable depth, had never seemed this large.

He eventually finishes his cigarette, followed by a third, before he deems it time to go back to the room. He doesn’t want to argue with Miso anymore - he truthfully doesn’t think he can. But it’s late and he’s tired and the small burning hope of a temporary reconciliation fuels his legs to move.

He opens the door quietly. “Miso?” he murmurs, stepping in to see the room dark. The only light is a dim one by the door, just enough for him to see Miso on the bed, right at the edge, curled up and asleep. He doesn’t move for a few moments, wondering how long she’s been asleep or if she even really is.

But she doesn’t move either and finally, Yoongi slips out of his shoes and steps into the room, turning off the light on his way. Only a sliver of moonlight giving him any visual aid at all, he reaches the bed. It’s small, but she’s taken only about a quarter of it.

He reaches over and gently slips off her glasses, folding them and placing them over her body on her bedside table. Then he slips under the covers on his side and closes his eyes, hoping to get some sleep.

—

Dilara wakes up to a blue sky and an empty hotel room, in a bed that’s too big for her, and extremely, extremely frustrated.

She has to be out on the track in a few hours, in the cold winds of Austin, Texas in November. But for now she’s in a warm bed under cozy covers, keenly aware that she isn’t wearing pajamas.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why during this weekend in particular it’s so hard to ignore the fact that she’s alone, without Taehyung. It is, technically, around the time of their anniversary and this very hotel is where they’d officially become a couple two years ago.

She’d started feeling sentimental about it a few days ago and she knew he had, too. It was generally a romantic time and had they been in the same city, they would’ve made the best of it. Unfortunately, she has a race and he has some meeting at the company headquarters tomorrow that he can’t miss, and their anniversary weekend is pushed by another week.

There is something exciting about the distance and longing, too. A couple of days ago, she’d been texting Taehyung while he’d been at lunch with his friends, the messages getting progressively more explicit. He’d told her to cut it out but had also accompanied it with a subtle picture of his denim-covered crotch and his hand in the frame, clearly taken under a table.

The entire experience, including when he’d abruptly stopped responding for about ten minutes, had been so hot and so incredibly arousing, that Dilara had been waiting for another opportunity for another remote quickie.

She rolls over and picks up her phone, scrolling to their chat.

Dilara [08:10] Hey you

Tae [08:10] Hey beautifulJust woke up?

Dilara [08:11] Mhm. Had a really nice dream.

Tae [08:11] Oh yeah? Was I in it?

Dilara [08:11]Oh you definitely came in it

Tae [08:13] What are you wearing?

Dilara [08:13] Just underwearBut I’ll probably take it off soonI woke up with it really wet

Tae [08:14] Come on Zoom right now

Feeling her heart toss and her abdomen clench, she reaches over for her tablet on the side table and flips it open. Scrambling out of the blanket, she piles a couple of cushy pillows in front of her and places the tablet on it, balancing it neatly on the cover. She opens the Zoom app and checks the view on the preview screen, to see herself leaning against the remaining pillow, her face and entire body visible at the perfect angle.

Satisfied, she enters the meeting. Taehyung is already on the screen, his long black hair falling casually into his eyes, looking freshly washed and on their way to drying. He looks up and there’s a momentary smile that flickers across his face, interrupting the tension-filled atmosphere. It disappears quickly, though, and she sees him lean back and tilt his chin up.

He’s in his bedroom on the floor, sitting against his closet door with his laptop presumably on the bed, also positioned perfectly so she can see him perched nonchalantly, relaxed and in the forefront, only his bedroom door and a corner of his bedside table in the frame.

“You told me you were just wearing your underwear,” he notes.

Dilara nods, silently taking off her t-shirt, leaving almost all of herself completely exposed. It’s working already; she rubs her legs together in anticipation, wishing he were here in person to put her out of her misery.

“Good.” Taehyung is silent for a few moments, his gaze burning into her even through the screen. He palms his crotch, almost absently, and then flicks his head once. “Show me where it’s wet.”

Licking her lips, she bends her legs at the knees and spreads them, moving her hand down between them and pressing her fingers to her core. “Right there,” she confirms softly, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes.

“Does that feel good?” His voice is low, deep and raspy. When she nods, he leans forward. “Do it again. And don’t stop.”

Dilara obliges, resting her head back on the pillow and rubbing herself through her underwear, her back arching slightly and her other hand twitching. Fortunately, he takes his cue.

“Squeeze your boobs for me,” he murmurs, sighing quietly when she obeys. “Flick your tits - like that, exactly. Play with your nipples.”

This was exactly what she needed; feeling his eyes on her, his voice commanding her and every single nerve ending alert and awake. “I’m really fucking wet, Tae,” she groans, opening her eyes to glance briefly at him.

“Take it off, then. Show me that beautiful pussy.” She can hear his sharp intake of breath when she slips her underwear down her legs and spreads them again. “Wider,” he says hoarsely. “I want you to rub that clit till you cum all over your fingers.”

She hums in pleasure, her moans growing in volume as she holds onto his voice, thick with arousal, and pictures his fingers inside her, his lean naked body against hers, her nipples in his mouth and his thick, hard cock pulsating against her thigh…

“Like what you see, baby?” Dilara opens her eyes again to see his bottom lip between his teeth and a deep frown on his forehead. “God, I wish I had your cock in my mouth right now…”

This time, he takes the cue. Swearing gruffly under his breath, he slips his tracks down his hips and frees his erection, the drops of pre cum glistening on his tip. His breathing gets choppier as he strokes himself and Dilara feels a familiar clench in her stomach once again.

She squeezes her eyes shut, able to focus on nothing but her fingers, her wetness starting to coat them and the knowledge that across the world, Kim Taehyung is coming undone just watching her pleasure herself.

“Oh, God,” she whispers. “Tae, I’m - I’m close…”

Taehyung says something, louder than before and her heart skips a beat: has she made him cum already? Just as she starts to reach the base of her orgasm and she hears him say something else, her eyes snap open - because that is not Taehyung’s voice.

“Lara!” Taehyung’s voice rings loud this time and she straightens up to see, unmistakably, another person in the room.

Dilara gasps and rolls out of the frame, her leg getting caught in the covers and causing her to tumble down onto the soft carpet. Her heart races, partly due to the mortification at being caught and partly due to the orgasm that was so rudely cut short. She yanks the throw from the chair next to the bed and wraps it haphazardly around herself, even though no one can see her anymore.

From the tablet, she can hear Taehyung go, in an annoyed voice, “What? Do you want to watch or something?”, followed by the other person - it’s Jungkook’s voice - going “Sorry, sorry, oh, my God -” and the sound of the door closing.

Dilara still doesn’t move, not until she hears Taehyung’s voice call her name.

“Is he gone?” she asks, gingerly climbing back onto the bed and keeping herself covered.

“Yeah.” Taehyung’s pants are hitched back up around his hips and he looks just as exasperated and disappointed as she feels, though seemingly minus the embarrassment. “Sorry… Namjoon broke the lock to my room and Jungkook just - what’s the word? Like, came in suddenly -”

“Barged in,” she mutters, settling back up in front of the camera. “You guys really need to learn how to knock.”

“We really do,” he agrees. He tilts his head apologetically, as though trying to gauge her exact mood. “Are you okay?”

“I am. I think JK was more traumatised than either of us, though,” she adds, cracking a small smile. Taehyung’s eyes twinkle, and they both burst out laughing.

—

One, two, three and four! Five and six, seven and -

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut as the next step slips his mind. He forces himself to focus, humming Dionysus under his breath to keep his mind trained solely on the choreography, recalling every step and every movement and every muscle and every expression -

Oh, God… I’m - I’m close…

He grunts in annoyance as he turns on the shower in his bathroom, starting the routine from the beginning in his mind. He needs to focus - on Dionysus, on the Kyla Hanagami video he’d encountered on Instagram this morning, his gym routine today - on anything except his best friend’s girlfriend, naked and pleasuring herself.

His she’s my friend, she’s my friend mantra had been working ever since Taehyung had said it, and Jungkook had managed to convince himself that that’s all it was. He loves his friends, all his friends, and she was just that, a friend, a close friend, a close naked friend whose ribs jutted out just the tiniest bit as her back arched, whose tanned legs and small feet involuntarily pointed and dug into the covers as her voice got higher…

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

But the damage is done. He covers his face with his hands as the hot water falls from the shower; the choreography to Dionysus or whatever the hell he’d been trying to recall is clean out of the window by now. The image of Dilara, so naked and so hot and so insanely beautiful is burned into his mind and he doesn’t imagine it can ever leave.

It’s so wrong. It was so wrong of him to even catch a glimpse of it, accidental as it had been; it was so wrong to be unable to forget it, and it’s so wrong of his cock to be so hard in his hand right now.

She’s my friend. She’s my friend. She’s my…

The mantra continues, but it settles somewhere far behind in his mind, a different sort of instinct taking over. His hand moves of its own accord and he exhales softly, knowing he can’t stop now. She’s my friend that I accidentally saw naked, his mind tries to amend weakly, even as he sees only one thing behind his closed eyes.

Her high-pitched whines, ones he can hear ringing in his ears, mix with his lower, quicker, more frustrated grunts. His hand goes up to the wall for support as he reaches his climax, spilling over his fingers until he’s spent. He opens his eyes slowly, watching the evidence of his slip wash away into the drain.

His heart starts to slow down as he realises what he’s just done, and his stomach sinks low into his body.

—

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

#bts fanfic #thebtswritersclub #bangtanwhq #k-vanity #houseofddaeng #wkcnet #namjoon x oc #seokjin x oc #yoongi x oc #hoseok x oc #jimin x oc #jungkook x oc #taehyung x oc

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kometqh · 1 year ago

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𝓓𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓓𝓲𝓪𝓻𝔂..

Captain Rex x F!Reader x Fives

Pt. 2 Every night, without fail, you wake up crying, heaving as you realise the monsters of your nightmares have been long left behind on the battlefields you fought on alongside your beloved Clone Troopers, the 501st Legion. Every night, without fail, you note down all your thoughts and feelings onto paper, into your beloved Diary that your Jedi Master has given to you as a gift. What happens when the Captain and Trooper of the 501st get their hands on your prized possession? Word Count: 2845 Warnings: Very much unedited, most definitely not lore-accurate as I have just begun to watch Clone Wars. A/N: A spur-of-the-moment kind of fic, it will be a two parter story :) It does say Female reader as that is what I had in mind, however there are no pronouns or descriptions used that allude to the reader being female!

Your body shot straight up, sweat rolling down the side of your temple, shoulders heaving up and down rapidly through heavy breaths. You wearily scanned the area, the room you found yourself in, your bedroom, hidden under a blanketed darkness. You could vaguely make out the different shapes of objects in your room; the steel wardrobe, the desk seated in a faraway corner, the tall frame of the door. The small line of light that peaked through provided some comfort, some more visibly.

A shaky hand reached for the night light beside your temporary bed - a silver steel, upright lamp that provided a bright, white light. It didn't provide much comfort as hard white light flooded the room, but it was enough to convince you that the terrors in your dreams weren't physically present in your waking days.

Heaving a slow, heavy sigh, you slid back down into the pale comfort of your sheets, hugging a pillow to your body.

As you laid there, light still on, eyes shut, you were engulfed in the sound of deafening silence. You could almost hear the light buzzing of the mechanical structures of the ship, ringing in your ears.

You sighed again, turning your body to face the door. The light from the outside tickled at your eyelids, forcing them to flutter open. With a groan, you shoved your nose deeper into the soft material of your pillow, beginning to count down, hoping that, the mental image of numerous General's jumping up and down like innocent sheep, would lull you back to sleep soon enough.

Mini Skywalker's, Plo Koon's and Obi Wan Kenobi's cluttered your mind, hopping over a tall fence as you silently counted, 'One.. Two.. Three' and so on. It was definitely interesting image to think of, but in the meantime, it did little to stop your body from tossing and turning, heaving and sighing, twisting in your sheets.

With another, heavy sigh, you reached into your bedside draw, pulling out a small notebook and pen. You flipped it to the most recent page, jotting down the date and time, a small curse leaving your lips as you noticed the time; 01:25.

You were going to become a zombie at this rate.

Nethertheless, you began spilling words onto the page, the crease between your brows easing as time passed, the fast pace of your heartbeat steadying with each word that slipped past the boundaries of your mind.

By the time sleep had finally pulled you into it's clutches, your mind could tell the ship was leaving hyperspace, and approaching a new atmosphere, your diary and pen abandoned at your side, left open on the most recent page yet again.

You awoke when the ship had landed; merely five hours later. The metal hit the ground with a thud, successfully forcing your eyes open. You laid there for a long while, ears twitching as you listened to the distant sounds of clone troopers wandering the hallways, accompanied by loud chatter and laughter.

Those moments, those peaceful moments, where your men could take a moment to relax and unravel were your favourite. You fought hard to keep every single one alive, the guilt chipping away at your sturdy resolve, discipline and beliefs in the Jedi rules.

You had broken one of the most important rules from the very beginning; it was forbidden to form attachments. How could you abide by such a cruel rule, when you were stationed with the same men for the last three years, getting to know them, living with them, laughing and sharing meals? To you, such a rule shouldn't exist. You could tell many other Jedi also disagreed with it - Anakin Skywalker being one amongst many. Even Obi Wan Kenobi, whose rebellious personality did very little to hide his affections for a certain Mandalorian Senator..

Taking in a deep breath, you slowly opened your eyes, looking around the room.

A warm glow peaked through the tightly shut curtains, warming your skin in a gentle embrace. Even though your eyes burned with exhaustion, you had willed yourself to get up. It was already 07:00, your men were definitely up and ready for their mission briefing.

Though they'd have to wait a little longer, you supposed.

This was meant to be an easy, diplomatic mission centred around a Neutral planet. You and your troops, the 501st, would be ensuring the citizens' safety, and potentially discussing joining the Democratic Republic.

After spending some time getting ready, you left your quarters, silently stalking through the hallways, a distant rumble of the canteen ringing in your ears. The closer you got, the more shouts and lively conversations you could hear.

All of those men shared the same exact voice, but the small differences in speech patterns, accents, tone and volume, were enough for you to be able to distinguish between your squadron without even seeing any of their faces.

Tugging your robes closer to your body, you entered the canteen, heading straight for the food buffet. It was going to be a simple mission - grab some toast, some water, and escape before anyone could notice you.

And simple it would of been, if it wasn't for a certain Captain's sharp eyes and enhanced instincts; as if an alarm went off in his head anytime you appeared within his vicinity.

In no time, you felt his warm breath fan over the back of your neck, his chest close enough for you to feel the coolness radiating off his body armour.

"Good morning, Captain." You spoke softly, a hint of tiredness still laced within your voice as you blinked slowly, placing a piece of toast on your tray.

"G'morning General," His voice came out a rolling, warm rumble, directly by your ear as Rex leaned over you, "What are you having for breakfast?" He asked, his honey-brown eyes scanning over your food tray.

"Nuffin special, Captain, just a plain toast and water, how 'bout you?" You asked, moving away from the queue and to an empty table. You looked to Rex, noticing the corners of his lips tugging upwards, the sight warming your closed-off heart. You desperately wanted to cradle the side of his face in your palm, to soothe over the lines that wedged themselves between his eyebrows, noticing his exhaustion still showing even after a decent night's sleep.

"I've already had my breakfast with Fives and Echo, woke up quite early actually." He spoke softly, a chuckle escaping his lips as his palm rested on the small of your back, leading you to your seat.

Confusion took over your body as you sat down, bringing the toast up to your lips, taking a bite. "So, why are you here then, Captain?" You asked through a mouthful, eyeing him up and down, confusion clear as day across your face.

At that, his face hardened into one he wore often during meetings and battles, an uncertain heaviness clouding his eyes. His fists clenched atop his lap, his lips pulling into a thin line. He wished to discuss the mission with you; hoping to lessen the number of men needed. Though he wasn't sure how willing you'd be to give your men a small vacation, he still wanted to attempt to provide his brothers with some respite.

What kind of Captain would he be if he didn't consider his soldiers' health?

"Actually- I wanted to discuss the mission with you, General," He paused, breaking eye contact as his gaze dropped to his lap, then scaled back up to focus on the ice-blue, steel table separating the two of you, "I was thinking-"

"Thinking too much isn't good for you Rex, you've got enough lines on your forehead already." You joked, interrupting the clearly tense Captain. As you eyed him up and down with a soft smile, his shoulders visibly relaxed, the thin line his lips had become turning into the softest of smiles, his cheeks puffing up into marshmallows over the stretch.

"W-Well, I was wondering if you could allow my men to take this time to rest." He stated, his voice dropping to a low rumble as he eyed you from underneath a curtain of lashes. He was using his best puppy eyes, knowing very well what effect those had on you.

You blinked once, then twice, your eyes widening owlishly as you stared at Rex.

Was he.. Trying to woo you?

You sat just the smallest bit straighter, your shoulders stiffening as you begged the Maker for Rex to not pick up on the sudden stiffiness that clutched onto your body with a steel grip.

Why was he making things so much harder for you?

"R-Rex.. I'm not sure I-" You started, your stomach dropping as he released a defeated sigh.

"I know General, I know.. It's just that, after the last mission, we're all still quite exhausted." He spoke, his gaze unwavering as he leaned closer to you, his scent invading your nostrils. He smelled of the Canteen's breakfast, a faint scent of aftershave lingering over him. Had he shaved already? You never got to see more than a hint of stubble on his jaw and chin, before it was gone with the wind; like it never even existed.

That's why you were grateful for Fives; that man's goatee could never disappoint. You were sure a beard of some sorts would suit Rex so well - it wasn't too difficult to imagine with his brother around, serving as an example.

What would it feel like to feel the short hairs underneath your fingers? To feel the smooth skin of his cheek under your palm? The soft plushness of his lips against yours-

"General?" He interrupted your fleeting thoughts, a glint of hope shining in his eyes as you shook your head lightly.

It was the defeated, gentle sigh that gave you away.

If it were anyone else, Rex would never dare to ask such a question. But with you- with you, his men felt most comfortable, most safe. They respected you, and could feel you returning that respect every time you'd prioritise their lives over yours, telling them to retreat, to find cover as you had a handle on every situation, on every battle. You never abandoned them.

"Fine.. But I'll need at least one of you to accompany me." You paused, quirking a brow at the Captain, conveying your seriousness in just one look. "And I'll need the men to be on guard, okay? We can't risk being caught off guard if anything were to happen." You finally finished, your toast long forgotten, cooling down in the chilled canteen, as Rex graced you with the gentlest of smiles, his gaze softening the longer he listened to you.

He knew he could count on you, and he would prove to you that this wasn't a mistake. That it wouldn't be.

Clearing his throat, Rex stood up from his seat, rounding the table to you.

"Thank you General, I can assure you that the squadron will be ready for any and every circumstance, and I will personally escort you to the meetings. You have my word." He spoke, reaching his hand out for yours. Confusedly, you extended your hand into his grasp, a hint of pink dusting your cheeks as he pressed a swift kiss to your knuckles.

"R-Re- Uhm, Captain," You stuttered and paused, clearing your throat as you prayed for the blush to go away, "There is no need to thank me." You insisted, slowly getting up from your seat. His gaze followed you, tracing over your body with an unknown emotion hiding behind his thick lashes.

"Thank you General, now if you'll excuse me, I'll go inform the others that haven't heard." He stated, bidding you a goodbye, cheers following soon after as Rex lifted a hand, signing a thumbs up to some of his men behind you. Your gaze followed his form as you watched him exit the canteen, his head turning to look back at you one last time before the doors slid shut behind him.

"What the hell was that.." You whispered, continuing your breakfast as your thoughts ran at tens of miles an hour, a blush permanently settled on your cheeks.

"Captain, are you sure this is a good idea?" Fives asked as he adjusted his helmet, following Rex as they made their way to your quarters.

"Yes yes, I'm sure. She should be in here anyway." Rex stated, waving his brother's concerns off as they rounded the corner, your bedroom doors coming into sight. "Besides, she said we should meet her at her quarters before we depart." He insisted, coming to a stop by your doors.

Raising his fisted hand, Rex knocked on your doors three times before backing away, waiting for a response.

As a moment turned into a minute, and a minute turned into three, Rex knocked again, this time calling out your title. "General? Are you in there?" He asked, his voice raised in uncertainty. When he received no reply once again, he shook his head.

"I don't think she's in there." He turned to Fives, feet ready to start moving again as his brain racked over any other locations on the ship that you frequented. Fives looked at Rex, quirking a curious brow at him, though his helmet covered any and all expressions he shot in his brother's way.

"Maybe we should go in? Who knows, maybe the General got herself stuck in the refresher." He quipped, a smirk tugging at his lips as Fives made his way over to your door. Pressing a button, the doors swiftly opened before him.

Walking over to the doors of your refresher, Rex followed after Fives, taking his helmet off, unable to, unwilling to, stop his eyes from wondering all over your room, taking note of the lack of personalised decorations in your bedroom. There was a desk, numerous multi-coloured folders stacked neatly on top of it, a small lamp next to them.

He looked over your wardrobe, his fingers itching to pull it open, to see what other articles of clothing you owned apart from your Jedi robes.

As Fives knocked at the refresher doors, his helmet at his side, Rex inched closer to your bed, noticing a small notebook hidden just beside your pillow, still open on the most recent page. His fingers reached over for it, eyes scanning over the yellow-coloured pages, gloved hands gliding over the leathery spine of the small book.

"Oooh, what's that?"

Before Rex could react, the book was snatched from his grasp, his head snapping upwards to see Fives flipping through the pages, turning and closing the book, only to gasp. That had Rex's ears almost twitching, a curious brow quirked up.

"What? What is it Fives?" Rex asked, standing next to his brother.

The silence that followed made him uneasy, and leaning his head closer, he looked to the book, his lips gaping open.

"Do you see what I see?" Fives inquired, a smirk tugging at his lips as he turned his head to Rex. All that Rex could do was nod in stunned silence.

"Y/n's Personal Diary.." Fives whispered aloud, eyes scanning over the firsts page.

A lump built up in Rex's throat, his fingers twitching nervously at his sides as Fives read over the words you had messily written in your diary, his heart thumping as he recounted each memory, a soft smile tugging at both brothers' lips as they could feel every emotion you had spilled out onto the pages.

Though they quickly scrambled to hide the small book behind their backs, interrupted by the sound of your bedroom doors sliding open.

A scream left your lips as your gaze landed on the two armoured men, heart racing wildly at the unexpected scare. Their gazes didn't linger on you for too long, a faint pink ghosting over their cheeks as they looked anywhere but you.

"H-Hi General, we tried knocking but-" Rex begun, unsure of how to explain why he and his brother were snooping around your quarters.

"We were worried that you got stuck in the refresher when we heard no answer, so we wanted to make sure you were safe and ready for our trip." Fives finished Rex's sentence, casting his brother and Captain a side glance, his lips stretched into an awkward, innocent grin on his face.

"R-Right.. Sorry, General, it won't happen again."

"That's quite alright, I'm actually flattered you men were worried about me," You spoke softly, hand covering your mouth as you giggled at their explanation, your heart warming at the thought that the two cared so much for your well-being. Though you wouldn't let yourself show just how much that thought made you blush. "Now come on, we've got meetings to go to." You exclaimed, waving the two men over as you made your way out into the hall.

Giving each other a knowing glance, Rex and Fives followed, quietly telling one another to hide the diary. Rex nudged Fives with his elbow, now too far gone to quietly and innocently return the book to its original place.

"Just shove it into your bag.." Rex hissed out through thin lips, rushing after you as he cast his brother one last glance, making sure the diary was stored safely in one of their backpacks.

#captain rex #clone captain rex #captain rex x reader #clone wars #star wars #star wars clone wars #clone wars fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #fives x reader #clones x reader #501st legion #501st x reader #jedi #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #plo koon #galaxy #space

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zgvlt · 2 years ago

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hearts held out of harms way ace trappola x reader x deuce spade (polycule)

commissioned by: shopkeep !!!

summary: in which (1) ace, a nobleman, desperately wants to be more than just the earl you and deuce serve; (2) deuce, a knight, doesn't how to get not just one but two people to fall in love with him; and (3) you, a fairy, try to push ace and deuce together while ignoring your own feelings for them

tags: gender neutral reader (only you is used), sfw, fluff, knight x nobility x fairy, commoner x nobility, poly relationship, getting together fic, 8.3k+ words, not beta read, completed (division by "chapters" = just a stylistic choice)

The young Lord Ace Trappola was a nobleman people found difficulty understanding. The new earl—and how new he truly was; how unexpected, too—was many things all at once and, depending on who was asked, they would all have something different to say in regards to the gentleman.

For instance, some would say he was no gentleman at all—some being a past love, who claimed she had never really felt his love for her at all. It was not too uncommon for nobles to abandon their old partner one way or another, but it did dishearten those in society seeking to become his marriage candidate.

Others, specifically his old schoolmates from the academy, would call him clever and cheery but a little too carefree, so much so that they were surprised he had been declared not just the heir, but had taken hold of the position the moment he left his youth. Was it the truth, that he was that kind of character? Yes, though it did give way to less than savory questions regarding his inexperience and capabilities.

Finally, though said noble would not know until later how the rumor had been birthed, it was said that he was a man who had deceived everyone magnificently into thinking he was who he presented himself to the public. As to who or what he truly was, nobody could quite agree. There were those that argued he was the manipulative sort, perhaps one who dabbled in illegal magic, for how else could he ascend to his position so quickly? There were those, too, who had proposed that perhaps their household had something to hide, that the young Trappola was simply a dutiful son to his father.

A small, terribly small group, however, would argue that the truth behind Ace Trappola was that he…

“Good morning My Lord!” Ace looked up from his desk, immediately abandoning his work. It’s not that he’s particularly excited or anything, but he sure does think that his two faithful attendants are far more fun than any scroll or sheet of paper could be.

Former delinquent turned knight, his right-hand man Deuce Spade had a serious look on his face despite the jolly greeting. Beside him was you, his right-hand’s right-hand, a fairy who greeted him in a calm but elegant manner. The juxtaposition between his two aides had surprised him once-upon-a-time, but he’d come to realize that they were far better suited to each other than he had initially realized.

“Lock the doors, then be at ease,” he ordered. Though he did not care much for appearing particularly prim or proper, the idea of being walked in on while he conversed with his two companions did not appeal to him either.

“Slacking again, Lord Trappola?” You peered over his shoulder, reading the documents he had atop his table. “Household affairs? New knightings? Isn’t that mere child’s play for you? You could very likely finish all of those in one go.”

“If I accomplish all of it in one sitting, they will think it a sign to pile more work for me the day after,” he explained, as though it were common sense. “It’s better to slack off a little bit sometimes. I understand I’m quite capable, but I detest people who push all their work onto others.”

“There, there. You can let your worries out with me,” you laughed at him, fingers combing through his unkempt hair as you did so. It was an action he always distinguished from his father and brother, who would purposefully ruffle it, or Deuce, who accidentally chopped a portion off with his sword.

He used to think it was out of pity, once, or some kind of disapproval, the way you could bicker and banter with Deuce but hesitated to do the same with him. However, nowadays it was easy to tell that it was your way of empathizing with him. That good-naturedness of yours was probably why Deuce clung to you, too. “Let’s have you spar with Deuce so you can catch a break.”

“Exactly what I was thinking! Can you read minds or something? You know I don’t know much about fairies.”

“You just so happen to be an open book, Deuce. If I had come to possess that kind of ability, though…” Ace knew you were merely being humorous, an attempt at getting a laugh out of him and a way to tease Deuce, but he did shiver the slightest bit as you laughed ominously. Just what would you do given that kind of power? “Though not quite fairy, I have heard of a fae that can see people’s dreams… Or was it manipulate? I can’t quite recall.”

“If someone were to see my dreams…” Deuce blanched, and Ace found himself curious by the reaction. By the looks of it, you were curious, too. Ace’s dreams tended to be the nonsensical sort—that or he could never remember them at all save for a detail or two, like how you or Deuce or even some old schoolmates from the academy would simply appear.

“Now that you mention it, I do remember you sleep talking.” You looked away from Deuce and back to him, fingers still weaving through his hair. “There was a night, when Deuce and I were still wanderers, where…”

Cruel, Ace thought to himself, smiling, the good-natured fairy could tease the poor knight again and again.

“You truly are incapable of not embarrassing me at every opportunity, especially in front of our liege,” the blue haired man huffed, though he hardly seemed frustrated. On the contrary, his gaze had gone through a fiery change, as though engaged in a new competition. “If we are to compare sleeping habits, then yours–”

“Are not as worse, I am certain.” In truth, Ace was unsure if you were being truthful, but that aside–

“Oho, feel free to argue and spill your deepest secrets in front of me~ Although…” he feigned a sigh, “did the two of you forget my presence? Or that I know nothing of either of your sleeping patterns?” Or that it was considered inappropriate to so much as discuss nighttime activities, no matter how innocent? Ace could not say he was against it, however, having always been less… traditional, he supposed.

At his words, neither you nor Deuce had the decency to be embarrassed, though the latter made a genuine attempt at appearing to be. Clearly he had done a good job of keeping things as casual and comfortable as possible, even with the imbalance of power. That he could not erase, but at the very least he would feel much better if it could be ignored.

“Ahem, so are you up for it, Ace? The sparring? It could be good practice for the upcoming tournament.” Deuce had been leaning against the door as he said it, but he jolted up as he’d come to realize his informality. “Or, uh, Lord Ace? No, should it be Lord Trappola?”

Never mind. Perhaps some work still needed to be done, after all.

“Doesn’t matter,” Ace said quickly, hoping to elucidate the matter. The previous topic had not been forgotten, but perhaps he would be able to bring the matter up at a different time. “It’s just the three of us right now. Isn’t it exhausting being so formal all the time?”

“I guess that’s fair,” Deuce replied, “although I have a feeling I’ll call you the wrong thing in public.”

“Mhm, it’s the same for me, which is why I’m avoiding forgoing the title,” you sighed, “we’d cause quite the scandal if we so much as fumble–”

“Like I said, it doesn’t matter!” Ace snorted, “What do they care? You’re my people, so if they have a problem with how I let the two of you address me, then they should bring it up with the Earl of Trappola himself!”

For the most part, he had been serious with his proclamation—the formalities were starting to get to him, and he’d prefer to maintain Deuce’s casualness with him; has been meaning to convert you into dropping the titles, too. However, the way Deuce blinked up at him and the way you began clapping made it feel as though he had put on some performance instead, a rare show of his nobility.

“Our Lord… is a noble too, after all,” Deuce said with disbelief—Ace thought it to be feigned, though a small part of him wondered if it was genuine. You followed suit with a slow nod of your head.

“We made the right choice of pledging our loyalty to him after all.”

“Hah?” Ace scratched his head, inevitably messing with what you had worked to fix. “Seriously, would the me of the past have guessed the two outsiders I brought into my estate would become the bane of my existence?”

He had said as much, though he knew—and he knew that his two attendants knew, too—that no regrets had been brought in with said decision.

Deuce Spade enjoyed the life he was currently living.

It was a stark contrast to the life he possessed back home, his troublesome ways before he stowed away on that boat, before he crossed paths with you in that forest, before the two of you somehow wound up in the Trappola estate.

It was a tough life and he had ways to go before he could show his face to his mother, but it was a life he could finally be proud of, a life that was his.

Which was why he trained intensively and persistently, the need to prove his resolve not simply to the world, but to the people who he cherished in that world—the parent who awaited his letters every week, whom he lived for, and the two he swore to protect, whom he would lay down his life for…

But he knew you would be angered to hear such a bold statement, and the noble he was guarding would ask how he grew to become so serious, so he supposed he would have to keep his perspective a secret.

He thanked the Queen and whatever deities there were up there that you could not read minds, or see dreams for that matter. How troubling would it have been for him if you knew how his affections had grown for you and for–

“Oh, is that for Ace?”

Though he supposed you already knew of that, thus he only had his feelings for you being leaked to be worried about. Not that he was not worried about his feelings for Ace being made known—both, both were cause of worry. The mere idea of him being fond of two people should have been troubling, what more that one was his close companion and the other his liege?!

“Ace? Is that right?” he said with a stifled chuckle, “Were you not the one who wanted to address him properly?”

“What could you possibly mean? I could never! Well, if you pretend you did not hear my informality, that is.” Stepping closer and fully entering his quarters, you peered over his shoulder, eyeing the soft fabric carefully. You prodded a finger at the handkerchief, tracing his attempt at embroidery. “You have gotten better! The heart is cute.”

“Only in the front. You should see how badly I fumbled the back,” he said, showing you the messy stitching himself. Still, he knew progress was progress, and he gleamed at you having taken notice of his hard work. “Whoever could have guessed that years of watching my mother stitch my clothes back together would be of use for this very reason?”

“I’m sure she would be proud to see your work so far.”

Genuine. That was always something he enjoyed about you—genuine in your actions, genuine in your words. Thinking about it, it was somewhat humorous that he had come to like Ace Trappola too despite his selective dishonesty. He supposed, at the end of the day, it had to do with his honed ability to detect those with immoral intentions, the inherent lack of such within the two of you.

Surrounded by people who were good to him, he often found himself thinking he could finally be on the right path—the path of becoming someone good for his mother.

“It might be nice to have one sent to her as well, though not yet,” Deuce replied sheepishly, “even though I worked hard on this one, it seems practice is still needed on my end.”

“I believe in you. What is a needle if not a small sword? What are stitches if not… hmm… different techniques using the needle, just as stances and movements are to battle?” Even you seemed unsure about the last analogy. Nevertheless, it had made Deuce laugh, your intentions in uplifting his spirits effective as always.

“More like things you must get after a battle,” he retorted, shaking his head. “Given the topic, it should be appropriate to ask… How’s your progress?”

“Progress with…?”

“Your token!” he reminded, finding you silly for forgetting. “You’ve chosen to craft an amulet, right?”

“I did say that, yes. It seemed fitting given magic is my specialty, even though handkerchiefs and ribbons seem to be the norm in society these days. I’ve yet to review the rules, though, so perhaps no spells can be imbued yet,” you sighed, “So should I give something, an amulet or some kind of charm would be good.”

By now, he could say he knew you rather well, and he knew that while you did your best to be truthful with him, you did not exactly shy away from allowing people to interpret your words differently. Sometimes, you seem to want to be misunderstood.

It’s just too bad that he caught and understood your choice of wording.

“What do you mean by should you? Did we not agree we were both giving Ace something?”

You shrugged. “Would it not be better if, oh, perhaps you were the only one to give him a gift?”

“But we both care for him as our liege and as his… friends? Companions? Whatever the appropriate term may be, we are that to him and he is that to us. Certainly he would appreciate getting something from you?” he reasoned, an attempt at convincing you to continue as planned.

“Yes, but you like him. I am able to give him a token at some other time surely, but for now… I don’t see how my giving him anything will aid in my mission to help you convey your feelings–oh don’t look at me like that, fine, your appreciation for him.”

He huffed out your name, willing to argue with you about the situation if he really needed to, but after staring you down the best he could whilst looking up at you, you eventually relented, as though carrying a soft spot for him, or for Ace.

Likelihood was that it was both.

“I will consider it, but don’t mention anything. In any case, since I’m banned from competing due to the humans-only stipulation, hmph, I’ll give you a token. Since you’ll be competing for the both of us.”

Deuce finally smiled. He would still try to make sure you handed Ace one as well, but for now he would pretend to be satisfied with his small victory.

“If–When I win, I’ll make sure Ace knows it’ll be on both of our behalves.”

You cannot stop yourself from smiling as well. “Have I ever told you I was thankful? That you are always trying to include me in things, even with matters in regards to Ace? Even when I’m not actually one of his knights?”

It’s because I like you too, you foolish fairy!

“Because you are our resident fairy and perhaps the best magic user in the estate,” he proclaimed. Always the first to tease you, always the first to praise you.

“Well if you put it that way,” you chuckled, “and since you are being so terribly kind to me today, I’ll put in the effort to defend you should the young lord throw a fit about his own knight beating him in the tournament… and of course, I shall comfort you should you throw a fit should you lose to him.”

“So win or lose, it will be a lose-lose situation. Absolutely wonderful!” He had only been joking, truly, but you gave him a slight nudge at the comment.

“Just do your best regardless!”

You laughed, a warmth not unlike the sunlight peeking from the woodlands the day he first met you.

“Besides, you have a goal when you win, don’t you?”

Momentarily bashful, determination soon replaced it. Fears and anxieties aside, Deuce knew that should he win, the adrenaline would certainly convince him to profess his adoration and devotion to their earl and, unbeknownst to you, their fairy.

“A confession.”

“Oh, for sure, but that should only be the first step!” you encouraged, always the first to aid him in his lofty ambitions. “Have you considered marriage? Or a grand trip to another nation? I heard the Sunset Savanna is lovely this time of year.”

He snorted, “Perhaps nobility move faster than us commoners, but I find a proposal would be too sudden even for human standards. However… A trip does sound nice.”

“Does it not? Ah, but should you go about one in the future, I’ll lock you both out of the manor if you fail to bring me a souvenir.”

“I cannot speak for Ace, but… Oh, I might as well—Ace will certainly lock you out of the manor should you refuse to come with us!”

“You shall be there to help me back inside.”

“Wrong! As a matter of fact, I will be present to drag you in the carriage with us.” He was being quite serious, but you laughed at his apparent persistence.

“All three of us stuck in a carriage, perhaps even a boat or two, for weeks,” you were groaning with feigned displeasure, but when you told him it’d likely be good fun, he could tell even you couldn’t lie to yourself there, that you enjoyed their company as much as he, and to speak for someone else, and Ace did.

But as much as he enjoyed having you around, he also knew that with you being in his room, any more progress for the day was pretty much impossible. Ace’s aside, he’s going to have a hard time starting on your handkerchief anytime soon if you’re going to remain a frequent visitor.

Ace knew he carried a certain attitude about the work assigned to him. He knew, despite the loyalty of those in his estate, his detractors would call him all sorts of insults, deprecate him and his character, see him as nothing more than a young man who cared not for aged tradition and stiff nobility, and had no ability to command and control his territory.

Ability aside, he simply never cared to accomplish them immediately as opposed to pacing them according to his tastes.

Thus, he would do as he wished, just as his ancestors would’ve before him. After all, would his family have become, and stayed for that matter, nobles if they had continued to abide by what was expected?

If anything, would it not be expected of him to differ from the rest of them? A smart person would, he believed.

Which was why he found himself in the markets again, not bothering to put on any sort of disguise. He grew up visiting the nearby towns anyway, with some of the vendors having practically raised him since childhood, so really, what was the point?

“I’m still not convinced this is the best idea,” Deuce sighed, following him a little too far for his liking, “not that my opinion should matter. What you say goes, Lord Ace!”

“You have gotten comfortable enough with me to complain about the tasks I give you, but not comfortable enough to walk a centimeter closer or call me by my given name alone,” Ace teased, putting on a show of scolding his knight. “Your perception of what is more egregious between the three astounds me.”

“It is one thing for you to be alright with it, it is another for the prying ears to be. If it were only up to me, I would talk quite informally to you, too.” Ace need not question who too was referring to, for there was only one other person in the estate Deuce relied on to the extent of comfort: you.

“And I’ve let you change the subject… Really, what will happen if an assassin, or someone who wants to cause you harm, comes across you in broad daylight?”

“Then you’ll deal with them! Although… I may be able to protect myself better than you, hmm?” he laughed, shaking his head at the slight irritation Deuce attempted to hide. He could not get back at him now, but Ace was sure Deuce would attempt to do so the next time they were on the training grounds. “And perhaps I wished to change the subject of our conversation.”

“To?”

“You, perhaps. Our one and only fairy as well, possibly.”

Except, despite his wording, he was positively assured of his choices. Discussing the two of them—well, the three of you, was always a difficult affair when you were around, and Ace is not dense enough to not detect your affection and yet avoidance of him, the scheming nature you seem to possess and yet hold back in front of him but fully show towards Deuce.

He never needed a companion during his trips out, sometimes preferred not to have one, so perhaps his invitation carried impure intentions.

Deuce stiffened and though he tried to pass it off as a simple response to his surroundings, Ace knew better. What could have rendered such a reaction? Was it a secret you, or him, or the both of you together, were hiding? Was it something he ought not to know but would undoubtedly weed out right this second?

“What could you possibly want to know?” his knight inquired, seemingly nervous around him. How uncharacteristic.

“A few things. For starters… There’s something wrong.”

“With what?”

Your name left Ace’s lips. Even to his ears it sounded a bit awkward, like he knew how to say it but barely uttered it outside of his head, at least compared to how Deuce would say it—undoubtedly familiar with you in a way he, too, wanted to be. It’s only then that Ace realized his hypocrisy… or, if hypocrisy was too strong a description, then the humor with the two of you.

His insistence at being just Ace and not Earl Ace or Lord Trappola, yet his persistence in calling you their fairy, their magician.

Maybe it’s the need to remind himself that you’re one of his people, too, without having to commit to actually saying it. Maybe it’s his way of letting you know of your presence in his life, considering you always seemed so insistent on downplaying your importance to him and, if his eyes are working as clearly as he thinks, to Deuce as well.

Really, did you think he played favorites? Because he did, obviously, but the plurality implied he certainly had more than one! For such a scheming being, were you not oddly dense?

“I see…” Deuce muttered. With a hint of embarrassment, Ace figured the knight actually understood, if not completely then partially, his troubles when it came to you. “What could I… Is there any way for me to help?”

Cute. He’d rather gouge his eyes out than admit he thinks it unironically, but he still remembers the rascal that appeared in front of his manor, all roughed up with a scary but determined look on his face. Seeing Deuce be so thoughtful and kind when it comes to both him and you is just plain nice—the heavens know the world needs more people like that around him… and in noble society in general, but he’d rather not share with them.

“Help?”

“With, you know… I could give you advice, or–”

Ace sighed. Speaking of dense… Is there even a good way to say, ‘If the two of you haven’t noticed, I have a severe, desperate need to infiltrate and be a part of whatever it is the two of you have’ without being perceived as rude, or worse, a complete nutter.

Not being able to think of anything, he reluctantly changed the subject.

“Let’s go look around the market. Help the local economy! Purchase a few things for ourselves.”

The man next to him narrowed his eyes, and for a moment Ace genuinely worried that Deuce realized everything. Sure, he mocked the two of you in his head for not understanding him, but he certainly was not ready to reveal anything! Especially without any assurance from either involved party!

The knight did not utter another word for a while, simply guiding him through the stalls, prattling about things you enjoyed. Alongside him, the earl absorbed every piece of information, all the while watching whatever it was the Deuce’s eyes landed on for more than a few seconds.

Ace, whether he was aware of it or not, harbored feelings for you, Deuce was sure of it. He had his assumptions beforehand, mostly due to his increasing number of delusions of all three of you. In any case, there was no doubt in his mind now—he was not alone in harboring feelings for you.

On one hand, he could not blame Ace. You were, for all intents and purposes, his first friend, a cherished friend, thus he understood how the earl could fall for you. If anything, he’s going as far as applauding the choice. If anyone deserves love and adoration, of course it should be you!

On the other hand, he’s reminded of his own troubles. If Ace is troubled with getting you to be more comfortable and closer to him, Deuce is troubled with getting not one, but two people to miraculously like him in the same manner he does. Meanwhile, Deuce can’t even tell if you like either one of them that way! It’s just a mess, truthfully, one he cannot speak of lest all three of you end up in a scandal, so he can do nothing but keep quiet…

Alright, perhaps that was not entirely true. There was something he could do.

“That’s a nice color,” Deuce commented. He can’t really differentiate the stones when they’re all round and smoothed out so he’s not sure if you’re holding a jasper or a carnelian (names he knows only because you had a knack for buying all sorts of stones) or something else entirely, but it’s this blend of orange and red and he knew it was chosen for a reason.

You smiled at him fondly, knowingly, “I’m not surprised you like the color. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re already aware of what I think.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop with the teasing.” You abide by your word, dropping your stare so you could focus on the task at hand—creating an amulet for Ace. “It can’t be helped that I cannot resist either one of you.”

“Then don’t! Did either of us ever imply that you should do as such?” he huffed, “I know for certain that Ace—”

“That I would what, exactly?”

As though caught in the midst of an immoral act, Deuce scrambled to hide everything as quickly as possible for you, shoving the stone in the nearest box he could open. Meanwhile, you were left to face Ace, who made no show of being even the slightest bit apologetic for his intrusion.

“Aren’t nobles meant to have perfect etiquette?” Were you smiling? Yes. Did you look amused? Not particularly. “I’m always happy to see you, Ace, but I can’t say for certain that I appreciate your storming in my quarters without so much as a knock on the door.”

“You don’t look particularly happy right now.” Ace, by contrast, looked particularly happy at your slip up, and Deuce would do his part in not calling you out on it… until Ace left, of course.

But the earl seemed to have no intentions of doing so any time soon, propping himself up against the now-shut door.

“I’m perfectly happy, for sure,” you insisted, and though your face was not betraying it, Deuce thought you truly meant it. “But what are you doing here? You’ve never visited my room before.”

“I meant to look for Deuce to see if he wanted to train–”

You and Deuce locked eyes instantly. You’re trying not to make your change in expression too noticeable, but Deuce has observed you far too many times to not notice. It’s incredibly evident that it embarrassed him, almost, that you could be so happy for him because of something so very simple.

It was a childish sort of glee, which might have been why he accepted it so readily. He never had the chance to experience that sort of situation and he’s not too sure you have either, having a laugh with someone over some puppy love.

“He’s certainly free to do so,” you supplied, “if you want to, you’re free to take him off my hands right now.”

“Ah, but I’ve changed my mind. We train every day, so we should have a change of pace, should we not? Perhaps the tavern that opened the week prior?”

“Hmm, should you really be forgoing training? The current victor of the tournament, the young Rosehearts, will be competing, too.” you interjected. It’s not an outright rejection of a suggestion, but Ace should have prepared a better excuse if this was his plan all along, thought Deuce. Still, he was currently his liege’s number one supporter—more time spent with the both of you? He could not see it as anything but a positive for all parties involved.

“Oh please! What’s one day spent with my two companions instead of training until sundown?” Ace snorted, “And it was different last year! This year, my victory against the young duke is certain.”

“To be sure,” Deuce replied immediately, half out of belief and half out of solidarity of having lost to the same man. Next to him, you nodded your head slowly.

“Then if you’re certain…” What you said about not being able to resist Ace and Deuce must have been true, your reluctance at heading out visibly fading. This time, it’s Ace and Deuce who exchanged a knowing glance, and the same, childish feeling bubbled up within him again.

It’s not quite the trip to the other nation you mentioned to him, but it’s a delightful start, is it not?

“Then the both of you better get changed!” Ace grinned boyishly, “Or don’t! Regardless, I’ll have the carriage prepared by five!”

“Wait a moment, shouldn’t we be calling the carriage for you?!” you exclaimed, but the earl had already left your quarters. “Good riddance. Deuce, could I have the amulet I was working on back? We have some time before we need to leave and… I have the sinking suspicion he won’t leave us alone before the next few days.”

“Definitely. To both statements.” Remembering where he had placed it, he opened up the wooden box to retrieve the stone, only to be distracted by an already completed amulet—a nice blue that reminded him awfully of… ah.

“Deuce? The amulet?” you asked again, shaking him out of his reverie.

“Here.” If you notice anything odd about his expression you do not speak of it, allowing him to leave your room peacefully to ready himself for the awaited excursion.

“I told Deuce I would comfort him should he lose to you… I can’t say I expected this turn of events instead.”

Perhaps Ace should have trained more.

In his defense, he did not think Riddle Rosehearts would have done that well in the tournament considering there were no horses to ride on this season. His athleticism was never the best either during their days at the academy, so even if his swings were passable, his stamina should have run out quickly enough. And yet…

“But next year surely, my liege,” you comforted him, wiping the sweat off of him with a white handkerchief, uncaring of the fact that the both of you were in public or, perhaps, knowing everyone’s eyes would be on the ongoing match rather than the two of you. Even though Ace prided himself of being the (self-designated) mature person amongst the three of you, he did not say no to the opportunity of receiving your attention and affection.

“Besides, not all hope is lost. We can still have the winner come from our house.”

Our house. Ace gleamed at your words. Of course. The ideal situation would have been to face off against his knight, but as much as he wanted to be the winner, Deuce being the victor would have been just as much of a joyous affair for the Trappola Earldom.

“If our Deucey wins, he’ll never let me forget it,” he sighed.

“But it would be worth it, having someone to avenge you, wouldn’t it?” Seemingly having deemed him presentable enough, your hands returned to your lap, handkerchief in tow. It's only then that Ace realizes it.

“Deuce gave you one too,” he said, more amused than anything. “What’d he sew for you?”

You didn't respond but you did smile, so it was likely something meaningful to you. If you were happy, then Deuce must have done a good job at choosing something for you, just as he chose something that well-suited him.

“He did not have to. I’m not competing in this tournament, so…” Again, Ace thought, you were smiling, so what did it matter if Deuce did not have to. Could people not act based on wants, now?

“And yet you’re using it, just as you’re wearing the tassel I gave you.” He grinned, fingers flicking the fringes the color you loved most, allegedly. If Deuce gave him the right information. You liked it enough to keep it on you, at least. “The tassel I did not have to get you.”

“It’s nice. They’re both nice gifts,” you murmured, and even though you’re no longer meeting his gaze he can still tell that you’re being honest. A part of him will attribute it to his amazing observation skills, but another, far warmer part of him knows it’s because he’s gotten to know you better.

The two of you are already by his side, closer than before, and yet it is still not enough.

“What design did Deuce sew for your handkerchief?”

“Don’t pretend like you do not know.” For he knew for a fact that Deuce must have shared it with you, or at the very least failed to hide it from you (just as he failed to hide his tokens from Deuce).

“Then what do you think of it?”

He brought it out of his breast pocket, having tucked it in there before his matches began.

“The hearts are differing in sizes. You can tell there were loose threads he tried cutting as much as possible without ruining the whole work. Still, there are hearts, the symbol of Trappola.” The symbol of Deuce’s dedication and loyalty.

“It’s… I suppose it’s—” You threw him a look, and Ace reluctantly gave in, “—It is good. Give me a break! Nobles tend to have a hard time being honest, you know! If you think I’m bad, you ought to see the rest of them!”

You laughed, “I know, I know. I won’t tell. You should do it by yourself, after all.”

“Only if he wins,” he said, grinning.

“So I’ll tell him for you if he loses?”

“A menace, you are,” he muttered, “I’ll tell him you thought he would lose, then.”

You no longer respond to his taunt, eyes now stuck to the grounds, clearly waiting for a certain blue-haired knight to appear before everyone’s very eyes, but your hands are moving, reaching into one of your pockets as though searching for something.

“I meant to give you something as well,” you said, pulling out two amulets. The stones are different in color, different in shape, but the similar craftsmanship all lead to one creator—you. “I’m aware these types of tokens tend to be given out before the matches, for good luck of course, but I’ve gone and imbued magic so I couldn’t take the risk of disqualification, and thus…”

You’re explaining. Overexplaining, really, in Ace’s humble opinion, every possible meaning you could think of—the importance of the stone’s color, the stone itself, what rune’s been inlaid and what spells you’ve enchanted it with. It’s detailed and clearly an overly complicated process and yes, he cannot deny that his heart is not unaffected by the gesture, but looking at the clearly matching amulets just makes him laugh.

He snatches the red one out of your waiting hand, knowing what was clearly meant for him. His heart had just calmed down and yet it is full again.

So he might have been dense too, but at least he was the first to figure it out. That is a victory in and of itself, one he is never going to forget and let go of. Ever.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing!” He’s thumbing the amulet within his palm, invigorated despite his loss earlier. Even with the magic, he doubts it’s the stone’s doing. “Just thinking of how entertaining things will be from here on out.”

��Because of the match?”

“Sure,” Ace laughed, “because of the match.”

“I still got further into the competition than you,” Deuce argued, nursing his own injuries with one hand and… holding onto your amulet with the other hand. The injured hand. He justified it by saying it was because the amulet had healing properties, as you said, but he was just busy admiring it and thinking of a way to combine it with his (Ace’s) tassel to make a combined good luck charm of some sort.

“Second place is still the first place loser, Loosey-Deucey” mocked Ace, though not out of ill-intent. He knows malice is not at all there by the way he patted him on the back after his duel, the way he beamed at his progress, the way he promised to train harder with him so either one of them could take the young duke down. It’s the sincerity before everything else that makes him take everything he says with a grain of salt.

You seemed to understand all the same, simply allowing the two to go at it with each other since they were unable to do so officially.

“It does not matter. I would have won if it was a competition of fists over swords,” Deuce laughed, “it’s just a shame. There was something I wanted to do if I won, but since I lost, I don’t have it in me to proceed.”

“Pray tell, what could that possibly be, dear Deuce?”

He stared the earl down, shaking his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. You can find out when I win next year, my liege.”

“Is that so?” Ace asked, quirked eyebrow, almost as if he interpreted his personal oath as a challenge to beat. “And if I win instead of you, will you not go about completing this quest of yours?”

Beside him, you stood up.

“Perhaps I should set off—”

“Absolutely not!” Ace interjected just as Deuce reached out to stop you from moving, hand grasping your arm. There’s a momentary confusion—he knows why he stopped you from moving, you and your assumptions on this and that occurring between him and Ace and you wanting to step away from it, but Ace stopping you is…

“Hold on, should I leave?”

“What, no! Nobody’s leaving! I’m not getting up from here either! Are the two of you truly oblivious or are you playing oblivious?” Ace groaned, scrunching up his nose in distress. “Why is being the smartest person in the room such a difficult affair?”

“Rude,” Deuce muttered, before quickly inquiring, “but to what are you referring to?”

Instead of words, Ace made an odd motion with his hands, some triangular gesture that was clearly meant to speak louder than words.

Deuce wants to laugh because it’s an amusing action for a nobleman to be making but humorously, it works well in getting Deuce to understand. It was to be expected, considering he spent much of his time thinking of this exact scenario (albeit, a setting more romantic than the manor’s medical ward, but he’s not in a position to be fussy about the details). He’s trying to catch your eye immediately, but compared to him, you just seem… confused.

Not confused in the sense that you did not understand what Ace was referring to—there was no subtlety in his implications—but more so a general confusion over what was happening.

“I know about Deuce’s feelings, quite obviously, and I was more than certain that his feelings for you had a chance of being reciprocated, so my being here…”

Deuce cannot help himself anymore, and it appears neither can Ace as they both erupt into laughter of chaos and disbelief. Who or what they are laughing at is not a question—it is everything, and then themselves for their own, self-induced stupidity and suffering.

“I get that it might not have been obvious with me, but with Deuce?” Ace exclaimed, astounded at how you failed to realize the knight’s affections. “He could not have made it any more obvious if he tried!”

“Sorry? It’s quite difficult to determine gratefulness versus love versus love…

“And let’s not be a hypocrite as I could say the same for you, my lord! I thought Deuce was plenty obvious about his feelings, and yet, if I am right in regards to the timing of this affair, you’ve just realized it recently,” you huffed, “we are one in the same.”

Deuce stops laughing. Why did it feel like the two of you were blaming him for your respective lack of analytical skills?!

“As long as we agree that’s not my fault! If I was incredibly obvious, as the two of you would put it, the two of you are anything but.” But with Deuce’s insistence, the two of you turn to look at him as though he had grown a second head.

“What? No! We could make an argument for Ace as I was only mostly sure that your feelings for him were reciprocated, but I hardly made any effort to conceal my own.”

“Agreed. It was as clear as day to the point that I thought the two of you had already gotten into a relationship,” laughed Ace, probably the most honest he was going to be for the rest of the day, “and without me! I was quite offended at the thought of being excluded.”

“Like we could ever leave you be, my lord,” you replied, half a joke but fully the truth. “What would have become of us without you in the first place?”

“Like you would ever let us leave you be,” Deuce quipped, having finally absorbed the situation. If it was an accurate assessment, Ace had no plans of letting them know, merely grinning in response. “What would become of you had we not arrived at your estate?”

“Well there would be far less rumors about me, for one.” Still, the Earl Trappola will remain himself, the need to appear as though he had the upper hand when they all knew the feelings shared between them were of equal measure. Still, with a singular gesture, the two of them walk towards their liege—amulet clanging against his remaining armor, tassels swaying with your very steps.

“But who cares about that, right?” Deuce replied, knowing it would be what Ace wished to hear—after all, he’d been pretty apparent about it since day one. As they neared him, Ace pulled them closer, making sure the both of them sat on either side of him.

Then, Deuce heard the door lock. Ace and Deuce both turned to you, the obvious culprit, and you merely shrugged. “I know we’re not supposed to care, but let’s not cause a scandal today of all days! Who knows how many prying eyes there are in the estate!”

“Too many. Don’t be surprised if a strongly worded, but supportive, letter from either father or my brother arrives at our doorstep tomorrow morning,” Ace snorted, “Just hope it’s not some distant relative. I’m sure there are some spies prowling in our manor as we speak.”

“There won’t be any if we deal with them!” Deuce declared, “We’ll protect your dignity, my lord!”

You nod in agreement just as Ace smiles. “I’ll hold you two to that!”

There are other things Deuce wants to declare, to ask and to question. He wants to know what they are now, what will change between the three of them, and what will be of them in the future. He wants to ask and yet it doesn’t feel quite right, not now, perhaps because he already knows, and what he knows is not mere fantasy but reality.

Dear Madam, Good day to you. I hope you do not mind if I skip the formalities. Until this fairy learns how to send letters with magic alone, the cost of these letters will unfortunately be priced according to how many sheets of paper we use up. In any case, Deuce must have updated you about everything that has happened in his letters. He must have also mentioned that the earl and I will be sending you letters to ask for your permission or blessing or whatever word it had been that the earl had used. In truth, we had been mostly joking regarding that. Ace—the earl—does not believe that the process of seeing one another requires permission from one’s parents, he is far from traditional, but we had come to the agreement to push through with the letters first due to the unusual state of our relationship—that being that we are all seeing one another, with one party not being human and another one being the noble we serve. Foremost, we agreed to send our letters out of respect for you, as we’ve long known what you mean to our knight, and what he means to you, his mother. As previously mentioned, I believe Deuce has told you much of our household affairs and much of his life, but I believe you would appreciate knowing how we see him. I am certain you know that your son spends much of his time training to become a splendid knight, and I am sure you would be happy to know that, day by day, he arrives closer to his goal. It would only make sense considering his sparring partner is none other than our competitive lord as well (and tell not the earl, too, but after keeping track of their victories and defeats, Deuce may have a lead on the tally). His skills are not which I wish to share the most, however. Ace and I have learned from Deuce about his past, we’ve known for some time now. Constant is his worry, just as constant is his change. His warmth and the good of his heart has become more evident than ever, and should Deuce not come to see you soon, we will be the ones to present him to you. (A mere jest. If it were Ace, he would find a way to bring you to the earldom.) That is all I can say for now. With your approval, madam, I hope we could become close correspondents. I would love to tell you more about Deuce, Ace, and myself, as well as know more about you yourself. Faithfully yours,

Ace’s arm wraps against your shoulder just as you’re signing the letter off with your name, loudly talking your ear off about how he just won against Deuce (as expected, he tells you). It’s a tie now, though you know you won’t correct the tally you mentioned in your letter.

Deuce, meanwhile, chalks it all up to luck, some sleight of hand the earl must have pulled, and swears he’ll beat him tomorrow. You want to tell Deuce to try twice as hard, just so you won’t tell his mother a lie. Instead, you joke that they both need to try harder else you come out as next year’s victor.

They’re shouting now, mostly about how you’ve finally picked up their competitive spirit, about how you’re challenging them, about how they won’t go easy on you and about how you shouldn’t go easy on them. It’s a whole lot of noise one after another but, unsurprisingly, it fits your very idea of a peaceful day.

“You’re smiling. Is that your way of saying you’re confident you’ll beat us?” You stare at Ace for a moment, wondering if you’ll lie, before shaking your head.

“Not at all. I’m just happy.”

You don’t play it for laughs or take it back, finding comfort in the fact that you can leave the truth just as that.

“What has made you so softhearted, huh?” You know you’ve got them when Ace can only scratch his neck and Deuce can only cover his ears, perhaps knowing it would match the hue of his liege’s hair. “As long as you're happy, then.”

It’s a rare moment of silence in the estate, and while you know one of the three of you will break it soon enough, you appreciate it while it lasts. You think to yourself, even the quiet can be peaceful, too. Peace is, and yet beyond, the volume of one’s chatter, the clashing of their swords; the quietness of their breaths and the unheard beat of their hearts.

Beyond sound, peace is a place, a place you have found with them.

end notes | masterlist

[ 1 ] Decided to just leave the details about Reader’s tassel (from Ace) and handkerchief (from Deuce) blank, mostly since I didn’t feel too comfortable assigning something for them.

[ 2 ] As per my research, “In the Regency period (1811 - 1820) it was very expensive to send a letter. The cost of postage could be as much as a day's wages for a working man”. Of course, Deuce and the Reader have Ace to pay for the letter since they’re all sending it together (and I am not going for historical accuracy, lol), but I figured they’d still be conscious to cut to the chase to write as much as possible per sheet of paper.

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader x deuce spade #adeuyuu #twst imagines #twst #nathya twst writing #nathya comm pieces #twisted wonderland

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estrellami-1 · 2 years ago

Text

Steddie Week 2023

May 22nd Prompt: Hunger

Day 2, Day 3, Day 4, Day 5, Day 6, Day 7

@steddie-week

Steve wakes up slowly, rolls over to look at his alarm clock, then bursts out of bed in a rush of limbs and sheets and curses.

3:42 blinks back at him. Sometime during the night the power had gone out, and Steve knows it is well past 9, when he was supposed to be opening at Family Video. He pulls on his jeans and a clean shirt, stuffs his feet in his shoes, runs a brush through his hair, and grabs his vest on his way out the door, sparing half a glance at his kitchen, but not having time to eat.

If it comes down to it, he thinks, there’s always the candy.

He gets to Family Video in record time, breathing out a sigh of relief when he yanks on the door to find it still locked. That means he’s the first one there. Keith might notice when he goes back through times this week to figure out pay, but Steve’s hopeful he’s gotten away with it this time.

He clocks in, computer reading 10:01 (an entire hour late, whoops), and takes a breath as he looks around the store. Robin’s scheduled to come in at three, meaning he has five hours alone.

No one comes in for the first hour. Steve finishes logging returns and winding back the tapes.

Halfway through the second hour, the bell above the door jingles, and Steve raises his voice from where he’s putting away tapes. “Welcome to Family Video!”

“Either you’re hiding or you’ve officially started haunting this place,” a voice calls back, and Steve laughs as he walks out of the aisle.

“Hey, Eddie.”

“Hiya, Stevie.” He grins. “Tell me if this is too forward? But I noticed the power went out last night and figured if I know you as well as I do, you slept in and missed breakfast.” He hands Steve a brown paper bag, creased nicely at the top.

“Lifesaver,” Steve gasps, opening the bag. Three muffins. He sniffs them, then groans. “You’re perfect, holy shit, thank you.” Banana nut, his favorite. His heart skips an odd beat, then again when he realizes Eddie’s blushing, pulling a piece of hair across his face.

“You’re welcome,” Eddie says quietly, chuckling slightly. “I guess I was right?”

“Yeah, I woke up, like, half an hour after my shift had started, immediately panicked, and got here as fast as I could. I don’t need another write-up.”

Eddie nods, a smirk crawling onto his face. “How about waiving the fees for your favorite customer?”

Steve makes a show of looking around. “Dustin’s here?”

Eddie just laughs. “I can’t even be mad at that one.”

“Steve,” Eddie says, eyes wide, adorably serious. Steve tries to school his face accordingly, but he can’t really feel his face. “I’m hungry.”

Steve thinks about it. “I am too,” he decides, then thinks some more. “Is there pizza left over?”

Eddie shrugs, looks at the blunt in his hand, then shrugs again, taking another drag. “Chips?”

“I have chips,” Steve agrees, grabbing for the blunt. “C’mon, share.”

Eddie hands it over. “Steve,” he says again, “I’m a genius.”

“Yup,” Steve agrees.

“We should watch a movie.”

“Oh my god,” Steve breathes. “With snacks?”

“Yeah. Yeah, with snacks, c’mon, help me, help me!” He pulls Steve up, laughing when Steve does.

“Eddie,” Steve says. It’s his turn to be serious. “What if we call Argyle? And Jon?”

“And they can bring pizza,” Eddie breathes. “Stevie, I think you’re the genius.”

“Yup,” Steve agrees again. “I’ll call. You get snacks. And movie.”

“Fuck off,” Eddie laughs, resting his head against the wall. “There’s no way.”

“I swear! That’s exactly what she said! And then she tried to blame me, like it isn’t all automated.” Steve huffs a breath.

Eddie shakes his head. “You have way more patience than I do, man.”

“That’s not true. We have different types. I could never sit like you do, painting your figurines.”

Eddie snorts. “I zone out and wake up four hours later. I don’t think that counts as patience.” He sighs. “As fun as this has been, Steve, I’ve gotta go get ready for my shift. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely. What time does your shift start?”

“Six.”

“That… Eds, that’s in twenty minutes.”

“No? I’m looking at a clock right here. It’s 4:40 right now. I’ve got an hour twenty.”

“Eds,” Steve says, sounding pained. “Daylight savings.”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie breathes. “Shit, shit, shit, you’re right, shit, fuck, okay, I’ve gotta go, love you, bye!”

He hangs up before Steve can say anything else, stuffing his feet in his shoes and grabbing his keys before racing out.

He’s halfway to work before he realizes he’s hungry. He lays his head on his steering wheel at a red light, breathes. “Just five hours,” he tells himself. “I can make it five hours.”

Half an hour in, he’s not so sure. His hands aren’t as steady as they should be, but he hides it from his coworkers, takes another few deep breaths, and tries to trick himself by drinking more water.

Ten minutes later, a familiar maroon Beemer pulls up. Eddie’s heart thuds in his chest as he goes out to meet Steve.

“Sorry I’m late,” Steve grins. “I think I got caught by all the lights possible.” He grabs something from the passenger seat. A brown paper bag.

“You didn’t,” Eddie breathes.

“I did,” Steve admits. “I hope turkey’s okay.”

“Turkey’s fantastic,” Eddie promises. “Freakin’ food for the gods, when I’m this hungry.” He opens the bag. A sandwich, a small bag of chips, an apple. He laughs. “Jesus wept, Steve, I brought you three little muffins!”

“Yeah, and I meant it when I called you a lifesaver.” He tilts his head. “I’m curious about something, though. If you meant it.”

Eddie pauses with the sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Meant what?”

“Gotta go, love you, bye.”

“Oh.” Nausea makes its presence known. He brings the sandwich down. “Steve, I-”

Steve’s fingers land on his forearm. “The truth, Eds. Please.” He’s whispering, eyes big and hopeful, and Eddie feels some of that same hope filling him.

“Yeah,” he whispers back.

Steve grins again, steps back. “I’m picking you up tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”

“Okay,” Eddie whispers, watches as Steve drives away.

“Hi,” Eddie says breathlessly, opening the door before Steve could knock.

“Hi.” Steve chuckles. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Where are you taking me?”

“Where do you wanna go?”

Eddie bites his lip, slides into the passenger seat. “Dinner? I’m starving.”

Steve grins at him as he puts the car in gear. “Me too.”

#steddieweek2023 #prompt: hunger #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #starambles

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the-letterbox-archives · 15 days ago

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۶ lore of the archives ৎ

hello, all! this is letters! i recently came to the realisation that, despite my time here, the archives remains a place of mystery for many. and while a helping of mystery never set anyone wrong, i figured it would be fun to answer some questions about the archives!

what are the archives?

ah, this is an easy one! the letterbox archives is the place where all the stories reside! technically, it is a collection of archives, folded onto one another like sheets of paper. there are many stories to explore here, and more are always being discovered! in so many words, the archives are a home to me. and i sincerely hope they are interesting to you!

where do the stories come from?

honestly? i have no idea. the archives are so expansive, and i have no idea which works exist in other realms and which are entirely original! i just select ones that speak to me, and release them when i see fit.

… i do have some theories as to where they may come from, but they’re ridiculous, and highly unlikely to be anything close to accurate. no point dwelling on them!

what do the archives look like?

i call it the archives because that’s what i see it as, but it could also be readily described as a library. thousands upon thousands of shelves that nearly topple over each other, coiling up past the sky, and down below the earth. the cellar is warmer than a fireplace, but not uncomfortably so, and the attic is cooler than a breeze, but not irritatingly so. every story stacked neatly (or otherwise) has a spine with a stunning colour, befit for the content between its pages. but centrally, the archives are red. shelves are brushed clean with the faintest pink wood, there are cascading tapestries are a crisp maroon with cuts of gold, sturdy, sliding ladders along each shelf wall. most of the furniture here – scattered armchairs and ottomans, side tables, and their ilk – is bathed in a similar colour, each matching to one another quite seamlessly, may i add. there is also a pervasive scent about the archives – any scent you prefer; i’ve found it changes from visitor to visitor. personally, i can’t smell a thing. well lit too, like an eternal autumnal evening. the sun tries to set but never makes it all the way, so it lingers halfway out of the sky for us to enjoy. without any clocks, there’s no way to tell the time, though if there were clocks, i couldn’t read nor understand them. people come and go when it feels right.

it is so very easy to get lost here. though the hallways are wide and the archways are pristinely carved, they wind and wind and wind. passing into, over, and across themselves, if you travel too far without a map or an intern (or myself), it’s very likely you’ll be lost forever. should that occur, at least you have some quality reading to do. for me, the break is often well needed, though i rarely get lost anymore. it’s like a new breath forms in a new space – somewhere to be lost again. but for visitors, certain interns are designed to search for the lost should the situation arise, and, well… they try (fished me out a couple times when i decidedly did not want to be).

as for my space in the archives, well, it’s inaccessible to the public, but i can still describe it if you like. at the highest spear of the archives, up many ladders and through many secret passageways behind bookshelves (i like my privacy, okay?) is an office. it does not have a name on the door, i never put one there. a token of remembrance for the days i didn’t have one. but in that office, behind all those magical latches, is a quaint space, well organised, but it feels so much smaller, doesn’t it? it’s a nice break from the chaos of the rest of the archives, but the papers strewn across the floor tell a different tale. there is a desk, overflowing with centuries old documents, and many small lights that wrap around the walls like moss. the clingiest interns stay behind those lights – they like to think they’re looking after me. there are some cups across the polished, wooden desk, scratched by idle quill. what’s an archivist to do? i’m far too busy to put them away most days (usually the interns take care of it). there’s a blanket strewn across a couch, leather but soft. there is no bed – i don’t sleep (though certain visitors may say otherwise), but there are some times i lie across the couch, doing some work that doesn’t interest me, and when i blink, it feels like more and more time passes. the air is thinnest in my office; not that i breathe it in. that lack of oxygen feels most like weight off my shoulders. pressureless, and a reminder how vast and deep the archives below truly are.

looking down at the archives… it makes me quite nostalgic, actually. for when i hunt for new instalments. i find each part of each story in pieces. little fragments of memories long forgotten, etched into ink to sustain them. that’s the state i discovered the archives in, actually. disrepair grand and vast enough to bury a civilisation. it was… horrible to see. technically speaking, it was before i was even considered an archivist, before i was what i am today. just a lost soul hurt by this destruction to something so sacred and infinite. nowadays, when i’m not rebinding the books, i’m unscrambling audio recordings or cataloguing video tapes.

wait, where was i? ah, right!

how big are the archives?

‘big’ is far too little a word. so is ‘huge,’ ‘massive,’ ‘towering,’ ‘endless,’ and any word like it. i may be an unreliable source on this front, since i don’t know anything beyond the archives, so i can’t compare its size to other things visitors may know of from their own worlds. but whatever you’re thinking about, trust me – the archives are bigger than that. and it’s always expanding, faster than i can manage sometimes. but, at times, it can appear deceptively smaller than it truly is. think of it like a spring that looks neat and orderly coiled up, but stretched out, you see its true shape.

how are the archives organised?

i’ve discussed the volume and filing system before, so i’ll give a quick description of what each segment actually looks like in the archives! first, everything is in departments, unofficially of course, to separate volumes, a new department being created to manage each new volume that arrives. the stories within these volumes circulate through the department – which physically is a sort of ‘nook’ or archway that leads to a bigger section altogether. the stories, sometimes books, sometimes transcripts, sometimes video or audio recordings, are discovered in the ‘unorganised’ parts of the archives and, once decoded and categorised, are placed into the department of that volume. each chapter, episode, or the like (as they are so often discovered in pieces) is collected by either myself or the interns and neatly filed away to be studied, and hopefully released for visitor viewing!

how can i interact with the archives?

well, all of the stories (except for those being prepared in future volumes) are entirely public access, and indicated handily throughout the archives! between discovering a new story and ensuring its longevity, i carve out little parts of the archives just for them – colour coded and everything! while it all fits the overall archival ‘aesthetic,’ each section is a little unique in its own way, and quite easy to spot, once you know where to look!

of course, if you would like more information about anything, feel free to contact the archives help section (colloquially dubbed ‘the askbox’) and i will assist you – this is open 25/7, including hiatus; either the interns will get to it, or i will file away a response for later reopening! you may also contact @lb-archives-atlas-department, which is active over hiatuses.

what are the interns?

the interns are little creatures i make out of marble from crumbling busts, and paper from the duplicate copies of nonfiction books. they are… simple creatures, good for administrative slog that i’m too tired or busy to do – pushing pencils, fetching coffee. i didn’t always have them, and they aren’t too chatty unless i’m indisposed (i’ve found in those situations they are embarrassingly protective of me), but once the archives became more known to me i began enlisting their assistance. i have something short of seventy now, last time i counted. if you see a sizable white, asymmetrical insect fluttering about, heavy to hold and on occasion flying into furniture… you’ve found an intern.

out of the many interns you may find about the archives today, there are three notable ones who have kept me company for quite some time. they seem to think my office is their place of residence, too. which is annoying, yes, but it makes for something a little less lonely when i need it. should you require immediate assistance but i am unavailable, speak to one of them.

is there anyone else here?

i assume we’re excusing certain parties from this, like myself and guests. considering that, yes! there are still others around. firstly, the interns, as i’ve discussed already, and i also have a few assistants to handle busywork that may be too... advanced for the interns. it makes the gears turn that much faster, and i love and appreciate all of them! it’s made my job that much easier once the workload is divided; plus, having an extra set of eyes (or more than that) is always advantageous. they do operate very behind the scenes, however, so if you have any inquires direct them to myself or the interns!

who are you?

who am i? what a strange question – i don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before! huh… regardless, i’m letters, the archivist around here! but that’s pretty surface level, isn’t it? i suppose i could go into more detail.

i’ve been in the archives for as long as the mind can coil back feeble memory. that is to say, longer than most things. most things are younger than me, except for the archives. it was here before i was, and i so happened to appear here one day, so very long ago. in the beginning, i didn’t do much work – i simply existed. until i noticed that around every corner, there was another. behind every crack was another section altogether. and i did something i had never done before; i asked questions. “what’s this story?” “where’s the rest of it?” “how far does this hallway go?” “is there more in the cellar? is there more in the attic?” and day by day, i found answers. but answers gave way to more questions, and more questions meant less clarity. nevertheless, it was exhilarating. for the first time, i had new things– things i actually cared about. i think it’s called a ‘purpose.’

so i kept asking questions. started reading – properly this time. started keeping records. crafted interns. carved out new sections of the archives. gave myself a name. gave the archives the same name, too. it would feel wrong to call the thing that gave me my purpose something other than what i’d chosen to call myself.

and now we’re here! there’s not much else to talk about on the ‘me’ side of things. the letterbox archives is about… well, the archives! i’m just the lorekeeper. and with so little identity before this all became so tangible (but at the same time increasingly intangible), there’s not a lot to discuss. one thing i do know is quite a few of the visitors here are something called ‘human.’ i presume i am not, due to our drastic differences in appearance and magical intuition, but that may be up for debate. if you’d like to know more, you’re more than welcome to place your own conceptions of my past into this narrative – gods know i have nothing to offer on that front.

i do hope these little lore tidbits helped increase people's understanding of myself and the inner workings of the archives! i am always available for further inquires as well, but i think that's all i have to say tonight!

#letters speaks #letters rants #not a story #archival lore #writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #writing community #creative writing #writers #writerscommunity

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sparrowrye · 2 months ago

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The Archivist's Oath || Alastor x Reader, Chapter 5: unwilling savior

Synopsis: Alastor returns

Master List

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finally, I ditched the radio.

I listened to his broadcasts every night for weeks that followed his abrupt leave, anxiously waiting for him to mention me or my archive...but he never did. He continued his tyrants without a syllable about me. It stung as much as it was a relief. So, satisfied that he wasn't outing me to the rest of the world, I dropped the radio in one of the floor cabinets.

I didn't need a reminder of him.

I grabbed the Old World textbook, and a lantern, and made my way into my archive. A small ladder was hidden directly underneath one of the floor cabinets and I had to use my teeth to hold onto the lantern as I climbed down the ladder. The archive itself was one big winding staircase. The shelves were indented into the walls, their labels long lost to time, as were the books gradually becoming.

The archive used to run on electricity but that obviously went out well before my grandmother's time. Since there was no electricity to keep the books safe from dust, temperature changes, and bugs, it was even more crucial for an Archivist to translate the books onto fresher pages. It was a practice every Archivist was doing since the very beginning.

"That's right. I know what you are. You're an Archivist. A prideful legacy of manipulative hoarders who think they're above everyone else. All in the name of some ancient, outdated oath."

Al's—I mean Alastor's—words had poisoned my mind. I couldn't believe the man I had come to care for would say something like that. Though, I had known from the start that we didn't know everything about each other. It shouldn't surprise me, but it did anyways.

It hurt above anything else.

"That outdated oath is what's keeping the last shred of Humanity safe from conquerers like you. You want to manipulate, you want to control, you want to use everything in that archive for your own gain. Not for the safety of Humanity but to secure your power above them. And I won't let that happen. I won't let you twist the past to fit your twisted future!"

I was proud of my own words, even if the truth still stung. He was Alastor, the Radio Demon. He wanted to use my archive for evil. He had made me believe, just like all his other listeners, in a brighter future, then took it all away in a matter of seconds.

I shook my head and shelved the old textbook, and its translation, into a slot. I scanned the surrounding books, mentally translating their titles in my head as I did, until I found one about medicine. I wasn't very fond of or skilled at translating science and medicine books, but I thought, perhaps, it would distract me from my sad reality. The growing weight on my chest was becoming too much.

Pinching the lantern between my teeth, I climbed back up. I put the cabinet back in place then settled at the coffee table. I took the new pristine sheets of paper and dipped my pen in the ink jar. I would need to buy more ink the next time I went to the community, and would need to bring something of equal value for trade.

I sat cross legged as I worked, but my eyes continuously glanced up at the couch, as if expecting Al to be lounging there, his legs stretching too far over the armrest and his smug smile watching me as I worked. I could still picture his bright red hair against the dull, earthy colors of the bunker.

"Enough of this. I don't need your permission. I'll do what needs to be done for Humanity's sake."

How was it possible to fight for the same thing but in two vastly different ways? Guilt started to gnaw at me. Would things have been different if we had just talked? Could things have been fixed if we had just had a civil conversation? Instead, we threw insults at each other as if that would convince the other to heed our perspective.

I dropped my head against the book. I wanted to apologize to him. I wanted to apologize, make up, and actually hug him. How come we never did that? We could kiss but never once hugged? Pathetic.

"I should've just slept with him," I muttered. A moment later, I snapped my head up and tried to squish my head between my hands. "No! Have the Radio Demon father an Archivist child?" I yelled at myself. "That's the stupidest thing you've come up with yet."

I attempted another page before completely giving up. The words weren't making any sense. I slammed the book shut (as much as I could without damaging it) and slid it under the chair. I took a fly out to my usual spot to look for an airship in the distance.

I saw none.

{|}

The sound of my bunker door opening was the stuff of nightmares.

I snatched my knife from under my pillow and jumped to the doorway of the bedroom. I peered around the corner as a bright flashlight searched the entire bunker. I pulled back just as it came near. It briefly lit up my entire room. My heart pounded in my ears, yet I could still make out the sound of multiple sets of footsteps walking around my home.

I raised my hand with the knife and waited, muscles coiled and ready to spring into action as soon as someone stepped close enough. Footsteps neared, as did the flashlight, and my room was lit up as if the sun itself were shining through. I bristled as the shuffling came closer and closer, finally revealing a set of cat ears.

I swung.

My knife hit a shoulder and the creature stumbled back with a cry. The lantern fell from his grasp and shattered on the ground. All lights snapped to me, temporarily blinding me, then scrambled closer. I yanked my knife from the cat and swung at the nearest figure. I swung and swung until I was able to run behind the counter.

Hands grabbed my hair but I blindly thrusted the knife over my shoulder. Their grip instantly disappeared and I dove between two shadows. I sprouted my wings in an instant, jamming them into the figures and sending them flying sideways. They crashed into shelves and shattered glass and wood.

An arm wrapped around my neck and their hand stopped my blade from reaching their face. I furiously flapped my wings in hopes of slamming their back into a wall but they dropped their weight on me entirely, slamming my chest into the floor and pinning me to the ground. They grabbed my hand and banged my knuckles against the metal ground until my fingers dropped the knife.

I threw my head up but there was no nose or mouth to hit. Pain stabbed my wings as something hooked onto them and dragged them backwards. A moment later, a rope squeezed my wings together. More hands grabbed at my hands and legs, trying to tie those together, too, but I wouldn't let them. I caught skin between my teeth and connected my foot with a face with a satisfying crack.

The same arm hooked my neck and squeezed too tight. It cut off my airflow and my vision darkened at a terrifying speed. I reached for their eyes but they pulled their head away, arm still clamped around my windpipe and bending my spine in the wrong direction. I dug my claws into their skin and pushed against the floor but it did nothing.

I was out.

A moment later, I came to, face down on the ground with my hands, feet, and wings bound tightly and uncomfortably behind my back. The room was as bright as day and the people in dark clothing tore apart my home. They weren't breaking anything on purpose—to my surprise—but they were aggressively searching for something.

Alastor.

These were his people. He was back. This had to be his doing.

I shifted but a hand shoved my head down, cutting my cheek into the metal. A dark, unfamiliar voice breathed in my ear, "Where is the library?"

"What library?" I asked, knowing full well what he was asking.

"Your archive."

"I don't know what you're talk—" The man fisted my hair and slammed my face into the floor again.

"Listen Archivist," he hissed, "I ain't playin' no games. Where is your library?"

Tears fell down my face. "I won't tell you."

The voice came closer. "I don't think you want things to get ugly. We still gotta make things even between us after you hit my shoulder." He was the cat. No wander his fingers stung my scalp like they were claws.

The familiar words my grandmother had spoken—words she said over and over again—came to mind and I voiced them, "I'd rather die an Archivist than live as a traitor."

"We'll see about tha—"

"Found something," one of them called. They shoved the shelf aside to reveal a hidden door. The man abandoned his grip on my hair and walked over, white paws tapping on the floor. His red tipped tail swayed behind him as he hooked his claws on the indented handle.

I shuffled and brought my legs around to sit up, wings pulling uncomfortably in their restraints. I looked around for a knife or something sharp to cut the ropes but nothing presented itself. One of the figures stepped beside me and gave a nasty, warning glare.

This is really happening. I'm going to die today. I found it was a strange mix of anticipation and dread.

The hidden door opened to a forgotten bathroom, once able to run on electricity. They had found the decoy. And they weren't happy about it.

I was aggressively shoved back on the metal ground and whimpered as claws drew blood from grabbing my hair. They began pulling handfuls of feathers from my wings and I screamed. Their demands to reveal my archive fell on deaf ears.

They were a few handfuls in when someone called, "Husker?"

The blurry, white paws in my view shifted as the people behind me stopped their plucking. Everyone went quiet as the leader padded over to his teammate and looked over the lackey's shoulder. A moment later, I heard metal rattling from one of the floor cabinets and the pain from my wings instantly flew out of mind.

No.

I thrashed. Bit. Screamed. Kicked. I did anything and everything, not caring for the pain it caused me. So many of them grabbed at my limbs and put all their weight onto my back, pushing me further and further into the ground. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. Tears streamed down my face, making it twice as hard to breath.

A moment later, my nose and mouth were covered with a painfully strong scent. I tried not to breathe any of it in but it was too late. My muscles were giving up on me, my vision too. The last thing I could remember was the men getting off me as I watched them remove the cabinet from the floor and descend the ladder to my archive.

{|}

The dull hum of large engines filled the room, vibrating the thin walls. My head pounded as I groggily rolled over, peeling my eyes open and trying to blink through the haziness of sleep. The sheets were unfamiliar and my stomach churned with every slight tilt of the airship.

Airship.

Realization hit me like an axe. I bolted upright and immediately regretting it as the room swam and my headache turned into a splitting migraine. My hands gripped the cold railing of the narrow bed I was on, my legs as heavy as lead when I attempted to swing them over the bed's edge. I couldn't tell if the ship was tilting or if it was my muddled perspective.

My knuckles turned white the harder I gripped the railing. My eyes searched the small room I was currently occupying: a simple wooden desk at the foot of the bed, a small stool tucked safely behind a metal bar underneath, a narrow closed-door closet beside it, and drawers built into the wooden base of the bed. There were no windows. A single door stood adjacent to the head of the bed.

My feet finally woke and I pushed myself to shaky legs. One hand stayed on the railing while the other touched the opposing wall as I stumbled towards the door. I sprouted my wings to help keep my balance in the small room but they didn't come out! Dread creeped in my chest as my head cleared, finally able to process my terrifying, cold reality.

Footsteps preceded the jiggle of the handle. I tripped over my feet and jammed my back into the wooden desk as the door creeped open, and Alastor stepped into the room.

He wore a deep red coat that reached his knees, white embroidery and stripes at his chest lapels and the cuffs of his sleeves. He wore a very dark gray button up vest underneath the jacket, and his jet black pants had the same red stripe at the hem as the pants he had first met me in. His red tipped fingers clung to his cane, now perfect, smooth, sharp, and emanating a static of electricity.

His hair was a much brighter red and in pristine condition; not a single hair out of place and sharply cut. A red monocle sat on his right cheek and his antlers had grown several sizes bigger than last time. They stretched as wide and as tall as his ears. He looked every bit the Radio Demon.

His smile...it wasn't friendly.

"Bastard," I hissed, pushing myself off the desk and using the wall to keep me upright. I had yet to feel steady and the pounding in my head wasn't helping.

His red eyes, which had once regarded me with a softness, now looked me up and down with scrutiny. "I see you've woken up in a delightful mood," he said. He stepped further in the room and closed the door behind him with a soft click. "I was hoping we could speak like two civilized adults."

"The hell did you do to my wings?" I demanded, not bothering to hide the animosity in my tone.

"Ah, you needn't worry." He placed his cane in front and rested both hands on top of it. "I've temporarily...concealed them."

"You what?"

"I assure you it's only temporary. I had to ensure you wouldn't act rash and attempt to fly off the airship without your precious archive."

I took a step forward. "Where is it? Where is my archive?"

"Safe," he answered. "You have quite the collection so some are on this ship and some on another."

"You had no right!" I pressed a hand to my head when my yelling amplified my migraine. I widened my stance and leaned all my weight into the wall, tears threatening to close my throat.

He lowered his tone and said more evenly, "I did this to protect you as much as Humanity. If you can stop behaving like a feral cat for five seconds, I can explain it to you."

I glared up at him through my fingers. "Don't condescend me."

He blinked at me, but made no comment on it and carried on to explain, "You are vital to what comes next. Your archive—your knowledge—could reshape humanity and save Pentagram City. Together, we can build something new and better than the chaos it's currently drowning in. We could build something extraordinary."

I let out a short, abrupt laugh. "You think I care about your city? The city that you steal people away to against their wills? The city that's just one big collection of unwilling communities that are scared into submission by the Radio Demon?" I shook my head softly, wincing at the pain it caused. "No. You took me from my home, you stole my archive, you....you...you made me trust you just to serve your sick vision. You violated me, Alastor." His name was a bad taste in my mouth.

He leaned his cane against the wall then took two steps closer. The smell of smoke and cinnamon reached my nose and I took a step back to lean against the desk. He followed, invading my personal space to breathe in my face. "And I will spend the rest of eternity making it up to you if I must. But you must understand, my dear, you are too important. Too important to be left in that bunker wasting away."

He reached up to gently brush his thumb across my cheek where I had a cut from the scuffle. I watched him closely, my whole body tense but I didn't pull away. Softly, I said, "So I'm just a tool to you. Another piece in your puzzle."

His smile wavered slightly. "In some way, we all are. But to me, you are far more than just a piece. You just don't see it yet." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and his eyes softened, as did his smile. I saw Al staring back at me, but then I caught my reflection in the red glass of his monocle.

"Let me go home."

His smile turned sad and he finally stepped away, taking his warmth and smell of cinnamon with him. "I can't do that. But in time, you'll understand. I'll make this work. For both of us."

"You're delusional if you think I'm going to help you." I straightened up. My hand gripped the edge of the desk as I gave him a leveled glare. "Even if it wasn't in my oath, I would never help the man who betrayed me the way you did, let alone the man who the world fears."

He swung his cane behind his back and the Radio Demon sneered back at me. "You may not forgive me, but someday you'll thank me when the world sees you for what you truly are." He opened the door but, before leaving, he said over his shoulder, "I'll send someone down to help you dress appropriately." Then he closed the door behind him with a loud clunk of a lock.

I stared at the door for several heartbeats, unable to move as a swirl of emotions filled me. Eventually I fell to my knees and curled up in a tight ball, hot tears soaking my clothes and making my head hurt worse. It felt as if my entire lineage of ancestors were standing in the room, staring down at me with disapproving stares.

No. I glared up at the empty space. This wasn't over, not by a long shot. I was an Archivist. Alastor thought this was going to be easy because of our shared time in my bunker but he was wrong—so very wrong. If he made me regret ever saving his life, I was going to make him regret it too.

{|}

I spent three more days trapped in that tiny room on the airship. A woman had come in to help me dress in plain, simple clothes. They were finely stitched and softer than anything I'd ever owned. The top was a cream long sleeve and had small, red stitching on the high collar. It fit snuggly but not too tight. It was topped with a wide, tan belt across my hips. The black pants were nearly the same as Alastor's but, fortunately, lacked the red stripe at the bottom.

Every day he made an appearance in an attempt to meet me on middle ground. And every day I snapped at him and demanded he take me home. Neither one of us got what we wanted.

I sat on the edge of the desk drawing on a small slip of paper I had found in the desk. I made simple circles and sketches to fill the entire page. I had already gone through another page the day before since I had nothing to do. Perhaps it was Alastor's thinking of punishment—since he had made it apparent how much he hated being bored—but unfortunately for him, I was accustomed to boredom.

A knock came at the door and, though I didn't answer, opened to reveal the Radio Demon once again. His staff glinted faintly over his shoulder, his pristine red coat hugging his figure perfectly. His sharp eyes and even sharper smile found me. "Come with me, I have something to show you."

My first instinct was to tell him to shove his command up his ass. However, my curiosity tugged too firmly on the back of my mind, reigning in my sharp tongue before I made a response. Instead, I pushed off the desk and followed him into the hallway.

The hum of the engines were much louder here and the vibrations shot directly through my paws. They were the only sign of my griffon appearance—feet covered in short, thin fur and long talons scratching the floor lazily as I followed Alastor. I glared holes into his back.

The airship's main deck was cold and the wind whipped my hair around viciously. It was tied back with the ribbon the woman had given me on the first day, but even so, the wind still whipped flyaways in my eyes. I held them back with both hands as I looked around the airship.

It was just as I had heard in my community. The wooden base was tied to a massive white balloon, ropes and nets held taught and being climbed by the sailors. They moved with hurried precision, avoiding each other by an inch and even moving around Alastor and I as we walked across the deck.

I followed him to the front edge of the ship where he came to a stop and glanced over the railing. He looked to me then gestured with his hand to look over. I hesitantly stepped up beside him, making sure to leave a decent amount of space between us. My mouth hung open upon the sight miles below us.

"We are about to dock in Pentagram City," Alastor explained over the sound of the furious wind, "I thought you might like to see it from the deck."

I didn't answer and reigned in my facial expressions. The city was nestled in a large, expansive ravine that stretched across the land like veins in a hand. There were islands in the large open spaces, some from actual stone and others man-made. Behind this massive city was a white-topped mountain that poked through the clouds, seemingly miles away but yet filled my entire vision.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Alastor prompted, tone softer than expected. He stepped near and rested a hand on the railing uncomfortably close to mine.

Again, I didn't answer. The city grew bigger the closer we descended. I could see the movements of the inhabitants moving along the streets—no, they were bridges. There were bridges all over and pulley systems to transport both people and resources. The people wore all kinds of exotic colors and my eyes jumped from one color to the other. I couldn't figure out where to look—there was something new and exciting everywhere I looked.

I heard Alastor chuckle as he rested his arms on the railing beside me, our shoulders almost brushing. The wind wasn't as strong anymore and he could speak normally. "Pentagram City is not without its flaws," he admitted, "but it's full of potential. Minds from all over the land are brought together for a common cause: survival. There's chaos, but there's also order." He turned to look at me, crimson eyes holding mine steady. "It's a place you could thrive in."

My eyes narrowed before turning back to the scene before me. "A place your tool can do the most damage," I muttered.

He let out a sigh and straightened up, hand gripping his cane from where he'd propped it against the railing. "I didn't bring you here to imprison you, my dear." His tone was gentle but with a certain kind of firmness to it. "I brought you here to give you a chance. To let you continue your life's goal as an Archivist."

I shook my head, eyes lowering as much as my spirits. "No, Alastor, you want me to continue in the way you see fit." I turned to face him fully and straightened my back, hand gripping the railing to keep my balance. My tone was flat and without the usual bite as I said, "Don't dress it up as something noble. You didn't give me a choice."

His jaw tightened, as did the grip on his staff. "I admit, I took certain...liberties," he said carefully, "But it is because I see something in you that I don't often see in others, let alone an Archivist of all people. Something that could save this city and put Humanity back on its path to redemption. And I'm not the only one."

I glanced down at the city that was much closer now. I had never seen a city before and certainly never seen as many people in one place. I looked back at Alastor in all his dark red and imposing stance. "I don't care what you see in me. You lied to me. You betrayed me. You kidnapped me from the only place I've ever known. And you stole my archive. Why should I want to help your city?"

He tilted his head slightly as he surveyed my oddly calm and unemotional manner. "Because deep down, you care. You care about people and Humanity as a whole. You want to create something better. And that," he pointed a claw at me, "is the entire reason why Archivists even exist. You can hate me all you want but you can't deny the nature of your being: to rebuild Humanity better than before. And you and I will accomplish exactly that."

I opened my mouth to retort but the words got stuck in my throat. I couldn't deny that he was right, but that didn't mean I was happy about my predicament. He was twisting my oath around to serve his 'greater purpose'.

And yet, as my eyes drifted back to the city and the docking on the edge of the ravine, the weight of his words touched more than my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop the warm feeling sprouting in my chest.

I muttered a curse under my breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

I quite liked writing this one. Next chapter on Wednesday 9:00am EST

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@sirens-and-moonflowers @papas-ghoulette

#archivists oath #demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #husker hazbin hotel #hazbin husker

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theresattrpgforthat · 7 months ago

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Almighty TATTRPGFT, I ask you what is a good fantasy ttrpg thats like a smidgen simpler than/tighter than dnd thats flexible and has individual character progression thats cool? (I am so damn tired of dnd and after I finish my lancer campaign I'm gonna try to run a fantasy thing thats about world hopping since my brain cant stick with just one world... I wanted to run OSR stuff but most of my players want to keep their characters longer than a couple sessions)

THEME: World-hopping Fantasy Games

Hello there, so I’ve got some world-hopping games for you that I consider all much simpler than D&D, although the way they cater to your players’ wants may vary. Now I’m personally biased towards Forged-in-the-Dark games if your characters want to hold onto their characters and explore all of their mechanical and narrative details, but I’m also hoping that folks will see this ask and suggest more fantasy games that give you cool character abilities - maybe you can even mesh some regular fantasy games with something else on this list!

Portal Rats, by Tore Nielsen.

Portal Rats is a stand-alone fantasy tabletop rpg, based on the Black Hack rules.

There is an unlimited wealth of worlds out there. Some are embodiments of ideals, some the product of a god's fevered will, and some who seem to have congealed from pure potential. In Portal Rats you can visit all of them.

The core mechanic of Portal Rats is a roll-below test, using a d20 against an attribute on your character sheet. You have six attributes that should remind your players of D&D, although the backgrounds of your characters are less about your race and more about what you did in the past. The rules of the game look to be pretty concise, with much of the 58-page book being different character options and character classes. You level up when you finish a mission or quest, which results in more hit points, and higher attributes.

This game is probably close to what you as a GM are looking for: it’s an OSR mindset, with very little that allows the players to hold onto their characters if a roll goes badly. That being said, if your players are attached to their characters, they might be able to bring out emotional and narrative elements regardless of the system. Therefore, even if you pick up something that is more similar to OSR, they’ll find ways to role-play.

Vergence, by Small Cool Games.

Within the multiverse are a few places of great power called Vergences. They are ruled by families bred for the ability to open portals between worlds.

You play a member of one of these empowered bloodlines. Your birthright gives you the capacity to travel across infinite dimensions and manipulate reality.

But you’ll need to deal with conflicts involving your own powerful and manipulative family, secret conspiracies, mystical enemies, moldering gods, terrifying monsters, ancient artifacts, and existential threats with the potential to affect all the worlds of the Umbra. And possibly your annoying little sister…

Vergence is a Forged-in-the-Dark game that really amps up your character’s powers and broadens the stakes to a cosmic scale. Vergence is a much looser interpretation of Blades, taking away much of the bookkeeping found in the vice and heat mechanics that punish typical Blades’ characters. You also level up as a group, rather than individually, which I understand might not be what your playgroup is looking for, but your characters are still uniquely powered individuals with special abilities.

1400 Planes, by Unknown Dungeon.

1400 Planes is lo-fi hi-fantasy.

The multiverse roils with boundless existence. For many, the infinite planes of creation drift past at an immeasurable distance, their alien secrets perpetually out of reach. However those who break their mortal shackles and cross that liminal space, wander such exotic spheres on an eternal pilgrimage.

1400 Planes is a stand-alone table-top RPG. The rules are short and easy to learn and the whole game can fit on a single sheet of paper. It can be played using just the rules provided, or combined with other entries in the 1400 series to expand the world and provide more character and game options.

24XX games feel very slim and small, but I think they can provide the base for something bigger that caters to your group. They can also be combined with other games that use the same rule-set very easily, which you could use to provide interesting level-ups for characters. 24XX games are also usually pretty cheap, so you’re not going to break the bank picking up a few to play around with.

Planedawn Orphans, by Sharkbomb Studios.

Set in the Planar City, a strange melting pot that connects the vast diversity of the multiverse. You all play Planar Orphans stranded in this city, your original home worlds destroyed, corrupted or lost.

A mysterious Patron has brought you together, provided you with a base of operations and tasked you to complete a Planar Key. This key will let you create a new plane for you and your fellow refugees. Your quest will bring you to exotic places filled with strange creatures and bizarre phenomena.

This isn’t a game in itself - it’s a campaign framework - but it gives you the opportunity to cobble together a bunch of different games while still giving your players a structure upon which they can scaffold their character’s growth and personalities. I’m currently running this across a huge number of different games with a co-GM and my home group: so far we’ve played Household, The Wildsea, Sundered Isles, and The Great Soul Train Robbery!

Sig, City of Blades, by Genesis of Legend Publishing.

Sig is the nexus of the multiverse, where eternal planes and infinite primes meet. It’s a rough home for cutters and bashers, hungry for coin and glory. It’s a city of gods, demons, and stranger things which lurk. It’s a place where opposites meet, trading knives and kisses in equal measure.

The Silent Regent once ruled over the city with a bladed fist. Now her throne sits empty and the criminal factions battle for control. They dispatch crews of Freebooters, clever and bold, to further their schemes. This is where you come in.

In Sig: City of Blades, you will play the Freebooters in service to once of the mighty city factions. Your faction depends on you to perform vital missions to seize territory and coin from their rivals. This is a game about clever spies, renegade sorcerers and reckless smugglers. You are the best of the best and the worst of the worst.

If you are familiar with Planescape, I’ve heard that Sig: City of Blades gives off the same vibes, at least when it comes to setting. Rules-wise, it’s Forged in the Dark. It looks like in this game, the multiverse comes to you; as scoundrels in a city at the centre of these dimensions, there are plenty of ways for you to get rich in some kind of way that counts. If your group is up to play scoundrels and thieves, you might be interested in Sig: City of Blades.

Tiny Dungeon: Second Edition, by Gallant Knight Games.

Tiny Dungeon: Second Edition is powered by the TinyD6 engine, with streamlined mechanics that utilize only one to three single six-sided dice on every action, characters that can be written on a 3x5 notecard, and easy to understand and teach rules, Tiny Dungeon 2e is great for all groups, ages, and experience levels!

Tiny Dungeon feels like a very boiled-down version of a classic fantasy game; heritages that give you starting abilities, traits that are reminiscent of character classes, and a turn economy that structures combat to make sure everyone gets the same amount of time to do things. You use d6’s to roll, with 1d6 being the worst pool (rolling with a disadvantage) and 3d6 being the best (rolling with an ability or advantage). The game is meant to be mod-able, with optional rules and various micro-settings meant to get your inspiration flowing. The best part about so many different micro-settings that all use the same rules is that you can absolutely jump from one setting to another!

Fantasy Recommendations from The Past

Fantasy, With Tools

Echoes of D&D

Non-Western Fantasy

Non-Gritty Low Fantasy

Fuck Wizards of the Coast

I’d also ask myself if Slugblaster could be hacked to be about fantasy adventurers jumping into various dimensions, rather than teenagers hoverboarding across space and time. It certainly has plenty of pieces that allow your characters to dig into personal issues - the Trouble mechanic really lets you digest the kinds of things your character might have to neglect in order to go adventuring! You can read more about it in my Dimensional Travel recommendation post.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #fantasy #world-hopping #indie ttrpg

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redninjaoutfit · 5 months ago

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i want to understand: why ship tad and peanut?

I've been gathering my thoughts on this topic for such a long time because I have so so many but its so hard to articulate them sometimes. THEY ARE SO NEAR AND DEAR TO MY HEART YOUR HONOUR MY ANGSTY SONS

More under the cut cause it's gonna be a whole lot of words

For starters, I just enjoy the enemies to lovers trope in general. I think seeing someone else's flaws to the point of considering them annemesis and still managing to move past that and fall in love with them down the line is very poetic. Having to battle through hate, one of the most misguided and complex emotion one can feel towards other people and coming out victorious, conquering the concept you have of someone and replacing it with an image so dissimilar to how you perceived them before... I get a lil kick out of it. It takes incredible maturity and willingness to cooperate on both sides of the relationship to move past hard feelings, to find common ground and build something substantial and amiable on that very ground. The former enemies actively heal and grow as people alongside one another, it's a very beautiful concept.

HATE AND LOVE ARE NOT TWO SIDES OF A SPECTRUM!! They're standing next to each other, separated only by a thin sheet of paper which is so easy to rip through once you move past the issues which divide you.

For Tad and Peanut, the obvious and unavoidable source of conflict is their allegiance to their respective cliques. The Preps and Greasers are supposed to despise one another out of principle which they very much do. Consequently, as of the events of the game, neither have any possibility to openly display their many compatible characteristics around one another. Hence why the animosity festers.

When I talk about the many compatible characteristics of Tad and Peanut I mean MANY. SO MANY. You might notice I did not say similar as I don't find they are carbon copies of one another, their lives are very different, however, their very cores slot with each other perfectly. It all falls into place.

Peanut, as I'm sure everyone already knows, has a painfully and one-sidedly dependent relationship with Johnny who is assumed to have saved him in some way, judging by the contents of his character quotes. He's fiercely loyal to his leader to the point where it's overwhelming and he actively fears disappointing Johnny in any capacity (not aided by the fact that he's implied to have feelings for Lola). Not to mention, as a second in command, he's got big shoes to fill, shoes he doesn't deem himself good enough to fill. Though he seems content with being trapped in Johnny's shadow he does show a sense of longing for freedom and a deep self-consciousness about his abilities.

Tad on the other hand is not second in command, quite the opposite, he's at a disadvantageous position in his clique with his newcomer status. Yet the expectations he has to meet at the forceful request of his father are just as if not more ambitious than Peanut's. With how prominently Mr Spencer's abuse towards his son altered his character and mindset, Tad is thus trapped in the role of the usurper, exactly what he feels (and knows) his clique-mates see him as. His opinion of the topic is largely apathetic though the apathy seems forced and learned.

His destiny as his father's extension has been set in stone, as has Peanut's servitude to Johnny. Neither feel they can do anything about it.

Both deem themselves worthless and void of purpose when they are not of use, not going along with whatever demands have been put onto them. They convince themselves (Peanut moreso than Tad) that their prison is a comfortable one, that the end goal of their struggle will be satisfactory yet know deep down all they want is freedom.

In this way they are very compatible, enough that they see a bit of themselves in the other which is part of the reason their bad blood runs so deep, especially on Tad's part. They see the collars hanging heavy around their necks and tug on them in hopes the other won't notice the perpetrator's own. It's easier to depersonalize yourself from your own issues than to face them head on.

I can definitely see them snapping on one eventful occasion - a supernova of unspoken emotions ready to surface - their reconciliation would not be a serene, drawn out ordeal of slow acquiescence. They fire each other up to the point of accidentally creating a spark which leads to a flame. A common flame between them in whose glow and light they can finally see each other's true colours, which will not burn them like it usually does but rather provide warmth, much needed after the long years spent in their cold, oppressive jail cells.

They would be like two dogs chained to a tree and left for dead tasting food again and rediscovering the comfort of a plush pillow - striving to maintain the warmth of mutual understanding conceived on that very day and would no doubt cultivate it to the best of their inexperienced ability. They both know by then the other is a novice in terms of... well, everything when it comes to being appreciated.

They rediscover love together and that's why I think they are so very beautiful and compatible as a pair!!

THAT'S IT... UM SORRY FOR RAMBLING AND THIS BEING MUSHY AS ALL HELL THEY JUST MAKE ME SOB AND WISH FOR THEM TO HAVE A BETTER LIFE. THE POTENTIAL IN THEIR RELATIONSHIP IS IMMENSE AND I WILL NOT BE SILENCED ABOUT IT. THEY CAN HEAL EACH OTHER LIKE NOONE ELSE CAN!!!

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reallygroovyninja · 9 months ago

Text

I want to preface the story I am about to post is garbage. No, really, it's bad. There are moments in it you can see my brain think oh shit, I need to explain myself.

If you want to read a story I am very proud of, check out The Fallen. It does have a shocking ending, which I am very sure turns people off, but I stayed faithful to the story that inspired it.

Anyway, here is unfinished Word Document 20. It's so bad I had to hide it under a cut. lol

Lexa was seated in a quaint office adorned with countless baby pictures, each snapshot a vignette of new beginnings and cherished memories. The walls, a gentle palette of pastel hues, were lined meticulously with these joyful expressions, casting a soft, hopeful glow throughout the room. The ambiance was both serene and surreal, as if Lexa had stepped into a gallery of future possibilities.

At the desk, a woman named Marlene, who ran the agency, extended a packet of papers toward Lexa. "Based on your criteria and the comprehensive tests you completed, these are the candidates we believe match your needs," Marlene explained, her tone both professional and empathetic. She knew that the choices contained in these documents could change lives. "Once you have a shortlist, let us know. We can then provide you with their photographs. This decision is profound—it should transcend mere physical appearances."

Lexa appreciated the process's discretion and thoroughness. She had longed for a child, a desire unmet in her past relationships, none of which revealed an alpha compelling enough to share her life's journey. Now, she sought a different route—a sperm surrogate, an alpha who would contribute to the life she wished to create and then step away, allowing her the autonomy she desired in raising her child.

They would meet intermittently, their encounters solely intended to achieve conception. It was an arrangement devoid of traditional romantic entanglements, focused instead on the singular goal of motherhood.

Taking the packet, Lexa began to leaf through the pages. Names, occupations, medical histories, personal hobbies, and more—details designed to paint a picture of each potential candidate. Yet, as she skimmed the information, the details seemed to meld into a blur of text. She knew she would need time and quiet to pore over these sheets, to consider who these people were beyond the data.

Marlene watched her with a calm understanding, accustomed to the weight such decisions carried for her clients. "There’s no rush," she reassured Lexa. "Take the packet home, think over your options carefully. We're here to support you every step of the way."

Grateful for the empathy and professionalism, Lexa nodded, clutching the documents a bit tighter as she prepared to leave. The smiling, innocent faces of the babies seemed to bid her farewell and good luck. Stepping out of the office, Lexa felt the gravity of her decision resting on her shoulders—a burden, yes, but also a beacon of the profound joy and love she hoped to welcome into her life.

Later that evening, Lexa settled onto her couch, a glass of red wine in hand, the soft hum of her quiet home enveloping her as she spread the stack of profiles across her coffee table. The light of her living room lamp cast a cozy glow, perfect for the introspective task at hand. She had decided on a methodical approach to review each candidate: she would create two piles—one for definite no's, and another to review again.

Taking a sip of her wine, Lexa began. One by one, she carefully read through each profile, considering the potential of each candidate not just as a genetic contributor, but as someone whose traits might mesh well with her own for the child they would share. Her fingers brushed against the papers, shifting them between the two designated areas on her table.

There was Jacob, whose profile intrigued her right away. His interests in environmental science and community gardening hinted at a thoughtful, perhaps gentle soul. Then there was Bellamy, a police officer whose tone in the self-description came off a bit too brash for her liking; his profile radiated a certain arrogance that Lexa found off-putting. He was promptly placed in the no pile.

As she continued, a few others passed her review—some with potential, others lacking the certain je ne sais quoi she was searching for. Finally, she reached the bottom of the stack, where a profile named Clarke rested. At first glance, something about Clarke's description didn’t quite resonate with her, and she was tempted to add it to the no pile. Yet, something—perhaps a detail she had missed or a gut feeling—nudged at her to reconsider.

With a thoughtful frown, Lexa picked up Clarke’s profile again. This time, she read slower, trying to capture the essence behind the words. Clarke was an artist, deeply involved in local community projects, which spoke to a creative and civic-minded spirit. His brief mention of a love for old cinema and classic books hinted at depth. Lexa waffled, her initial impression clashing with the intrigue now sparked by her second, more careful reading.

Setting Clarke's profile down on the "review again" pile, Lexa decided not to rush her judgment. She finished her wine, her mind actively weaving through the impressions each profile had left. Tonight was just the beginning. She knew the importance of this choice, not just for herself, but for her future child. She’d return to these profiles after a night’s rest, perhaps seeing them anew with fresh eyes and a clearer perspective.

The next morning, Lexa found herself with a phone pressed to her ear, recounting the previous evening's deliberations to her cousin Anya. Anya had always been more like a sister to Lexa, providing both support and candid advice whenever Lexa needed it.

"So, I've got these two piles," Lexa explained, her voice carrying a mix of resolve and uncertainty. "The no pile is pretty straightforward—those profiles just didn't click for me. But the 'review again' pile, that's where it gets tricky. There’s Jacob, who really seems like a gentle soul, and Clarke, who I almost passed on but decided to give another look."

On the other end of the line, Anya listened intently, her occasional hums of agreement punctuating Lexa’s detailed descriptions of the potential alphas. When Lexa finished, there was a brief silence, the kind that hinted at Anya's deep consideration before she spoke.

"Lex, are you sure about all this?" Anya’s voice was gentle, yet probing. "I mean, it sounds like you're really trying to convince yourself here. Aren't you giving up a bit easily on finding the right alpha? You know, the traditional way?"

Lexa sighed, a soft sound of mixed emotions. "I know it seems like I'm rushing into this, but I've thought about it a lot. I just haven't met someone who fits what I'm looking for in a partner... someone I want to share my life with. This way, I can focus on what I really want—a child. I don’t need a romantic relationship to make that happen."

Anya was quiet for a moment, likely weighing her next words. "I get that, I really do. But it’s a big step, Lexa. Just make sure you’re choosing this path because it’s truly what you want, not because you feel it’s your only option."

Lexa nodded to herself, appreciating Anya's concern. "I understand, and I appreciate you looking out for me. I’m not closing the door on finding someone someday, but right now, this feels right. I want to be a mom, Anya. And I feel ready to do this on my own terms."

Anya’s response was warm, supportive. "Then you know I'm behind you one hundred percent. Just promise me you'll think on it a little more, okay? And whatever you decide, I’m here for you."

"Thanks, Anya. That means a lot to me," Lexa replied, feeling a comforting sense of reassurance. She knew Anya only wanted the best for her, and having her support strengthened Lexa's resolve to move forward thoughtfully and confidently.

After ending the call with Anya, Lexa set aside the 'review again' pile of profiles on her dining table, deciding not to revisit them until later that evening. She knew the importance of the decision ahead and recognized the need to approach it with a clear mind and a settled heart.

The conversation with Anya had stirred a mix of emotions and considerations, reinforcing the gravity of her choice. Lexa felt it crucial to give herself space—to let her initial impressions simmer and her intuition align with her logical reasoning. This pause, she believed, would help her return to the profiles with fresh eyes and a more decisive heart.

During the day, Lexa busied herself with her usual activities, allowing her subconscious to process the morning’s conversation and her own feelings about each candidate. She went for a long walk in the park, the rhythmic steps helping to clear her mind. She met with a friend for coffee, enjoying the distraction and the normalcy of casual conversation.

As the day turned into evening, Lexa felt more centered. She prepared a quiet space at home, with minimal distractions, lighting a candle for a touch of calm ambiance. She poured herself a glass of wine, similar to the night before, setting the stage for contemplation and decision-making.

Sitting down, she slowly began to revisit each profile in the 'review again' pile. Lexa’s goal was to narrow her choices to two or three potential alphas—individuals who not only met her criteria on paper but whom she felt could genuinely contribute to the life and the values she hoped to nurture in her future child. With a deep breath, she delved into the profiles once more, ready to make one of the most significant decisions of her life.

As the evening wore on, Lexa methodically revisited each profile, reflecting deeply on the characteristics and values of each potential alpha. Slowly, her list began to narrow until she was left with three names: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke.

Jacob’s profile had an immediate and strong appeal. His dedication to environmental conservation and his gentle demeanor resonated with Lexa's own values. It seemed a natural alignment, one that suggested he would bring the kind of thoughtful and nurturing influence she desired for her child.

Roan presented a different allure. His profile portrayed him as a resilient and ambitious individual, someone who had overcome significant challenges to achieve personal and professional success. There was a strength in Roan's narrative that Lexa admired, a testament to his character that she believed would be a valuable trait to pass on to her offspring.

Yet, despite the compelling cases for both Jacob and Roan, Lexa found her thoughts continually drifting back to Clarke’s profile. There was an intriguing blend of creativity and intellect in his background— an artist with an Ivy League education, deeply involved in community service. His profile hinted at a complex, multifaceted personality; he was someone who valued both expression and academia, who understood the importance of giving back to the community.

Clarke’s interests in the arts and his commitment to societal contribution painted a picture of a man who was not only educated but also empathetic and engaged with the world around him. These were traits Lexa admired and sought for her child’s upbringing.

The more Lexa thought about Clarke, the more she realized how much his qualities appealed to her. He represented a balance of intelligence, creativity, and civic responsibility—elements that she valued deeply and imagined could foster a rich, nurturing environment for a child.

With a thoughtful sigh, Lexa placed Jacob and Clarke’s profiles side by side, with Roan's just slightly below them. It was clear these were her finalists, each bringing something unique and valuable to the table. She knew her decision would not be easy, but she also felt reassured by the strength of her final choices. As she prepared to retire for the night, Lexa felt a quiet confidence that among these men, she would find the right partner for the journey ahead.

On a quiet Sunday morning, with a cup of tea steaming gently beside her laptop, Lexa settled down to compose an email to the agency. The decision to request photos of her three final candidates—Jacob, Roan, and Clarke—felt like the next logical step in her carefully considered process. She knew the agency wouldn't respond until Monday, but drafting the email gave her a sense of progress and control over her choices.

Lexa typed with deliberate care, her words reflecting the gravity of her request. She explained that she had narrowed her selection down to three potential alphas and would now like to see their photographs to aid in her final decision. Lexa stressed that while she understood the importance of not basing her choice solely on physical attraction, she believed that a certain level of physical compatibility was essential for her comfort and confidence in this unique and intimate arrangement.

As she hit send, Lexa felt a wave of anticipation mixed with satisfaction. Each of her chosen candidates brought distinct and strong qualities to the table. Jacob with his gentle nature and environmental passion, Roan with his resilience and proven ambition, and Clarke with his creative spirit and intellectual prowess—each was appealing in a uniquely compelling way. Lexa appreciated the diversity in their profiles, which she believed would allow her to make a balanced choice based on a combination of intellectual, emotional, and physical attributes.

Leaning back in her chair, Lexa allowed herself to feel hopeful about the next steps. She hoped that the upcoming photos would not only confirm the impressions she had formed from their profiles but also ignite a spark of attraction. The thought of conceiving a child necessitated a certain level of physical appeal, and she hoped to find that in at least one of these men, making the process of becoming a mother not just a fulfillment of a desire but also a comfortable and pleasing journey.

With her part done for now, Lexa spent the rest of her day engaged in preparing for the new week, her mind occasionally wandering to her three candidates. The blend of curiosity and excitement for what Monday would bring was palpable, as she envisioned a future where one of these men would help her realize her dream of motherhood.

In her office, Lexa found herself repeatedly glancing at her phone, which lay beside her keyboard—a silent testament to her growing impatience. Each time the screen lit up with a notification, she felt a jolt of anticipation, only to find emails unrelated to her personal inquiry. The response from the agency, it seemed, was taking its sweet time.

Lexa tried to anchor her focus on the reports and spreadsheets that crowded her desktop. Her work, typically a realm where she excelled and found clarity, now felt like a cumbersome distraction. Her thoughts, disobedient and wild, fluttered incessantly towards the potential images of Jacob, Roan, and Clarke.

She knew their basic features—hair color, eye color—but these details painted no vivid picture in her mind. What were their smiles like? How did they carry themselves? Were they tall, broad-shouldered, or had a more slender, athletic build? These unknowns spun around in her head, each a question mark adding to a mosaic of curiosity and expectation.

Her concentration broke again, and she reached for her phone, scrolling through her inbox fruitlessly once more. With a sigh, Lexa set the device down and tried to realign her focus on a particularly complex data analysis. But even as she parsed through numbers and trends, part of her mind wandered, sketching imaginary portraits of the three men based on the scant information she had.

The morning dragged on, each tick of the office clock a reminder of the waiting she had to endure. Lexa found herself tapping a pen against her desk, her gaze drifting towards the window, where the city below seemed indifferent to her internal turmoil. The blend of excitement and nerves was palpable, like the quiet tension that fills the air before a storm breaks.

Finally, acknowledging her distracted state, Lexa decided to take a brief walk around the building, hoping that a change of scenery and a bit of movement would help her regain her concentration. As she strolled through the quieter parts of her workplace, she reminded herself that the decision she was about to make was significant and deserved this level of anticipation and thought. Returning to her desk refreshed, Lexa resolved to put her personal feelings aside and dive back into her work—determined to keep her professional prowess intact, even as her personal life beckoned with unanswered questions.

As the end of the workday approached, Lexa had almost resigned herself to the idea that her eagerly awaited email from the agency wouldn't arrive until Tuesday. She felt a mixture of disappointment and relief, the delay giving her more time to prepare mentally for what those photos might reveal.

She set her phone down one more time, focusing on shutting down her computer and organizing her desk for the evening. Just as she pushed back from her desk, her phone buzzed with the distinct chime of a new email notification. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the sender: the agency.

Quickly, she tapped on the notification, her eyes scanning the email's contents. The agency apologized for the delay, explaining they had taken extra care to ensure the photographs matched her request for confidentiality and respect towards the candidates. Attached to the email were three files, each labeled with the name of one of her potential alphas: Jacob, Roan, Clarke.

Lexa's thumb hovered over the attachments. A part of her wanted to open them immediately, to finally put faces to the names and profiles she had been pondering over for days. Yet, as she sat in the stillness of her office, a wave of hesitation washed over her. Was this the right place to make such a personal, potentially life-altering discovery?

Her office, usually a space of professional decisions and work-focused thoughts, suddenly felt too impersonal, too public for this deeply private moment. She contemplated the weight of what these images represented—not just potential genetic contributors but possible co-creators of her future child.

Deciding she needed the privacy and comfort of her own home to experience this moment, Lexa locked her phone and slipped it into her bag. Once home, she could take her time, process her reactions in her own space, and make thoughtful decisions without the confines of her professional environment.

As she walked out of the building into the warm evening air, Lexa felt a reassuring calm settle over her. Tonight, with a cup of her favorite tea in hand, she would meet, in a way, the men who might help her fulfill her dream of motherhood. It was a meeting that deserved her full presence and undivided attention, best done in the sanctuary of her home.

Lexa's evening unfolded with a mixture of routine and restless anticipation. After a quiet dinner, she methodically washed her dishes, the warm soapy water running over her hands as she scrubbed. This daily chore, usually a mindless task, felt different tonight. Each plate rinsed and set to dry was a moment to stall, a brief reprieve from the decision that awaited her.

As the dishes were put away and her kitchen returned to its usual tidy state, Lexa brewed a cup of calming chamomile tea. The steam curled into the air, carrying with it a scent that usually relaxed her, but tonight it was just another step in delaying the inevitable.

Part of her meticulous post-dinner clean-up was borne from habit, but another part was driven by a palpable apprehension. She was about to make a decision that would significantly shape her future. The man whose image she was about to view might very well be the one to help her fulfill her deep-seated desire to become a mother. This wasn't just any routine interaction; this was about selecting an alpha who would provide the genetic material to conceive her child and then, as per the agreement, step away.

With her cup of tea in hand, Lexa finally settled onto her couch, her usual spot for unwinding after a long day, but nothing about tonight was usual. She took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the warmth of the tea seep into her palms. Her phone lay next to her, an innocuous presence that now seemed daunting.

Finally, she picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over the email app with hesitation. This action, so simple and routine, felt momentous. She opened the email once more, and there they were, the attachments waiting just a click away. Each file bore the name of a potential alpha: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke.

Lexa tapped tentatively on the image file labeled "Jacob," her breath catching slightly in anticipation. The photo that materialized showed a man with boyish good looks, his smile gentle and inviting, eyes sparkling with a warmth that reinforced the impression of kindness his profile had suggested. Jacob's image aligned perfectly with what Lexa had envisioned—a friendly face that could bring comfort and reassurance.

Next, she opened the file for Roan. As his image came into view, Lexa noted his longish hair and the unmistakable intensity in his gaze. His strong jawline and the serious set of his mouth gave him a rugged appearance, one that spoke of resilience and a certain sternness. Roan looked like a man who faced challenges head-on, a stark contrast to Jacob’s softer, more approachable demeanor.

Finally, Lexa clicked on the last image, labeled "Clarke." She expected to see another male alpha, similar to the first two. However, as the image slowly loaded, her expectations were upended. The photo revealed not a man, but a striking woman with deep blue eyes and long blonde hair. Lexa stared, taken aback, as she processed the unexpected sight of a female alpha. Clarke’s presence in the photo was compelling; her gaze was direct and confident, radiating a strong sense of self-assuredness.

Lexa’s initial shock slowly gave way to a mix of emotions. Clarke’s appearance was stunning, and there was an undeniable beauty in her features that Lexa found herself unexpectedly drawn to. This twist in her journey made Lexa pause, her mind racing through the implications. She had not considered the possibility of a female alpha, yet here was Clarke, challenging her preconceptions and expanding the horizon of her choices.

Sitting back on the couch, Lexa took a moment to reflect. Each candidate brought something unique to the table: Jacob’s kindness, Roan’s intensity, and now Clarke’s unexpected presence—a female alpha who exuded strength and allure. Lexa knew this decision required more than a cursory glance at photographs. It was about finding a connection, a match that felt right on multiple levels.

As she continued to gaze at Clarke’s image, Lexa felt a curious pull, a fascination that urged her to reconsider what she thought she had been looking for in an alpha. Clarke’s striking blue eyes seemed to beckon for consideration, asking Lexa to step beyond the familiar and entertain the possibilities that lay in unexpected quarters.

As Lexa continued to sit on her couch, the images of the three alphas lingered on her phone screen, each one offering a different possibility, a different future. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside her window. Lexa found herself lost in thought, trying to envision what a child with each of these individuals might look like.

First, there was Jacob, with his warm brown eyes and dark hair, features that gave him an approachable, boy-next-door charm. Lexa imagined a child with similar soft, dark locks, perhaps inheriting Jacob's easy smile and the inherent kindness that seemed to radiate from his expression.

Then there was Roan, with his intense blue eyes and dark, slightly wild hair. His features were sharp, his presence in the photo almost commanding. A child with Roan might inherit those striking blue eyes, Lexa thought, along with a likely strong-willed spirit and perhaps that same sense of resilience that Roan seemed to embody.

Finally, her mind drifted to Clarke. The image of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed alpha with a distinct chin dimple was vivid in her mind. Lexa found herself particularly curious about this feature—a charming little dimple that added so much character to Clarke's smile. Would a child with Clarke inherit that same dimple? Lexa pictured a little one with light hair and those piercing blue eyes, maybe running around with a mischievous grin punctuated by that adorable dimple.

Each mental image brought a smile to Lexa's face but also added layers of complexity to her decision. This wasn't just about choosing a partner for conception; it was about choosing half of the genetic makeup of her future child. Each alpha not only offered different physical traits but also different backgrounds and personalities that would influence their child.

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling both overwhelmed and excited by the possibilities. As she sipped her tea, now lukewarm, she realized that this decision would shape not just her future, but that of her child. She knew that beyond looks, she needed to consider which values and qualities she most hoped to pass on. The process felt daunting, yet the thought of motherhood filled her with a profound sense of purpose. As the evening waned, Lexa knew that these reflections were just the beginning of her journey towards making one of the most significant decisions of her life.

After a period, Lexa felt the need to share her thoughts and get some feedback. She reached for her phone, dialed Anya, and quickly forwarded the email with the images of the alphas she was considering.

"Hey Anya, can you check your email real quick? I sent you something important," Lexa said as soon as her cousin answered the phone.

"Got it, let's see these candidates," Anya replied, her interest piqued. They started with Jacob, whose soft features and kind eyes made a good first impression. Then they moved on to Roan. "He looks exactly like what you’d expect an alpha to look like, doesn’t he?" Anya remarked, clearly impressed by his strong, intense demeanor.

Lexa chuckled, "Of course, an alpha would pick the most alpha-looking of the three."

However, the conversation took a turn when Anya opened Clarke’s image. "Oh, wow, this is a female alpha. That’s unexpected."

Lexa nodded to herself, feeling a mix of emotions. "Yeah, it adds another layer to Clarke. I've always been attracted to female alphas, but I was open to a male alpha, thinking it might be simpler for the whole baby process."

Anya paused, considering Lexa's words. "How do you feel about Clarke being in the mix now? This is a bit of a curveball."

"It is," Lexa agreed. "But honestly, seeing Clarke in there, it kind of stirred something. My ex was a female alpha, too. There’s a familiarity there."

"Sounds like Clarke’s presence is challenging some of your initial thoughts," Anya said thoughtfully. "But Lex, this is about what you want and need right now. If Clarke resonates with you more, maybe there’s more to think about here than just going the straightforward path."

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling the weight and truth in Anya’s words. "I guess you’re right. I need to think about what each option could really mean for me and the future. Clarke being a female alpha isn’t just a detail; it’s significant to how I feel about this whole process."

As they wrapped up their conversation, Lexa felt grateful for Anya’s insight and understanding. Discussing each candidate openly had clarified not just the practical considerations but also the emotional ones. Now, more than ever, Lexa knew her decision would not only be informed by what was expected but also by what felt right for her personally.

With the images of the alphas now in her possession, Lexa faced a self-imposed deadline: by Friday, she needed to make her decision. The choice she was about to make was not just about selecting an alpha but choosing a co-contributor to a life-changing journey. It would set the course for her long-held dream of becoming a mother.

Over the next two days, Lexa immersed herself in deep reflection. She had swiftly eliminated Roan from her list of potential candidates. His intensity, though initially striking, felt somewhat overpowering upon further consideration, and she realized it didn't align with the kind of parental influence she envisioned for her child.

Now, it was down to Jacob and Clarke. Jacob, with his gentle demeanor and environmental passion, seemed like a safe and rational choice. His traits aligned well with Lexa's values, and she could easily envision him as a positive genetic influence on her child. Yet, despite the logical fit Jacob presented, Lexa found her thoughts repeatedly drifting back to Clarke.

Clarke's presence in the selection process had been unexpected and impactful. As a female alpha, she brought a familiar dynamic that resonated deeply with Lexa, reminding her of the past. Lexa had to admit, there was a certain allure and comfort in the idea of choosing a female alpha.

Sitting at her dining room table with both profiles laid out before her, Lexa pondered whether her inclination towards Clarke was primarily influenced by her being a female alpha. Was it the novelty and emotional resonance of Clarke's status that drew her in, or was there something more substantial in Clarke's profile that connected with her own aspirations and dreams?

Lexa spent hours dissecting every detail in their profiles, weighing not just the emotional but also the pragmatic aspects of each choice. She considered not just who they were on paper, but who they might be in her life while conceiving a child. As she mulled over her options, Lexa tried to separate her feelings about their alpha status from what each could potentially offer as a co-contributor to her child’s genetic and cultural heritage.

By Thursday evening, a decision began to crystallize in her mind. Lexa realized that her choice needed to be based on a balance of emotional resonance and practical considerations, a decision that felt right both in her heart and her mind.

Friday morning dawned with a sense of resolution for Lexa. She had made her decision, and though nerves fluttered in her stomach, she was ready to take the next step. Sitting at her dining room table with her phone in hand, she dialed the number for the agency, her finger lingering over the call button for a moment before she pressed it.

"Marlene speaking, how may I assist you today?" came the familiar, professional voice from the other end.

"Hi Marlene, it’s Lexa Woods," she responded, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of anxiety. "I’ve made my decision regarding the alpha. I wanted to discuss it with you and see what the next steps are."

"That's great to hear, Lexa," Marlene replied warmly. "I know this has been a thoughtful process for you. Who have you decided to go with?"

After a slight pause, filled with a momentary doubt, Lexa affirmed, "I’ve chosen Clarke."

"Clarke, excellent choice," Marlene said. "She brings a unique perspective and strengths. What ultimately led you to this decision?"

Lexa hesitated, feeling a brief resurgence of her earlier indecision. "Well, there’s a lot about Clarke that resonates with me, her background, her values... and I guess the fact that she's a female alpha adds another layer of connection. I just hope I’ve made the right choice," Lexa confessed, a hint of uncertainty lacing her words.

"Choosing an alpha is always a significant and personal decision, Lexa. It’s normal to have some last-minute doubts, but it’s important that it feels right to you. Let’s arrange a meeting with Clarke. You two can discuss everything openly, and it will also be a chance for you to address any concerns you might have before moving forward."

"That would be very helpful," Lexa agreed, feeling reassured by Marlene's calm and understanding tone. "I think meeting her will give me the clarity to move forward confidently."

"Perfect," Marlene responded. "I’ll arrange for you both to meet and discuss the details. You’ll also have the opportunity to sign the contracts, ensuring everything is transparent and agreed upon. I’ll look for some potential dates and get back to you as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Marlene," Lexa said, relief washing over her. "I appreciate all your help."

"You’re welcome, Lexa. We're here to make sure that you are comfortable and confident in your decisions. I’ll be in touch very soon with some dates for the meeting," Marlene assured her.

As Lexa ended the call, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The decision was made, and a plan was in place. The thought of meeting Clarke and discussing the future brought a mix of excitement and a newfound peace. Lexa knew that whatever doubts she had would likely be settled once she and Clarke could sit down and talk face to face.

Marlene had been efficient and considerate in her arrangements. She set the meeting for two weeks out, giving Lexa and Clarke ample time to prepare for their first encounter. The date was marked on Lexa’s calendar, each day inching closer filled with a blend of anticipation and nerves.

Finally, the day of the meeting arrived. Lexa stood in front of her closet in the morning, her mind racing with the unusual complexity of choosing the right outfit. "What do you wear to a meeting with someone you are contractually going to be sleeping with in order to create a child?" she muttered to herself. The question was as surreal as her situation.

After much deliberation, Lexa opted for something that struck a balance between professional and comfortable—an elegant blouse paired with well-fitted trousers. It was important to her that she present herself as both serious about the arrangement and approachable.

Driving to the agency, Lexa’s hands were slightly shaking on the steering wheel. Her mind was a whirlwind of what-ifs and hopes. As she parked her car and walked toward the office building, she took deep, deliberate breaths, trying to calm her racing heart.

The agency’s office was a space Lexa had become familiar with over the past weeks, but today, it seemed to hold a new form of gravity. Marlene greeted her warmly at the door, her smile reassuring.

"Clarke just arrived. She’s waiting in the meeting room," Marlene informed her, leading the way.

Lexa’s steps felt heavy yet determined as she approached the room. Marlene opened the door, and there sat Clarke, just as striking in person as she was in her photo. Her presence seemed to command the room, yet there was a softness in her eyes as she looked up and met Lexa’s gaze.

"Lexa, meet Clarke. Clarke, this is Lexa," Marlene introduced.

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke said, standing up to shake her hand. Her voice was calm, carrying a hint of warmth that eased some of Lexa's tension.

"Hello, Clarke," Lexa replied, her voice steadier than she felt. The handshake was firm and brief, but Lexa felt a surprising jolt of connection—an electric mix of nerves and excitement.

Marlene excused herself, leaving them to converse privately. "I’ll give you both some space to discuss. If you need anything, I'll be right outside," she said before closing the door gently behind her.

In the quiet confines of the meeting room, the air thick with anticipation, Lexa and Clarke faced each other. Their initial nervousness was palpable, each aware of the significance and unusual nature of their meeting. Clarke, sensing the growing tension, decided it was time to steer the conversation towards more familiar ground.

"So, Lexa," Clarke began, her tone casual yet curious, "Marlene didn't tell me much about your professional background. What do you do for a living?"

Lexa, slightly surprised by the shift towards personal details, replied, "I'm an accountant. I spend most of my days surrounded by numbers and spreadsheets."

Clarke chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a mix of amusement and relief at the shift to lighter conversation. "Oh, numbers and I have never been best friends. I was always the one in class who thought 'algebra' was a foreign language," she joked, a playful smile crossing her features.

Lexa found herself smiling genuinely for the first time since the meeting began, the tension easing from her shoulders. Clarke's humor and light-heartedness were infectious, and it helped Lexa feel more at ease. Encouraged by the more relaxed atmosphere, Lexa decided to learn more about Clarke's interests.

"I saw in your profile that you’re an artist," Lexa said, her tone shifting to one of genuine interest. "What kind of art do you do?"

Clarke’s face brightened at the question, clearly passionate about her craft. "I work mostly with mixed media. I love exploring textures and layers—there’s something about the tactile process of creating something tangible that really excites me. It’s a way to express emotions that words can’t always capture."

Lexa nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fascinating. Art seems like such a freeing way to express oneself."

"It really is," Clarke agreed, her enthusiasm evident. "And every piece feels like a part of me, yet once it’s done, it belongs to the world, not just to me."

Their conversation flowed more naturally now, the earlier awkwardness fading as they discussed their respective careers. Lexa felt a newfound appreciation for Clarke's artistic perspective, contrasting yet complementing her own methodical, numbers-driven approach. The dialogue not only bridged their understanding of each other’s professional lives but also built a deeper, more personal connection that eased their initial apprehensions about the arrangements ahead.

After Lexa and Clarke had spent some time getting to know each other and discussing their backgrounds, the door to the conference room opened, and Marlene re-entered, a stack of papers in hand. She approached the table with a professional smile, setting down the documents before them.

"Looks like you two have been having a good conversation," Marlene observed, taking a seat at the head of the table. She then shifted into her role as the facilitator of the process, her demeanor becoming more formal as she prepared to discuss the contracts and legalities. "I have here the draft contracts for your arrangement. Let's go through these together to ensure everything is clear and that all parties' expectations are met."

Marlene spread the documents out so both Lexa and Clarke could see them. She began to go through each section meticulously, explaining the legal jargon and what it meant in practical terms. "This section here outlines the obligations of both parties, including medical examinations, confidentiality agreements, and the planned schedule for the conception process," she explained, pointing to each clause as she spoke.

She then moved on to a critical part of the contract. "It's very important that both of you understand that this agreement is based on mutual consent and comfort levels. If at any point, for any reason, either of you feels that this arrangement isn't working out, you can withdraw from the contract." Marlene looked at both Lexa and Clarke earnestly, ensuring her point was clear. "This clause here provides the details on how to terminate the agreement respectfully and legally without facing any penalties."

Marlene paused to allow Lexa and Clarke to absorb the information, checking their faces for any signs of confusion or concern. "Do either of you have any questions about this part, or is there anything in the agreement that you would like to discuss further or modify?"

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a glance, both appreciating the agency's emphasis on their comfort and autonomy within the process. Clarke nodded, indicating she understood and appreciated the terms, "It's reassuring to know that there's flexibility if the circumstances change."

Lexa echoed Clarke’s sentiment. "Yes, I agree. It's important to have a way out if things don’t feel right. It makes the whole arrangement feel safer, more considered."

Marlene nodded, pleased with their responses. "Absolutely, we want to make sure you both feel secure and supported throughout this process." She then continued to go through the rest of the contract, covering financial arrangements, the handling of medical data, and the support services the agency would provide.

As the meeting drew to a close, Marlene handed each of them a pen. "Take your time to read through everything once more on your own. If you’re ready, you can sign today, or you can take the contracts home and think things over. We want you to make a decision when you're completely ready."

As Marlene finished outlining the terms and left the choice to sign immediately or take the contracts home for further consideration, Clarke turned her gaze towards Lexa, silently seeking her input on how to proceed. The moment was charged with significance; the decision to sign now would cement their agreement, setting them firmly on a path toward a shared, albeit unique, journey.

Lexa held Clarke’s gaze for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She could feel the flutter of nerves in her stomach, but beneath that, a steady current of resolve. This was what she wanted, and every interaction and discussion up to this point had only solidified her confidence in her choice.

Finally, with a nod to herself, Lexa reached for the pen that Marlene had placed on the table. Her hand was steady as she picked it up, and with a decisive motion, she signed her name on the dotted line. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper seemed to echo in the room, marking a significant milestone in her journey to motherhood.

Clarke watched Lexa sign, noting the determination and clarity in her actions. Seeing Lexa make her decision with such resolve helped dispel any lingering hesitations Clarke might have had. Inspired by Lexa's confidence and encouraged by the thoroughness and fairness of the contract, Clarke picked up her own pen. With a thoughtful look at Lexa, acknowledging her readiness and mutual commitment, Clarke signed her name as well.

As they both put their pens down, a sense of relief and anticipation filled the room. Marlene, witnessing this, offered them both a warm, reassuring smile. "Thank you both for your trust and courage in this process. I’ll make sure everything is processed promptly, and I’ll be here to support you both through every step that follows."

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had just agreed to embark on together. There was a mutual understanding that while the road ahead would be uncharted and not without its challenges, they were now linked by a shared commitment to bring a new life into the world, each in their respective roles.

As Lexa and Clarke gathered their belongings and prepared to leave the conference room, Marlene interjected with one final point of order, outlining the next steps in their newly formalized agreement.

"Before you both go, I want to discuss the logistics of your first official meeting," Marlene began, her tone shifting back to her professional demeanor. "The agency has protocols in place to ensure the safety and comfort of all parties involved, especially during initial meetings."

She pulled out a small tablet and tapped a few times on the screen, pulling up a schedule. "We prefer to arrange the meetings on neutral ground. It helps maintain privacy and provides a secure environment for both of you." Marlene looked up from her tablet, making sure she had both Lexa and Clarke’s attention.

"For this purpose, we usually arrange for a hotel room. This setting not only ensures confidentiality but also allows you both to meet in a neutral, comfortable environment without the pressures or personal biases that might come from meeting in a more personal space," Marlene explained. She assured them that the agency had longstanding arrangements with a reputable hotel chain known for its discretion and high standards of service.

"We’ll handle all the bookings and logistics. You won’t need to worry about any of the arrangements," she continued. "I’ll send you both the details and date options for your first meeting. You can choose what works best for both of you."

Marlene’s explanation provided a clear framework for how the initial stages of their agreement would proceed, emphasizing the agency’s commitment to maintaining a professional and secure process. "Safety and comfort are our top priorities. We want to ensure that both of you feel secure and at ease during your meetings."

Lexa and Clarke nodded in understanding, appreciating the thoroughness with which the agency was handling the situation. The idea of meeting in a hotel for the first few times made sense, and the agency’s attention to detail and safety was reassuring.

"Once I have everything arranged, I will send you an email with all the information, including the date, time, and location of the hotel. You will both have access to the private suite, and agency staff will be available on-call, should you need any assistance during the meeting," Marlene concluded, her tone both serious and comforting.

With everything laid out so clearly and professionally, Lexa and Clarke felt more confident about the steps ahead. They thanked Marlene for her assistance and left the office with a sense of readiness for the next phases of their journey together. The agency’s meticulous planning and support made a complex process seem manageable and secure.

As soon as Lexa got back into her car, she couldn't resist the urge to share the events of the meeting with Anya. She quickly dialed her cousin, who picked up after just a couple of rings.

"Hey, Lex, how did it go?" Anya's voice was eager but tinged with concern.

"It was... good, really good," Lexa began, her voice carrying a mix of relief and excitement. "Clarke is nothing like I expected. She’s very grounded and seems genuinely interested in making sure this works out for the best."

"Oh? And how does she look? Did she match up to her picture?" Anya asked, her tone playful yet probing.

Lexa laughed softly, a blush creeping across her cheeks even though Anya couldn’t see it. "Yes, she looks just like her photo. But her eyes, Anya, they’re this striking shade of blue. It’s almost mesmerizing."

There was a brief pause before Anya responded, her voice now carrying a note of caution. "Lex, remember this is a business arrangement. Don’t get carried away because of pretty eyes. You told me she’s there for the money, right?"

Lexa sighed, knowing Anya was just looking out for her. "Yes, I know. And yes, the financial aspect is a part of this for her, like it is for many alphas. But she doesn’t make it feel transactional, you know? She's professional but also really considerate."

Switching topics slightly, Lexa then shared more details about the arrangements that had been made for their upcoming interactions. "Marlene arranged for us to meet in a hotel. It’s a neutral place, which the agency has set up for safety and privacy. They’ve really thought of everything to make sure both parties feel secure."

Anya listened intently, her initial skepticism giving way to understanding. "That sounds sensible. They seem to be handling things very professionally. Just... be careful, Lex. I know you, and I know how easily you can get attached."

Lexa nodded to herself, taking in Anya’s advice. "I’ll be careful. I promise. I’m going into this with my eyes wide open—figuratively and literally," she added with a chuckle, trying to keep the mood light.

"Good to hear," Anya replied, her tone softening. "Keep me updated, okay? And if you need to talk, anytime, I’m here."

"Will do. Thanks, Anya. I really appreciate it," Lexa said, feeling grateful for having someone like Anya to confide in.

With that, they ended the call, and Lexa sat for a moment in the quiet of her car, reflecting on the conversation. She felt a blend of caution and excitement—a cocktail of emotions that she would need to manage carefully as she navigated this uncharted path.

Lexa stared at the computer screen, her eyes tracing over the details outlined in the email. The room at the Arkadia Hotel was booked under the agency's name, providing an added layer of privacy and discretion with the room number assigned to Lexa being "439". The preparations were meticulous, reflecting the seriousness and sensitivity of their upcoming encounter.

As she absorbed the reality of the arrangement, Lexa's mind wandered to the intricate details of alpha and omega biology—a fundamental aspect that dictated the unique way they could conceive. The biological necessity for an alpha to 'knot' during intercourse to successfully conceive was an evolutionary trait, deeply embedded in their genetics. It was a process designed to enhance the probability of conception, ensuring that during the crucial moments, the alpha's body could maximize the chance of fertilizing the omega's egg.

This biological imperative was at the forefront of Lexa's thoughts as she contemplated her meeting with Clarke. The concept was still somewhat surreal to her. On one hand, the scientific aspect of it made sense, and she respected the biological processes involved. On the other hand, facing the reality of engaging intimately with someone who was essentially a stranger, even with mutual agreement and understanding, was daunting.

The part of Lexa that hesitated wasn't concerned with the logistics or the biological necessities—those were facts she had come to terms with when she decided on this path. Instead, it was the emotional aspect, the vulnerability of sharing such a personal experience with someone she hadn't known long. Yet, despite these reservations, the stronger part of her—the part driven by her deep desire to become a mother—was prepared to move forward.

As she sat there, Lexa reminded herself why she had chosen this path. It wasn't just about fulfilling her desire to have a child; it was about doing so in a way that felt right to her, under terms she had carefully considered and agreed upon. Clarke, too, had her reasons for participating, and their prior meeting had laid a foundation of mutual respect and understanding.

With each passing moment, Lexa's resolve grew stronger. She knew that the biological processes were just one part of the equation. The more significant component was her readiness to embrace the responsibilities and joys of motherhood. By the time she closed her laptop, Lexa felt a quiet confidence. She was ready for Saturday—not just to meet the biological demands of the process, but to take a significant step towards a future she had long envisioned for herself.

Lexa arrived at the Arkadia Hotel promptly at 4 PM, her heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and resolve. The hotel's lobby was bustling with activity, but she navigated through it with a sense of purpose, her focus fixed on the task ahead. At the front desk, she confirmed her identity discreetly, referring only to the reservation number and the agency's name. The clerk handed her a key card with a polite, professional smile that didn't probe too deeply into the reasons for her stay.

With key card in hand, Lexa made her way to her room, her steps measured and her mind racing. The hallways of the hotel were elegantly carpeted and softly lit, creating an atmosphere of privacy and tranquility that helped soothe her escalating anxiety. Each step brought her closer to a moment that might very well define her future.

Standing before the door marked with the number 439, Lexa paused, her hand hovering over the key card reader. She knew that behind this door, preparations would need to be made, both mentally and physically, before Clarke's arrival. The agency had arranged for Clarke to arrive later, giving Lexa ample time to acclimate to the environment, to settle her thoughts, and to prepare herself emotionally and physically for what was to come.

All she had to do was swipe the key card and step inside. Taking a deep breath, Lexa steadied her trembling hand and slid the card through the reader. The light blinked green, and a soft click signaled her access. Pushing the door open, she stepped into the room.

The room was tastefully decorated, neutral tones and soft lighting crafting a calming environment. There was an understated elegance to it, conducive to both comfort and privacy. Lexa let her gaze sweep over the space—the king bed, the sitting area with its inviting sofa, and a small work desk that faced a large window with curtains drawn.

Closing the door behind her, Lexa allowed herself a few moments to just stand and absorb the reality of her surroundings. This was the setting where she hoped her dream of motherhood would begin to materialize. It felt surreal, yet incredibly real at the same time.

She placed her small overnight bag on the bed, unpacking a few personal items to make the space feel more familiar. Lexa then spent some time simply sitting on the edge of the bed, collecting her thoughts. She reflected on her journey to this point—the decisions made, the fears confronted, and the hopes cherished.

As the time ticked closer to 6 PM, Lexa prepared herself, changing into something comfortable yet appropriate for the occasion. She reminded herself why she was here, focusing on the positive outcomes she hoped to achieve. This was about more than just the mechanics of conception; it was about taking control of her destiny and shaping the future she desired.

By the time Lexa heard a knock at the door just after 6 PM, signaling Clarke’s arrival, she felt a renewed sense of purpose and clarity. She was ready to open the door, not just to Clarke, but to the possibilities that lay ahead.

Lexa walked to the door, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. She reached out, her hand almost trembling as she turned the handle. The door swung open, and there stood Clarke, her presence as compelling in person as it had been in their previous meeting. Clarke offered Lexa a shy, somewhat tentative smile—a softening of her usually confident demeanor that made her seem more approachable in this intensely personal setting.

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke greeted with a quiet warmth, her voice carrying a hint of nervous anticipation.

"Hello, Clarke. Come in," Lexa replied, stepping aside to allow Clarke entry into the room. Her heart was beating fast, but she managed to maintain a composed exterior.

Clarke stepped past the threshold, her eyes quickly scanning the room as she entered. The soft lighting and tasteful decor seemed to impress her, and a small, appreciative smile appeared on her face. "This is a nice room," she commented, her tone carrying genuine approval. "The agency really does ensure comfort, don't they?"

"Yes, they do," Lexa responded, closing the door behind Clarke. She felt a slight relief that the initial moment of greeting was over, and now they could proceed with the reason they were both there. "They try to make this as comfortable as possible for everyone involved."

Clarke nodded, setting down a small bag she had brought with her. She looked around, taking in the environment that would play a significant role in the next steps they were about to take. The room, was designed to be calming, a sanctuary from the outside world and the weight of the decisions made within its confines.

Turning back to Lexa, Clarke's initial shyness seemed to melt away slightly as she became more accustomed to the setting. "I appreciate the effort to make everything feel serene. It helps," she admitted, meeting Lexa’s eyes with a more steady gaze.

Lexa nodded, feeling a similar gratitude for the care taken to create a space that respected the gravity of their meeting. "I agree. It makes things a little easier," she said, managing a small smile.

There was a brief pause as both women acknowledged the situation, the room serving as a silent witness to their agreement and the hopes tied to it. Then, almost instinctively, Lexa gestured towards the small sitting area. "Would you like something to drink? Maybe some water or coffee before we... start?"

Clarke agreed, appreciating the offer to ease into the moment more gently. "Water would be great, thank you," she said, her voice steady but still carrying a trace of the nerves they both felt.

As Lexa went to get the water, the air between them filled with a quiet acknowledgment of the partnership they were about to embark upon, each aware of the significance of their actions, yet comforted by the shared understanding and the meticulously arranged environment that surrounded them.

Clarke made her way to the sofa, settling into the soft cushions with a slight exhale that betrayed her underlying nervousness. Lexa opened the mini-fridge, retrieving a bottle of water which she handed to Clarke with a gentle, reassuring smile. The small, ordinary gesture seemed to anchor them both amidst the swirling emotions of the occasion.

Lexa lingered by the edge of the sitting area, her hands clasped in front of her, unsure of her next move. The room, while comfortable and inviting, suddenly felt too vast, filled with unspoken expectations and the weight of their impending decision.

Clarke noticed Lexa's hesitation and patted the space next to her on the sofa. "Why don't you sit here?" she suggested, her voice carrying a soft but clear invitation. "It might be more comfortable to talk this way."

Lexa nodded, grateful for Clarke's lead. She moved to the sofa, taking a seat at a respectful distance that still allowed for private conversation. She could feel the warmth of Clarke's presence beside her, a comforting reminder that they were in this together.

Once settled, Clarke unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and took a sip, then turned slightly to face Lexa. She initiated some light conversation, perhaps recognizing the need to ease into the deeper discussions that lay ahead. "So, how was your day before coming here? Anything interesting happen?"

Lexa took a moment to switch gears from the intense internal monologue she had been engaged in all day. "Oh, it was pretty routine," she replied, managing a small chuckle. "Just some last-minute work stuff and mentally preparing for today. What about you? Did you find time to do any art today?"

Clarke shook her head, a rueful smile playing on her lips. "Not today, unfortunately. But I did spend some time in the studio yesterday. It helps clear my mind, you know?"

"Yeah, I can imagine," Lexa responded, feeling the conversation begin to flow more naturally between them. "Art seems like a great way to express and maybe even sort through feelings, especially with everything that's going on."

Clarke nodded, visibly relaxed as the topic turned to her passion for art. "Exactly. It's not just about creating something beautiful or interesting. It's also therapeutic. It gives me a space to process things—a bit like an escape, but also a way to confront emotions directly."

As they continued talking, the atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke began to shift subtly. Clarke's discussion about her art opened a window into her inner world, showing Lexa the passion and depth that motivated her work. The conversation seemed to flow effortlessly now, with each topic leading seamlessly into the next, covering everything from favorite artists to the influence of different art forms on society.

The air lightened around them, filled with shared laughter and nods of understanding, as the initial awkwardness melted away under the warmth of genuine connection. They found common ground in unexpected places and differed in others, which only added layers to their interaction, making it richer, more textured.

About 30 minutes into their conversation, as they were discussing the emotional power of color in visual art, Clarke reached out and gently took Lexa's hand. Lexa felt a sudden impulse to retract her hand, startled by the unexpected contact. The moment hung between them, charged with the potential for deeper connection or withdrawal. But as she met Clarke’s eyes, Lexa saw the intention there—soft, unassuming, aiming to add a layer of intimacy and reassurance to their conversation.

Understanding Clarke’s gesture as an effort to bridge the gap between them further, Lexa relaxed and allowed her hand to stay in Clarke’s gentle grasp. The touch was comforting, grounding, and it brought a new level of openness to their dialogue.

Clarke’s thumb brushed lightly over Lexa’s hand, a soothing motion that seemed to anchor them both more firmly in the present moment. "Art is my way of understanding the world, and sometimes of escaping it," Clarke shared, her voice soft but resonant. "It's personal, yes, but sharing it feels like extending a part of myself to others, hoping they might understand or feel something too."

Lexa nodded, feeling the truth of those words resonate within her. "I think that's brave—putting a piece of yourself into your work and then putting it out there for the world to see and experience."

The atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke thickened with unspoken promises as the moments stretched on, each second building upon the last. Clarke's gaze intensified, conveying a mix of curiosity and boldness as she leaned in closer to Lexa. Her movements were deliberate, aimed at closing the distance between them with a cautious yet clear intent. When their eyes met, there was a silent exchange, a question posed and an answer given without words.

Clarke's lips touched Lexa's softly at first, a gentle test of boundaries that was sweet and tentative. The world around them seemed to pause, holding its breath along with them. Lexa's response was subtle but encouraging, enough to spur Clarke on. Pulling back slightly, Clarke searched Lexa’s eyes once more, seeking reassurance. What she found was a quiet acceptance, a willingness to explore the emotions that were beginning to simmer between them.

Emboldened by Lexa's silent affirmation, Clarke leaned in once more, this time with a firmer resolve. Her lips met Lexa's with more purpose, conveying a deeper intent. The kiss deepened, driven by a blend of newfound affection and a shared desire to discover more about each other through this new, unspoken language.

As the intensity of their kisses grew, so did their need for each other's closeness. The initial cautious exploration gave way to a more passionate expression of their burgeoning connection. Clarke’s hands found their way to Lexa's cheeks, holding her gently yet firmly, anchoring her as they navigated this new terrain together. Lexa responded in kind, her hands threading through Clarke's hair, pulling her closer, deepening their embrace.

The kisses evolved, becoming a profound dialogue of their lips and breaths, each kiss building upon the last, growing more fervent, more insistent. The connection sparked between them ignited something deeper, a flame that had been cautiously kindled now threatening to burn brightly.

Eventually, the need for air forced them apart, and they pulled back, each catching their breath, their foreheads resting against each other. Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, heavy and warm. The room around them came back into focus slowly, the sounds of the city beyond the walls creeping back into their awareness.

Clarke and Lexa remained close, neither willing to break the connection entirely. Their eyes met again, this time reflecting a mix of wonder and a hint of vulnerability after sharing such a potent moment. The initial purpose of their arrangement still loomed in the background, but what had transpired between them now added a profound layer of intimacy and complexity to their relationship. This was no longer just about an agreement or a process—it was about them, here and now, together in a way that was unexpectedly profound.

In the quiet aftermath of their breathless exchange, the air between Clarke and Lexa was charged with a new, palpable energy. Clarke, sensing the shift in their dynamic, slowly stood up from the sofa. There was a silent invitation in her posture, a gentle yet unmistakable beckoning as she extended her hand toward Lexa.

Lexa watched Clarke's movement, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief internal debate visible in her eyes as she considered Clarke's offered hand. It symbolized more than just a physical gesture; it was an invitation to continue exploring the depth of connection they had unexpectedly discovered.

With a subtle nod to herself, as if making a decision, Lexa placed her hand in Clarke’s. The contact was electric, reigniting the spark that had flared between them moments before. Pulled by a force that felt both thrilling and inevitable, Lexa stood, bringing her face to face with Clarke once again.

They stood there, hand in hand, close enough to feel each other's breath. The world around them seemed to fade, narrowing down to the space they shared. Lexa's eyes locked onto Clarke's, searching, questioning, and finding answers in the deep blue that stared back at her with an intensity that matched her own.

Without breaking eye contact, Clarke leaned in, her movements deliberate and full of intention. Lexa’s breath hitched, her body and mind anticipating the contact that was to come. As their lips met again, the kiss was different from the ones before. This time it was charged with the energy of standing together, of the decision to step into this space as equals, partners in whatever was unfolding between them.

The kiss deepened naturally, their bodies instinctively moving closer until they were embracing fully, the world around them completely forgotten. Clarke's hands moved to Lexa’s lower back, pulling her closer, while Lexa’s arms wrapped around Clarke’s neck, anchoring herself to the moment, to Clarke.

In that kiss, they communicated more than could be expressed in words. It was a promise, a commitment not just to the process they were undertaking but an acknowledgment of the vulnerability and strength found in true intimacy.

As the intensity of their kisses deepened, Clarke gently guided Lexa towards the bed, their hands intertwined, conveying trust and mutual desire. The steps were few but filled with anticipation, each one marking a deeper commitment to the moment and to each other. As they reached the edge of the bed, their lips barely parted, sustaining the connection that had now become their world.

Standing beside the bed, Clarke’s hands slowly found the edge of Lexa’s shirt. Each touch was careful, measured, filled with an unspoken question that Lexa answered with a slight nod, a breathless "yes" whispered between kisses. Clarke’s fingers trembled slightly—not with hesitation but with the gravity of the moment, aware of the trust Lexa was placing in her.

With each piece of clothing that Clarke gently removed, Lexa felt a layer of her defenses dissolve, not just exposing her skin but opening up deeper parts of herself. Clarke’s touch was reverent, filled with care and attentiveness that spoke volumes. She took her time, ensuring that each movement, each kiss that followed the removal of a garment, honored the vulnerability and strength Lexa displayed.

Lexa, for her part, felt an overwhelming sense of being cared for. It was not just the physical undressing but the way Clarke managed every action with such gentleness—it made her feel cherished in a way she hadn’t anticipated in this arrangement. Each kiss Clarke planted on her newly exposed skin wasn't just sensual but comforting, affirming their connection and Clarke’s respect for her.

As Lexa stood there, with Clarke’s hands skillfully and tenderly ensuring her comfort, she found herself more assured with each passing second. The vulnerability of being undressed was overshadowed by the security Clarke’s demeanor provided. It was a strange, beautiful dichotomy—standing there exposed yet feeling entirely safe.

When Lexa was finally free of her clothing, Clarke paused, giving her a moment to adjust. She looked into Lexa’s eyes, seeking any signs of discomfort or withdrawal. Seeing none, only a quiet gratitude and trust, Clarke leaned in for another kiss, this one conveying her appreciation for Lexa’s trust.

They moved together onto the bed, their movements synchronized, a dance guided by mutual understanding and the desire to maintain the emotional connection that had become as vital as their physical one.

As they shifted together on the soft expanse of the bed, Clarke carefully positioned herself between Lexa's legs. The air around them was thick with anticipation, yet Clarke made no immediate move to continue. Instead, she paused, her eyes lifting to meet Lexa's in a silent, searching communication. The intensity of her gaze was soft but intent, probing gently for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty in Lexa's expression.

Lexa, feeling Clarke’s gaze upon her, understood the unspoken question hanging between them. The world seemed to hold its breath as she considered her feelings, the warmth of Clarke's body an anchoring presence. In Clarke's eyes, she saw not just desire but a profound care and patience. It was clear Clarke was ready to stop at the slightest hint of reluctance, ready to put Lexa’s emotional well-being above all else.

Feeling a surge of trust and a deep, affirming connection to Clarke, Lexa reached up, her hand gently caressing Clarke’s cheek. Her touch was tender, meant to reassure as much as to give consent. With a soft smile that spoke volumes, Lexa nodded slightly, her eyes conveying her readiness and appreciation for Clarke’s considerate approach.

Clarke, receiving the clear, affirmative response she had sought, allowed a relieved and grateful smile to curve her lips. But still, she moved slowly, maintaining eye contact as she gradually resumed closing the distance between them. Her actions were deliberate and unhurried, ensuring Lexa remained comfortable.

As they lay together on the bed, the world outside the soft cocoon of their room seemed distant and unimportant. Clarke's kisses were tender and deliberate, focusing solely on Lexa's lips with a gentle insistence that spoke volumes. Each touch was filled with the silent communication that had become their language—a language of looks that asked and answered without words.

Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and readiness, made no attempt to escalate beyond their kissing. She was content to explore the contours of Lexa's lips, the soft exchanges grounding and deepening their connection. The slow, purposeful pace she set was like a melody, soft and rhythmic, designed to soothe and affirm.

Lexa, enveloped in the warmth of Clarke's nearness, felt a blossoming desire to move forward, driven not just by physical need but by the emotional intimacy they were weaving with each kiss. Feeling a growing urgency, Lexa began to gently shift her hips beneath Clarke, a subtle movement but a clear indication of her readiness to deepen their physical connection. Her movements were hesitant at first, testing Clarke’s response, seeking to communicate her desires without disrupting the harmony of their current engagement.

Clarke, ever so perceptive to Lexa’s cues, felt the gentle undulation of Lexa's hips against her. She paused, their lips parting slightly as she sought Lexa's eyes. In them, Clarke found not just the green light she needed but a spark of deeper desire, a silent plea to bridge the gap between affection and passion.

Sensing Lexa's readiness, Clarke allowed a moment for them both to acknowledge the shift in their dynamic. She gave a small, affirming smile, her hands framing Lexa's face as if to say she understood, and she was there with her, every step of the way.

Encouraged by Lexa's clear communication, Clarke deepened their kiss, her movements becoming more assured, more aligned with the rising tide of their desires. Her hands, which had been content to cradle Lexa’s face, now wandered with purpose, tracing paths down her neck and shoulders, mapping the terrain of her skin with a reverent touch.

Lexa responded in kind, her own hands exploring Clarke’s back, pulling her closer, reducing the space between them to nothing. Their movements became a dance, a give and take that spoke of mutual desire —a dance that promised to carry them forward into the next chapter of their night together.

As the depth of their connection grew more intense, Clarke remained acutely aware of the trust Lexa had placed in her. With every move she made, Clarke was considerate, her actions measured and gentle to ensure she maintained the sanctity of that trust. When the moment came to deepen their physical connection further, Clarke approached it with a profound sense of responsibility and care.

With a reassuring look into Lexa's eyes, Clarke sought silent permission to continue, waiting for a nod of assent before proceeding. Lexa's response, a soft affirmation accompanied by a nervous but trusting smile, gave Clarke the green light she needed. Very slowly, Clarke began to slide closer, merging their bodies in the most intimate of ways.

Clarke's movements were slow, almost painstakingly so, as she carefully navigated this new level of closeness. She was acutely conscious of Lexa's reactions, watching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. As Clarke gradually slid into Lexa, she made sure to control her movements, giving Lexa time to adjust to the new sensations.

"Are you alright?" Clarke whispered, her voice low and soothing.

Lexa, feeling the care with which Clarke moved, nodded, her initial tension easing under Clarke's attentive gaze. "Yes," she breathed out, a hint of relief in her voice as she found the sensation different but not unpleasant, her body slowly adapting to Clarke's presence.

Clarke paused, allowing Lexa a moment to get accustomed to the feeling, her hand gently caressing Lexa's arm in a comforting gesture. The room was filled with a tense but tender energy, each aware of the significance of the moment.

As Lexa relaxed more, Clarke continued, still cautious, moving in a rhythm dictated by Lexa's responses. Every slight adjustment, every careful motion was made with Lexa’s comfort in mind. Clarke’s focus was entirely on Lexa, ensuring that her experience was as gentle and loving as possible.

As Clarke and Lexa continued their intimate connection, the intensity of their movements gradually built up. Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and reactions, had initially maintained a slow and gentle rhythm, ensuring that every motion was measured and considerate. However, as the moments passed, the natural progression of their physical responses began to drive the pace.

Clarke could feel the building pressure of her own impending release, a physical response that would soon reach its peak. She knew it was crucial for Lexa to be ready for her knot. This required a careful balance, speeding up her movements to match the escalating intensity while ensuring Lexa was not overwhelmed.

With a deep breath to steady her nerves and focus her intentions, Clarke began to gradually increase the rhythm of her hips, her movements becoming more deliberate. "Lexa," she murmured softly, her voice a blend of desire and concern, "I'm getting close. Just let me know if you need me to slow down, okay?"

Lexa, caught up in the rising tide of sensation, nodded, her breath coming in quicker gasps. She placed her hands on Clarke's hips, a silent signal of her engagement and readiness. Lexa's eyes, wide and focused, locked with Clarke's, communicating her trust and willingness to continue.

Clarke, reassured by Lexa's response, carefully monitored her own body's signals while also watching Lexa's reactions closely. She adjusted her movements, aligning them with Lexa's subtle cues and the increasing demands of her own body. The tempo of her hips quickened in a controlled manner, each thrust deeper and more purposeful.

As Clarke navigated this critical juncture, her focus was split between her own physiological responses and Lexa's comfort. She was acutely aware of the importance of timing and coordination in this moment for achieving their goal.

The air hummed with the rhythm of their synchronized breaths, the faint whisper of skin gliding against skin. Clarke felt the imminent onset of her climax, the pressure mounting inexorably. She continued to move with a mixture of urgency and care, prepared to guide both herself and Lexa through the intensity of the experience.

Their connection, both physical and emotional, had deepened throughout their encounter, each moment building upon the last to create a profound bond. As Clarke approached her peak, she held Lexa's gaze, seeking and finding the reassurance she needed to let go, trusting that Lexa was with her every step of the way.

As the crescendo of Clarke's movements reached its peak, the inevitable moment of release washed over her with overwhelming intensity. Her body tensed, every muscle straining under the force of her climax. The world narrowed to the profound connection between them, a visceral link that pulsed with each beat of her heart.

Overwhelmed by the surge of sensations, Clarke's strength waned, and she could no longer support herself. Gently, she collapsed onto Lexa, her breath ragged and heavy, echoing in the quiet of the room. Her body molded against Lexa's, a perfect fit that spoke volumes of their physical and emotional synchrony throughout this intimate journey.

After her release, Clarke sought to maintain their closeness, turning her face towards Lexa's neck. She pressed soft kisses there, near Lexa's pulse point where she could feel the rapid beat of Lexa's heart against her lips. Clarke’s breath warmed Lexa’s skin, her exhales becoming slower and more measured as she gradually regained her composure.

The room was filled with a palpable sense of completion and tranquility, the lingering tension dissolving into a peaceful stillness. Lexa murmured gently into Clarke's ear, her voice low and soothing, "Thank you," a simple phrase that carried the weight of her appreciation for Clarke’s participation in such a profound moment.

Lexa, feeling Clarke's weight comfortably against her, wrapped her arms around Clarke, holding her close. She responded in kind, her own breathing syncing with Clarke’s as they both relaxed into the afterglow. Lexa’s fingers trailed softly down Clarke’s back, grounding her with gentle, reassuring touches that conveyed her own deep sense of connection and care.

#my writing

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