#and then they were magically willing to pay for my inhaler! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

atozfic · 4 years ago

Text

overdrive.

pairing. kim hongjoong x fem!reader.

synopsis. a lonely artist finds himself in need of some human contact, so he joins a dating app but with a very specific request: he doesn’t want a relationship, he wants the experience of one. when someone contacts him, interested and willing to aid him in his search for artistic inspiration, the rules quickly become simple: no real names, no personal details, no feelings. so what the hell is kim hongjoong supposed to do when he catches himself daydreaming about their future together?- or, can you fall in love with a stranger?

warnings. strangers to lovers, fake dating au (kinda?), artist!hongjoong, aged up!ateez (irl age + 5 years), angst, fluff,heavy themes of mental health, depictions of depression, trauma and anxiety, brief mentions of cheating, death, bullying, drugs and alcohol, way too many attempts at humour. smut: dom!hongjoong, sub!reader, nipple play, hair pulling, dirty talk, finger-sucking, spit used as lube, use of the word “doll”, unprotected sex, penetrative sex.

word count. 17.8k

hyde’s input. this fic is my baby. i love it with my whole heart. it’s been in the making long before i even opened this account. all it took was listening to overdrive by conan gray once and this entire monster of a fic started to unravel in my brain. any feedback is appreciated, same goes for any like or simple reblog! if there’s any spelling mistakes, look the other way: this is 17.8k, i’ve re-read it ten times, i’m sorry!

“I don't know what you're on about, dude. It looks pretty good to me.”

Praise and positive reviews were not what Hongjoong wanted to hear. In fact, all he wanted to do in that moment was kick his own foot through the tainted canvas, until no sign remained of the painting he'd finished in the early hours of the morning; to drench the palette in whatever alcohol he could find laying around the messy studio and light it up into flames.

“I've seen your child make a finger painting better than this. Don't lie to me, Park Seonghwa!” Hongjoong groaned, slouching back in a huff as he melted further into the old leathered sofa. His head tilted back and his eyes snapped shut whilst he inhaled deeply, the offensive smell of fresh paint entering his system.

“I can't help it!” The other male exclaimed and Hongjoong could perfectly picture how he threw his hands up into the air in self-defence, eyes wide and a smile threatening to make itself known. “Being your friend comes way before being your agent, I can't help but be biased!”

Hongjoong’s eyes snapped open. “I literally pay you to not be biased!”

“Yeah, well, I think we've already established that you make mistakes.” With a sheepish smile, the older male gestured towards the canvas and Hongjoong couldn't even find it within himself to try and disagree.

He really had gambled on the fact that this one piece would turn out the way he wanted it to. The truth was, he'd known deep down the work wouldn't turn out well. Through the months of working at it, he kept his optimism up and repeated how if he just added a few more shades, a few more details, the painting would magically morph itself into exactly what he wanted from it. And now he was less than five months away from his submission deadline and missing one painting from his collection. The one which he'd promised himself would be the real kicker, the centre piece, the main character of the exhibition.

“This is hopeless, Hwa!” Sulking came easier than inspiration to the petite artist as of late, a fact which depressed him a little more than he'd ever let another person know. “I don't get what I'm missing here. The concept is so basic yet, every time I go to press brush to canvas, it's like I'm faced with a foreign language and telling myself that if I just stare a little longer, the letters will figure themselves out and I'll miraculously become fluent.”

“Because you're not feeling it, Hongjoong.”

“Feeling what?”

“The concept.” When the taller male was met with nothing but a blank expression, he gestured around with his hand and continued. “Moving on. I mean, you've been single for, what now? Sixteen months? And in that whole time, you've not even entertained the idea of meeting someone new, or even just going on a date.”

“Forgive me for not rushing to throw myself back into a relationship after my last one.” Hongjoong always hated when he failed to control his darker feelings, hating to expose how weak he actually was to things like anger, sadness, depression.

It's why he turned to art in the first place, during his teenage years, which were plagued with awful and painful experiences. Rather than facing them head-on, Hongjoong melted his emotions into colours, presented them on a plain background and worked his way into a scholarship. And, so, that's how it had always been for him. He never had to talk his feelings out, he just painted and others took what they could understand from it.

The leather squeaked under the new pressure of Seonghwa sitting next to him. Hongjoong's eyes shot to the male's lap, where he could see his friend nervously fidgeting with the ring on his left hand. Whatever Seonghwa was about to say next, he had a feeling he wasn't going to like it.

“Look, I get it. I know how hurt you were after things ended between you and...” She'd become the Voldemort of his life, everyone else around him refusing to utter her name out loud and all treating him like the fragile child who'd survived her attack and came out alive with nothing but a scar. Only, his scar was less lightning shaped and more like a cracked heart. “But don't you think it's time you try move on? You're letting... her effect you more than she deserves to. She wasn't the one for you but someone, somewhere, is. You're not going to meet them in here, you need to be outside, experiencing life, waiting for the moment you both cross paths.”

Hongjoong had always envied Seonghwa and his hopeful attitude towards love.

Of course he didn't understand, even if he claimed to. Seonghwa had never even experienced a break up, never mind heartbreak. He met the love of his life at the age of fifteen and married her at the age of twenty five, welcoming their first child together not even a year after.

“Chae wanted me to ask you if maybe you'd consider meeting a girl from her faculty.” Ah, there it was. The whole reason Seonghwa had even brought up his love life in the first place. “She's really sweet! And she's new to the city. And Chae figured, since you know all the best places here out of all of us, you'd be a great tour guide.”

“San literally works in real estate, Hwa. His job is knowing this city like the back of his hand.”

“San is also happily engaged. Come on, what is there to lose? One date, that's all I'm asking you to try.” Seonghwa whined, reminding Hongjoong of the man's child. “You need to start living life again, dude. Because this life of self pity isn't working out for you anymore, it's beginning to affect your career. Just put yourself out there and, if it goes shit, you can blame me.”

“Oh, I'll do more than blame you.”

“So, does that mean you're agreeing to it?”

Hongjoong sighed, pushing himself to stand up from the couch, his hands stinging from the dried paint and his muscles aching with the need for a warm shower. Eyeing the repulsive piece once more, he mentally cursed Seonghwa for playing the career card. He couldn't pretend the man didn't have a point, his art was in need of a new muse, sooner rather than later if he intended to not be a one hit wonder.

“Only because I really need to make that deadline.”

The evening should have been nothing short from perfect: a fresh bouquet handed to her at her front door, a pleasant evening stroll to the restaurant, a mouth-watering meal, not a moment of uncomfortable silence between the two of them. So, why did Hongjoong feel like something was missing?

It was somehow nothing and, yet, everything personal. His date, who he'd forgotten the name of two hours into the night and was now doing his best to avoid having to say it, was by all means conventionally attractive. She had a strong sense of self, the kind of woman he pictured his mother wanting for him. From the many stories she'd shared through the evening, he could tell she loved her job just as much as she loved to talk. They could work as a couple, theoretically. Hongjoong wasn't quite the talker- unless the topic of conversation pertained to one of his obscure, niche interests-, whereas she looked like she could talk for the whole republic of Korea. Her clothing was loud, colourful, a reflection of her personality. Meanwhile, his were dark, plain. She was a social butterfly, he was a solitary caterpillar.

If opposites truly did attract, she would have been his soulmate.

Hongjoong was the issue, though. Or, at least that's what he thought of himself. There he was, on a date with a beautiful woman who was doing her best in life, thriving both socially and in her career. Meanwhile, he was a burnt out artist who rarely found the motivation to wash his hair and had seven friends, only one which he'd actually gone out of his way to make himself and that was in high school. He felt irritated by her perfection, by his inability to have his life put together in that same way. Only a few years away from hitting thirty, and what did he have to show for himself? A single exhibition in his whole career and a one bedroom apartment he'd been living in since college? The girl across from him deserved better than what he had to offer.

“...long story short, that's why Chaeyoung found me crying in the toilet on my first day.” Her flirtatious laughter attracted stares from surrounding tables. None malicious but all wondering why the poor girl's date seemed so miserable in the presence of someone so bubbly. “Speaking of toilets, I'm just going to go freshen up. Don't miss me too much.”

“No promises.” He smiled up at her when she rose from her seat, the guilt in the pit of his stomach growing heavier with each passing second.

As she disappeared from sight, Hongjoong sighed. Out of relief, sadness, exhaustion? He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The events of the evening were pushed aside as he let his eyes trail around the restaurant's interior. The whole place had been refurbished since the last time he'd been.

The last time he'd stepped foot in the restaurant, the whole place was made up of different shades of blue. The walls, the seats, the tablecloths. Walking in felt like being slapped in the face by a raging ocean. When it came to his art, he hated the colour blue. But he'd put up with it in that restaurant because she always liked the service there.

Now, the restaurant had changed hands and the new owner clearly had a more minimalistic approach to things. The walls were a mirage of beige, an elegant design printed on the selected wallpaper. The furniture was a combination of black metals and wooden tops and, where a bunch of cheap chandeliers had once hung, a selection of fairy lights entwined with strings of fake leaves rested above everyone's head. If Hongjoong tried hard enough, he could picture his ex sat across from him in that moment, nose turned up while she failed to quietly bash the rugged look of the restaurant.

Clearing his throat, Hongjoong finished off the remnants of his drink. He figured taking this time to ask for the bill was the least he could do. His date had put in all the effort of conversation, he should be the one to cover the cost of the evening. Between waiting for the bill, and waiting for his date to return, his eyes drifted across the room to another couple.

It wasn't the girl's striking beauty nor the male's loud booming laughter that had caught his interest. It was the way they seemed the opposite of him and his date: the girl looked bored to death and the man seemed to only pause from talking to shovel a fork full of pasta into his mouth, not even waiting to swallow before speaking again. Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, hands occupying themselves with his napkin, more than sure that he was seeing exactly what other customers had seen when they looked at him and his date.

In another life, where everything was a rom-com and romance wasn't the root of all misery, Hongjoong would believe this girl was his soulmate, both of them destined to meet at the bar as they attempted to escape their talkative dates- who would likely be destined to meet that same evening too. Maybe they'd have a joint wedding, all laughing when they thought of the times they'd tried to end up with the other's spouse.

Instead of heading to the bar, Hongjoong payed the bill and, when his date returned, they both walked out of the restaurant; her a few steps ahead of him while he took one last glance at the opposite couple.

The walk back to her place was a little less awkward for Hongjoong than the rest of the evening, the prospect of finally being able to go back to the safe place that was his apartment giving him a buzz of energy. She'd asked him questions about the city, mostly just about the best places to go for specific things, and he'd answered her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket while hers swung freely at her side. Every couple of swings, he'd wonder if she was waiting for him to take a hold of it, intertwine his fingers with her own.

They arrived at her door and the echo of the nightlife around them was starting to pick up, people just beginning their evening together while they two were bringing theirs to an end.

“Thanks for tonight. I really... appreciated your company,” He internally groaned. He sounded like he was closing a business meeting, not saying goodnight to a girl he'd just went out with. “you're a really nice girl. It's been nice meeting you.”

“It was really nice meeting you too!” There it was again, that twinge of hatred towards her. She was just so happy, Hongjoong envied her.

“I'm really sorry for wasting your time.” A hand shot up to rub at the back of his neck, fingers brushing over the bottom of the mullet he'd grown in the months of heartbreak. “I'm just, not really looking for anything with anyone right now? It's nothing personal.”

“Hey, no worries! In all honesty, this was more about just going out in the city. It's not easy being the new kid in town!” The smile never faltered from her face, not even at her next words. “Chaeyoung may or may have not explained a little bit of your situation to me and, I know my opinion as a stranger might mean nothing to you, and I totally respect that, but let me just say this. I think you're a really nice guy. A cool guy, with a lot to offer. You just seem to have forgotten who that guy is, which is a shame. I'd really like to be friends with him.”

“I,” He paused, a little stunned and unsure of what he should say. He'd been told similar things from friends, and it was easy to brush off. But, coming from this girl who barely knew him yet had read him so easily? It was hard. “yeah. I'm trying to remember, I think. Thanks for saying that. And for tonight. Hopefully you don't mind being stuck being friends with whoever I am right now.”

A colourful string of curses pierced the air of the apartment. Hongjoong pulled back from the sizzling pan, wishing he could punch the him from ten minutes ago who thought it was a smart idea to cook bacon in nothing but his underwear.

Growing into his own skin was something that had taken him years to achieve. He'd always been on the shorter end of height amongst those in his class, which hadn't helped with the singled-out bullying he endured in his formative years. There's only so many times a person, especially an impressionable teenager, needs to be told their supposed short-comings before they begin to believe it's all that defines them. He'd learnt to love himself through watching her love him, following in her footsteps like a baby duck followed it's mother. Out of everything the relationship had left him with- the heartbreak, the trust issues, the betrayal- he was happy it had brought him self-love.

The self-love that made him confident enough to lounge around in his boxers though? Yeah, that could get lost, as far as he was concerned.

His ringtone began to play, to which the already frustrated, and admittedly sleep deprived, Hongjoong groaned as he walked around the kitchen island into the living area. Like always, he found the damned device buried within the creases of his couch.

Seonghwa was calling him.

Hongjoong hit decline.

It was ten minutes past noon, he'd barely been awake for half an hour and his skin had already been tainted with burns from the oil spat at him by his pan. There was not a chance in hell, purgatory or heaven that he was about to answer and listen to his friend barrage him with questions about how the date went. Hongjoong wasn't ready to listen to the hopeless romantic in Park Seonghwa try to find moments of hope in the terribly mundane evening him and the girl had shared.

No second date would be happening, a fact which comforted Hongjoong. A weight had been removed from his chest, that sinking feeling gone. The accomplishment of having done what Seonghwa had asked of him, no matter the end result, was a small success in his books, a step in the right direction out of his cycle of misery. However, that one step didn't mean he was ready to run a marathon.

If Hongjoong really was going to walk the path back to his old self, or carve a new one, he'd be doing it on his own terms and at his own pace.

The influx of buzzing from his phone took his attention once again, this time coming from a familiar group chat. Hongjoong had told himself to mute it yet always forgot to.

[12:11 pm] wooshit: istg she's left me with 6 pulled muscles and a broken bed, best sex i've had in a long time.

Jung Wooyoung was one of those friends he hadn't gone out of his way to make but, rather, he just turned up one day in Hongjoong's life, slapping him on the ass and asking him if he would mind painting a nude portrait of him.

[12:13 pm] yeolo: you say that every time you have sex.

[12:14 pm] wooshit: kang yeosang stop being salty about me getting my dick wet challenge: failed.

Yeosang had been the one to blame for introducing Wooyoung to the group and, though he too was technically someone who simply showed up one day, Hongjoong had shared a class with him during college days.

[12:16 pm] yunhoe: honey, we need to stop befriending these hets like we're a charity.

[12:16 pm] yunhoe: oh shit.

[12:16 pm] yunhoe: did i send that here?

[12:17 pm] minki: yeah, but you're right.

[12:17 pm] minki: from now on, you guys need to pay for the service of our company.

Then there was Jeong Yunho and Song Mingi, yet another golden couple in Hongjoong's life. Like Seonghwa and his wife, they'd met in school, the only difference being that they never fully accepted their feelings for each other until much later. They were the first new additions to Hongjoong and Seonghwa's life, the four sticking together after ending up sharing a dorm.

[12:22 pm] wooshit: i don't even pay for netflix, what makes you think i'd pay for you?

[12:23 pm] yeolo: idk how he keeps accessing my account, i've changed my password over six times!

[12:23 pm] jongno: adding another number at the end of hehet doesn't count as changing your password, yeo.

The latest friend among them all, Choi Jongho, was dragged into their mess by Seonghwa, who'd contacted him about singing at his wedding. Somehow, the night had ended with the lot of them embarrassing themselves on the mic during various rounds of drunken karaoke, while Chaeyoung looked on, unamused by her new husband's antics.

[12:26 pm] sanwitch: am i the only one still wondering how tf woo convinces these women to sleep with him?

If there were a voice of reason among them all, it certainly wasn't San. After meeting his fiancé, he'd tried to play off like he'd matured but they all knew he was still Wooyoung's double, one half of their dumb and dumber act.

[12:27 pm] wooshit: i don't appreciate your tone.

[12:28 pm] wooshit: i'm a suave casanova. a modern gentleman. ladies fall at my feet when i wink.

[12:29 pm] yeolo: he's on a hook up app.

[12:29 pm] wooshit: hate it here.

[12:30 pm] wooshit: it's not a hook up app, it's a dating app. the best one, actually.

[12:30 pm] yeolo: a dating app for horny singles.

[12:31 pm] wooshit: hey! horny singles want love too!

[12:34 pm] minki: what's so good about it anyway?

[12:36 pm] wooshit: i'm glad you asked, mingles.

[12:37 pm] yeolo: oh no, here we go.

At some point, Hongjoong had reclined himself against the arm of his couch, slowly but surely sinking into it whilst his eyes and thumbs scrolled over the screen. It wasn't like he had any intentions of join the conversation. No, that would risk Seonghwa seeing him online. The conversation was nothing special either compared to the countless other ones they'd spammed the chat with. Still, a magnetic force was pulling Hongjoong to keep reading, to pay attention.

[12:43 pm] wooshit: the app let's you choose who gets to see your private info, like your name, age, etc...

[12:43 pm] wooshit: so users just see your pictures and whatever description you write, until you approve them to see more. it's great, filters out people who're looking for anything long term.

[12:49 pm] sanwitch: isn't it weird to hook up with people and not know who they are?

[12:52 pm] yunhoe: not to mention, dangerous?

[12:53 pm] wooshit: that's the fun part!

[12:53 pm] wooshit: this is why i fear relationships.

[12:54 pm] wooshit: it's turned the two biggest man whores i knew into boring, dick/pussy whipped losers.

[12:58 pm] yeolo: wait, so what's the app called?

[13:03 pm] jongno: don't do it, yeo.

[13:05 pm] wooshit: stfu jongho.

[13:05 pm] wooshit: yeo don't listen to him, baby.

[13:06 pm] wooshit: the app's called checkmate.

[13:08 pm] jongno: can i just be the one to remind wy he's less than a year away from hitting 27?

[13:10 pm] yunhoe: don't join the dark side, yeo. you're better than that.

[13:04 pm] wooshit: yeo used to think darth vader was hot, he's always been on the dark side, yunho.

An offensive beeping rang out in the room, startling Hongjoong and sending him catapulting out of his seat, a hand clutching his chest. His heart was beating a thousand miles per minute. In a state of panic, he began to recount the safety measures she'd instilled in him for whenever the fire alarm went off. It was only once his eyes had settled on the fire extinguisher that a rather offensive smell hit his nose, his shoulders slumping in disappointment.

His bacon had burnt.

There was something he despised about arriving early to things.

For starters, it made him panic that he'd gotten the days mixed up, more often than not finding himself unlocking his phone and aiming straight for his calendar. After confirming the plans aligned with the select day, he'd check the text history with whoever he was meeting, in case he'd written it down incorrectly in his phone.

Moving on from there, Hongjoong would fall down a spiral of believing everyone in the surrounding vicinity had their eyes on him. In his mind, they were all questioning why he was alone, what was he doing, if he was just a complete loner. He solved this by occupying himself with his phone, scrolling through his gallery or aimlessly rereading conversations in the Teezers group chat.

It would soothe him for a while, until his brain found something else to worry about: being stood up. The overwhelming feeling of abandonment was something he carried close to his heart, sneaking out at the minimum sign of someone not arriving for an arranged meeting. There were times, when he'd arrive first out of the Teezers, that his own fear was strong enough to convince himself that all seven of the boys had collectively agreed to not meet up and to leave Hongjoong waiting.

Right now, he was experiencing the second stage.

With half a cup of coffee left and a shredded napkin in his anxious hands, Hongjoong was doing his best to limit the number of times his eyes wandered over to the entry of the café. Eventually, the napkin was replaced by his phone, cringing as he forgot to turn his volume down before he opened the app. He would be more than ashamed if someone in the café recognized the app's signature tune, fearing the judgement he'd receive for being on such a site.

Hongjoong hadn't told anyone he'd joined Checkmate, not even his friends. Was it partially out of fear of judgement? Yes, the judgement from finding out the real reason he'd signed up.

Two weeks had passed since he'd set up his profile and he was still blaming it on a moment of weakness, born from lack of sleep, mild dehydration and the paint fumes he'd been inhaling indirectly all day in his studio. The feeling of needing a new muse returned to him, stronger than any previous time. Without much thought, Hongjoong had unlocked his phone, memories of Wooyoung and his self-proclaimed "best dating app" at the front of his mind. And, though Hongjoong had always despised the concept of a dating app- he much preferred the old fashioned way of falling in love, the artist in him seeking out that moment of fate where one gazed across a room and caught the sight of someone magnetic, someone they needed to meet-, the app was ideal for what he wanted.

He squirmed in his seat, turning the brightness of his screen down as his dating profile flashed onto it. He'd uploaded exactly three images of himself: one of him sat in a car, adorned with a beret and a camera in hand; another taken of him across a table, back when his hair was red and his eyes were happier; the last was a selfie he'd taken in an elevator with his face covered by a mask, he'd hoped it wasn't too obvious his ex had been cropped out of it.

Taking another sip of his coffee, Hongjoong grimaced as he read over his profile description.

this may sound strange but i'm not looking for a relationship or a casual hook-up. what i really need is someone to experience things with, experiences that my friends are too exhausting to give me and my family is too judgemental. i don't want to know you, and i don't want you to know me. i just want us to live a few moments together, as strangers. call them dates if you want, i don't care. maybe you don't understand what i'm asking for, maybe you think this sounds like a scam that ends with you dead. that's fine, you're not the person for the job, please move on from my profile. but, maybe you're like me and the past months have been you living in autopilot, waking up because you have to, not because you want to. maybe your friends are just like mine and they've told you to put yourself out there more or that they miss the old you. this is both of our chances to change that, to be our old selves again or become a newer, better version. if that's the case, message me but don't let me see your private info. be my stranger.

Given it's contents, he was amazed anyone had messaged him. Maybe he'd been hoping to get no response. He'd be able to remain sedated with the fact he'd tried, leaving him the perfect excuse to not do so again for a while.

But someone had replied. The person, from the few pictures Hongjoong had been permitted to view on their profile, was beautiful. To others, the word beauty could easily hold a single meaning, a specific look. To the artist, it meant everything. He had a knack for finding hidden treasures, glimpses of rarity. His fingers had itched to portrait such a face on paper the longer he'd stared at the pictures, which both terrified and satisfied him.

He'd not even met you yet and already he'd had a surge of inspiration, even if it died a few seconds later.

The third stage of arriving early was about to commence when, much to his relief, a figure sat across from him.

There you were, nervously pulling back your own seat and placing down your to-go cup. Details about your face were different in person than in pictures but it didn't diminish your beauty. No, it rather enhanced it.

“What did you order?” Hongjoong often thought someone's choice of drink could tell you a lot about them. Like how Seonghwa ordered a cortado because he was always in a rush, or how San had the habit of getting a mocha to kill two birds with one stone: satisfy the craving for coffee and chocolate, or how he himself tended to order plain black coffee to avoid any fuss for the person serving him.

“Mango tea.” Was your reply and Hongjoong wasn't sure what to make of it. In all honesty, he hadn't known there was such a thing. He really needed to start reading the menu at these places.

“Don't drink coffee?” His question was observational. Statistically speaking, didn't most people fall under the veil of a coffee or tea person, the drink version of the good old cat or dog debate?

“Only when I'm stressing.” There was something about the way you spoke to him, like you hated the small talk just as much as he did, that had Hongjoong gripping on to everything you said. Was this what it was like to speak to himself? “Sorry, not to be rude, but could we cut to the chase? I have to be back in class in,” You paused, pulling back the denim sleeve to read your watch’s face. “seventeen minutes.”

His eyes widened at the word class, like he was personally offended by it. All rational sense left, his prone-to-panic brain doing what it done best and throwing him down a spiral of dark thoughts.

“College!” You exclaimed, hands shooting up a little, your palms on display. “College class. I'm...” You seemed hesitant to speak, halting yourself mid-sentence. You knew what the man in front of you wanted and personal information was not it. “of age. Not some high school student, I swear.”

When Hongjoong gave you no reply, you continued to speak.

“Not that it really matters. We're not going to be doing anything. But still, you don't want to be... hanging out with some kid. I get it. Me neither. Yeah, I'm a college student.”

“I believe you.” Different to his previous date, Hongjoong didn't think you were much of a talker. A nervous talker, perhaps. He could relate to that a bit more. There was a humming in his veins, his body buzzing with the thrill of sitting across from a complete stranger and not having to worry about your impression of him, if he was showing all his best qualities, intriguing you to get to know him better. There never had to be a fear of you being disappointed with what you'd find in meeting the real Kim Hongjoong. “Anyway, yeah. Let's get into it quickly so you can make it back to class.”

“Okay, so you already said in our text conversation that you don't want to know any personal information.” Hongjoong nodded, affirming your statement. “What exactly do you consider personal information?”

“Anything that defines who you are. Your age, your hobbies, your hometown. Especially your name,” He finished off the last of his coffee, doing his best to ignore the bitter taste. “It's too easy to learn everything about someone these days with just their name and access to the internet.”

“Sheesh, these days? You talk like my middle-aged father.” You seemed to catch your mistake just as it left your mouth, looking off to the side momentarily before meeting his eyes again. “Shit, sorry, you just said you didn't want to share our ages.”

Hongjoong almost wanted to laugh out of pity, seeing so much of himself reflected in you yet finding you so different all at once. “Love that you apologise for that but not for insinuating that I'm old.”

“Hey, ain't no shame in a little age. I've heard having a glucose father helps cover the costs of college.”

“Glucose... father?”

“And then you wonder why I called you old?” For the first time since you'd approached the table, he saw a wave of confidence wash over you, burning in the satisfaction of whatever diss you seemed to believe you'd handed to him. “So, if we're not getting to share names, what am I supposed to call you?”

“That's... actually a good question. I didn't think that far ahead.” Before falling asleep the night before, Hongjoong had rehearsed every possible scenario he could think of regarding how this meeting would go. Hell, he'd even prepared for if you revealed mid-way that you were an alien lifeforce! He'd miraculously skimmed over how to get past the whole name situation. “I don't know, I guess we could just tell each other fake names.”

“Or,” You drummed your hands on the table. He found it a little annoying. “we could pick out names for each other.”

“You first, then.”

Hongjoong felt the urge to sit up straight instead of his usual slouched posture at the drag of your eyes over him. It was intimidating to know you were analysing everything about him based solely on his exterior, yet it filled him with a twisted pleasure. He hoped whatever conclusion you came to about him would be incorrect, his superiority complex needing a comeback.

“Clyde.” Not a name he expected. “Cause you seem like the complete opposite of that name, but I'm also kinda suspicious that you might be some sicko waiting to make a mask out of my face.”

“Who's to say it's not you who's going to make a mask out of mine?” His eyes caught the way you checked your watch again, time running by quickly. “Then I guess I'll be calling you Bonnie, to keep things on theme.”

“Well aren't you just the little romantic?”

Hongjoong didn't want to stay in your company any longer than necessary, he really didn't. But your bus stop just happened to be in the same direction of where he'd managed to park his car. Saying goodbye at the café door only walk in the same direction would have been too painfully awkward for Hongjoong to endure, so he offered to walk you to the stop.

You both managed to come to an agreement on your schedule: every Saturday. It was the only day you had free, the rest filled with school and work. He'd felt a little guilty admitting he lacked responsibilities in that department.

Watching you walk told him more than your drink order had. You seemed to pull into yourself, shoulders kinda tight, hands in your pockets, head a little low hanging like you were watching your own steps.

Spotting the bus stop up ahead, he picked up pace. His social battery was running out, a sight no one enjoyed witnessing. But you called him to stop and, out of politeness, he felt the need to obey.

“Hold on, I'll be back in a second, I swear.”

Off you'd disappeared into a convenience store, leaving Hongjoong abandoned in the middle of the pavement. That feeling of having eyes on him returned but he survived, resisting the urge to fake being occupied by his phone. You came bustling back out, a white plastic bag at your side and a look of success on your face.

“Here, take this.” You reached into the bag, holding out a cardboard box to him. Upon inspection, he quickly realised what you'd bought. You were smarter than he'd expected, what a relief. “Now we won't even have to share our real numbers.”

Hours later, the black, clunky burner phone would buzz in Hongjoong's back pocket, a single text on the grainy screen.

from: bonnie c u on saturday, grandpa.

“Maybe this wasn't a good idea.”

Hongjoong couldn't agree with you more, a frustrated sigh falling from his lips as he struggled to pack up his stuff. In his mind, he couldn't get away from there fast enough. Momentarily, his eyes skirted over to you, satisfied to find you also packing up and throwing your bag over your shoulder, not an ounce of hesitation. The look you both shared before commencing to run made it clear you were wondering the same thing.

How the hell had the date taken such a turn?

As promised, the two of you had met on a Saturday. Hongjoong picked you up from that same bus stop you'd parted ways at, figuring it was easier than finding out what other places you localled in your free time. Upon your arrival, Hongjoong did not notice the little things that had changed about you since he'd last seen you, like the way your hair was a couple shades darker or how you'd changed your phone case.

“Looking dapper, Clyde.” You'd said, taking in his outfit when you'd stepped off the bus.

He'd always prided himself on the ways he expressed himself, whether that be through his artwork, his words or his fashion sense. There'd been a time where his wardrobe was colourful, full of oddities and unique pieces, things he'd thrifted and renovated to suit his taste more. Nowadays, all the colour in his wardrobe was hidden behind piles of whites and greys and blacks. Hongjoong felt a shot of pride run through him at your comment, standing there in black cargo pants paired with a white graphic tee and a pair of faded black Doc Martins' he'd owned for a few too many years.

It felt good to be complimented still.

“I hope you don't have any allergies.” By the time you'd both sat yourselves in his car, Hongjoong was feeling a little less tense. The initial greetings with strangers was always the hardest part.

“Is that a trick question, Clyde?”

“Not at all, Bonnie. Why? And you're having a little bit too much fun calling me that, aren't you?”

“It's a cool name!” You threw your hands up in your own defence. “I thought we weren't supposed to share private info.”

“There's private information and then there's me accidentally putting your life at risk. Now answer the question.”

“And they say romance is dead.” You shifted in your seat, one hand playing with the zip of your jacket. “As long as you don't try force feed me a strawberry, we're good.”

Hongjoong didn't point out the fact you never asked him in return, not that he did have any allergies that needed pointed out. But you seemed disinterested in knowing, in caring.

He'd picked the right person.

The car pulled up to an empty parking lot located in front of a field, a look of realization coming over you. Taking advantage of the trance you were in, Hongjoong shot out the car and made his way around to your door, effortlessly pulling it open and greeting you with a shy smile. He was hoping you liked the plans he'd made for you both. Not because he cared for your opinion, rather Hongjoong knew he needed an influx of colours to motivate him, inspire him.

And what better place to find colour than a field of blossoming flowers?

He closed the door behind you before leading you over to the boot of the car- which sparked several jokes about him murdering you and burying you in the field- and handed you a blanket before bringing out a basket. Conversation was scarce as you two ventured over the small fence and into the flowery field, the basket swinging with each of his steps and the blanket safely clutched against your chest. The smell was sweet, overwhelmingly fresh in contrast to the stiff air of Seoul.

“This looks like a good spot,” You said, coming to a stop in an empty patch surrounded by a rainbow made up of tulips. The artist in Hongjoong itched to take your picture, the sun creating the illusion of a halo above your head and the flowers a satisfying contrast to your monochromatic clothing. The person in him didn't want to carry the burden of your image in his gallery, a temptation to think of you on days that weren't Saturdays. “you agree?”

“Uh, yeah, seems fine to me.” He wanted to curse himself for taking a few moments to reply. Surely you didn't notice.

You laid the blanket down and he laid out the food: freshly cut fruit (no strawberry in sight), sandwiches without the crust (he always found the crust too dry), chocolate dipped almonds and honey drizzled pastries (he had a sweet tooth), different flavours of milk (banana was his favourite) and bottled water.

The date passed by slowly, neither of you willing to admit you were bored. It was hard to choose a topic of discussion when you weren't supposed to get to know each other, to care for what the other thought or felt. For a while, he'd told you facts about the different flowers around you until you took over and told him about different types of clouds. And then, you caved into the awkwardness.

“Tell me something about yourself.”

“I don't want to.”

“It doesn't have to be true.” You stated like it were the most obvious thing in the world. “That's the beauty of this, right? We don't have to be honest with who we are. So, tell me something about yourself, whether it's the truth or a lie. I'll never know, either way.”

Hongjoong paused mid bite of the pastry, tongue darting out to lick at the excess honey on his lips. “I'm an accountant.”

“Because no one asks what you do?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind, boomer.”

“I'm not a boomer! I'm probably not much older than you!”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say.”

Hongjoong ignored the way peach juice dribbled down your chin as you took a bite. “It's your turn.”

“My cousin is a famous idol.”

Both of you lied.

And it worked, getting the conversation flowing a bit easier. Hongjoong enjoyed lying without the consequences that usually came along with it. It was like playing a character, no longer himself but Clyde, an accountant, career booming and social circle full. It was easier to be confident when nothing was reality.

But back to the present, where both you and Hongjoong were scrambling to grab your belongings and make a beeline for his car. A buzzing followed after you both, threatening to make you pay for intruding on the bees turf, who were hungry for nectar and not happy to find a pair of strangers sat among the flowers and eating the fruit of their labour.

Suddenly the prospect of a flower field was less romantically beautiful.

“Ow, ow, shit.” Hongjoong cursed, slamming the door to his car shut. With the adrenaline dissipating, the pain of the nasty sting he'd taken to the hand made itself known.

“Here, let me drive.” You called from the backseat, urging him to hop over to the passenger's side. Hongjoong hesitated, he didn't enjoy letting other's drive his car. But the itch in his hand only grew, leading him to give in. He grunted when you nearly elbowed him in the face while dragging yourself into the front. “Next time, let's just do something indoors.”

Hongjoong had certainly been on worse dates.

The dates continued on smoothly from there, with no more run ins with wildlife and less awkward silence each time.

You chose the second location, a pottery class, in which Hongjoong tried his best to not over-perform and you just tried to at least make a shape out of some clay. The third and fourth dates were chosen by him: a visit to a planetarium and a trust-building day of canoeing, by the end of that one, you both had nearly drank the whole lake away from the number of times you'd fallen in.

One thing remained consistent throughout. Without fail, there would come a time where one of you- usually you- would prompt the question "Tell me something about yourself."

He'd lied about being into clubbing and you lied about being a smoker.

He lied about having a sister and you lied about being fluent in four languages.

When you were honest about owning a cat, Hongjoong kept up the lies with saying he preferred dogs.

The fifth date was one you'd organised, giving Hongjoong nothing but an address and the instruction to dress like a pompous aristocrat. He felt a little silly, walking the street midday in his suit and tie, but he found himself caring less than he normally would. He quite liked being Clyde. He'd even nearly put on a teal tie, but he decided he still wasn't ready and stuck to a black one.

from: bonnie meet me inside.

Pulling the door open to the building, he was admittedly ashamed of not recognising the address of the art gallery. Back in college, he'd spent hours sat in the centre of some of the larger rooms, beautiful art encasing him as he worked away at whatever project he needed to complete before midnight.

He found you near the information desk, scrolling through your phone. He'd hate to ever admit he took this moment of liberty to give you a once-over. Your beauty was nothing new to him, a few dates in now. The way it morphed into something new every time, though, that never failed to intrigue him.

“You scrub up quite nicely, Bonnie.” Hongjoong no longer felt a shake in his voice whenever you two met up. It worried him that he may be getting used to you but, the smile you gave in retaliation to his greeting didn't worry him,

He actually liked it.

The two of you ventured through the gallery, shoulder to shoulder. You'd stare at the art and he would stare at you. For no reason other than he had seen these pieces all plenty of times, more than he'd seen you.

Hongjoong smiled, thinking of how wonderful it was to see someone experiencing the art for the first time. That smile faltered when you both came to a stop in front of a familiar painting. A portrait of a woman, naked skin tangled with rose vines and face stoic..

If only the thorns dug more into her skin, enough to draw blood, it would have satisfied him.

“This one makes me sad.” You spoke, unknowingly quenching some of the fiery anger burning up in him. He'd forgotten this piece was even hung here.

“Why?” He knew why it made him sad, but you? He couldn't understand. The painting was a supposed demonstration of love, a declaration of affection.

“It reminds me of unrequited love.” You took his lack of response as your sign to continue, clearing your throat. “It's like a shrine, or an artsy version of putting her up on a pedestal. Even it's name, Aphrodite's champion. It's like the artist is worshipping her like a goddess.”

He felt a lump swelling in his throat the more you spoke, the memories of her walking out on him playing out in his head. How she'd revealed her lies to him, stripped him away of his sanity, gaslit him into thinking he'd pushed her to the point of infidelity. It took many drunken nights in Seonghwa's company to get it through his head that nothing he'd done could ever excuse the way she treated him.

“I feel sorry for whoever the artist Kim Hongjoong is. They deserve better.”

He'd managed to make it to the bathroom in time for the first tear falling, you none-the-wiser to the emotional fractures ripping him apart in the tiny stall.

The sixth date went better.

He was relieved by the time Saturday arrived, his week filled with nothing but stress and heartache. On the Monday, Seonghwa had invited himself into his apartment, finding his friend dishevelled and puffy eyed in his studio room, an empty canvas in front of him and a paper scribbled with ideas in his hand. Wednesday saw the unexpected visit of his mother, which always went down a treat for him. On Thursday, he drank away the day that should've been his and his ex's fifth anniversary. By the time Friday had rolled around, Hongjoong started working, for the second time, on the final piece of his collection.

The reopening of his wounds had at least served some purpose.

Every other week so far, Saturday had been the day he dreaded. The day he had to mentally prepare for, the few hours of social interaction exhausting him. But the sixth Saturday was his saviour.

The day couldn't have gone better: he'd woken up early; he'd hummed along to the radio while cooking breakfast; he’d spent the afternoon painting, till his back ached and his fingers were cramped; he’d contemplated a hair cut but decided against it. And, when he'd stepped out the door that evening, twirling his keys on his finger, Hongjoong slipped on a red jacket.

“I can't believe drive-in cinema's are still a thing!” You exclaimed again, still in disbelief of where Hongjoong had brought you. His hands itched to reach up and wipe the mustard off the side of your mouth. Your napkin done it before he could lose his composure.

He nodded, mouth full of nachos. He was regretting asking for extra jalapeños, his tongue beginning to tingle. You, on the other hand, were smarter than him and stuck to a hotdog. As he swallowed, a tortilla chip scratched at his throat, leaving him coughing for a couple of seconds. “What, no joke about me being as old as the concept of drive-ins?”

“It's only a joke if you find it funny.”

“Who says I don't?”

“You've never laughed before at my jokes.”

“There's a first time for everything.”

The parking lot wasn't ridiculously busy. If Hongjoong had to, he would have guessed there was between ten to fifteen other cars apart from you two. A car to the left of his, four parking spaces between them, harboured what looked like two teenagers, one straddling the other's lap while they both took part in a dance of tongues and wandering hands.

Hongjoong believed their money would have been better spent on a motel room than the drive-in.

“What are we watching, anyway?” You piped up again after a while of comfortable silence, the radio softly playing a mix of early 2000s pop while you waited for the movie to play. He watched you sip from your cup, fingers drumming along to the beat coming through the speakers. Hongjoong liked it.

“Jurassic Park.”

“A movie about a group of prehistoric reptiles?” He'd expected the reaction you'd given him but that didn't make it any easier to suppress his smile at the sound of you laughing, cheeks puffed up from the stretch of your lips. “Isn't that based on your autobiography?”

Finally, he let laughter rip through his lungs, melodic waves of sound spreading in the small space of the vehicle. He was too lost in his own amusement to notice how your own laughter had died down or how you stared at him in content. Hongjoong really did look much better with a smile on his face, but you kept that thought to yourself out of fear of ruining the moment.

“Sorry Clyde, you just make it too easy for me.”

Once the movie started, the talking stopped, nothing but the sound of the characters pulsing through the speakers and the crunch of pop-corn. Your eyes hadn't left the screen once, sparkling a little with the bright reflection of the screen. Hongjoong, on the other hand, struggled to keep himself concentrated. His eyes were restless: watching the screen, watching you, watching the other cars, watching the sky, watching you, watching the pedals at his feet, watching you, watching you, watching you.

He craved your attention.

“Tell me something about you, Bonnie.” His whispered words had your eyes on him at last. You didn't seem bothered by the way he was interrupting the movie. Instead, you reached to turn down the radio.

“I hate the spelling of the word Wednesday.” You shifted yourself in your seat, leaning closer to him. His stomach turned at the smell of your perfume, lingering on his senses and threatening to get him hooked on it. “It's just so ugly looking, don't you agree?”

“Hmm...” Hongjoong had to spell it mentally, visualising all the times he'd written it in the corner of middle-school notebooks. “I get what you mean. It looks like it has more letters than it needs, kinda cramped?”

“Yes! Exactly! It's only got two e's but that somehow feels like too many.” Was he proud because he managed to relate to someone or because that someone was you? “Your turn, Clyde.”

“I hate the colour blue.”

“That's strange.” You didn't seem to be judging him, just commenting on it.

“You think?”

You hummed in approval, sipping the remnants of your drink. “Worldwide, that's the colour most people favour.”

“And yet the colour is associated with the feeling of sadness. Says more about everyone else than it does about me, wouldn't you agree?”

The radio was shortly turned back up. His eyes were more calm this time, only occasionally drifting over to where you were sat. Until he felt something drop against him. He found you, eyes shut by sleep.

You needed a place to rest your head and he let you have him, finding comfort in the weight of you on his shoulder.

Hongjoong couldn't stand hospitals.

They smelt like bleach coloured death and words left unsaid and fading heartbeats. The lights were too bright, like they were trying to mimic the light one sees at the end of the tunnel. Everything was used and touched and tainted by another person, yet things were presented as brand new and never used. For him, every inch of the building brought on a kaleidoscope of memories of the final months before his passing, before his mother was left spouseless and his older brother took over the role of man of the house, and Hongjoong turned to paint brushes and abstract emotions.

In his first ever therapy session- one he'd only attended at her request-, they'd quickly gotten on to the topic of his father. It wasn't a shock for him to realise his depressive days had began after his death, making him wonder why he was paying this stranger to tell him things he already knew.

Sighing, he brushed aside the unwanted memories and tightened his grip on the crutches, making his way out of the consultation office and back into the lobby, a prescription tucked into his back pocket. The pain in his ankle diminished slightly the second he caught sight of you, biting down on the tip of your pen and caught in a trance staring at your crossword. There was a strand of straw caught amongst your hair but you seemed none-the-wiser.

He pulled it out when he was close enough, smiling down at you sheepishly while you pushed the magazine to the side, eyes shooting down to his ankle.

“Well?” You asked expectantly.

“It's not broken.” You sighed in relief. “It just took some shock upon impact, so it's a little sensitive. Should heal up in a few days, but I've to come back if the pain worsens at any point.”

“So you won't be suing me for damages?”

“No!” He chuckled in disbelief. You'd stood yourself up and you both were now making your way through the lobby of the hospital. It was endearing to see you walk slower for him to keep up. “Why would I sue you, Bonnie?”

He'd started to use your false name more. Was it to stop himself from asking for your real one? To remind himself this wasn't real?

“You're hurt because of me! I knew horseback riding was too risky for your old bones, should've just taken you to the zoo like I originally planned.”

“I don't like zoos.” An elderly couple pointed towards you two as you passed them. Hongjoong wanted to know what they thought of you both. “Besides, I had fun today. Especially when your horse stopped to take a massive dump mid-way through the trail and then ate grass for about five minutes. Watching you struggle to get it moving again was the highlight of my week!”

“Oh haha, very funny. Starting to think you falling off your horse was just karma for enjoying my suffering.”

The sun was barely up anymore, hues of dark orange setting fire to the sky while the sun slowly disappeared for the day. Hongjoong wondered if you could feel the cold the same way he could. When you'd both met in the morning, it was much warmer and neither of you predicted you would still be together so late into the day.

“Did you get a hold of your friend?” Hongjoong shook his head at your question. He'd messaged Seonghwa after the doctor had given him the all clear, knowing that he wasn't capable of driving himself home.

“He's busy, stuck with his in-laws for the night.” He knew there were others he could have asked to help him, like the rest of the boys in the group chat. For some reason, he didn't want to.

“Then I guess you're just going to have to accept the fact I'm about to find out where you live, Clyde.”

“I'm sure I can live with that.”

The drive was relaxing. He let his eyes drop down and just enjoyed the humming of the engine, the classical music dancing out of the speakers, the sweet scent of you in the air. Every so often, his GPS would chime in and keep him from falling off the edge into sleep. If someone had told him weeks ago, dates back, that you would be driving toward his apartment, he would have cut contact with you straight away.

Right now, he wished you'd hurry up and step inside the four walls he called home.

“You must have a boring job.” The doors to the elevator shut slowly, a fact which Hongjoong had always hated about the building. It usually left him stuck having uncomfortable small talk with the older women in his building.

“Huh?”

“Boring jobs always pay the best.” You further elaborated. “To live in a place like this, you must get payed well.”

He'd never really thought about the paycheques he collected. For Hongjoong, his art wasn't a job. It was breathing, living, feeling. He often forgot it was also what payed his bills and funded his lifestyle. He supposed you were right, to an extent. He did get payed well, but his job was by no means boring. “I told you, I'm an accountant.”

He was glad to find his apartment clean, mentally noting to thank Seonghwa for tidying up for him last time he'd visited. He'd always been a clean freak but fatherhood seemed to have intensified it. You walked in after him, swinging the little white bag in sync with your steps, his medicine tossing around inside of it. Somewhere along the drive home, he remember the prescription in his pocket, prompting a sudden manhunt for an open pharmacy.

At your orders, Hongjoong dropped himself down onto the couch while you wandered into the kitchen, asking him where he kept his mugs and how he liked his coffee. Watching you struggle to open his monstrous size of a fridge, Hongjoong didn't hate the look of you in his safe space. You fit in quite well.

For the first time in years, he let himself be taken care of. You cooked up some kimchi stew, which you shared sat in his living room, laughing between bites at the cringey rom-com playing on the TV. You fluffed a cushion and helped him prop his foot up on the coffee table, wrapping it in a frozen bag of peas when you realized he had no ice. You poured him drink after drink, forced him to take his medicine, cleaned up the dishes you'd both used.

You kept him company.

“Tell me...” Hongjoong trailed off, deciding he didn't want to finish the sentence.

“Something about myself?” You finished it off, curling yourself further into his couch, legs pulled up to your chest and a mug of tea heating up your hands.

“No, actually.” You looked more surprised than he felt. “Tell me why you agreed to this.”

“You know, nobody really warns you about how lonely being an adult is.” Hongjoong wanted to scream out in agreement. He leaned closer to you instead, body language urging you to continue. “I always thought college would be wild nights and crazy parties and messy hook-ups. And it is but it's also stressful, difficult, isolating. There's times where I go days without speaking to my friends, ignoring their texts for no other reason than I'm so drained and conversations overwhelm me. When I do want to talk or see them, they're all too busy with their own lives, which I'm not angry about but hanging out isn't as easy as it was back when the only thing we had to worry about was having the dishes done by the time our parents came home. The feeling of being lonely took over the feeling of being alive somewhere along the way. I miss being busy with something other than responsibilities, I miss being hugged because I'm cared about and not because someone wants to cop a feel. I miss the feeling of company and understanding.”

Your word-vomit resonated with Hongjoong, the way you explained your feelings and your cravings mirroring things he'd been thinking for months. How would you react if he hugged you? He didn't want you to mistake it for pity. His arms stayed put.

“On the flipside, the intimacy of love is something I don't want. Which contradicts the things I do want, I know, but then I came across your profile. You sort of filled that hole and I didn't need to worry about the complications of relationships.” And now he was feeling guilty for his recent behaviour. You were strangers, that was the deal. “I guess that's why I agreed to it.”

The shame poured off you in waves, the realization of everything you'd just let out into the world hitting you like a truck. You took a few more drinks of your tea, the cup covering half your face.

“I needed a new muse.” Hongjoong thought it was only fair he shared his reason too. Another part of him, one he didn't want to acknowledge, wanted you to know about his past.

“I didn't know accountants needed muses.” You joked, choking a smile out of your saddened face.

“Yeah, well, let's just say this accountant has a side-job involving art.”

“What happened to your old muse? Did you outgrow them?”

“They outgrew me.” It had been so long since he'd had to tell this story to someone, he only hoped he could get it out without choking up. “Have you ever met someone and immediately realised you want them by your side till the day you die?” You looked at him, nodding your head affirmatively. “That was my ex. We met on campus. She was late to class and I accidentally spilt coffee all over her.”

“What a k-drama way of meeting.”

“Tell me about it. So anyway, we were together for three years. It was great, like living in some fantasy. We'd spend mornings sleeping, in the afternoon she'd drag me out to do something, no matter how much I wanted to stay home. And in the evening, she'd sit and I'd paint her. Until she started leaving in the morning, and coming home late, and girls nights out kept ending with her sleeping round her friends houses.”

“Clyde...” He wished you'd said his name with pity, not the meaningless name you'd anointed to him.

“But whatever, I thought nothing about it. We just moved on from the honeymoon phase, right? On our anniversary, I took her to her favourite restaurant, some fancy place covered in enough blue to make me nauseous. The whole night I felt like shit and just wanted to go home but she didn't even notice, eyes staring off at something behind me. It was during dessert that she broke the news of her pregnancy, the restaurant owner even appeared from behind me with a celebratory bottle of champagne for us.”

“Alcohol? Sounds exactly like what a pregnant lady needs.”

Hongjoong snorted back laughter, finding comedy in the fact you had no idea what was coming next. “So we start preparing for the baby, she even has me emptying out my studio room and turning it into a nursery.” He paused, blinking till his eyes had glassed over. “I never realized I was someone who wanted kids till she told me it wasn't mine. Five months along, after sitting with her through all the morning sickness, and holding her hand at the doctors, and massaging her swollen ankles every night, she finally decides she owes me the truth. And only because the real father finally stepped up and offered to take responsibility. Guess she preferred someone who owned a restaurant instead of someone who played with arts and craft supplies for a living.”

It was you who hugged him, carefully crossing the space between you both and wrapping your arms around his torso, hand rhythmically patting his back. He hesitated momentarily before letting his arms tangle themselves around you. The first thing he noted was how warm you felt, like soup on a cold day or hot chocolate on Christmas morning. The second thing was your perfume, different to any you'd worn before, one he swore smelt like tulips.

Hongjoong melted into you, forehead pressed against your shoulder and eyes shut, washing away the tears of self-pity. He sighed and took a breath, reminding himself of the breathing exercises he'd learn to calm himself down in moments of anguish. He was thankful you continued to hold him.

“Tell me something about you.” He said- no, begged. He needed the conversation to change. He needed you to be Bonnie and him to be Clyde, instead of Kim Hongjoong and a stranger he was growing attached to.

“Classical music reminds me of sex.” The way you made him laugh so easily wasn't helping his attachment. “Don't laugh! There's the soft beginning, which is like kissing. Then comes the gentle increase, the teasing moments of undressing. The build up, the foreplay. And then the crescendo is the climax. It's sex turned into music.”

“So, when you're trying to seduce a guy, what do you do? Put on some Beethoven and throw it back?”

“Don't make me poke your ankle!”

Neither of you moved back to your original positions, even after pulling away from the hug. You sat, face to face, talking over everything and nothing. For the first time, Hongjoong hadn't lied to you once, an achievement he found less scary than he would have a month ago. And you? You hadn't lied, necessarily, simply told a half-truth. Just one.

It couldn't hurt, right?

When you'd succumbed to sleep on his shoulder, Hongjoong decided it was probably time for bed. If it weren't for his crutches, he would have carried you into his room, given up his bed in exchange for the couch. The best he could do was lay you down on a pillow and wrap you in a blanket, leaving the hallway light on in case you awoke startled in the night.

Hongjoong fell asleep wondering how much warmer the bed would've been with you beside him.

And he woke up to a scream.

Your scream.

Cursing after he forgot about his injury and stepped down onto his ankle, Hongjoong hobbled as quickly as he could over to his crutches, completely alert as he made his way out of his room, only to stumble onto the scene of the crime.

Your hair was messed up by sleep and your face was a little puffy while you held up your pillow defensively, facing the intruder who clearly was a threat to your life: Seonghwa with a baby strapped to his chest and an amused look on his face.

“Hongjoong! How nice of you to join us!”

Oh no. Oh no. His eyes shot to you, wide, seeing you processing just exactly what Seonghwa had said. It was too early in the morning for him to try and handle this smoothly.

“How did you get in here?” He decided to focus on his friend instead, hoping if he brushed it off enough you'd forget what you heard and keep seeing him as Clyde.

“The same way you did,” Seonghwa held up his hand, a set of keys in his grasp. “a key.” He'd forgotten all about the spare key he'd given to him. And the fact he had the worst timing. “Who's this, Joong?”

“That's...” The person I've been dating but not really dating for the past few months and it's starting to get complicated, and you aren't helping by saying my name. “my person.”

“Your person?” Seonghwa parroted, a dumbfounded look on his face. “You must be feeling better, you're starting to sound like a pretentious artist again.”

“Okay, what do you want? Why are you here?” If Hongjoong had found the courage to look at you, he'd have noticed the fondness in the way you watched the two men interact.

“I forget you're not a morning person. Why was your person sleeping on the couch? Trouble in paradise?” His questions were followed up by Seonghwa slowly sitting himself down on the couch, hand cradling his son's head to his chest.

“I fell asleep on the couch while we were watching a movie.” Hongjoong had never been happier to hear you speak. “Cl- Hongjoong couldn't move me because of his crutches. Paradise is still very much good, thanks.”

Seonghwa stared past him, right at you, eyes narrowing into a calculative glare. “I like you.”

“I'm flattered. But I need to leave, got work in a couple hours.”

“Let me walk you- actually, hobble you to the door.” Hongjoong was quick, following you over to the front door and, most importantly, out of Seonghwa's hearing range. “Thanks, for last night.”

“No problem. Don't forget to take your meds." You smiled, hand patting the top of his arm. He wanted to feel what it was like to hug you again. “See you next Saturday, Clyde.”

The dopiest of smiles rested on his face, only faltering when he returned to the living room and found a knowing look on Seonghwa's face.

“Oh, shut up!” He exclaimed, throwing himself down next to him on the couch.

“I didn't say anything!”

The whistle of the boiled kettle interrupted Hongjoong’s actions, as if to stop him from making a mistake. He shoved the burner phone back into his pocket, tending to his fourth coffee of the day. The clock had barely passed eleven am.

Making his way back into the studio, a smile lit up his face instantly at the sight of his work in progress. The canvas was more than half-way done at this point, he’d finally reached his favourite part of any piece: the details. He loved to play with the shading, the swirls of different colours and the specs of different textures.

The whole experience of working on this last painting had sent him down a trip of nostalgic memories, some good and some bad. By far, his favourite was the memory of the opening day of his first exhibit. He could remember swelling with pride when a little boy, no taller than the height of his knees, reached out to put his hands on a canvas. Even though the mother had scolded her son, Hongjoong enjoyed the way he was touching his art, experiencing it with all his senses.

Two sips into his coffee and his mobile buzzed. Hongjoong was disappointed it wasn’t the chunky one in his pocket, but his newer model thrown somewhere behind him on the old couch.

[11:27 am] ddeonghwa: don’t forget to bring the supplies for saturday or chaeyoung will kill both of us.

Hongjoong had never been so happy to receive a text from his friend, who was completely unaware of the excuse he’d just created for him, the window of opportunity he’d opened.

to: bonnie are you busy?

Your reply was instant, making Hongjoong less embarrassed to be messaging you.

from: bonnie if staring at my notes and pretending to study is busy, then yes.

to: bonnie you could do that anywhere, technically.

from: bonnie i could.

to: bonnie i’ve heard art stimulates people’s brains.

from: bonnie everything stimulates the brain.

to: bonnie shut up and come over, i have mango tea.

from: bonnie you should’ve opened with that, i’d be there by now.

You’d arrived in no time, quenching the deep desire he’d had to see you. It appeared two hours after you’d left on Saturday and made itself at home in Hongjoong’s brain, eating away at his conscious and begging him to message you, to think about you on days that weren’t a Saturday.

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” You asked him for the third time since you’d arrived. Your textbook lay in front of you on the kitchen island but your eyes were busy watching him struggle to make your tea. “You do realize it’s only Wednesday, right? Or has dementia finally caught a hold of your brain?”

“Careful or I might accidentally use salt instead of sugar.”

You ended up taking over, making your own drink. You didn’t mind, it gave you an excuse to shut your book and stand next to him. He looked cute in his paint splattered shirt and his iron man socks. His hair was messier than you’d seen before, looking soft to touch and like it smelled of high-end shampoo.

“I’m busy on Saturday, but I didn’t want to deprive you of your weekly company.”

“Busy? On a Saturday?!” The exclamation in your voice was exaggerated, you both knew that. You bumped your hip into his, careful to not knock the hand that was pouring hot water into his cup of coffee. “Here I thought Saturdays were something reserved just for me.”

He hated that fact more than anything, that it was only Saturdays.

Conversation came easy between you both as you drank your warm beverages, him perched on the counter and you on one of the bar stools. You told him about upcoming exams and he told you about the recent exhibit he’d been working on. You shared the story of some guy in class who’d accidentally taken ecstasy and Hongjoong exposed the story of how Yunho had once thought he was buying cocaine in college but it was just a bag of crushed chalk.

“Can I see your studio?” You asked, dropping your empty mug into the kitchen sink.

“Let me just...” Hongjoong was surprised by the words coming out of his own mouth. His studio was his sanctuary. He could count on one hand the number of people he willingly allowed in there: himself, Seonghwa and Mingi once (by accident). Yet here he was, not even thinking over the choice of letting you see it. He just wanted external validation, that was all. Someone not in his immediate friend group. “clean up quickly.”

Which he did, shoving used tissue into a plastic bag, moving his dirty palette and used brushes to the sink he kept in there, turning the canvas that carried his final piece the other way, not ready for you to see it. Only once things seemed semi presentable did he call you in.

“So you’re like, the real deal?” You finally spoke for the first time since entering, eyes not sure what you wanted to stare at more. The room was so colourful, as if it contained all of Hongjoong’s personality.

“I guess? Yeah.” He’d never felt so sheepish, hands shoved in his pockets and mind racing with every worry under the sun.

“What’s your most recent work then?”

“Oh, no no, that’s not ready for your prying eyes to see.” You groaned in frustration and he just laughed. An idea struck him, one he shouldn’t have had but there was no getting rid of it now. “I can paint you something right now though, if you want.”

You nodded eagerly, eyes lit up in excitement. The look didn’t even fade when Hongjoong warned you it would take a few hours. “Talent can’t be rushed, I know.”

“Okay, take your top off.” You raised your eyebrows at him, a questioning look across your face. “Don’t look at me like that. Take it off and lay on the couch, on your front. You’re going to be my canvas.”

Hongjoong turned his back on you, giving you the privacy you need to undress yourself. “That’s me done.” Your voice was muffled slightly by the leather cushion but he understood you.

He gathered what he needed: the brushes, the paint, the sponges, the small basin of water. Setting it up next to the couch, he cleared is throat before straddling his legs over either side of you, refusing to let himself sink down completely. He wiped your back down slowly, ignoring the way you moved beneath him with every breath.

“This might be cold.” Was his only warning before giving the first stroke of his brush. Just like he expected, you gasped beneath him, a series of inappropriate thoughts shooting through his mind. You quickly relaxed, eyes shutting while Hongjoong slowly spread the base colour over your skin.

At some point, he reached for a remote and flicked on the radio, soft music playing out and encompassing the feeling around you both. You giggled beneath him, squirming against his body and slowly killing his resolve. Hongjoong wanted to blame the paint fumes on the high he was feeling.

“Sorry,” He heard you huff out lazily, eyes barely open. “it just tickles.”

“It’s fine.” He lied. “I used to do this with her.”

“Yeah?” You knew him so well, already aware of who he was speaking about.

“She was always impatient, rushing me to finish. It usually messed up my work.”

“She sounds like a piece of work.”

“Yeah,” He sighed, not quite understanding the smile he carried on his lips while talking about her. “she was the worst.”

By the time Hongjoong had finished, the sun had set and hours had passed. You’d drifted somewhere between sleeping and talking to him the whole time, the music keeping him company in the moments you closed your eyes.

“Could you take a picture?” You whispered after he announced he’d finished, eyes slowly opening to readjust to the light. “My phone’s in my back pocket.”

So that’s what had been poking against him. Hongjoong was greeted by the picture of a cat, small and grey, displayed on your lockscreen. He now knew you hadn’t lied about owning one.

His fingers worked quickly to snap a picture, body needing to remove himself from yours. He didn’t like how tight his trousers had become, the way you’d sighed and gasped and squirmed beneath him having done something to his head. He leaned over you, hands holding his weight up and off of the drying paint on your back, holding your phone out for you to see.

“You’re...” Your words caught in your throat, eyes darting back and forth between the screen and his face. On your naked back lay a colourful field of flowers, the shadows of two people standing face to face, heads haloed by the sun. “insane.”

Maybe it was the way you were staring at his work or the way you smelt up close or the hours of growing tension in his body, but Hongjoong lost himself in the moment, lips diving down to claim your own against his. You reciprocated immediately, head angled uncomfortably to the side just to kiss him deeper.

He was glad to let you slip your tongue into him, tasting him, drinking him in while his arms gave out and he dropped down onto your back. Neither of you cared for the smudging paint between you and his shirt. He trailed his lips down your neck, breathing heavy when he felt you grind up against him, eyes rolling back as he began to match your hips with his own.

You whined when he sat up, causing him to giggle and work at pulling his shirt off quicker, throwing it somewhere into the room. He didn’t care to watch it land on a pile of acrylic paint, too busy pressing himself back down to you, the cool paint making his nipples stand to attention and his hands sneaking under you to cup your chest, fingers tweaking at your nipples and dragging the sweetest of noises out of you.

“Is this okay?” He mumbled between kisses along your shoulder, hands now down at the hem of your jeans, teasingly dipping under and threatening to pull them off. He just needed your consent first, to hear you wanted this as much as he did.

“No,” Your breathing had begun to labour, chest stuttering over an inhalation. “there’s too much clothes on. Hurry up.”

He followed your command, hands dragging your jeans off with your help before your underwear followed, after he pinged the elastic onto your skin and laughed when you called him dumb. His shaky hands quickly worked at removing the rest of his own clothing. If he moved fast enough, there’d be no time to question if you two should have been doing this.

Hongjoong was tired of thinking.

Once he was freed of the confines of clothing, cock hard against his stomach, Hongjoong spat onto his hands, grabbing himself by the base and spreading it over his shaft, lubricating his cock while you watched him from over your shoulder, your hips grinding down on the sofa, mouth agape at the little pleasure you were getting.

When his eyes met yours, it was the last bit of encouragement he needed to align himself with your entrance, hand splayed out on your lower back while the other angled your hips up. Pushing his cock into your tightness left him feeling warmer than any hug ever could.

A few moments of stillness, and then he began to thrust, lighting both of your nerves on fire with pleasure. The music began to build gradually over the radio, in time with your rising heartbeat and racing breaths.

You began meeting his thrusts, hands trying to grip at the tattered leather under them while the sweat dripped down your back, colourful trails running down your sides and on to the couch. Hongjoong had never loved the sight of his own art so much, picking up the speed at which he pistoned his hips into yours, skin clapping against skin in time with the symphony playing over the stereo.

The space between you became too much for Hongjoong. He needed you closer, till you were breathing the same air. Fingers tangled in your hair, he pulled you up to rest on your knees, your back meeting his chest and your face resting inches away from his own. It drove him wild to hear you moan, to see the way your eyes were hooded and your mouth failed to shut. He got cocky, shoving his fingers into your open mouth, eyes rolling back when your lips wrapped around his digits, tongue swirling over them.

“You imagining that’s my cock in your mouth, doll?” He threw his head back when you moaned, mouth and hole stuffed full of him.

He removed his fingers, dragging a trail of your saliva down till he found your nipples once more, covering you in your own fluids. You rocked back against him, taking his length deeper than before. His lips reattached to your neck, needing a way to filter out the string of lewd things he wanted to say.

“Clyde!” You cried out, hand shooting back to tangle itself in his hair, tugging on it and rousing a groan from his chest.

“Don’t call me that.” The music grew with his thrusts, the intensity bouncing off of the walls. “Please.”

“Hongjoong!” You corrected yourself and his hips stuttered, feeling you clench down on him in a vice grip, your orgasm washing over you without a warning.

He fucked you through it, willing himself to hold on a little longer. The music and him reached their crescendo in sync, Hongjoong pulling out watching the thick ropes of his seed paint your back for the second time that evening, mixing in with the shades of colour you were both covered in by now.

That night, Hongjoong found out just how much warmer his bed was with you in it.

And how you looked first thing in the morning, fingers tangled with his own and a leg thrown over his hip, welcoming in every thrust he brought upon you, starting your days off in bliss. By noon, you dragged him out of bed, both your stomachs growling for food.

He left you to cook the bacon, laughing when you smacked his pyjama covered ass as he skirted past you to grab the eggs from his fridge. After cracking them into the pan next to the bacon, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling your back against his chest and nuzzling his head in your neck. You smelled like his shampoo, the shirt on your back tainting you in his cologne.

“Tell me something about you.” He peppered kisses over your neck, only to hear you laugh at how his hair tickled you.

“I like the deal we have.”

“Me too.”

You both lied but your lips met before either of you could call the other out on it, bacon sizzling below. His fingers met the hem of your shirt- his shirt, really-, inching it up slowly. He couldn’t recognise the man he’d become, hungry for your affection and desperately in need of you against him.

“What kind of porno have I walked into?”

You both jumped apart, eyes wide as you came face to face with none other than Park Seonghwa, who’s hands were shielding his eyes.

Hongjoong needed to take the spare key off of him.

“Don’t you ever knock?” Hongjoong groaned in frustration, watching how you diverted your attention back to the breakfast you’d been cooking.

“You knew I was coming over!” Seonghwa sat at the island, watching you in amusement while Hongjoong wished he’d go away. “Remember? You’re coming with me to make sure Wooyoung doesn’t try buy my daughter something inappropriate. It was bad enough he bought a bib with bros before hoes written across it for little Minho’s baby shower last year.”

You laughed, switching the stove off once the food was done and turned around to face them both. “Wooyoung sounds fun.”

“Yeah, till you meet him and realise he’s an adult who hasn’t grown out of his frat-boy phase.” Did Hongjoong feel a flash of green at the prospect of you finding Wooyoung fun? No, not at all, why would he care what you thought?

“Speaking of meeting that cretin, you should come to my daughter’s birthday party this Saturday. She’s two, so the party is just an excuse for a bunch of parents to get drunk while their kids make a mess of my back garden.” Seonghwa had been nagging Hongjoong since he’d met you last weekend to invite you to the party, and each time Hongjoong had said no. It seemed he’d decided to take matters into his own hands. “I never caught your name, by the way.”

“Uh...” Your eyes skirted over to Hongjoong. He just hoped you wouldn’t say Bonnie. Not after everything that happened in the last twenty four hours. “Y/N. That’s my... uh, name. Yeah.”

“Okay Y/N, I’ll make sure your boyfriend here brings you along to the party. Though, you might want to wear more than just his shirt, Wooyoung kinda has a thing for legs.”

Hongjoong held back from swearing, nearly tripping over the toddler that had just ran past his feet.

The party was full, more children than adults and only a few poor sober, breastfeeding mothers stuck with the responsibility of taking care of them. Everyone else had been more than happy to indulge in the drinks Chaeyoung and Seonghwa had provided, the prior just excited to have her first drink since bringing the couple’s six month old son into the world.

He was glad to have you by his side. At the Park’s first birthday party for their daughter, Sodam, Hongjoong was fresh out of a break up and dealing with the looks of pity and apologetic words from his and the couple’s friends alike. It felt good to have them all keen to know how he’d met you, how long you’d been together, what plans you had, even if everything you two said was a lie.

Yunho and Mingi had been made to believe the two of you met in a grocery store, while you were buying a bottle of rosé and him some celery. You’d insisted on coming up with that story, laughing for reasons Hongjoong couldn’t quite understand. San and his fiancé had been told it was in a museum, you a tour guide who’d been corrected by Hongjoong on some fact about Picasso. Wooyoung, Yeosang, Jongho and his girlfriend were recounted the story of how you’d been a fan of him since his first exhibit, and were incapable of not approaching him when you spotted him in a coffee shop.

He now stood at a distance, Chaeyoung’s orders that he leave you alone for some time. Which apparently meant Chaeyoung, San’s fiancé and Jongho’s girlfriend giggling at everything you said. It warmed his heart to see you gain their approval, knowing they cared for him like a brother. The whole day had made him realise how much he had, more friends than he gave himself credit, more reasons to smile than he’d believed.

“You’re a lucky man.”

Hongjoong nearly jumped out of his own skin, turning around to come face to face with Chaeyoung’s co-worker. Hyeri! That was her name! “Huh? Oh, yeah, I am.”

“It’s nice to see you with someone,” She still had that smile on her face, just like she’d had on their date. Hongjoong no longer envied her because of it. “you seem more like the guy Seonghwa told me about.”

Her words meant everything to him. Hongjoong really did feel like himself again, no longer the empty shell. Sure, he still had a long way to go before he was fully there but, for now, he could accept no longer stopping himself from wearing colour and asking for milk in his coffee. “What about you? Anyone trying to sweep you off your feet?”

“Oh no, not for me. Though, your friend Wooyoung did try shoot his shot.” That sounded about right.

He was about to answer when his eyes drifted back over to you, where he found one of Seonghwa’s famous homemade cupcakes in your hand, moments away from taking your first bite. He excused himself quickly and hurried over, ripping the treat from your grasp and dropping it back onto the table, ignoring the look Chaeyoung was shooting his way and your protests.

Clearly no one had warned you about the special ingredient. “You can’t eat that, it’s full of strawberry jam.”

You stuck to the chocolate cookies for the rest of the night.

Come nine o’clock, the children had all crashed down from their sugar high and guests began to leave, Seonghwa waving you two off from the door. He’d nearly invited you to Hongjoong’s exhibition in two weeks but, fortunately, he understood the artist’s widened eyes and shaking head.

Hongjoong wanted to ask you privately, in his own time.

“It’s not quite your apartment but,” You moved aside, welcoming a tipsy Hongjoong into your home. “it’s enough for me.”

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye so early in the evening, convincing you to take him back to your place. You lived closer to Seonghwa, anyway. It made sense, right? Hongjoong was just thinking logically when he’d let you lead him to your door, hand intertwined in his, an occasional brush of his lips against your knuckles when he’d cover his drunken giggles with your hands.

Your apartment was much smaller than his, but it didn’t mean anything to him. He liked the way little details about you decorated the place, magazines and books and candles littered in odd places. He enjoyed being trusted into your safe space, knowing how difficult of a thing it was for him to do with people, with strangers. Were you two still strangers?

“Sorry, I need to go drop something off to my neighbour. They keep delivering her mail to me for some reason.” You announced after a while of sitting next to him on the couch, not doing much yet filling Hongjoong’s heart with joy. He pulled you into his kiss for the first time all day, hand cupping your cheek while his lips begged you to do it later, to stay with him right now. “I’ll be ten minutes, tops. Feel free to snoop around if you get bored.”

He originally wasn’t going to do as you said, telling himself he wasn’t so childish as to look through someone’s things. But, you had given him permission. And he was bored, alcohol hitting him harder than ever and demanding he stand up and move. So he filtered through your book case, laughing at the few romance novels you had, raising his eyebrows at the untouched copy of 50 Shades Of Grey. He imagined it was a gag gift, no pun intended.

His hands picked up some of your textbooks, finding he quite liked your handwriting. It was a neat mess. And, from the writings on the pages, he gathered you were majoring in something like psychology, a lot of big words and talk of cognitive behaviour. He flicked to the more recent notes you’d made,

His heart dropped to his stomach.

“Okay, I’m back. Jeez that woman can talk, she kept trying to invite...” You stumbled back through the door, freezing in your tracks. Your eyes flickered between Hongjoong’s frown and the notebook in his hand. “Hongjoong...”

“What is this about?” His voice was eerily calm, that feeling of euphoria laced tipsiness long gone.

“What do you mean?”

“Date one: the subject seems boring, like he lacks his own personality. He relies on facts and big words to get him by. Maybe he’s a narcissist? I’m not quite sure yet, but it certainly must take a level of arrogance to put yourself on a dating site, you need to rely on your looks to seem intriguing.” Hongjoong spat your own notes out at you, hand clenching the paper with the grip he had. “Date two: he’s more stiff than a plank of wood. I accidentally brushed my hand against him while we grabbed at the clay and he froze up completely. Do i need to keep going?”

“No, I understand.” You cleared your throat, nervous and unsure of what to do. You’d never seen him angry. “And I know how it looks-”

“Know how it looks?! Yeah, it looks like you were studying me like some lab rat.” He snapped, slapping the offensive notebook down onto your coffee table. “Is this what you’ve been using our dates for? Some sick, twisted study?”

“Yes- No! It’s more complicated than that! It’s not like I could even use those notes in my thesis! It would be unethical, since you didn’t know about it.”

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so? That makes everything better, come let’s sit and talk about how you psychoanalyzed me!” His voice had begun to raise, not yelling but certainly not the soft tone he addressed you with. If only he flicked a few more pages, he’d have noticed how you’d stopped taking notes after the third date. “God, you’re such a liar, feeding me that bullshit about being lonely. Were you just telling me what I wanted to hear?”

“That wasn’t a lie!” You insisted, wanting to move closer but fearing it wasn’t what he wanted right now. “It was just some meaningless study on dating apps, okay? You weren’t going to be featured in it. I even changed my thesis subject weeks ago, just look for yourself!”

“If you think that makes me feel better, you’re dumber than I thought.” It stung to hear those words come from Hongjoong, your sad eyes only making him madder. How dare you be sad, as if he were the one who had wronged you, lied to you. “You’re just like her, you know? Full of shit.”

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re any better than me!” The frustration of his accusations and his ruthless words brought forth the anger in you. “Standing there like you haven’t been using me as some replacement for your ex. Newsflash! She’s moved on. She moved on before you even ended things, so why don’t you do the same?”

Hongjoong pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing as he sighed. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, willing himself to not blow his last fuse. When he reopened his eyes, his hands grabbed his jacket off of the couch and he marched past you, ripping the door open.

“Where are you going?” You called after him.

“Somewhere I don’t need to worry about being a test subject.”

As he slammed the door shut, he heard you yell after him: “See you next Saturday.”

Only, you never did see each other that day.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Hongjoong had been zoning in and out from the conversation all morning, mind adrift somewhere else. He needed sleep, but all he had was lacklustre coffee and a headache. “Sorry, not been sleeping well.”

“Pre-exhibition jitters?” The woman, Mrs. Kwon, asked him from across the table, smiling politely. She was the art gallery’s director and she’d more or less overseen the entire process of preparing Hongjoong’s upcoming event.

“Something like that.”

“That’s understandable, I once had an artist burst into tears and beg that the whole event be cancelled... five minutes before the opening!” She laughed and Hongjoong tried to mimic it as earnestly as possible, smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I’m sure your agent, Seonghwa, has briefed you on everything but I’d like to just go over it again to make sure everything is perfect come Saturday.”

Hongjoong zoned out again, drowning out the woman’s voice. He could always ask Seonghwa to change something if he changed his mind last minute. If there was one thing he had to commend that man for, it was his powers of persuasion. Just four days after the birthday party, he’d coaxed the truth out of Hongjoong. The whole truth.

While she rambled on about opening hours and the placements for each piece, Hongjoong’s eyes drifted over to the counter, a queue of people waiting to grab their order. His throat went dry as his eyes met a familiar pair, which stared back at him empty and unfeeling, like when he stared in the mirror.

He willed himself to ignore it, to turn back and pay attention to the woman in front of him. It worked for a few minutes before he heard the bell above the door ring, turning just in time to see your retreating form. He dashed out of his seat, ignoring Mrs. Kwon calling his name and pushed himself out the door.

“Y/N!” He called out after you, stopping behind you when you whipped around to face him. It hurt to see your eyes hadn’t changed from the cafe. “It’s not what you think-”

“What I think doesn’t matter.” You refused to meet his stare, cheek turned to him while you stared through the window of the cafe, at his empty chair and the beautiful woman waiting for him to return. “And whatever it is, it’s none of my business. We’re nothing, we never have been. Now, if you’ll allow me, I have to get to class. My test subjects are awaiting me.”

“Y/N.” He tried reaching for your hand, begging you with the call of your name to wait, to let him talk.

“Stop calling me that! We don’t call each other by real names, remember? That was the deal.”

“I think we crossed the boundaries of our deal long ago.”

“Well I’m cancelling it all together, officially.” You readjusted the strap of your bag, taking a step back. “Goodbye, Clyde.”

Hongjoong had forgotten how cold the air felt against his neck.

He’d been unsure of the drastic change, up until the moment Yeosang had snipped off the first few strands of hair. The mullet was gone and, in it’s place, blonde hair paired with an undercut sat. When he’d woken up that morning, lazily running his fingers through his hair, he decided he quite liked the shorter, neater style.

All day, he’d received compliments on his looks, those who had attended his first exhibit noting how much he’d grown in the few years since and newer fans of his work claiming they’d had no idea he was so young. He liked that they expected someone older, it made him feel more solidified in the art world, like his work came across as mature and well-nurtured.

His speech was short, thanking those he had to before quickly handing the microphone over to Seonghwa, who was always a charmer with crowds. He had them all laughing in no time, recounting the horrors of dealing with Hongjoong as a client.

Finally, for the first moment all day, Hongjoong found a pocket of silence for himself, managing to drift away from the crowds of people and the flutes of champagne that had started to make him feel a little sick. He stood alone, staring at the last part of his collection.

He was proud of his work, no matter the bittersweet story it told.

Every piece in his collection chronicled the past two years of his life, starting from the moment his relationship had began to fall apart, carrying through the months of misery, the loneliness, the acceptance, the moving on. It was his visual presentation of the stages of grieving a relationship, the final part being the most important.

Because he had to move. He had to keep living, for no one but himself.

He had moved on.

He knew it from the way he no longer avoided old pictures of her, from the way he could think about her and feel nothing. Not even the anger remained. She wasn’t worth the energy he’d spent so long wasting on her.

“This one doesn’t make me sad.” Hongjoong’s silence was interrupted.

He could feel you standing next to him, staring at the same art he was. He never bothered turning his head to look at you, he saw you behind his eyelids every time he blinked.

“How come?”

“It’s reminds me of self-love.”

The face in the painting was much like his own, spare for a few details. One half was littered in shades of blue and grey, rose thorns stabbing at his skin while dead flowers and sharp twigs replaces what should’ve been his eyes. The other half was colourful, bright, smiling with vines wrapped around it and blossoming tulips on his lips, eyes peacefully closed.

He sighed, turning to look at you at last. You copied him, eyes not like the last time he’d seen you. You looked pensive, nervous, like you were shy to be in his company.

“I hope you know how sorry I am.” He said, wishing there was someway to tell you he wanted to touch you without having to actually say it.

He just wanted to know you were real.

“I do.” You nodded, lips pursing together. “Just like you know how sorry I am too. I should’ve been honest with you that night. It would’ve saved a lot of trouble.”

He couldn’t disagree with you. If you’d told him, the two of you wouldn’t have fought that night. He would’ve invited you to his exhibition and would’ve returned into your waiting arms after his speech. But things didn’t always go the way people planned.

He was learning to be okay with that.

“How did you know?” He stared down at your hands, fingers rubbing together as he contemplated reaching for one. “About today, I mean.”

“Seonghwa is really good at guilt tripping people.” He laughed, knowing fine well what you meant. He needed to thank Seonghwa for whatever he’d said.

Your gazes both returned to the painting, the distant chatting of approaching people buzzing around you.

“Are you free next Saturday, Bonnie?” His heart was in his hand, waiting and begging for you to lay claim on it.

“No.”

He sighed in defeat.

Your hand tugged at his own, intertwining your fingers.

“I’m afraid I’ll be spending it with Kim Hongjoong, sorry.”

Seonghwa was calling him.

Hongjoong hit decline.

The man was only calling for two reasons: to panic talk all about Hongjoong’s fourth exhibit- that was still months away and by no means something that needed worrying about- or to ask him if he’d done it yet.

Both were conversations he wasn’t in the mood for.

His eyes only left your sleeping form to stare down at the sketching pad in his hand, graphite shading and soft lines making up the form of his muse, Chopin playing gently as background noise to his scribbling and your breathing.

As he bent down to grasp his mug of coffee, the weight of the little box dragged the inside of his sweatpants pocket down, a reminder of the question he'd been meaning to ask you.

There was no rush, you were enjoying your rest.

Hongjoong could wait a few more hours.

#ateez smut #hongjoong smut #ateez oneshot #hongjoong oneshot #ateez fluff #hongjoong fluff #ateez angst #hongjoong angst

1K notes · View notes

tobesolonely · 4 years ago

Text

aura (II)

A/n: hi everyone! thank you for reading aura and enjoying it enough to ask for a part 2! i hope this lives up to what you guys want! Thanks so much <3 p.s. i am so sorry but I lost track of who asked to be on the taglist :-( So if u would like, please send me an ask and i will definitely add you next time i post about them!

summary: witch!y/n can see auras and harry is no longer blue. he’s pink!

my ko-fi! thank you :)

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Harry always found Y/N to be a bit strange since his first encounter with her, but he never thought she was the type who could kill house plants with just the flick of her finger.

“What just happened?” Harry loudly questions, moving as far away from her as he could get. “How did you do that? What’s going on?” His aura is red and muddy gray. Anxiety, nervousness, and fear.

“How did I do what?” Y/N asks. She wasn’t willing to give herself up so easily.

“You killed my Pothos! I saw you,” Harry points at her accusingly. “Saw ya flick your finger and then it died. Do y’know how hard it is for that thing to die? I forget to water it all the time and it was still doin’ great!”

“Really? It didn’t look too great when I got here -”

“That’s not true,” Harry interrupts her. “You’re tryin’ to make me feel crazy! I know what I saw.”

It’s silent. Neither Y/N nor Harry says anything for what has to be at least half a minute. Y/N doesn’t know if she should tell the truth or try to convince Harry he didn’t see what he thought he saw, and Harry is too frightened to move. Finally, Y/N breaks the silence.

“Harry, it was your bad energy that killed your plant. I was just redirecting it because I didn’t wanna be stuck with it again.” Y/N nervously tugs on the hem of her shirt.

“What do you mean?” Harry inquires, moving slightly closer to her once more. He was still frightened, but quite curious about how Y/N would explain the situation at hand.

Y/N didn’t know what to say. If there was one thing she knew, it was that her… capabilities were not really supposed to be shared with anyone. Of course, they weren’t! It was a hard concept to understand. It was assumed that people who didn’t have this ability would ostracize those who did— potentially even hurt them.

She knew in her heart that Harry wasn’t the type to ever harm her, but her mother always told her she could never be too careful. Y/N lived by those words, always replaying them in her head whenever she wanted to open up to anyone about all that she could do. Harry looks at Y/N expectantly, waiting for her to speak. She seems far away, lost in some thought that Harry didn’t want to break her from.

“Ever since I was little, I’ve always been a really empathetic person,” she starts. “It seemed like I always knew the right things to say to help someone feel better, and I could always cheer them up. My saying this isn’t to brag at all, it was just how it was.” Harry smiles at this but doesn’t say anything, waiting for her to continue.

“I realized something was different about me when my friend came to school one day really sad because her fish had died that morning,” Y/N inhales softly. “Of course I felt for her, you know? Like I said, I was a very empathetic person. When I went in to give her a hug though, I felt so weird immediately after! She was fine, though. It was like she didn’t even care anymore.”

“She just wasn’t sad about it anymore?”

“She missed her fish still, of course. She was just able to reflect on how happy having a pet fish made her and all the good times she had with him. I felt terrible, though. I literally had taken on her pain just from hugging her.”

As Harry takes in what she’s saying, it all starts to make sense to him.

The second time he met her, she was so adamant about knowing what was wrong with him. Harry thought he only felt better because he had talked to her about it instead of holding it in as he usually did (and that could’ve been part of the reason!), but she had also touched him.

It had happened so quickly, Harry didn’t even think anything of it. And why would he? It was nothing more than a gentle touch, gone as quickly as it was there. Now that he knew what he did, it all made sense.

“Can I ask you something, Y/N?”

“You can ask me anything, Harry.”

“How do you always know when I’m not feelin’ well? Jus’ by looking at me?”

“Well,” Y/N starts, a bit hesitant. “I can see it. Your aura.”

“My aura?”

“Your spiritual energy— it has colors.”

“What color am I right now?”

“Red and gray. You’re scared and nervous.” Y/N responds quickly. She’s right.

“How can you see it?”

“I’m not sure. I started becoming able to see auras once I learned I was able to take away people’s emotional pain…” Y/N trails off. “I know it’s odd.”

“Can you… show me?”

“You want me to show you? Show you what?”

“The thing you jus’ did.”

“It only works when you have bad energy.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at Y/N in confusion. “Thought you said I was scared and nervous?”

“Well,” Y/N hesitates. “Now you’re… uh, pink.”

“Pink?”

“You’re feeling love.”

Harry feels his cheeks flush as he quickly looks away, hating in that moment that Y/N could literally see what he was feeling. If that was really the case, how much longer would he be able to fight with himself about how he felt about her if even she knew his true feelings?

He’s saved by the sound of his doorbell ringing, figuring it was his assistant dropping off lunch for him and Y/N. “Be right back.” He says quietly, getting up from the couch, still avoiding eye contact with Y/N.

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to be confused.

She was beginning to notice that Harry turned pink around her quite often— literally. Not only would his skin flush at her presence, but his aura would change too. Y/N decided to tell herself there was no way it could mean anything. Of course it meant nothing! She just met this man. His feelings (or lack of) for her meant nothing. Y/N was just glad Harry couldn’t read her aura in the same way she could read his.

If he could, he would see she was always pink, too.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Harry couldn’t stop thinking about Y/N.

She was magical. Literally.

After she had left that evening, Harry spent more time than he would like to admit researching auras and empathy. He learned there was a range of colors one's auras could be at any given time, and it was always subject to change. Harry figured that if he could see Y/N’s aura, it would always be shining gold.

Y/N didn’t explicitly tell Harry not to tell anyone about this, but he knew it was something he should keep to himself. He wanted her to trust him and know she was safe around him. Telling anyone what he assumed to be her biggest secret would do nothing but push her away from him— and that was the last thing Harry wanted.

He needed to hear her sweet voice again.

Harry didn’t want Y/N to think he was obsessed with her, but the cat was already out the bag. She could literally see that he had feelings for her. The way Harry saw things, this meant he could lean into his small crush on Y/N now rather than try and deny it. He just hoped she wouldn’t find him bothersome.

When she picks up his call after the third ring, Harry swears his heart just about beats out of his chest.

”Hi Harry. How are you?”

It takes him a moment to compose himself. “H- hi Y/N. Doin’ better, thanks for askin’... I was thinking of you.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Harry hums. “S’why I called. What are you up to today?”

“Nothing, really. Just at work.”

Oh. Work.

Y/N was so celestial, heavenly that Harry had forgotten she at her core a regular person who still had to work to pay their bills, just like everyone else. Just like him.

“I don’t mean to bother you while you’re busy. I’ll let you go.” Harry offers this as a courtesy, but he’s hoping Y/N will say he’s not a bother at all and she’s happy to talk to him.

“I think that would work out a bit better. I’ll talk to you as soon as I can. Bye, Harry!”

Harry is met with three short beeps that signify the call has ended.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about Harry.

He called her first! It made her heart flutter to know he was thinking of her. She’s glad he doesn’t know she was thinking about him as well.

It was nice to hear from him. Truth be told, Y/N was always worried about Harry. She worried that he wasn’t sleeping enough, eating enough, or telling people ‘yes’ when he should really be saying ‘no’. She worried he was unhappy. All she wanted was for him to be happy. Although Y/N couldn’t physically see him over the phone, she knew he was doing well today.

Y/N couldn’t say she wasn’t surprised to see Harry’s number flash across her phone. She thought that surely after telling him what she did he would want nothing to do with her. She was glad that he didn’t scare away easily, and that just made her feel even more warmth inside of her body. Y/N looked around the workroom filled with her other co-workers and she hoped there was no one else like her in the building lest they see how pink she was. She was absolutely smitten!

“Y/N, are you with us? What do you think?”

Y/N is broken out of her thoughts by her boss with the call of her name. In her Harry-haze she had completely zoned out, forgetting she was in the middle of an important work meeting.

“I’m very sorry. My mind was somewhere else for a moment,” she turns to face her boss, eyes wonder-filled. “Would you mind repeating the question?” Y/N sees her boss briefly turn from red to pink and back to yellow before he repeats himself, clearing his throat.

Y/N smirks to herself. Men were too easy.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“What’s got you so smiley?”

Harry jumps slightly, redirecting his attention to his manager. “Whatdya mean?”

“Been smiling and strumming your guitar for ten minutes straight,” Jeff narrows his eyes at Harry. “Are you thinking of that girl again?”

“Y/N,” Harry corrects him immediately. “What are you gonna do if I am?”

“Tell you to snap out of it, man. She’s got you this distracted already and she doesn’t even know you have a crush on her?”

Harry wants to tell him that she does even though he’s not explicitly stated it, but then that would lead to a conversation that wasn’t his to have. So he changes the subject—slightly.

“What do think about me inviting Y/N to the studio? You’ll finally be able to put a face to the name,” Harry adds once he sees the look his manager gives him every time he’s about to tell him no. “I trust her. I jus’ want her opinion on a few things. I know she won’t leak anything.”

“I’m not sure if that’s your greatest idea…” Jeff trails off giving Harry one of his infamous looks of doubt.

“I wouldn’t even be suggesting this if I didn’t trust her with everything in me. ‘Ve never suggested this any other time, have I?”

Jeff gives Harry a pointed look, although he can’t argue with that.

“Fine, invite her. She’s signing papers though…”

Jeff’s voice is nothing more than background noise as he dials Y/N’s number, which he embarrassingly already knows by heart.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

When Harry comes out of the large, wooden double-doors to meet Y/N, he’s glowing. He’s a flash of dazzling gold and pink, his aura not being able to just land on one. Y/N is flattered that he still turns pink when he sees her, and relieved to see him so happy. So relaxed.

“So glad you could make it,” Harry tells Y/N, pulling her in for a tight hug. “My manager had a fit when I told him you were comin’, he’s jus’ very protective of me and my music. Don’t take it personally.”

“I understand,” Y/N tells him honestly. “I don’t blame your manager for not being too keen on me crashing in on one of your sessions. I could leave my phone in the car if that would make you both feel better?”

Y/N made things so easy. She was perfect in Harry’s eyes.

“I trust you completely. It might make my manager feel a bit better though…” Harry trails off, feeling sheepish. Y/N nods and unlocks her car without saying anything, retrieving her phone from her purse and hiding it away in her glove compartment.

“There. Just me and my ears now.” She lets out the sweetest giggle Harry’s ever heard, and he swears he could melt.

“Follow me, then.”

Harry makes his way back inside the studio but feels weird with Y/N trailing so closely behind him, not speaking or physically touching him. He stops and turns to face her, reluctantly reaching his hand out for her to grab. She looks at him for a moment, analyzing his energy before shakily intertwining her finger with his. Harry glows pink—so much so that he was nearly shining red. Y/N was having a difficult time differentiating between the glow of his aura and the glow of his cheeks.

He continues walking down the hall, now feeling like he was on top of the world because he had the most beautiful girl in the universe’s hand in his. Harry was ready to get to work. She was his new biggest inspiration.

Y/N’s having the greatest time watching Harry’s colors. He’s so happy and full of love! The fact that Harry was in such good spirits possibly because of Y/N made her feel like she was floating on a cloud.

Harry feels Y/N’s hesitation to enter the room that now holds not only Jeff but Mitch as well. She pulls back slightly on his hand, hiding timidly behind his broad shoulders. “What’s wrong?” He asks quietly, turning to face her.

“I don’t think they’re happy to see me…” Y/N trails off.

“How do you know?” Harry asks habitually before he realizes who he’s talking to. He knows how she knows. He internally cringes at his question.

“They’re both red,” she shifts from foot to foot. “I can leave. I don’t want to cause any problems—”

“No!” Harry says a bit too loudly. Jeff and Mitch turn to look in their direction, finally aware of their presence. Harry blushes, speaking a bit more quietly. “Sorry. Jus’... don’t leave. I promise they’re not mad that you’re here. They’re just a bit nervous because you’re new and they’ve never met you before. I’ll tell ‘em you left your phone in the car though and it’ll all be good. Yeah?”

Y/N nods, not completely certain Harry could get these men to warm up to her just because he said so. He tilts her chin up so she’s looking in his eyes, and he gives her a warm smile.

“Hey… what color am I?”

Y/N swallows thickly before answering. “You’re yellow… and pink.”

“See? ‘M not red. It’s all good, darling. Believe me when I say that.”

Y/N’s heart beats faster at the pet name and she just hopes Harry can’t hear it. She gives him a forced smile before grabbing his hand again and following him inside of the small room.

“Jeff, Mitch,” Harry starts, swinging Y/N’s hand in his. “This is Y/N.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Jeff says. Harry shoots him a look, silently pleading him to not say anything that’ll embarrass him. Luckily for Harry, Jeff catches onto this and keeps his introduction simple. “I’m Jeff, Harry’s manager.”

“Hi,” Y/N responds. Harry’s heart-strings feel like they’re being tugged at when he hears how quiet Y/N has become. “I left my phone in the car.” Jeff shoots Harry a surprised looked to which Harry gives a small nod in confirmation. Jeff hums, satisfied.

“We’re glad you could join us. I’m not sure if you have any experience in music, but it’ll be nice to get a fresh opinion on some things.”

Mitch gives Y/N a small nod and a smile, and Harry feels her grip on his hand tighten. “Don’t worry. Mitch is just shy.” Harry quietly reassures her. She loosens her grip on his hand slightly, feeling a bit more at ease.

“Where should I sit?”

“Y’can sit on that couch over there. Can I get you anything to drink? Have you ate, I can order food if you haven’t?”

Harry and Y/N are in their own world, only focused on each other. This doesn’t go unnoticed to Jeff or Mitch, and they share knowing looks behind the pair’s backs.

“What do you guys want to eat? Y/N hasn’t eaten yet,” Harry says, already searching for his text thread with his assistant. “Sushi? Mexican?”

“Whatever Y/N wants,” Mitch says, strumming a few random chords on his guitar. “Anything’s fine with me.”

Harry’s satisfied with this answer, just wanting to give all his attention back to Y/N. “Whatdya want to eat, love?”

“Do you all like veggie pizza?”

“Eh–”

Harry shoots Jeff a look that tells him not to disagree with her, so Jeff looks down and acts preoccupied with his phone. “That sounds really good, Y/N. I’ll order that.”

Harry actually hated veggie pizza. He hoped Y/N couldn’t tell.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

”I just miss your accent and your friends…”

Harry was blue and Y/N hated it.

She knew he was pulling from old memories for his songs, but she hated when he was upset. Y/N was in a trance, though. Harry’s voice was beautiful. His songs pulled her in like magic. They were captivating, and so, so beautiful.

Y/N was enjoying being in the recording studio. She never had any experience like it, and it was interesting to see all the hard work that went into making just one song.

”Don’t you call him “baby”, we’re not talking lately,” Harry sings into his microphone sadly, licking his lips during the pause. “Don’t you call him what you used to call me…”

Y/N just wanted to go into the recording booth and hug Harry, take his pain away. She knew now wasn’t the time nor place for that, though. She’d check on him later.

“That’s good,” Jeff says, giving Harry a thumbs up. Harry gives him one back and takes his clunky earphones off, setting them beside his feet.

“How was that?” Harry asks Y/N as soon as he’s out of the recording booth. The musician in him knew it wasn’t bad, but he still wanted her praise.

“Very beautiful! Are you okay?” She gives Harry one of those knowing looks he’s growing to love. He shrugs, leaning down to speak quietly to her.

“Singin’ about someone who used to be very special to me,” he says, glancing down at his Vans-clad feet. “I’m okay, though. Don’t worry about me.”

Y/N wanted to tell Harry she always worried about him. She wanted to scream it in his face so he understood how much she cared for his well-being. She does neither of the two. “Okay, Harry. I’m just checking.”

Harry loved that she was “just checking”. He wanted to tell Y/N that he never wanted her to stop caring for him, as he would never stop caring for her. He does neither of the two. “Thank you for checking, Y/N.”

Unbeknownst to them, they were both falling deeper for each other.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“Y/N, are we gonna watch our movie tonight, or are you busy?” Y/N’s roommate, Amalia, peaks her head into her bedroom. Y/N was busy hanging upside down on her bed. Texting Harry.

“What? Oh, is it Friday? Let me just take off my makeup... “ Y/N locks her phone and slowly sits up, taking care not to smush her sleeping kitty who was currently snoring beside her.

“Who were you texting? You’ve been on your phone a lot more than usual lately,” Amalia notes, coming completely into Y/N’s room. “A boy?”

Y/N feels her body heat up at her roommate’s observation. “Maybe…”

“Y/N! You’ve gotta tell me! Who is he, is he cute?” Her roommate makes herself comfortable on Y/N’s bed, folding her legs beneath her. Sapphire startles slightly but quickly falls back asleep, curling her tail closer to her.

“You might know him,” Y/N begins. She and Harry never had a conversation about telling others about their association with others. She trusted her roommate, but she wasn’t sure if he would appreciate it. She decides she’ll just call him. “I’ll actually just call him. Hopefully, he’s not busy.”

Amalia finds it odd that Y/N would rather call this man than just tell her about him, but she says nothing, of course. She was used to her roommate’s behavior. She was different, and that’s why she loved her so much!

“Can you FaceTime him? I wanna see what he looks like,” Amalia claps her hands together out of excitement, feeling anticipation bubble in her stomach. She was hoping her roommate finally found someone for her so they could join her and her boyfriend on double dates and couples game nights.

“FaceTime him?” Y/N had never done that before. She and Harry always just spoke on the phone, and lately, they had gotten into texting. She hoped he wouldn’t mind. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Y/N pulls up the app on her phone and types in Harry’s contact name (which was ‘Harry’ with three pink hearts, which she would never tell him!) and bites her lip as she waits for him to answer. As an afterthought, she reaches for her earphones and connects them to her phone just in case her roommate recognizes his voice. After all, everyone on the planet knew who Harry was except for Y/N. He answers almost immediately, a dimpled smile on his face and a beautiful pink light surrounding him.

“Was jus’ thinking of you. Are we in sync? I swear I was about to call you,” Harry tells her, not being able to stop his toothy grin. “Is everything okay?”

“Well,” Y/N feels nervous. His gaze is still as intense and attentive, even though a phone screen. “I’m just hanging out with my roommate and she noticed I’ve been smiling at my phone a lot—”

“A very observant roommate.”

“Yeah, and she wanted to know if I was texting a boy. I didn’t know if it was okay to say anything but she’s beside me so do you want to say hi? It’s okay if you don’t want to, and I’m sorry if you’re busy right now…”

Harry’s gaze visibly softens. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“You know why.”

Harry hums. “I’d love to meet your roommate. Go ahead and give her the phone.”

Y/N examines Harry for a moment, trying to determine if he’s telling the truth. His aura is slightly tinged red but it’s mainly yellow, making him glow the color of a sunset. He was probably a bit anxious, but he was happy. That was most important to Y/N. Amalia is sitting at the end of Y/N’s bed quietly, scratching Sapphire’s head while she waits. She watches as Y/N unplugs her earphones from her phone and wordlessly hands it to her.

Amalia’s mouth drops.

“Hi, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Harry.”

Amalia’s entire body feels tingly.

“H- hi. Uh, I’m Amalia. Y/N’s roommate,” she looks up at Y/N, eyes wide. “It’s… wow. I’m sorry, I kinda don’t know what to say right now. I’m such a big fan of yours!”

Y/N hears Harry’s beautiful laugh and she smiles. It was his shy laugh. He was flattered. Maybe a bit flustered.

“That’s very, very nice of you. Thank you for the support.”

“Are you and Y/N dating? I can’t believe she didn’t tell me!” Amalia gives Y/N an accusatory scowl and she feels her body heat up at her roommate’s words.

“Not at the moment, but I’m working on it,” Harry tells her. Y/N doesn’t need to see him to know he’s pink. “I think she was jus’ tryin’ to protect my privacy. Which I appreciate, of course. But a friend of Y/N is a friend of mine! She has good judgment.”

Y/N can’t believe Harry’s “working on it”. He cares for her much more than she had initially thought, and Y/N just hopes he knows how much she cares for him as well. Even if she doesn’t say it.

“I’m gonna give the phone back to Y/N before I say something to embarrass myself, but it was really nice to meet you!” Amalia shakily hands the phone back to Y/N as Harry is telling her it was nice to meet her too.

Y/N is happy to see his face again. He immediately turns pink once he sees her again, a light blush tinging his cheeks. “She’s very nice. We should all go out to brunch one afternoon, how’s that sound?” Y/N nods, glancing at her roommate who currently looked like she was on the verge of fainting, bright pink just as Harry was. She was infatuated.

“Amalia’s amazing,” Y/N replies. “I was just calling to say hi, but I’m glad to see you’re doing good. I’ll talk to you later?” A deep indigo color slowly surrounds Harry at the prospect of Y/N ending the call, making Y/N frown. “I’ll see you tomorrow? Friday’s are our movie nights…”

“Oh!” Harry turns yellow again. “I didn’t mean to keep you from that. I’d like that, though. Lunch tomorrow?”

“And the studio?” Y/N asks, used to their routine. Harry shakes his head.

“Was thinking we do something else. Get out of there for the afternoon? ‘M sure you get bored jus’ watchin’ me sing all day. The last thing I want is for you to be bored.”

Y/N nearly laughed out loud. She was never bored when she was with Harry. She could simply sit and watch the grass grow with him, and she’d still be thoroughly entertained.

“I don’t want you to fall behind because of me.”

“S’my album. I can take a day off, darling. Hey–– can ya look at me?” Y/N knows Harry is asking her to examine what color he is. She nods after a moment.

“Okay, Harry. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” she takes a thoughtful pause as she usually does. “Have a good night.”

“I’ll be counting down the minutes. You too, Y/N.” The call disconnects. Y/N feels her heart about to beat out of her chest. Counting down the minutes.

She was counting down the minutes, too.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Harry was nervous to see Y/N. He hadn’t been alone with her since the day at his house when she came over to keep him company while he was sick. Their relationship was progressing quicker than anticipated, but neither of the two had any complaints.

Per Harry’s request (or, after a ton of his begging) Y/N agreed to let Harry pick her up instead of driving separately and meeting up like they usually do. He was excited to finally know where Y/N lived. When he thought of any space Y/N cultivated, he imagined it to be a bit cluttered. Lots of paintings on the walls. Perhaps some personal photographs of friends and family.

When Harry approaches Y/N’s apartment complex, he isn’t surprised to see that she lives in one of the oldest-looking buildings he’s ever seen. He was sure that when he asked her about it later, she would tell him that old buildings had the most character or something along those lines. Harry parks in record time, albeit like a bit of an asshole, and grabs the bouquet of flowers he picked up on his way to her before hurrying out of his car. His sunglasses immediately go on and his beanie gets pulled low over his forehead in the off chance there was someone who could recognize him anywhere nearby.

“Four, eight, two, five,” Harry mutters Y/N’s gate code under his breath as he approaches it. “Four, eight, two, five…” He’s delighted when it works. Against Y/N’s wishes, he didn’t write it down when she told him, adamant about having the best memory in the world. He was glad he didn’t forget it and have to call her and ask for it again.

Harry has no difficulty at all finding her apartment. Just as she said, there were several potted plants surrounding the door and a plaque that read, ‘Welcome to our home!’. He smiled to himself. It was just so Y/N. He firmly knocks and takes a step back, tightly gripping the bouquet in his hands. The door flies open moments later and Harry is met with Y/N’s beautiful face. His nerves immediately dissipate.

“Hi, Harry–– oh! Those are beautiful!” She opens the door a bit wider. “Please, come in!”

Harry’s happy. She seems happy. Of course, he couldn’t know for sure in the way that he could, but Harry was quickly learning her mannerisms.

“Hi, darlin’. S’nice to see you,” he leans down to place a delicate kiss on her cheek. “You’re lookin’ as beautiful as ever.”

“I haven’t even gotten changed yet,” she replies dismissively, shutting the door. “I completely lost track of time. I was helping Amalia get ready for a date that she’s going on and it made me forget all about ours.”

Harry could die a happy man right now. Y/N just referred to their spending time together as a date!

“No apologizing,” Harry says sternly, handing the flowers to Y/N. “‘M not upset about it, am I? We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Y/N looks down shyly at the shabby rug beneath her feet. “Do you wanna help me pick out an outfit? I’m not too sure about what I should wear… I really think it would help if you actually told me where we were going.”

“Nice try,” Harry chuckles, following her through the apartment. It looked just as he pictured it would. “Already told you it’s a surprise.”

“I thought I would try again.”

Y/N’s room was incredible. There were plants everywhere even more than the ones surrounding her front door. Some were even hanging from the ceiling! Her walls were a pale yellow color. She had glow-in-the-dark stars and planets stuck to her ceiling, a ginormous rug that covered probably half of her wooden floor, and paintings taped haphazardly to the wall. It looked like she made them herself, too. They were lovely.

“Your room is amazing,” Harry tells her, flopping onto her bed while she digs around in her closet. Even though he had never been there before, he immediately feels comfortable. At home. “Where’s Sapphire?”

“Oh, she’s around here somewhere,” Y/N’s voice sounds a bit muffled from being in her closet. “She might be hiding. She doesn’t like men.”

“Did you tell her that I’m nice?”

Y/N turns to look at him, two shirts in her hand. “I can’t force her to like you, Harry. What do you think about these shirts?”

“I think you would look good in all of them,” Harry feels his heart rate pick up under her gaze. “You may get cold if you wear something sleeveless, though.”

Y/N says nothing in response, just stares at him. To anyone else, her staring may be weird, but Harry knew what she was doing. He stares back at her just as intensely, raising an eyebrow. Finally, she nods, turning her attention back to her closet.

“Should I wear something with long sleeves?”

Harry hums in response to her question. “I think that would be a good idea.”

Y/N turns to face him again, tugging at her oversized sleep shirt. “Do you think you can take down some shirts on the shelf for me? I don’t feel like going to get a chair all the way from the kitchen…”

“Of course I can,” Harry immediately gets up from his lying position on Y/N’s bed. “Which ones?”

“The ones in that corner,” Y/N replies, standing beside Harry. He never noticed how much shorter she was than him until she was asking him to reach things off the top-shelf for her. Harry loved it.

He reaches up with ease, grabbing a stack of neatly folded long-sleeves. In the process of pulling them down, a box comes falling off the shelf, hitting the floor with a loud clang! and the sound of broken glass. “Shit,” Harry mutters, bending down to reach for the box. “Sorry about tha’, pet–”

“Don’t touch that!” Y/N exclaims, pushing past Harry to grab the box before he does. Harry backs up, putting his hands up in the air like he was a criminal who’d just been caught.

“I didn’t touch it, I promise,” Harry quickly reassures her. “Why can’t I touch it? What is that?”

“Remember how I was telling you about bad energy?” Her voice drops to a whisper. Harry nods. “This is where I store everyone's bad energy whenever I get stuck with it. They’re in little viles, you know what I mean? Those little tubes?”

“Yeah.”

“I think the tubes broke when it fell… I can never open this box again because then the bad energy will get out and go back to their owner's body.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, trying to take in what Y/N just told him. It wasn’t the oddest thing he’s heard since he met her. “Is any of my bad energy in there?”

“Yes. Remember when we were at the Greek food place?”

Harry smiles at the memory. “How could I forget? I think that was the day that I knew I had to get to know ya. I was properly obsessed with the idea of runnin’ into you again for days.” Y/N looks away as she usually does when he gets her flustered but this time Harry moves closer to her, snaking his arms around her waist.

“Thank you for always makin’ sure ‘m happy, love,” Harry’s lips are dangerously close to hers, so close that she can smell the scent of mint on his breath. “You don’t even have to touch me to make me happy. Jus’ bein’ near you is enough.” Y/N lets out a shaky breath, not trusting her voice enough to do anything other than nod. Both of their hearts are about to beat out of their chests.

“I’d do anything to make you happy, Harry,” Y/N finally says, staring directly into his eyes. “You deserve all the happiness this life has to offer you.”

“Likewise,” Harry says, feeling intoxicated from standing so close to her. “Y/N, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Y/N gives Harry the biggest smile before standing on her tiptoes, smushing her lips against Harry’s. His eyes shut as he melts into the kiss, having to remind himself to stop smiling so he can properly kiss her back. Her lips are soft, and she tastes just as sweet as she actually is. His entire body tingles and his chest burns due to lack of oxygen, but he was determined not to break the kiss first. His stomach twisted from all the butterflies he had, but it was a feeling no one had made him feel in a long, long time.

Y/N’s the first one to break the kiss. She giggles as she rests her head against Harry’s chest, gasping slightly for air. “You’re a very good kisser.”

“You too.” Harry’s breathless. He doesn’t want to pull away from her so he settles on intaking short bursts of air.

“I’m gonna get changed before I decide to stand here and just kiss you all day,” Y/N tells him, finally breaking their contact. “Can you wait in the living room?”

“I wouldn’t hate that,” Harry says as he places a quick peck on her lips. “‘M gonna go put your flowers in something so they don’t die. Y’think Sapphire will come out of hiding and let me pet her since her mommy finally let me kiss her?”

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

“I thought we were getting lunch?”

Y/N had been sat in Harry’s passenger seat for slightly over an hour now, his hand hardly leaving hers the entire time. He was yellow for the most part (except when Y/N would speak he turned pink). Song after song played lowly over the stereo, but it was mainly just background noise–– neither one of them was really listening to it.

“We are.”

“Why are we driving so far?”

“I wanna take you to a really nice spot. Is that okay?”

“Are we almost there?” She stares intensely at Harry and she knows he can feel her eyes on him. He flashes red for a moment causing Y/N to cock her head in confusion. “Why are you nervous?”

“I don’t want you to think our date is boring.”

“Why would I think it’s boring?”

“Have you ever been to Balboa Park? San Diego?” Harry tears his eyes from the road briefly to look at her and he’s relieved to see a look of excitement in her eyes.

“I’ve never been but from the pictures I’ve seen it looks sooo beautiful! Are we going there?” Her grip on his hand tightens slightly.

“Mhm,” Y/N sees Harry visibly relax. “Figure we could grab a bite after? Or before, depending on how hungry you are.”

“We should eat before! Are we allowed to eat in the park? We should have a picnic–– can we do that?” Y/N is talking a mile a minute, too excited to slow down. She turns in the passenger seat to face Harry fully, hand still in his. “We’re going to the gardens, right?”

“We’re doin’ whatever you want, love. I have some things planned that I think you would like but nothing’s set in stone.”

Y/N loves the fact that Harry took it upon himself to plan out their day. She decides she would go along with whatever he had planned, seeing as he’s been there before and she hasn’t.

They arrive at the park approximately thirty minutes later and Y/N quickly unbuckles her seatbelt and lets herself out of the car before Harry can open the door for her himself. He laughs to himself at her excitement.

“Where are we going first?” Y/N reaches for Harry’s hand seemingly out of habit, not thinking twice before doing so. If she wasn’t busy looking around in awe, she’d see Harry looking down at their interlocked fingers with a big smile on his face.

“How ‘bout we get you something to eat first then go find a spot to have a lil’ picnic? The last time I was here I remember seein’ people eating under this ginormous tree–”

“Okay!” Y/N agrees cheerily, dragging Harry through the parking lot. She was leading the way even though she had no clue where she was going. “Wait, where are we going?”

“How about I lead the way?” Harry is a mixture of green and yellow. He was happy and enjoying the prospect of a nature-filled day.

“Harry, what’s your favorite part about nature?”

“What’s tha’?”

“I see that you like nature, so I just wanted to know what you liked the most about it,” Y/N replies, swinging their hands.

“It’s calming. I think ‘ve written some of my best songs surrounded by trees and water and things like that. What do you like the most about nature?”

“It’s beautiful. Plants help us and we help them.”

Harry smiles in response to her answer but says nothing, walking her the rest of the way through the parking lot and to the entrance of the park. Once inside they set out on finding something to quickly fill their stomachs with, not wanting to waste too much time eating.

“How do sandwiches sound?” Harry asks, nodding his head in the direction of a sandwich shop. “Quick and easy, isn’t it?”

“Can we still eat them under the fig tree?”

“Whatever you’d like, darling. S’your world, ‘m just livin’ in it.”

Even though he lets out a chuckle after saying that, Y/N knew he was being completely serious.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Harry could listen to Y/N talk all day. He never wanted to stop hearing her sweet voice. Y/N’s attention was fixated on the beautiful, blooming gardens–– but Harry was only fixated on her.

She pointed out nearly everything they saw, impressing Harry with her knowledge on plant names and pointless information on how to care for them. She asked Harry to stand in front of all her favorite plants so she could take a picture of him to “commemorate the day” and Harry was more than willing to do so. Anything to keep a smile on her face. Y/N had grown tired of carrying her purse over her shoulder about an hour back and Harry even offered to wear it for her so she wouldn’t have a sore shoulder the next morning.

They decided to call it quits once the sun started setting, walking hand in hand quietly back to Harry’s car. He opens the door for her and checks to make sure she’s all the way in before slamming it shut and walking around to his side. He immediately reaches for her hand again, loving the way it felt in his way too much to not hold it at all times.

“Did you have a good time today?” Harry asks, looking at Y/N’s face in the dim light. She nods sheepishly, looking down at the hands.

“I had an amazing time. I can’t believe you drove all the way out here just for me,” she traces her fingers over one of Harry’s rings. “Thank you for today.”

“How many times have I gotta tell ya I’d do anything for you?” Harry questions, leaning over the center console to be closer to her. “Loved seein’ that beautiful smile on your face today. Made me happy.”

“You’re just saying that…”

“Oh, come off it,” Harry jokes, kissing her cheek before leaning back over to start his car. “Know you saw how happy I was the whole day. S’all because of you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Y/N lean over as he previously was so her face is close to his. She gently places the hand that was holding Harry’s on his face and turns his head so he’s fully facing her, licking her lips before she connects them with his. Harry melts into the kiss as he did earlier, feeling as if time stopped when their lips were pressed together. It was the most gentle, loving kiss Harry ever shared with another person.

He could get used to this.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

please let me know what you thought!

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #aura #thanks for reading!

527 notes · View notes

semischarmed · 4 years ago

Text

Mine

Many coaches have come and taught the many iterations of our university team. Over the years, these coaches, like players, come and go. Good ones are hard to come by. Great ones are once in a lifetime. That was our Coach James.

He had a fatherly quality to him. There was a warmth in his training, a brightness when he would teach us. When we succeeded, he helped bring us up further and when we failed he softened the blow with his wisdom. Coach was great like that. Strictly professional, of course, but with a layer of genuine friendliness and a desire to watch us all succeed. He really was the perfect coach and we were blessed to have him. Still, in my lust, in my pure selfishness, I knew I had to have him- all of him to me and me alone. One long summer day, I ask for some one-on-one training. Never one to turn down a teaching opportunity, he complies. Like I said, he was a great coach.

I decide this would be the day. I run, but not too well. I throw, but haphazardly. That’s all it took for him to lean in. That’s all it took to get him close. Of course, he came with pure intentions- I did not.

When he is right above me, when I feel the vibration in the air from his chest, when I feel his raw power and vitality. That is when I strike. I fuck up my throwing position a little more, and he guides it proper. Fuck yeah. Jesus, I could stay like this forever. I feel the resonance of his deep voice within my very soul. Beckoning to me. “Become me. You want this. You deserve this,” it taunts. He was still coaching me, sure, but my mind is preoccupied with dark intent.

These gentle breaths as he speaks- these steady hands guiding mine to a better position. These would be my truths now. A most intimate of trainings. Coach James would be training me-sure- he would be training me to use that bod. I stare at him with longing. He would never look at me that way. God, I wanted him so bad. We glisten with the sweat of the midday sun. I could melt just like this. And in fact, I do.

In that grasp, in that teaching moment, I decide to teach coach a couple tricks myself. I look up at his face. Earnest. Strong. Patient. I watch his lips- they’re still moving- he’s still guiding me. Good. He hasn’t noticed my body begin liquifying. He continues on, unfazed. Unconcerned. He always did have that humble strength about him.

I am drawn to those plump lips, to his perfect smile and the void behind them, to the force of his breath over me, and to the very vibration that created them. I am drawn to that body which I would make mine. I wrap his thick arms around me. Those goddamn arms. They pulse and tense in surprise. He finally catches on. “- Hey. What are you doing? What.. What is this?” I pay no mind. A breeze picks up and his scent fills me. I wrap myself in it. Old spice deodorant layered over the pungent, musk of a man. My man. My scent, soon enough. The air was ripe in pheromones. Testosterone. James. I inhale deeply, trying to catch as much of him as I could. His skin is nice, too. It’s a bit damp, a bit hot from the heat, but nice. I feel them stretch taught, struggling to contain the mass of muscle beneath. I draw his shocked embrace even closer, uncomfortably close. I feel him between concern over my melting form and a need to push me away. Works for me. I continue to liquify further. Faster. You will be mine, Coach.

The world stops for a moment- at least for me. Maybe adrenaline, maybe my imagination. I commit this scene to memory, the scene where I become something greater. The scene where the real Coach James is born.

I shoot up his nose and flood his mouth. His body is forced to gorge itself with my mass. With every breath he attempts to draw, he pulls the liquid me instead. He retches, attempting to vomit me out, but I just draw myself further in. Flooding and flooding, I saturate coach with myself. When all but the last of me is a dribbling of slime upon his cheek, I disperse inside him. I drill into his every crevice, swim through his bloodstream, bond with his ever piece. I settle deeper and deeper inside my coach. Until his body no longer recognizes my presence as foreign. Until I am coach. I incubate into him, my pieces dormant.

Coach James awakes in the grass to the odd sight of a star-filled sky and a cold night breeze. “What the fuck...” he ponders, rubbing his head in confusion. He aches all over, yet he isn’t hungry. He digs into his memory, attempting to piece together the past few hours. I just spent them digesting this afternoon so he would have no success.

Unclear on the past events, yet unfazed, he walks back to his car and heads home.

———

That first night was magical-for me. As for coach, I’m not quite sure. I am ever present in his dreams. Pleasure, I think, is how I’d describe what being inside James was like. In his dreams, in his deepest thoughts, I lay there to witness them. These were thoughts, these were ideas, these were emotions that only I would be sole witness to, along coach. Ecstasy. This was a piece of him we would share alone. I was like a part of him, and only I would know him fully to this extent.

In the next few days after the events of that afternoon, Coach appeared a little more vain, a little more irritable. To my teammates he just seemed off. They catch glimpses of him checking himself out. They hear the barely audible moans from his office as he delicately feels his every part.

“What the fuck was up with coach” They say. Little did they know the real question to ask was ‘what was up’ IN their coach. Little did they know it was the influence of their missing teammate, ingraining himself deeper and deeper into his beloved James.

Despite the changes, my coach resists me. The further I try to bond, the more his body rejects me. It is a 3 day affair. A push and pull. With every push, I gain momentary connection to that bod, only to have that fulfillment ripped from my now non-existent hands. He was a coach, after all. I should have known it would be a battle of wills. Still, there was someone I had that coach didn’t have-yet. My mind. I had a cleverness match-made for that hot bod. A cleverness he deserved. A cleverness that I would utilize to the fullest to make that match a reality. Coach was a happy, content man. I was not. He needed my ambition, my cleverness, my lust. That body deserved better.

I let up the assault on his mind. He feels himself winning, backing my parts into a corner. It’s here where I apologize profusely inside him. He accepts because, James was the kind of guy to pick someone up when they’re down. He accepts my apology foolishly as we decide upon the best way I may leave him. A chance. We decide to do so in the privacy of his home- for my sake, of course. Little did he know, I felt his resistance weakest there. He readies himself for my exit, relaxing so I may flow out of him. I ready myself for one final push. It was in that moment that I surround coach with my psyche, encapsulate his very soul.

Coach James wakes up making an odd face his body has never made. It was a lustful, sinful grin. It was my grin. I start chuckling. My voice is deep, booming. We moan together as my dormant parts stir. We moan as it starts convulsing. The shaking was harsh. I puppet this body still and eager to accept more of me. It takes some resistance but it finally yields. Nothing good comes easy, after all. I stick my parts take their rightful places. Those bulging, slick arms? Mine. Powerful, vascular legs? Also mine. That thick, veiny cock? Fucking. Mine. I feel them inside me- I alight as his energy becomes mine. We tickle. We feel great. At long last, this body was mine.

No. Further. I want everything he ever is, ever was. James was gonna give me that. I wanted permanence. No one would ever tear us apart. I decide on his soul. I decide on becoming that as well. I string his soul up, prisoner in its own body, unable to do much of anything until transformed by the poison of my very being. In the meantime, I pleasure my new self to grant him a taste of what we could have, what we could be, once he yielded. I use those thick python arms as my own. I gingerly trace my a newly muscular inner thigh. I shiver in delight. Fuck. We were sensitive. Who knew?

I stare at myself in the mirror. Oh god, oh god this was real, he was truly mine. “Here’s how to use this bod correctly” I mock in that gentle, instructive tone he had. I rush up to the mirror and start making out with myself. It’s cold. It warms up as I continue to lap at it with my tongue, as I continue to smear with these new plump lips of mine. “Fuck yeah, that’s the stuff, coach” I moan as him. The room is humid, dripping with pheromone, hot from the heat I am emanating in wearing my beloved coach. I touch my new dick for the first time, feeling his soul rile up. I feel his teaching sensibilities corrupt with my desire. As any good coach knows, never let them have a chance to fight back. Before he has a chance to react to my newfound control or my actions, I pump quickly, determinedly. Yeah. Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. Coach’s body was fucking hot. This was a fucking dream- Oh My god. “Oh. Oh. oh” Our moans ring like music to my new ears. And in that final resonance, I release with only one thought: “I’m Coach James”. His hand shakes in resistance. This was it. I force the hand still. Command it. It was my hand after-all. I scoop our cum in my hand. I give my hot new reflection a playful wink. “Bottoms up” I say to us both. Sweet Nectar. My Nectar. With every taste and of his own milk, he perverts own senses, dilutes his very self. He has obviously never tasted himself to this capacity- because I finally feel his soul reflexively bond to mine. He tries to pull back. Like I’d let him. I greedily keep us tethered together. Then, he relents. There’s my James.

When he finally yields I feel his memories, his feelings, hopes open up. I take them all. Distort them. I take all of him into me, meld them with myself until we were but one soul. They were me, now. My memories, sure. My senses. My feelings- fuck yeah, but inundated, saturated with my lust. Hopes- not a fucking chance. My hopes and dreams for this body are far greater. Coach James was greater that that. I was greater than that. I am the James the world deserves.

I am left panting by the end of it. Ecstasy reverberates. It’s all me in here, baby. My coach- I was reborn. Tears stream down my cheeks. “Call me James” I say with newfound truth and intent. That name came naturally to me. I was fully him, after all.

———

‘New James’ is fucking kinky. Dirty. Narcissistic. As much as I love bossing around the kids, I love playing with myself even more. I got some great parts. Look at this fucking bicep. Teaching? Fuck that. Fuck the team. New James is ripe with ambition and power. “James Harrison got better fucking things to do that teach some stupid fucking kids,” I spit in the mirror as caress myself. Yeah. This bod’s a fucking power trip. So much more New James can do with his time.

“New” might be a bit of a misnomer. I am James, in body mind and soul. I am James, in past-present and future. All he ever was? All he ever will be? Me. I am James, forever. And I aint no fucking coach.

-End-

Just a quick one.

#male possession

453 notes · View notes

corruptedconfessions · 4 years ago

Note

I am sliding in to request some yandere incubus Kirishima 👀. Maybe dubcon with a bit of a resistant darling who he coaxes and persuades into fucking him. Maybe uses incubus powers to have her be more willing and overstimulates her like crazy. Go as wild as you want, I don’t mind 👀

A full month and 5.3k words later...it is finished. From now on if anyone wants an example of my writing at its best (and most selfishly self indulgent) I shall send them this fic.

Warnings for this one: Dub con, drugging (kinda? magical drugging), some violence/blood mention, Delusional Yan Kiri at its finest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house was still as he hovered outside of your window, peering inside carefully. You were normally asleep by this time…The redhead practically vibrated with excitement as he slipped his claws under your window, slowly pushing it up. He had broken the lock several months ago when he had first caught your scent, peering through your window and finding you in the midst of a wet dream, desperately rubbing your thighs together in your sleep as you gasped. You were just so tempting he couldn’t help himself from slipping inside and eating you up~

You had been so beautiful that night, arched out under the moonlight gasping and twitching around him. Every meal before you suddenly felt so lacking. He may have gotten a little…over excited and watched with guilt as you struggled to get through the next day, completely exhausted after how much he had fed off of you. Even despite the guilt he felt, he couldn’t help but feel a deep yearning towards you, the desire to take even more.

He had never felt the urge to eat the same meal twice before you. Yet he found himself returning to you night after night, every time hunger pains shot through him, whenever he felt his own magic and energy starting to fade yours was the first face that popped into his mind. He had tried to go to other food sources but they always felt…lacking. Bland and unseasoned, their noises and fluids did nothing to excite him the way yours did. He was left full and energized, fed to the brim after desperately taking and feeding on his new virgin meals, but it always left him antsy and unsatisfied, haunted by the memory of your scent, your taste, just you.

It had gotten to the point where he was…touching himself. Masturbating! At the thought of you! The shame was so deep he had wanted to rip off his wings and tail, ashamed that a high class Incubus like him would become so desperate over some random little human that he would lower himself to self pleasure was…horrifying to say the least.

He took a deep shuddering breath just at the memory of those dark times as he glided further into your room, letting your scent surround him as he purred softly. Your scent already had the stress from those memories melting away, leaving him feeling fuzzy and relaxed, as it should! His mate should calm him~

Mate…just the thought of the word had him warm and giddy inside. It had taken him weeks to realize what all the feelings he had meant, you smelling and tasting so good, he was left unable to feed properly. He almost felt ashamed that he had made you wait so long before he realized! Oh, he hoped you would forgive him! What was he thinking, of course, you would! The two of you were destined for each other of course!

Oh, it was so exciting! You would be only his to hold, his to touch! Your small, fragile mortal body would curl up against his, warm and soft against him, arching and nuzzling into his touches like a good little girl~ He would sweep you up into his arms, being praised as your manly hero as he takes you away from your pathetic human world! No one would be able to stop him or deny him of his claim.

He would kill them if they tried.

His hand was trembling slightly with excitement as he reached out towards your bed, pulling your blankets aside as he crawled into the bed, inhaling deeply as he let your scent wrap around him.

Oh…He was so giddy thinking of all the things he could do with you now! He had always dreamed of having his own little mate to call his~ Someone made to please him, to love him, to be with him. Every inch of you from your head all the way down to the tips of your toes was built to be perfect for him~ Would you feel the same about him? Already he ached for you, ached for your touch, as many Incubi did when they found their mates, but you were human. Still, he liked to think that you were just as drawn to him as he was to you.

He could already picture it, you looking up at him, teary eyed and sleepy, begging for him to crawl into your bed, wrap you up in his arms and wings and hold you so you could sleep. You would beg for him so prettily, whimpering that you can’t sleep without him. He would wrap you up tight in his arms, carry you to the bed and ravish you until you couldn’t stay awake anymore~ He gasped softly nuzzling your pillow, breathing in hard as he purred softly. How would he do it?

Maybe he’d bury himself between your thighs, lapping and sucking at your dripping cunt, drinking your juices and working you through orgasm after orgasm until you have no choice but to pass out from the pleasure. Or maybe he’d stuff you full of his cock, rocking slowly up into you, drinking up every noise of pleasure as he makes love to you; tenderly bringing you to completion as you stayed limp and submissive under him, falling asleep while still rolling in the pleasure he gave you.

You would be so good for him wouldn’t you? Let him take you over and over, let him please you and bring you to the heights of pleasure. You would never touch another ever again…too desperate and needy for him, so perfect for…

He moaned low and deep, his hand dragging over his dick that was straining hard against his loose fitting pants. Every nerve in his body felt on edge, even just the brushing of fabric against his skin sending shockwaves of pleasure through his entire body. Fuck…He needed you so bad.

He couldn’t stop the small unmanly whimper that came from him as he tugged his pants down just enough for his member to pop out, the cold air hitting it leaving him shuttering hard. His teeth ached, begging to sink into your sensitive skin, to claim you, mark you up as his. He had never felt like this felt so…desperate.

It was addicting.

You did this to him…made him feel. Something he had always chased, desperate for the escape from the apathy that came with his cursed existence, doomed to forever chase the hunger and high of feeding off the pleasure of those who could feel. Yet here you were giving it to him freely. It was so addicting, to have all these feelings, towards you!!

He could never go back to the way it was before. He wouldn’t let it go back. He would kill anyone who tried to take you away from him, who tried to take this away…

He groaned, his entire body trembling all the way down to the tip of his tail as he slowly wrapped his fist around his cock, pumping it in his clawed hand. He could already imagine stuffing you full, coating you inside and out with his cum, claiming you so good no one would ever even question who you belonged to.

Oh, he couldn’t wait any longer! He wanted so badly to be inside you, cock nestled between your walls, your cunt squeezing down around him as his mouth and hands dragged over your soft skin. Already he could picture his claiming mark painted on your skin…

Something was nagging at him, an itch deep in the back of his brain as he swiped his thumb over his cock, huffing your scent as he pressed his face deeper into your pillow. He was missing something but he was too drunk on your scent, too focused on the build to his release to pay attention to the alarm bells blaring in his brain.

At least until he heard the bedroom door creak open followed by a frightened shriek.

“What the hell are you doing in my house?!”

He panicked, flailing as he spun around and sat up at the same time, staring at you wide eyed. Fuck! He had gotten so caught up in his fantasy he hadn’t even realized you weren’t in the bed, which meant you clearly weren’t asleep.

“I-I um, oh man I didn’t mean for you to meet me like this…”

You stared at him in confusion, eyes slowly dragging down until they locked onto his member, hard and leaking against his stomach. Your face immediately flushed hot, a startled squeak coming from you. Despite his panic as he tumbled out of your bed, clawed feet hitting your floor with loud clicks that just seemed to frighten you even more. He couldn't help the curl of amusement that swirled in his gut over the fact that you had immediately averted your eyes. Humans were always such silly things, so shy about sex and bits. Incubi were much more…open. Something you were going to have to get used to since he had no plans on hiding his dick away from his mate. Hell, the only reason he wore pants is because he thought they looked hella manly and cool! Like those famous actors from human movies! But now that he had a mate, he couldn’t imagine having something stopping him from just immediately taking you whenever and wherever he wanted, even if it was only for a second.

“Don’t be mad! I know im a bit late but I promise I’ll make it up to you~”

He calmed himself, grinning at you as he held his arms out as if asking for a hug as he advanced on you. You found yourself stumbling back as you stared at him in horror. He looked like something straight out of a horror movie, skin dark and reddened like blood, blackened horns jutting out and twisting around his head grotesquely, with every move the skin stretched over them almost seemed to pulse slightly as his slitted eyes roamed your body with a shamelessly large grin. Disgust and fear curled in your stomach as jagged sharp teeth were revealed to you, tapering off into sharp points just like the claws that spurted from his hands and feet. You could see a tail sway behind him, brushing the bottoms of large stretched out wings that were already curling towards you, stretching out as you stumbled back.

What…was he? For the briefest of moments you had thought it was the man from your dreams, warm and handsome as he fucked you, stuffed you full and left you shaking and crying for more. Every night you dreamt of him you woke up feeling sore but sated, your entire body aching but feeling so warm, the flashes of red hair and a bright smile still behind your eyelids. Warm moans and sweet praises still echoing faintly in your ears. This…thing in front of you was far from him.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

You spun around, grabbing the door frame as you tensed, trying to run. Run where though? To the phone? Out the door? Should you scream for help? Who would believe you if you told them this this…demon was in your house, jerking off in your bed?

You had just barely made it out the door, feet sliding across the wood floor and nearly tripping you up when he moved too. In a flash he was through the door, behind you, arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the floor. You hadn’t even seen him move from his spot standing next to your bed.

“Let go of me! You sick fuck! Pervert! Help!”

You screamed kicking and flailing in his arms as he easily held you up off the floor. You tried elbowing his head, biting, scratching, hitting him in any way you could with your back pressed tightly against his chest and strong arms restraining you by your waist. He just laughed brightly as you hit him, any strikes just bouncing off his hard skin as he turned around to walk you back to your room.

“Feisty! I like that!”

Rage filled your chest when he laughed at your attempts to free yourself. He was left unaffected while you were left throbbing in pain, every hit feeling like you were trying to punch a boulder. It was hopeless attacking him, it was clear he was stronger than you. So you did the only thing you could think to do.

You grabbed onto the door frame as he walked through, clutching it hard enough it hurt, refusing to let go even when he tugged you lightly. The bright grin that had been plastered on his face faded slightly, and you took that victory and clung to it, clutching the door frame tighter.

”Come on, don’t be like that. I know you want to play hard to get but I don’t want to hurt you. Look, you’re hurting yourself. Let go.”

You clung tighter, ignoring the rough wood digging into your palms hard enough that you were sure you would have slivers and cuts when you did let go. You didn’t care.

“Hard to get?! I'm not playing anything! Let go of me!”

You twisted trying to kick him again, lips curling into a snarl as he sighed at you. He shifted you in his hold, one arm unwinding from your waist just to hook under your thighs as he stepped closer, holding you firmer against his chest.

“You’re just nervous~ Don’t worry, Im sure any mortal would be, you probably don’t understand it completely yet, do you?~ I’ll help you relax~”

Understand what? Did the man have some sort of delusional fantasy about you? Anxiety filled you as you squirmed in the new grip as best as you could, trying to shove him away without letting go of your deathgrip on your door. You opened your mouth to snap at him, argue even more, kick and scream, anything so he would let go of you when a sweet scent started pouring off of the beast. You were breathing hard, both from the yelling and fighting, you got a large lungful of the smell before you could even register it was there.

The effects were immediate. Your head spun hard, hard enough you had to squeeze your eyes closed to stop the way the room suddenly spun hard, your entire body instantly falling limp in his arms.

“There you go~ Much better…”

You forced your eyes open again once everything stopped spinning so hard, staring up at the demon holding you with wide confused eyes. What did he do to you? He had shifted you so he was cradling you bridal style, you reached up to push at his chest, to push him away. You tried at least, your movements were slow, your body feeling weak. You pressed your hands against his chest, but you couldn’t find the strength to shove at him, to resist the jolts of pleasure that shocked you when you touched him.

“Easy there~ You might rile me up even more.”

You felt your face grow hot as he grinned down at you, ripping your hands away from his chest through pure will alone. Your cheeks burned even hotter when he chuckled down at you, sitting down on your bed and turning to settle you down in his lap.

You shook hard as he wound his tail around your waist, tugging you until you were in a position he liked, large hands pressing against your stomach and sliding down your thighs, exploring your body, your skin in a way that felt so familiar…like he had done it before. You felt painfully aware of how his chiseled chest felt pressed against your back, how in this position, with your legs spread wide to try and straddle his thick thighs you could feel his hard on brushing up against your panties. You could feel your tummy flip as your cunt twitched, clenching down on nothing with every brush against your clothed heat.

“Please don’t hurt me…”

You were panting hard, desperate panicked breaths just proving to intoxicate you further, the sweet scent pouring off of him twisting around your senses and filling your head up. Every breath you took drained more of your fight out of you, panic and fear slowly being replaced with something…warm. Something sweet. You couldn’t bring yourself to push him away or thrash and fight like you were before. You felt disconnected from your body, willing it to move but you couldn’t manage more than the weak twitches of your fingertips and toes. You wanted to jump, pull away, do anything. Shamefully you noticed you were getting wet, soaking through your panties as your entire body tingled, arousal coiling tight in your gut.

“Oh, no, no, sweetie~ I’d never hurt you…Well, not unless you wanted me to.”

He grinned down at you, sharp and dangerous, his jagged teeth glinting under the moonlight that poured in from the open window.

You were panting hard, every weak gasp for air just proving to drunken you even further as you breathed in his scent, unable to stop yourself from slumping against his body. You trembled mewling weakly as his claws trailed down your skin, even just the soft scrape of his claws against your skin sending jolts of pleasure straight to your throbbing cunt. You jolted against his chest when his fingers finally pressed flat against your abdomen, claws easily hooking under your panties, hand sliding in to cup your privates fully.

“Good girl~ So wet for me~”

You trembled in his arms, flushing bright red when his hand was quickly coated in your fluids, hyperaware of the feeling of it slowly dripping out of your throbbing sex. You were painfully focused on his touch as his middle finger dipped between your lips, rubbing at your clit and entrance all at once, smirking as you jolted hard, a loud startled moan bubbling from your chest before you could stop it. You shuttered in his arms, whimpering as you arched back against him as he kept moving, rubbing at you as a deep growl vibrated through his chest.

“That’s it~ Good girl~”

You gasped, keening softly as he pulled his hand out of your underwear, making sure to drag his finger across your clit the entire way. Immediately his hands hooked under your bare thighs, smearing your juices across your skin as he lifted you up.

“Let's get you out of these~”

He purred as he maneuvered you, easily holding you up with one hand as he dipped one clawed finger under the band of your panties, easily shredding through the fabric and tossing it to the side. You gasped whimpering as cold air finally hit your heated flesh. God...it felt like you were burning up. You could feel wetness dripping out of you, coating your thighs and dripping down onto his cock. You wanted to feel shame, fear, but your thoughts were too fuzzy, too consumed by the overwhelming lust that filled your entire body.

“Now you’re getting into it, such a good girl~ My good little mate...Fuck you’re so soaked for me~”

You shivered moaning softly at his deep voice in your ear as he picked you up yet again, moving you until you were face down on the bed, hips propped up so he could grind his swollen cock against your dripping cunt. You found yourself drooling into your mattress as you desperately tried to rock back against his cock with your limited mobility. Fuck...you just...needed. You whined high and loud, frustrated as he chuckled down at you, his claws brushing down your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he cooed down at you.

“Be patient. I’ll give you what you need...”

The sweet smell got even stronger as he leaned over you, pressing his chest against your back, cock rubbing between his thighs as his hands moved up to cup your breasts. You found yourself melting into the touch, panting and mewling weakly as he rolled your nipples between his fingers, claws leaving shallow scratches across your skin. Even that felt good…

“Such a good mate! Look at you, so gorgeous...I could eat you forever, you know~”

He purred nipping at your ear as he drank up your sweet pleasured cries, rocking his hips between yours as he thrust blindly between your thighs. Low grunts and groans were panted out right in your ear as he rut against your pussy, blindly searching for your entrance.

“Gonna fill you up so good...fill you full of my seed. Make you mine!”

He growled his cock bumping against your hole, nudging against it before sliding past. Growling again he slowly pulled back, keeping his hands around your stomach as he lined himself up before thrusting into you. Claws pricked at your stomach, drawing small beads of blood as he forced you to take him all the way to the base in one thrust.

You cried out, trembling hard as you clamped down around his cock as he stuffed you full. Your brain was telling you it should hurt, you shouldn’t’ve been able to take him like that, but all you could think about was the waves of pleasure rolling through you as you moaned. It was like you were molded to his cock, made to take him, made to be filled like this. The overwhelming feeling of wholeness made your head spin as pleasure danced along your spine.

“You feel so good around me, baby~ I knew you were made to take me like this...that very first time your pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock, I knew I loved you.”

He gushed eagerly, voice rough in your ear as he rambled between moans, rocking his hips inside of you. First time…? What did he mean by-

You didn’t have time to register that fully, let alone ask him. He pulled out, cock dragging against your walls as you twitched and clenched around him before immediately thrusting back in, leaving you arching back against his chest, crying out for him.

“You’re so tight~ It’s like you never want to let me go~ You must love me a whole lot, don’t you, baby?”

He growled happily in your ear as he started a rough and brutal pace, hips slapping against yours, the force of each thrust hard enough you found yourself jolting forward, only held in place by the iron grip he had around your stomach.

He fucked you like he was making a claim, the wet sounds of your pussy clenching around him with every thrust filling the room along with his grunts and growls and your desperate pleasured cries. All you could do was hold on, your hands balled into fists as you clung to the sheets below you as waves of pleasure rolled over you, unable to think of anything but Kirishima. Every breath you took was his scent, all you could feel was his cock thrusting deep inside of you, his chest pressed against yours, the way he was kissing and nipping at your jaw.

You didn’t even realize he had never told you his name, the very one you were whimpering.

“Look, baby~ I'm right here.”

You could feel the toothy grin against the back of your neck as a large hand pressed against your stomach, pushing hard enough you could feel every single thrust all the more. You sobbed in pleasure torn between grabbing his hand and ripping it away from your stomach and pushing it harder against it. Anything to keep the pleasure dancing behind your eyes.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, long enough that your throat felt raw, that your neck and shoulders ached with the bruises and marks he had left behind. Your nipples felt rubbed raw and sensitive. Everything blurred together, you were left limp and submissive in the demon’s arms, as he fucked you, snarling into the back of your neck. Compliments and praises were still raining down on you but they rolled off of you before you could even begin to process them. All you could think about was that heat coiling in your belly, you wanted to cum so badly. You whimpered desperately clenching down around him as you bucked your hips backwards, trembling hard when he snarled, thrusting his hips back inside you hard enough you actually found yourself sliding forward.

“Shit, I’m close, baby...Are you going to cum with me?”

His voice was warped, deep and gravely, sounding harsher, darker than before. It wasn’t a voice that any human could ever hope to have. Still you whined high in your throat, nodding desperately, anything! You just wanted to cum so bad! Every time you got close, teased with that release it danced away from you, denying you of it. Not this time.

You nearly sobbed in pleasure as he started thrusting harder, hips stuttering as his cock pulsed hard inside of you. It only took one...two...three thrusts before he was roaring, the sound loud enough it vibrated through your body, your ears ringing as he came. He kept thrusting as he spilled inside of you, cum spilling out your hole around his cock and flooding down your thighs. He kept thrusting hard inside of you until he grabbed your hips with both hands, yanking you back onto his cock as he thrust as deep as he could. You seized up, screaming as you came, vision whiting out as you spasmed around his cock, drool spilling down your chin as your eyes rolled back. Wave after wave flooded through you, leaving you shaking and sobbing through the pleasure, immediately falling limp like a marionette with its strings cut the second it started to fade. You could hear his and your heavy breaths filling the otherwise silent room, feel the cum dripping down your thighs and pooling around your knees.

He waited until you both had caught your breaths, still shaking and sweaty against each other's bodies before he suddenly lunged down, teeth sinking into your shoulder. You screamed in agony as sharp fangs sunk into your skin, tearing through your flesh. The grip around you tightened as he held you still, slurping and lapping at the blood that flowed heavily from the wound.

You dropped to the mattress the second he pulled away, hanging limply in his hold as he slowly set you down. It felt like your very life had been sucked out of you, leaving you weak and confused, unable to navigate the maze of your own mind through the fog of pleasure and lust and now pain that had filled it. Black crept around the edges of your vision as everything started to blur together. Your eyes felt so heavy...

“Hey...None of that now. Not yet.”

You whined low in your throat as he grabbed your hair, making your neck arch back as you blearily blinked up at him, your shoulder throbbed hard, protesting the new position as it pulsed in pain, blood oozing out of the wound slowly. Your vision was reduced to shadows and movements, watching as the blurry outline of the demon sank his fangs into his own thumb, pulling away darker. The same dark blur that covered his fangs dripped slowly down his hand. He slowly lowered it to your lips, thumb slipping into your mouth. You tried to cringe back as a heavy metallic taste filled your mouth, but the hand entangled in your hair prevented you from moving an inch. Instinctively you swallowed down the fluid that flooded your mouth, cringing even more as it coated your throat uncomfortably and filled your senses. You cried out pitifully around his thumb even as you suckled on it, wanting to squirm away but unable to find the energy to do so.

“Shhh~ I know. You’re okay.”

His thumb slipped from your mouth, hand letting go of your hair, finally letting you fall limply to your mattress. Relief filled your body as you finally relaxed, aching from head to toe, faintly you could still feel your pussy throbbing with every beat of your heart. Your eyes slid closed, fully believing the hell that you had just been put through was over.

Of course you were wrong.

It started small, a soft tingling in your back, slight warmth that you ignored due to the overwhelming heat of the demon still draped over you. You could still feel his gaze boring into you, waiting. You ignored him, pressing your face harder against the mattress below you, determined to either stay there until he left or you suffocated.

At least until your back started burning. The subtle heat from before was gone, replaced with an inferno tearing apart your lower back, burning through your muscles and skin. Faintly you could hear agonized screaming somewhere far away, it took you a moment to realize that that was you screaming. You couldn’t focus on it, though, the pain leaving your mind floating as tears streamed down your face, chest heaving for air.

And then...his voice cut through it all. Deep and rumbling through your ear it was like a soothing balm across the flames that were eating you alive.

“Shh~ Just accept it, baby~ Don’t fight it. I know it hurts, just relax...It’ll be over soon~”

Your whimpers were muffled as he leaned back, claws dragging slowly across your lower back. You screamed again, agony shooting through you as he touched them, pain hitting your consciousness like a bus. You twisted in place as best you could, weakly trying to turn around to swat away at his touch, only to freeze at what you saw.

The demon's face was twisted into a menacing grin, eyes practically glowing with delight as his claws dragged down your back, pain rocking you to your core. All you could see was a vague black shape on your back, similar to the one that covered the demon’s arm. Everything was too blurry to make out the details, pain and darkness made the edges of your vision fuzzy.

“You’re finally all mine~”

His voice was soft, warm, filled with so much joy and happiness it didn’t fit him, it didn’t fit the situation you were in. Your ears were ringing, stomach clenching hard. You felt like you were going to throw up. The darkness that had been creeping along the edges of your vision started spreading.

The last thing you saw was pointed sharp teeth grinning down at you, tracing over your mark with a dark possessive glint to his eye.

You were finally all his.

#yandere #kirishima x reader #reader insert #fantasyau #incubus

746 notes · View notes

fandom-puff · 4 years ago

Text

Little Tease

Pairing: Remus Lupin x reader

Requested by: anon

Prompts: 22 ( If i have to stop what i’m doing, you wont be able to walk for the next week. ) and 45 (You can’t tease me like that and expect not to be punished) from smut prompts

Summary: remus isn’t too impressed with your teasing

Warnings: quite rough sex, swearing, edging

Remus was in ecstasy. Truly. The tight sheath of your throat was utterly magical, and the way you sucked his cock so perfectly sent his head west...

You pulled away, and he was alright with that- you’d stopped a few times to pay attention to his balls or to catch your breath- but when you stood up smirking, wiping your mouth, his eyes widened. “Come on,” you said. “Better get to that meeting,”

Remus stared at you incredulously. “You’ve got to be joking,” he groaned, eyebrows tugged together as his hips strained slightly. “I swear, YN, if I have tk stop what we’re doing, you won’t be able to walk for the next week,”

“A risk I’m willing to take,” you shrugged, smirking coyly as you swayed out of the room and downstairs. Remus groaned lowly and organised himself so it wouldn’t be obvious to the rest of the order that he had a raging hard-on.

***

An hour and a half later, remus’s thighs were shaking discretely and his jaw was clenched tightly. Throughout the meeting, you had been stroking his broad thighs relatively innocently. What wasnt innocent was the palming of his persistent bulge when no one was looking.

When the meeting ended, you bade everyone a good night, and went to your shared room. Not five minutes later, remus arrived, slamming and locking the door behind him. “You’re a little tease, you know that,” he growled, eyes darkening. You gulped, excited, backing up on the bed and spreading your legs slightly. “Now, are you gonna be a good girl and let me devour you?” He asked and you nodded easily. A few clever charms later, you were naked and quivering with excitement and Remus inhaled deeply, smelling your arousal. “Fucking hell...” he groaned. “I bet you taste as good as you smell, darling,”

You barely had time to reply before your voice caught in your throat and you gasped slightly, before moaning his name. His moustache tickled your sensitive flesh deliciously as he wrapped his lips around your clit, flicking it with his tongue. Eagerly, you bucked your hips up to him, circling them slightly. He grunted, letting you do so as he swirled his tongue, drinking you in as if you were a welcome oasis in a barren desert. You loved the feeling of his tongue and your moans and writhing told him as such, and when he pushed his tongue into you, you sighed his name so prettily it was a wonder he didn’t cum on the spot.

You wove your fingers through his hair as he fucked you with his tongue, occasionally brushing his finger over your sensitive bud, and you soon began building up to climax, your thighs clenching and trembling, your sex throbbing with need.

Remus pulled away, smirking up at you.

You glared down at him, groaning lowly as you moved to give your clit those last few crucial rubs-

Your wrists were pinned to the side. “Don’t you fucking dare. You should know, YN, that you can’t tease me like that and expect not to be punished,” you whimpered in response as he waited for you to calm slightly, before diving back in, tonguing your clit with reckless abandon, much tougher than before... or perhaps everything just felt so sensitive after being so close...

You drew nearer to your orgasm quicker this time, and almost sobbed when he pulled away. He settled into a routine, sucking your clit until he noticed your tells, pulling away, letting you calm down. By the fifth time, your entire body was shaking, every nerve thrumming with sensitivity. “Please!” You eventually begged. “Please just fuck me! Remus, please! I need to come!”

Remus moved away from your sex, hovering above you. “You’ve done so well for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing you. You could taste yourself on his lips. “Good girl,” he moaned, lining himself up and slowly pushing into your needy hole. “Taking my cock so well... fuck,” he swore, rocking his hips slowly. Your sweet moans and tight grip on his arm encouraged him to fuck faster and harder, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to meet his thrusts with messy bucks of your own hips. Neither of you were to last long, both so desperately close to relief that when remus painted your innermost walls with his seed, you only needed a few more sloppy thrusts before you were clenching around his cock and biting his shoulder to muffle your shouts of pleasure.

Dazed, comfortable and clingy, you snuggled into one another, and when remus reached for his wand you grabbed his wrist. “Leave it for a while,” you murmured, loving the feeling of his come slowly seeping out of you. He grinned and kissed your forehead gently, holding you close to his chest.

“You’re wonderful,” he mumbled, nuzzling into your hair as you sighed happily. “Bloody brilliant you are,” you giggled, drawing swirls on his scarred back. “But bloody hell, YN... I thought I’d come in my trousers...”

“It’s a good job you didn’t, Rem,” you said, grinning up at him. “Otherwise we would’ve had to wait even longer for that excellent shag,”

Tag List: @obsessedwithrandomthings @haphazardhufflepuff @diksy1112 @zodiyack @axriel @hiddensapphic @samnblack @tinylumpiaa @in-slytherin-we-trust @thatoneasrastan @emmaloo21 @kyn-lyn54-blog @eleven-times-lively @summer-writes @sleepylunarwolf @holysantana @rai-strangebr @moonlover-tobefree @levylovegood @tsuukichan @brainlesspasta

#remus lupin x reader smut #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin #remus lupin fic #request #prompts #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter smut

859 notes · View notes

jakesguitarstring · 3 years ago

Text

one last caress ||optional epilogue|| j.m.k

summary: two years ago josh kiszka walked away and the world shifted. then the world shifts again when jake, sammy, and danny show up and say that josh is missing. finding josh is one thing, but what happens if he’s found? can bridges be mended or is it too late?

words: 1.2k

prologue || chapter one || chapter two || chapter three || chapter four || chapter five || optional epilogue

a/n: okay, i can’t not have a happy ending... so here’s an optional epilogue for the hopeless romantics like me :)

ONE YEAR LATER

You smiled down at your phone as you sent off a text to Danny and Sam. The group chat had continued since Josh had been found, mostly full of stupid jokes or memes and well wishes on birthdays and holidays. But it was nice to have them back in your life. You even talked to Jake once and a while, you guys had been through hell together, so it was impossible not to check in. For the most part, life had moved on for you, except this time, it actually moved on. You weren’t just pretending to be okay. You weren’t putting on a brave face. For too long you had lived your life as someone you missed out on something perfect and magical, instead of accepting the fact that you had lived that perfect magical thing. Just because it didn’t last forever doesn’t mean you lost it, it was still there, deep inside you. The anger and iciness that had for so long grown in your chest gave way to the peaceful acceptance of a rose that bloomed in bright vivid colors.

The sun shone and it was a beautiful day and you let the rays warm your face as you inhaled. It was the perfect Saturday as you walked to the coffee shop down the street. You thought about the rest of your plans for the day, maybe the farmer’s market or a trip to the lake or some shopping, you didn’t have anything concrete, willing to see where the day would take you. Since last year, an easy peacefulness had enveloped you. You took each day as it came and tried hard to not obsess over what had passed or what was coming ahead. The familiar smell of the coffee shop surrounded you as you walked in. A barista at the front nodded to you as you approached to order.

“Would you like anything from the bakery with your drink today?” They asked with a smile. You stepped back to look at the case to see if anything caught your eye.

A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts. “Always go for the baked good.”

You spun around to see Josh standing behind you. A smile spread across your face and his face mirrored it. You rushed over to hug him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands wrapped around your waist as he pulled you in tight. He ducked his head and chuckled into your neck. “I’m happy to see you too.”

You pulled away but left your hands resting on his shoulders, so he left his on your waist. “What the hell are you doing here?” You laughed.

“Ah, y’know I was in town.” He joked. “Let me pay for your drink and whatever you pick from the pastry case.” He fully pulled away from you and motioned for you to finish ordering.

You sat opposite him at a table right in front of the window as he took a sip of his hot tea.

“So… are you stalking me now or something?” You smirked into your own mug.

He laughed, bright and easy. “Ah, then I would be a terrible stalker ‘cause you found me.” You laughed with him. “No, no. I, uh, came to town to see you. But I got kinda nervous, so I thought I’d stop here for some liquid courage.”

“They don’t sell fireball here, Joshua.” He grinned. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” You asked.

“To be honest I was worried you wouldn’t wanna see me.”

“And you concluded that showing up at my doorstep was a better solution.”

His smile fell. “Ah, I see the error of my ways.”

You didn’t let him feel bad for more than a second. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thank the heavens. I kept saying I was going to call or text or, hell, send something by carrier pigeon, but nothing I wrote ever sounded right. It couldn’t convey how I feel, it felt unnatural. So I thought I’d just come here and wing it.”

“Well, I’m listening now.” You raised a brow.

He was quiet for a minute. “Ah, shit…” he groaned. “I have no idea what to say.” He laughed. “Y’know I’ve spent the last year ruminating on us, on how we treated each other, our love… all of it. I finally started to feel at peace with it all. I know where I did you wrong. I know we both made mistakes. We expected too much or not enough… I guess we never truly heard one another. Or maybe it was just me. I was so invested in myself that I never listened to you. It all fell on an impenetrable mind. And I’m sorry for that.” He sighed and looked up at you. “But most of all I want to apologize for ever making you feel like you needed me. God, you’re so strong. Stronger than me I think. You don’t need me and I think now you know. And I don’t know what I did to be the reason you thought that you weren’t strong. But I’m so sorry. I know apologies can feel empty and hollow but…”

“No, no. Yours don’t. I, uh,...” you sniffed. Light tears fell down your face. He grasped your hand from across the table. He let you cry for a few moments and you were grateful that you were the only two in the coffee shop. When the tears started to subside he jumped up and returned with a couple napkins that he handed you. “Thanks.” You wiped your eyes and your nose.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He murmured, taking your hand again.

You laughed. “No, it’s just that, well, I’ve spent this year doing the same thing. I blamed you for so long for taking something from me and I never realized that I took it from myself. It’s true I gave too much of myself to you, but I also never let myself heal. I just tried to bulldoze my way through it. If I ignored it, it wouldn’t matter. But that never works, does it?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“Growing up is hard.” You took another sip of your drink. He smiled and lifted his mug for a cheer. You clinked your mug against his and shared in his smile. “You really flew all the way here just to apologize?”

“For the most part, yeah.”

“An expensive apology.”

“Worth it.” His thumb rubbed the top of your hand, with it he unraveled memories that you’d long stored in a dusty unused part of your brain. All of the good times, all of the bad times, all of the tears, the fighting, the laughter, every single high and low. Every memory that reminded you why love is worth it, especially if it means growth.

“Ask me what you really came here to ask.” You demanded.

“I don’t know what you mean?” He confessed.

“Don’t play coy. Ask it.”

He bit his bottom lip and then he gave you the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “Do you want to try again?”

“Yes.”

Just because people are in love with each other doesn’t mean that they’re meant to be together. And, yeah, a lot of the time it does hurt to try. But maybe this time you’ll get it right.

#greta van fleet #greta van fic #josh kiszka #josh gvf #jake kiszka #jake gvf #danny wagner #danny gvf #sammy kiszka #sammy gvf #sam kiszka #my writing #a happy ending or at least a happy for now :)

34 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years ago

Note

I didn't know that you still wrote adsom.. if you're willing to take prompts - and it's totally okay if you aren't - I think I saw an old ask about Holland trying on kell's coat?

Hey, Anon! Sorry, I went to sleep last night just as this ask came in, I think. I took some time to think it over today and here, I have a little something for you. I hope you see it! Sorry again about missing it when it came in.

Holland Vosijk was not a man driven by flights of fancy. He had been, just a little, before Talya and the violent loss of his vision of a world he could simply live in. Now, though, everything but unwilling, unwanted survival had been burned away.

He would have called himself forged by fire, but most things forged become stronger afterward, and Holland rarely felt that way.

He was not a man of whims - he was instead the hand and arm that acted out the whims of his monarchs, his masters, that obeyed the pulse of the curse carved into his chest.

So when he stepped into the inn and finds a very recognizable coat draped over a chair, the urge to pick it up surprised him.

He wasn't aware he could still have sudden thoughts like that.

The coat's owner was up at the bar itself, seemingly three ales deep and working on the fourth, his pretty brother at his side. Holland tried not to look at either of them, hoping he could go unnoticed.

If there was a bevy of whispers, well, perhaps the little princes would assume they were about them, not him.

He stepped slowly up to the table the two must have been sitting at, littered with the empty finished ale cups, half-eaten meals, and the damned coat.

It looked normal enough - luxe soft wool heavily treated, impossibly expensive, in the deep saturated red that all these Arnesian people seemed to take as 'their' color. It was hideously unflattering to the prince, with his pale skin turned too reddened by it, his red hair made to look dull when Holland knew damn well Kell's hair was shining and coppery and gleamed like coins in the sun when Holland very much wasn't looking at him in the slightest-

Stop it.

He had come here to drink himself to senselessness in a world where his monarchs could not trace him, could not pay some citizen to speak of his whereabouts, could not torture some innocent youth who merely saw him pass on the street.

And yet...

He allowed his fingertips to run, just for a moment, along the line of the chair's back through the coat. He felt over a hint of golden thread sewn in along the lapel. Red and gold, pointless sickening luxury in a world grown fat on the magic it stole from a dying one.

In a sudden fit of violence, he jerked the jacket off the chair into his hands. The chair, knocked off-balance, toppled backwards onto the floor with a loud CRACK.

The inn went briefly quiet, and Holland felt two dozen pairs of Arnesian eyes quite suddenly land entirely and only on him.

Including those of the princes.

"Holland?" It was Rhy who spoke first, and drunk or not, the Arnesian prince slipped into an immediate smiling brilliance. Difficult to resist.

Holland, though, had an inborn defense against idiot princes. He, after all, spent his days and nights tortured by an idiot king.

"Have you come by to grace us with your company?" Rhy smiled, tilting his head. His amber-yellow eyes sparkled with the drink coursing through his veins.

If Astrid drank his blood, Holland thought idly, she might get drunk on it.

"No," he said, shortly, and turned, walking outside as quickly as he could, before the faintest blush in his cheeks might become visible, before they could read embarrassment even in his faded skin, his washed-out color.

He made it out into the street before he realized he still had Kell Maresh's coat in his hand.

He couldn't very well go back in and give it back, now could he? Admitting to that embarrassment would be a crime far worse than simple theft.

Instead, he walked quickly, turning left into an alleyway just as he heard the door open behind him and Kell's voice ring out, "Hey! He's got my coat!" with a note of nervous trepidation that had Holland rolling his eyes.

Like Holland didn't already know Kell smuggled between worlds. He'd been tracking him at it for months. Years, even.

That nasty little habit would get the redheaded Arnesian prince in trouble one day.

He came to a stop in a spot of near-total darkness down by the docks, the gentle sound of the river lapping at the shore a soothing balm. The Isle glowed a brilliant red, the usual nighttime sky in London, stars only vaguely visible through its haze.

They had so much magic. How little of it they could have shared and saved Makt.

Holland very nearly threw the coat in the damn Isle to drown the way he sometimes wished he could drown the entire Arnesian royal family before... before that damn whim struck again.

He turned the coat inside out.

The red became white, a white that nearly blinded him, with black thread. He frowned.

"No," He said out loud in the Royal language of Arnes.

He turned the coat inside-out again.

This time it was a pale robins-egg blue, with embroidered birds along the lapel. He wrinkled his nose.

"Absolutely not."

He tried one more time.

The third time, indeed, was the charm - the coat this time was a deep black, so solid it seemed to soak up light entirely. The embroidered cuffs and lapel were white, a series of spirals that made him think of a time long, long ago, when the doors were open to all.

It reminded him of how they once dressed in a London now dead and gone, entirely overrun by magic it grew addicted to rather than tightly controlled.

He sighed and undid the silver clasp for his half-cloak, pulling it off and carefully laying it over a short wrought-iron stair railing for a building next to him. The silver winked slightly in the red light of the Isle.

He slipped his arm into one sleeve and then the other, fully expecting them to be far too long - Kell was tall and lanky, after all, while Holland was far more compactly built, and short like the rest of Makt after a life spent working and fighting for every bite of food left.

The coat fit perfectly, as if tailored only for him.

He looked down at himself, and then up, finding a windowpane where he could see his own reflection.

He looked... Arnesian, almost.

Not quite - his hair was too faded, the deep black of his childhood gone charcoal-gray with the way the world had of leeching magic and life out of everyone. His skin was too pale, his Antari eye stood out like it did everywhere else.

And yet...

"Not bad," Kell Maresh said, and Holland's heart skipped a beat in surprise. It took all his willpower not to visibly flinch.

He instead turned smoothly, slowly, as if he had known the redhead was there all along. "I am glad you think so," He said in a dry voice devoid of sincerity. "It is unkind to follow a man at night, lile prins."

"Well, you ran off before I could talk to you," Kell pointed out, walking towards him. There was a high red spot in each cheek and a gleam to his blue eye that said he was still drunk.

"You could have as many coats as you wished, what is a few gold coins to a prince to replace it?"

"True. But that is my coat. It cannot be replaced."

"It could be my coat, if I wished it to be."

"It's not, though. Plus..." Kell's expression went into a kind of teasing look that made Holland uncomfortable and also oddly... interested in if this was what it looked like to see the Maresh prince flirt. It was awkward. It was endearing. "It is also unkind to steal a drunk man's clothing."

Holland hummed. "I am not a man known for kindness," He said, sliding the coat back off and folding it over his arm.

When Kell came closer - and he smelled of the flowery odd sort of beer they made and drank here, damn near wine. "And yet I think you have kindness in you that you will never express."

Holland stared at him, shocked. Kell Maresh often seemed to have little more sense than the gods gave a goat, and yet...

Perhaps the beer had loosened some kind of wisdom in him. There were stranger, less believable things in the worlds.

He held his hand out for the coat, and Holland, still too surprised to really think, simply handed it back. "Thank you," Kell said. He flipped the coat inside-out twice, until it was back to the color and style he liked, and slipped it on. "Why did you take it?"

"I don't know." It was, for once, a truly honest answer.

Kell considered, and then nodded, slowly. "I'll see you around," He said, stood there awkwardly waiting for Holland to reciprocate the farewell and receiving only silence in return, and then he turned and walked away, back towards the inn and his brother.

Holland watched him go, not quite sure what held him to the spot, but he found himself unwilling to move until the last sight of the other Antari's red hair shimmering with the light of the Isle was gone.

Holland inhaled, and the air smelled of roses, with a kind of steel underneath.

"For some reason," he murmured, "I genuinely don't want them to make me kill you."

Perhaps he could find some other way.

#adsom #adsom fanfiction #adsom fanfic #a darker shade of magic #kell maresh #holland vosijk #agos #acol #ve schwab #some light hinted at kelland here but mostly canon compliant #reluctantly so

50 notes · View notes

icollectyoursins · 3 years ago

Text

Okuyasu x Fem!Reader SFW

martinbolseiro asked "If requests are still open I would like to ask you for a Stroheim x Female reader fluff / nsfw nº24 and nº82 please hihiihi and Okuyasu x Female reader fluff nº1 and nº10 “

Reader and Okuyasu are in high school for this one, just so it’s not weird with an adult dating a teen. We do not stand for that here. I also use (L/N) which will stand for your last name in this.

You had the unfortunate luck of getting sick in the middle of the school year and your boyfriend has just the thing to cheer you up! I mean, what could be better than him visiting you with your movie, munchies and drinks? Nothing. That’s what.

First part of the request is here.

No. 1 "Shh, don't cry. I'll always be here."

No. 10 "I'll keep you warm, come here."

Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: None, reader is sick, so there’s talk of that. Also some Tonio stuff at the end, nothing too graphic though.

Word Count: 1308

A loud, painful cough thundered in your lungs making you wince. It was just a cold, but still, you felt like hell. You groaned, lying back down on your bed, tossing the tissue to the side. Suddenly, you began to think about all the school you were missing and felt worse. It was only a week, but still missing five days of school could be the equivalent of missing a month depending on the subject.

While in the midst of your self-loathing, you heard a shout from outside your window.

“Oi! (Y/N)!” Okuyasu. You groaned, begrudgingly getting out of bed and opening the window. “Hii, (Y/N)!”

“Hi, Okuyasu,” you grumbled. Not that you weren’t happy to see him, he always seemed to brighten your day, but frankly, you didn’t want to see anyone right now. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“No! We just finished.” You furrowed your brows, it couldn’t be time for home already, could it? A glance over to your clock proved that school was indeed done for the day. “Hi, miss (L/N). Can I come in to see (Y/N)? I have some work for her.”

“Not for too long. Wouldn’t want you getting sick too!” Your mom replied, stern but somehow still cheery.

“Ookay.” With that, he was practically running up the stairs to your bedroom and bursting through the door. “Hey! How are you feeling?”

You sighed with a roll of your eyes. “Okuyasu, you’re going to get sick, don’t- hey! No, don’t hug me-ah!”

“I missed you!” He had lifted you up into a bear hug. A very warm and comforting bear hug. You couldn’t really be mad at him as he gently set you on your feet and started going on about what had transpired the week you were away. Though you weren’t entirely sure it was true, it was entertaining getting all the info on the drama when you weren’t there.

“Wow. Didn’t think she’d do something like that,” you comment as he’s telling you about what one of the cheerleaders did to the other. It made you feel so glad you didn’t join the team or any other team for that matter. You were perfectly happy and busy running around after your lovable fool and his friend.

“Yeah, it was wild. Teachers didn’t even know what to do! They were just as shocked as we were,” he burst out laughing, tossing his head back and wiping away a tear.

Suddenly you were sent into another coughing fit, covering your mouth with your elbow. At first, he panicked, then saw the tissues and the glass of water on your nightstand, running to grab them. He knelt next to you, eyes wide while he rubbed your back until it subsided. He offered you the glass first before settling down to sit cross-legged. You groaned when he pulled you closer so you were leaning against him.

“Okuyasu, you’re gonna get sick,” you mumble, eyes slowly drooping into sleep. He was so warm and comfy. The perfect human pillow. He laughed at you.

“I never get sick! And if I do, I just go to Tonio’s! Heyy, that’s an idea! Let’s go to Tonio’s!” Okuyasu was suddenly getting up, pulling you with him. Then, he went through your closet, looking for something for you to wear.

“I really don’t think I’m in the best of shape to go somewhere.” You sit down on your bed with a sniffle.

“It’ll be fine!” He reassures you. “Besides, isn’t fresh air supposed to be good for you? Here, wear this. I’ll be downstairs waiting.”

He tosses some nice-looking, comfy clothes and excitedly exits your room. You sigh. There really wasn’t a way to stop him at this point, so you got into your clothes, changing the shirt to something less cartoony to a plain single-coloured tee with less stains. Maybe he was right. You would feel better if you went outside and something other than your mom’s cooking sounded so nice right about now. Whatever, what’s the worst that could happen.

When you got downstairs Okuyasu had already sold your mom on the idea of going out. She cheerily told you to have fun and be back before curfew as you walked out the door. He grinned proudly, wrapping an arm around you while you made your way to the bus station.

--------

The bus ride to the little restaurant by the graveyard was full of idle chatter about school again and what he was planning on doing when he got home. A new game came out recently, so he and Josuke agreed to play it together.

“You can come-” he asked, quickly covering it up with a hasty “-if you want! I don’t know. Josuke isn’t one to share his games, but I might convince him.”

You laughed. “Well, if you can convince my mum to let me outside, you can probably get anyone to do whatever you wanted. But, Okuyasu, I’m sick, remember.”

“Ha! Just wait. Tonio can cure anything with his food. It’s the best in the world.” You rolled your eyes, only half believing him. You hadn’t been to Tonio’s before but your boyfriend never shut up about how good the food was.

“As long as you’re paying,” you elbowed his side, teasing him. He looks shocked.

“Of course, I am! What kind of man doesn’t buy his lady food?” He mutters under his breath, seriously asking. You just laugh again.

The walk from the bus stop to the restaurant was thankfully short, but you swore could smell the food cooking from a mile away. Okuyasu grabbed your hand, gently pulling you behind him. He burst through the doors, happily calling out Tonio’s name. They exchanged hellos while you were sat at the table.

“Um, is there a menu?” You asked awkwardly. They laughed.

“No! Tonio makes whatever you need. He knows everything! Here, have the water.” He sets your cup down in front of you while Tonio goes off to make whatever it was he thought you needed. Your boyfriend practically shook with excitement while he waited for you to take your first sip.

Your eyes grew wide with shock as the water hit your tongue. It was the best water you had ever had. Was it from a well or something? You glugged down the rest, then suddenly you were crying and couldn’t stop. Okuyasu, though still smiling, rubbed your back, soothing you. Just like that, it stopped and your eyes felt better than they ever had before. They weren’t scratchy or tired. You were wide awake!

“See? Don’t you feel better?” He asked, petting your head.

“Yeah, actually. I do. What the hell is in that water?” He chuckles to himself, muttering something that sounded like ‘sand tomes?’ You were about to ask him to say that again, but Tonio came back with a bowl in his hand.

“Chicken noodle soup! Enjoy!” He called out, disappearing back into the kitchen.

It was the best-smelling chicken noodle soup. Without wasting another minute, you dug in. Okuyasu was right. This was the best food in the world. You finished in record timing, humming happily. Then you started coughing again. You grabbed a napkin and coughed into it. It felt like you were literally hacking up a lung or some other organ. One large inhale of breath and it magically subsided.

You could breathe so much better now! How? That was- how?

Okuyasu leaned back with his arms behind his head and his feet kicked up on another chair. You could feel the confidence radiating off of him.

“How do you feel, (Y/N)?” He asked, cocky as all hell. “Wanna go hang at Josuke’s?” You stared at him awestruck while he laughed loudly. The only thoughts you had were: thank you? Then, my boyfriend is crazy and finally what the hell just happened?

#now this is a character i'm comfortable writing for #love this stupid teenager #okuyasu x reader #okuyasu fluff #okuyasu #sfw prompts #diu prompts #sand tomes is okuyasu for stand tomatoes

52 notes · View notes

infinites-chaser · 3 years ago

Text

show a little faith, there's magic in the night | tears of themis | lu jinghe

warning for spoilers for themes from ch. 1 of lu jinghe's story, use of bruce springsteen, and a very long conversation about Life that is purely conjecture about lu jinghe's past

"watch the sunset with me?" he asks.

you blink for a moment, at a loss.

"please?" he tries. then, with another grin, "jie jie?"

you sigh. you move to join him, anyway.

("an hour of your time, jie jie?" he says. "I'm willing to pay.")

"lu jinghe?" you ask.

he's facing away from you, leaning heavy on the riverside railing, his features turned silhouette by the light of the setting sun.

"why did you tell me to meet you here?"

he turns at the sound of your voice, and something like relief flickers brief across his face before he relaxes into a careless grin, beckoning you closer with one lazy hand's wave.

"an hour of your time, jie jie?" he says. "I'm willing to pay."

you scoff, and let your elbow knock hard against his as response. for once, he takes it without complaint.

"watch the sunset with me?" he asks instead.

you blink for a moment, at a loss.

"please?" he tries. then, with another grin, "jie jie?"

you sigh. you move to join him, anyway.

the two of you stand in silence as the shadows of the city length, stretch fingers long across the water in pursuit of the fading rays of light.

then,

"if I tell you a story," he says, "will you promise to just listen?"

"what does that even mean," you start to say, playful, but you stop short when you catch sight of his expression: lost, uncertain.

you swallow the teasing back. lean closer, then nod.

he glances your direction, then away. takes a breath, then speaks.

"I almost ran away from home once, when I was eight," he says. you stiffen. you're about to open your mouth when you remember his initial words. you subside.

he continues,

"it was after my father's assistant had taken me to a circus."

he smiles, self-deprecating, lost in memory.

"I was throwing a fit because my father wouldn't take me with him and my brother on his business trip. but then I was promised a day at the visiting circus that had set up tent along the water, blooming like a rare flower at the center of the CBD."

"I'd never been obedient in my life," he adds with a grin. "but that day, I shut up. did my homework and studying, and was on my best behavior until we left the mansion."

"at that circus, there were all types of performers— put on by people of all talents, no matter how strange."

"there were elephant riders," he says, eyes bright, fixed on a scene out of his distant past, a scene for him and his eight-year old self alone, "lion tamers. knife throwers. trapeze artists who soared so high I thought they'd grown wings, and without the tent's roof, away they'd fly."

he scoffs a little.

"I thought they were magic."

"aren't they?" you ask. "in a way."

he lifts a shoulder. lets it fall. smiles. brittle, mocking.

"then magic's not all it's cracked up to be."

you don't respond. after a moment's silence, he clears his throat, glances your way, then back out across the horizon.

"anyway," he says, "point isn't if they were magic or not. eight-year-old me wanted to paint them anyway. try and capture even a little of their energy with my brush."

then, almost too quietly for you to hear,

"I still do."

"but?" you prompt.

"but," he repeats. the word's flat. sounds hollow on the still evening air, falls too cold, too heavy, too real under the setting sun's warm, hazy glow.

"it was just the one summer's day. painting and art— that was already my one indulgence. as my father's second son I wasn't allowed much more."

he swallows. you take a long look at him, but his gaze never wavers from the sun, slipping low and golden below the city skyline's flickering lights.

"it was like a dream," he says, soft, wistful. "I could've stayed forever, memorizing every inch of it. the flying trapeze. the dancers. the music. the cheering crowds. the smell of caramel and spice."

"it was evening before I knew it, and my father's assistant was doing his best to convince me to leave the snake charmer alone."

"I was just about to bribe him with what was left of my pocket money—"

"of course you were, young master," you interject with a scoff. though his body's still tense, he throws you a smirk, then continues.

"but then, the tent lights dimmed. a hush fell over the crowd, even the animals, as if we were all holding a collective breath, waiting, waiting for something. we didn't know what, but I could feel it, y'know? that if I didn't stay, I'd regret it for the rest of my life. missing that moment."

"so I gave him the money. promised him double when we got home. and we stayed."

"the tent was near pitch black, and everyone still and silent in this almost unnatural way, nearly scared, the feeling near sacred, when flames blossomed in the darkness, and the world of our tent came alive again, with the breath of fire, with the fire's light."

"fire breathing?" you ask. he nods.

"fire dancing," he says, makes the words reverential.

"I'd never seen anything like it before. And even while watching, barely blinking so I wouldn't miss even a single flame's briefest flicker, I knew I could spend my whole life trying to capture that scene on canvas, that energy, and still not manage a passable echo of it."

"that was real magic, jie jie," he says, and for once, his voice is earnest. full of childlike wonder. "I'll never see anything like it again."

"those performances that day, they were art. art everyone should see. art everyone should appreciate."

"I was planning on buying the circus company once I was old enough," he says. you'd scoff at a similar statement any other day, but his voice is dreamlike, worlds away,

"I wanted to preserve it. to capture that magic in the only way I knew how."

his eyelids stutter shut. he inhales, exhales, grip flexing hard against the railing.

what's wrong, you almost ask, but the words lodge hard and painful in your throat at his smile: warm, genuine. almost heartbreaking.

"today, I found out the company shut down ten years ago. the day I went was one of the troupe's last."

"and now?" you ask, voice soft. "is there no way of finding where all the performers are?"

he shrugs. glances sidelong at you. his eyes are lost. lonely as the final rays of sun sink into nothing.

"now I'm here," he says, a forced sort of flippant. it falls flat, and he abandons it, lets his voice falter. "I'm here in the same spot that tent was when I was young, and everything's gone. everything's changed. me, too."

you don't know how to respond. how best to comfort him. if there are any words of comfort that exist for moments like these at all.

at your silence, he sighs, shakes himself hard, then tries a smile.

"sorry," he says. "I shouldn't have said all that. it was selfish of me. just forget this, and tomorrow I'll be the lu jinghe you know again."

he turns to leave. on an impulse— don't let him leave, your nerves sing, your heart shouts, not like this— you grab his wrist, call his name, tell him to wait.

he does. he's still in your grasp, hardly breathing, though beneath your fingers, you feel his pulse racing.

"jie jie?" he asks, and it's hard to tell in the dusk half-light, but you think there's color creeping high across his cheeks. you flush in turn, but don't let go.

"wait," you repeat, and he does, and you sigh a little, relieved, take a breath, organize your thoughts, then speak.

"I—" you start, grasping for your usual lawyer's eloquence, "I used to visit this field every summer. it was behind my grandparent's house in the countryside. during the daytime, it wasn't much. just a patch of overgrown grass gone golden dry, any flowers that might've chosen to grow there in the spring baked under the summer sun."

"me and my childhood friend, we'd run through it until our cheeks were red with the burn of the sunlight, 'til we were exhausted, exhilarated, our hearts racing still long after we'd stopped."

"it was like tasting freedom," you say, your voice softening. "the golden field stretching wide in every direction. the never-ending blue sky up above."

if you close your eyes, you can still see it: xia yan's hair gleaming, just a few shades darker than the grass underfoot, his broad smile, your breathless laughter as you tried your best to keep up. your heart twists at the memory. since he's returned to the city, you don't think you've seen him as carefree as he was then, nor as bright.

some of it must show on your face— lu jinghe makes a vaguely comforting noise and bumps his shoulder against yours.

"during the daytime, though," he says. "then, I'm guessing it must've been something else at night."

you swallow and nod. blink a thanks in his direction, then respond.

"you're right," you say. "it was."

"at night," you say, "the grass was dark. the air was cool. if you looked up, you'd see more than a million stars. only, most nights we never bothered looking up, because it was like we were surrounded by all the stars of the sky, our own galaxy, blinking in, blinking out. little constellations all our own, those little fireflies and their lights."

"I could buy you a star," he says, tone forced light.

"lu jinghe," you scold.

"I could," he insists. "a galaxy, too."

"lu jinghe!"

"only if you wanted," he says. though his demeanor's sulky, you can tell, the words are heartfelt. you smile. just a little.

"what i wanted to say," you continue, "is that the field's probably still there. the fireflies, too. or, not exactly the same fireflies as in my memory, not exactly the same grass, but even if I were to return, even if I were to be there with the same person, it wouldn't be the same as my memory. we wouldn't be the same people either."

he chuckles. you frown.

"paris was never to be the same again although it was always paris and you changed as it changed," he quotes, smirk still tugging the corners of his lips up. "you and that old man have the same taste in literature."

"if art can be a moveable feast," you counter, "then why not the circus, too? maybe you'll never see those same performers again. maybe you will. either way, it won't be the same. not because you've lost the magic or the circus has, but because you've already had that moment. it was something that'd happen only once, that was no less meaningful for its brevity, that you'll keep forever in your memory."

he shrugs. smirks devil-may-care again.

"memory is hunger," he quotes, then sobers, turns serious once more.

"maybe you're right," he says. "either way, it doesn't change the truth: it's gone. we move on. the world moves on. we have to."

you frown.

"that's not what I meant," you say. "not really. because maybe it's gone, maybe the world asks us to move on, tells us that it was all in the past, there's no such thing as magic anymore. but you tell me, is that a life worth living— you're an artist, aren't you?"

"pax," he mutters. doesn't meet your eyes. then, louder:

"I have a responsibility to my father's company, miss attorney. ceos don't get to be artists, too."

"you see the beauty in the world," you counter. "the magic. you want to preserve it. not everyone can. not everyone has the power to. the money. the privilege. as ceo, why don't you?"

he's silent.

"isn't that what you told the director," you press. "that you'd defend other's dreams? doesn't it start here? by fighting first for your own? where you can. when you can."

then, quieter:

"while you still can."

"maybe there will be a day in the not-so-distant future where you'll have to choose," you continue. "and maybe you already know the choice you'll make. the choice you will have to make. but until that day, why sacrifice it— the vision only you have?"

wind rolls nighttime heavy across the water, blows chill between you, spins your hair loose and ruffles his bangs into his eyes. he reaches to brush them aside, and you think, for a moment, you see his hand shake. his eyes shutter closed. in the quiet, the shadows play dark over the panes of his face, turning his expression to nothing but another piece of night.

"I don't know," he says. "maybe no one's ever told me I had that choice before."

he turns to face you completely, and there's a child's hope hovering fragile in his dark eyes.

"not until you, jie jie," he says. then, so softly, you're not quite sure you hear him right:

"there's no one like you."

"that's not true," you say, tipping your head to gaze back up at him. just above his head, the first stars wink into existence. he swallows. leans closer. and your heart's racing, it has been, since you're not sure when, it's been racing, been waiting for a moment, for this moment, this moment, that, like magic, won't ever come again,

"there's you," you say, then the words are lost to the rest of the world as he closes the space between your lips and his.

the stars are as bright as the city lights by the time you pull apart, breathless wonders, the two of you a constellation all your own.

"jie jie," he says with a sweet smile the antithesis of his customary smirk, then pulls you close.

"thank you for coming today when I called."

"aren't you paying me by the hour?"

he scoffs. you laugh, nestled warm against his chest.

"then," he says, and you can hear his smirk return, "i'll be asking for the rest of the night, too."

it's your turn to scoff, if only to cover your blush.

"is there anywhere you want to go?" he asks a beat later. "you must be cold."

you shrug. slip out of his arms to claim his hand in yours.

"anywhere," you say.

"then," he replies, boyish bright, "let's go find some more magic together."

you don't have to go far— before you can search, magic finds you.

as you start down the path away from the riverside, back to the roadside, back past the deserted playground, through an empty lot, light splits the night: a ball of flames, soaring like a meteor through the night sky, burning bright.

at your side, lu jinghe stops dead in his tracks.

"fire dancing," he breathes, eyes alight. the flames fly further, and he follows.

a small crowd's gathered at the other end of the lot to watch, and you join them. there's a child crying, the group of teenagers in front of you are clearly drunk, and above their chatter, you can barely hear the music from the performer's battered speaker (talk about a dream, bruce springsteen growls, try to make it real), but lu jinghe has eyes for the fire and the fire alone, the fire and the old man who dances with it, his movements graceful, his wrinkled face creased into a broad smile.

the flames make another arc, sweep higher than the half-risen moon then come crashing back down, scorching the heavens and pavement alike, the man snaps his wrist, it returns to him, then with another tug, it soars back out into the darkness, blazing a trail of light into the night, carving temporary constellations, curling close around him, closer than a lover's caress, then flying proud, flying free— his passion, his life burning bright for the world to see.

and lu jinghe's fingers are closed tight around yours, and you hardly dare breathe, you don't think you breathe at all, you don't think you blink or move, and you want this moment to last forever, you want this magic to stay, because you don't think you'll ever see anything like it ever again: a person's soul become art, become a living, breathing thing, become light and flame,

(because maybe we spend our lives chasing the light, in love with it, the way it dances— always proud, fierce, always bright— but we hardly ever live it. breathe it. make it our own. hardly ever become it, the thing we love most.)

but the fire burns low, burns lower, burns out, and it's over with a smattering of applause, with a passing car's blasted pop song drowning out the fading crunch of 70s guitar, and you can breathe again, you blink and the world kicks back into motion around you, the crowd dispersing, though some are like you, like lu jinghe: they linger, still lost in the dream, lost to the light.

beside you, lu jinghe shakes himself, as if rousing himself. you turn to him, about to say something, anything, words that'll pale in comparison to what you've just shared, but he pulls away, strides to where the old man's taking a drink of water.

you blink again. shake yourself in turn. flex your fingers where they'd grown numb and sweaty intertwined with his. in his absence, one of the teenagers who'd stayed sidles up next to you.

"your boyfriend looks happy," she says with a grin and a shoulder nudge. you follow her pointed finger with your gaze to where lu jinghe's talking animatedly with the old man, his arms sweeping dramatically through the air, his shadow as excited as he is.

you're about to correct her, but then they both laugh, the old man gestures, and lu jinghe's head lifts, his gaze seeks out yours, meets it mid-laugh,

and you're suddenly struck painful breathless, your heart in your mouth, because this is yours, and only yours, and it's lightning magic, a match lit in the dark, blossoming bright in the dead of the night, it is enough, more than enough, everything you'd never dreamed of, never hoped for, never knew you wanted, never knew you needed: this firecracker charmer of a boy, carefree careless with an artist's heart that cares nevertheless. this boy who shines only for you, shines bright as the flames he's mesmerized by,

and the girl speaks again, but his eyes are still on yours, and she fades back into the night with her friends, leaving only a wink and a laugh— he's grinning broader, happier than you've ever seen him, and he's making his way back over to you, lit torch in hand.

"why are you looking at me like that, jie jie?" he asks, and you know he's barely your junior, but he sounds impossibly young in this moment, the firelight dancing in his eyes, turning the edges of his hair bright, burnished gold, and words could never quite describe what you're feeling— if it were bottled, you're sure it'd be sparkling strange, a living thing, a breathing thing, like fire, like this night, like you and him— but you smile, you reach for his hand before he can react, wind your fingers warm around his where they're gripping the torch's handle.

"you look happy," you say.

"happy?" he asks, but doesn't shrug off your hand. "happy, and not handsome?"

a heartbeat passes. the flames flicker. then his grin widens.

"I'll take it. a compliment from jie jie? I'll treasure it."

"yeah?" you say, eyes still on his.

"yeah," he replies, staring steady back at you. "I will, always."

"you better."

("lu jinghe?"

he's trying to learn to twirl the flames when you call his name soft, a question only your heart and his has the answer for, and when he turns to look back at you, his eyes reflecting golden glorious in the torchlight's glow, you want to call this magic, too.

"jie jie?"

"watch the sunrise with me?" you ask.

"another hour of your time?"

"for free, this time."

"then," he says, grinning bright, grinning broad, "we'll have to make it magic, too.")

#tears of themis #tears of themis marius #val writes #this is! entirely inspired by the fire dancers my friend and I were lucky enough to see by chance in the park by the water last Friday #anyway. ScrEAMs in lu jinghe hell hours.#tears of themis lu jinghe #do u ever think. about how his life passion is art. and he became CEO knowing he'd have to give it all up #bc.#yeAH.

30 notes · View notes

dontmindmyshadowhunting · 3 years ago

Text

The London Shadow Market - Centurions on a mission (Fan Fic)

This is a one-shot Tynush fan fic.

London Shadow Market. Centurions Tiberius Blackthorn and Anush Joshi are on mission for the Scholomance, tied to the First Heir, and Ty gets a bit overprotective.

It's a bit angsty and though there is mention of sex, there is no sex scene/smut.

Big thanks to @amchara who beta-read the fic (and notably helped with her thorough knowledge of London) and who also sparked the idea, since we discussed how there could never be enough of overprotective Blackthorns fic.

****

It was long past midnight and the London Shadow Market’s lights were fading one after the other. Fenwick was wrapping up for the night, muttering about what an awful evening it had been. Only a dozen customers buying baubles. Overpriced, but still. Long gone were the days where he could earn in an evening what now took him a month to scrounge. The new Inquisitor, Diego Rosales, was knowledgeable, relentless, and incorruptible. It didn’t help that the new Unseelie King also frowned on his barely-to-not-legal-at-all side businesses. The most profitable ones, as it happened. He still had the favour of the Seelie Queen, but even she, in her eagerness to make peace with King Kieran, was not as frequent a client as she used to be.

So, when he heard the bell ring announcing that a customer had just crossed the threshold of his magically enhanced oversized tent, Fenwick immediately perked up. His cheerful mood was of short duration.

Two dark-haired figures had stepped into his dimly lit tent, one at least a head taller than the other, but both with a graceful warrior stance that betrayed what they were despite the obscurity.

Shadowhunters. And not any kind. The worst kind if you asked him. Those who knew much more about the Fair Folk than the fey had ever cared to reveal. They even kept secrets from the other Nephilim. That’s how world-altering their knowledge was. Centurions. And they were in their black uniforms, their silvery pins gleaming in the light of the candles scattered around the tent, not even bothering to conceal their identity.

Fenwick was torn between bolting out – on the off chance that he managed to outrun them – to lay low in one of his numerous hideouts (for a few decades at least) and standing his ground, trying to weasel his way out of this uncomfortable situation. What made up his decision was the weariness that gripped him at the mere idea of running. The centuries he had strolled around the Earth made him feel like an overstretched rubber band.

“Well met, Sons of the Angel!” He said, forcing a cheerful tone.

“Well, met,” the smaller, wheatish-skinned one answered. He had a warm, lyrical voice. As he took a few steps forward inside the tent, Fenwick tried very hard not to flinch. Up close, he had a very handsome face, high cheekbones framing his narrow and delicate nose. Strong thick eyebrows made a perfect arc over his big almond-shaped brown eyes. His bright yet calm demeanour compelled you to trust him. But Fenwick knew better.

The taller one didn’t greet him. He was already strolling lazily around the tent, scanning the shelves. He was standing with his back to Fenwick, so that all that Fenwick could see of him was black hair and a dark uniform, a circle of thorns etched across the back of his jacket.

“What brings you to my humble shop?”

The question had been directed at the politest of the two, but he didn’t seem to hear, entirely focused on stealing covert glances at his fellow Centurion. His expression was wistful, almost reverent.

Fenwick considered it. He knew how lonely they got sometimes, hidden between harsh grounds and cold stones in the Carpathian Mountains. Some were known to suffer depression, if not mental illness. He used to interact frequently with them, in the past, until the Scholomance was closed in 1872, with the signing of the First Accords. He sold them information, and sometimes a good time.

“You are in luck, Centurions. I have several pretty mermaids who have just joined Fenwick’s lair. At least two of them have a kink for strong Nephilim such as yourselves.” After all, King Kieran had started a trend… “We also have the usual nixies, pixies, goblins, hobgoblins, brownies, and even a djinn for those who have more… particular tastes. Everything happens on Seelie territory and is strictly legal of course. I have the paperwork.”

The light brown skinned Centurion looked like he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. He coughed a little to hide it before swiftly saying, “Nothing of the sort.”

“We heard you were selling. We are buying.” The taller one spoke for the first time. He had a deep voice, with a rich timber to it. As he glanced over his shoulder, the candles’ light played along his face, revealing his striking features. Fenwick stifled a gasp. His merchant’s mind was already calculating what he could earn with such a possession. Faerie lords – even princes – would pay handsomely – a fortune – to enjoy the boy’s company.

“What is it that you care to acquire from old Fenwick?” he said in a honey voice. “Certainly not a love potion. Someone who looks like you must never be in need of it.” The Centurion’s expression remained impassive, yet Fenwick thought he saw a shadow flicker across his eyes. “Your pretty face is so much like a faerie’s. I almost took you for one of our kind.”

The other Centurion cleared his throat loudly, and when he had caught Fenwick’s attention, shot him a glare, his deep brown eyes cold as ice. A warning. Fenwick knew in that instant that if he ever wanted to get his hands on the pretty Nephilim, he would have to go through his companion first.

“What we want…” he said in a clipped tone, “cannot be touched, tasted, or inhaled.”

“Information, then,” Fenwick replied automatically upon hearing the code. A chill went up his spine. Did they know? Only one way to find out. “And what type of information do you seek?”

“You know exactly which one. Please do not waste any more precious minutes of our mortal lives. Name your price.”

Fenwick told him. The Centurion approached Fenwick’s counter and, without a word, retrieved a pouch from inside his jacket - Fenwick recognized it as fey craftsmanship of the finest sort and, though it did not bear the Unseelie Court’s sigil, had most certainly come from it - and started counting bills. His curiosity got the better of him.

“What do you want with the First Heir?” He blurted. “I didn’t know it was the Scholomance’s job to look for him. Other Nephilim – if not as skilled – have already been assigned to the task.”

“We have the money. Our business with him is our own,” he replied dismissively.

Fenwick glanced at the other tall Centurion, who had remained silent during the exchange. He had retrieved a crystal orb from one of the shelves and was turning it over in his long pale fingers.

“Careful with that! It’s fragile! And expensive. If you break it, you pay it.”

“Twenty-one,” he replied.

“Pray tell?”

“The number of laws you have broken with the content of these shelves. I am not talking about the items you keep in your back store.”

“Tiberius,” his companion warned, before forcing a smile to Fenwick’s benefit. “Here’s the money. Give us the information and we’ll be on our way.”

Fenwick’s gaze zeroed on the bills spread over his counter. He did the usual checks, doing as best as he could to hide his excitement.

“Okay,” he drawled, when they had come out to be the real deal. He gave them the First Heir’s address. The Centurion’s lips twitched but his face remained otherwise blank. He acknowledged with a stiff nod and whirled around.

“I can give you one more information. Free of charge.”

The Centurion paused and glanced over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised in question.

“The First Heir. He has power beyond your wildest imagination. Even mighty warriors such as yourselves will have a hard time capturing him. But he has a family that he loves dearly and would be willing to die for. If you take his little sister hostage, you can obtain whatever you want from him.”

Fenwick startled at the sound of glass shattering. He glanced over to find that the tall, silent, Nephilim – Tiberius, his companion had called him – had closed his long fingers on the orb, with apparently enough pressure and force that it had broken into multiple shards. He was now watching with remote interest as blood escaped from his clenched fist and started running like crimson strings over his knuckles and wrist. He didn’t look the least bit concerned by the sight.

“Hey! You will pay for this!” Fenwick said, taking consolation in the fact that, as expensive as the item was, they probably had the money.

“That’s funny,” Tiberius said in a tone that suggested it wasn’t at all. “I was about to say the exact same thing.”

He hadn’t seen him coming, but from one moment to the next, the Nephilim was in Fenwick’s face, a dagger pressed against the fey’s throat.

Fenwick thought he looked more animal than human as he cocked his head, his gray eyes feral. “Earlier you said that I look like a fey. Well, there is at least one trait that I share with the Fair Folk. I. Don’t. Lie. So, trust me when I tell you this. If you so much as harm a hair on that little girl’s head, my pretty face will be the last thing you’ll ever see. The same goes for any other member of her family. I will hunt you down, scour each one of your rabbit holes and I don’t care if it takes every single second I have left of my mortal life.”

“Tiberius,” the other Centurion crooned. “Tiberius. We are done here. Let’s go home.” Fenwick realized with a jolt of surprise that he had moved soundlessly to rest his hand on Tiberius’ shoulder and was rubbing it, tracing small circles around the joint. It was such an intimate gesture that Fenwick wondered if he had misread earlier when he had thought to witness unrequited love.

Tiberius blinked a few times, then started whispering urgently under his breath. Fenwick couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. It sounded like random words. The Centurion finally narrowed his gaze at Fenwick and mouthed “I don’t lie” one last time before he whirled and both Nephilim disappeared in a blur of dark fabric, out of the tent and into the night, as swiftly as they had come. Fenwick, frozen in terror, hoped with all his immortal’s heart that all of it had only been a bad dream.

***

Anush exhaled the cold and moist London air, his breath coming in frosty white puffs, as he drew an Iratze on the back of Ty’s hand. It had become so frequent lately that he sometimes caught himself wishing Centurions were allowed to be parabatai so that his runes were more effective, but discarded the idea as soon as it crossed his mind. He would not have been allowed to feel the way he did about Ty. And parabatai definitely did not do the things they did.

“I can’t believe he lived during the time of Berlioz. Do you think he met him? If so, I would have a thousand more questions to ask him.”

Ty didn’t answer. He was lost in thought, stroking his heron-shaped pendant with his free hand, his face pale as the moon tilted upwards toward the night sky as if he was counting the stars.

“Hey,’ Anush said softly. “It was the wrong address. So that’s one more snitch to strike off our list.”

“He had the right country, though. That’s a first. They’re closing in.”

“That’s okay, Ty. We will be one step ahead, as always.”

Anush had probably not been convincing enough, as Ty suddenly tensed, his breathing coming in short, shallow gasps, and his hand, still resting in Anush’s palm, started shaking. Anush closed his fingers around Ty’s and murmured soothing words that he knew his fellow Centurion liked, as he gently rubbed his shoulder with his free hand. “Whisper, glass, twin, secret, stars, cloud, castle, crystal, Christopher…”

Ty’s shoulders relaxed slightly. He closed his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath.

“Hey,” Anush whispered. “It’s going to be fine. We will do double shifts. Starting tomorrow. Who needs sleep anyway?”

Ty sighed, relief plain on his marble face. His eyelashes fanned out over his sharp cheekbones and Anush resisted the urge to kiss them. “Thank you. For sticking with me through all this. I know it’s not easy.”

“I didn’t have better plans anyway,” Anush shrugged it off.

Ty opened his eyes and turned his sharp gaze on Anush, still not looking him in the eye but somewhere around his chin. Close enough.

“You know what I mean.”

He knew exactly what Ty meant. The reasons for Ty’s obsession with the First Heir was a subject they never broached. But it was there, like a third presence in their relationship. If you could call what they had a relationship. It was, for Anush at least. He would go to hell and back for Ty, and so would Ty for him. But that didn’t mean he loved him. That’s just how loyal and selfless Ty was.

Anush would always remember the day Ty and him had volunteered to handle the top secret missions tied to the First Heir. Ty had adamantly refused Anush’s involvement, but of course, it was not entirely up to him. Anush was very stubborn. They had both sat in Jia Penhallow’s office and she had asked Ty to leave them alone afterwards. She had looked into Anush’s eyes and had spoken to him earnestly. “These are very dangerous missions, Anush. The most dangerous missions we currently have at the Scholomance. You are a brilliant Centurion, but are you sure you want to do this? I know Tiberius has… personal reasons for volunteering, but what about you?” He had swallowed hard. “Anywhere Tiberius goes, I go.” Her dark eyes had softened. “Anush. Have you really thought this through? I know how much you care about Tiberius but… has he told you why he has chosen to do this?” “I am not Tiberius-smart, but I am not stupid,” he had replied. “The First Heir. He’s in love with him.” The deep sadness and understanding in her eyes had almost made him cry and he had dug his nails into his palms, his jaw working as he withheld tears. “It doesn’t matter,’ he had said through clenched teeth. “Whatever happens, I will be there for him. In any capacity I can.” And it was plain from her expression that she knew he was not only talking about their missions for the Scholomance.

As he now looked into Tiberius’ gray eyes, at his beautiful features that were nothing compared to his gentle and unique heart, Anush felt a deep rush of love mixed with longing. Ty would never be his. He already belonged to someone else. But Anush would give Tiberius any part of him that he wanted.

He took a deep breath before he answered.

“I do. I am not giving you a choice anyway. You’re stuck with me.” Always.

Ty looked down, as if he couldn’t bear the weight of Anush’s gaze on him.

“I didn’t thank you for… earlier. I almost lost it back there.”

“Don’t mention it,” Anush replied. “That’s what I am here for. At least he took your threat seriously.”

“As he should.”

Ty was still playing with the pendant tied around his neck. Anush brought his free hand on top of Ty’s, intertwining their fingers.

“I love your hands,” he whispered to Ty. “I wouldn’t want them to get soiled.” He tiptoed to bring his lips closer to Ty’s ear, almost brushing. “Especially now that I have experienced their full potential.”

Ty turned his face away but not before Anush saw his cheeks flush and the corner of his mouth quirk. Anush loved how he was still shy about these things.

He looked at the dark cobbled street before them.

“Fenwick’s minions must already be on their way.”

Ty cocked his head. “Coming from the west. They’re a mile or two ahead of us. Judging by their pace, they should be upon us in about five minutes.”

Anush nodded. Ty sometimes knew things – as if he had an invisible spy everywhere they went – and Anush had stopped questioning it. If Ty had wanted to share, he would have. Anush would not press him.

“Tactic?”

“Split. Confuse. Divide and conquer.”

“Good. I need the exercise. You take north by the river, I take south and we meet up west?”

Ty nodded, already veering in the opposite direction, two swords drawn.

“Meet you at Blackthorn Hall,” Anush cried out to him, as he started walking backwards. “First one there gets the biggest room.”

“Dream on,” he thought he heard Ty reply. He tried to catch one last glimpse of him for good luck but he had already been swallowed by the night.

***

Tiberius got there first. But he let Anush pick his favourite bedroom. All bedrooms in Blackthorn Hall were decorated with different themes, that one had a landscape - the view from the LA Institute’s rooftop, Ty had explained - painted over an entire wall, opposite the huge canopy bed. Anush found it quite soothing.

“Fenwick sent an army,” he said as he drew several Iratzes on Ty’s back. He whistled. “You must have scared the shit out of him.” They had managed to get rid of the last of Fenwick’s minions by drowning them in the Thames. Ty had a few fey allies lurking underneath the surface. Creatures he had helped escape from captivity.

When he was finished, Tiberius rose from the bed and Anush watched as he stored the bandages and gauze in a small cabinet in a corner of the room. He was naked from the waist up and Anush’s gaze lingered on his fellow Centurion’s lean and muscular back, a canvas way too beautiful for black Runes and faded scars that were now so familiar he could draw them from memory. His dark curls were still wet from the dive into the river.

Anush crossed his arms behind his head and settled comfortably against the headboard.

“Ty?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me.”

Tiberius stilled, his bare shoulders hunched.

“What, now?”

“Yes now. I want you.”

Ty slowly closed the cabinet’s door and turned to look at Anush, his gray eyes unreadable.

“Anush… My brother Julian is here. His bedroom is a few meters down the corridor.“

“So? It’s not as if he doesn’t know what we are up to. You're so lucky he’s smart and open-minded. The coolest. I wish my parents were the same. If they knew the things we did, they would probably drag me to Naraka themselves.”

“Anush…” Ty said softly. “You know it wouldn’t make any difference if you were a girl… I would say the same thing.”

“We won’t make any noise!”

Tiberius raised a dark eyebrow. Anush let out a deep sigh.

“Yeah, I know. It’s not my fault if you turn into this beast I barely recognize under the bed sheets.”

“I don’t hear you complaining.”

“Oh the noises I make are definitely not me complaining. Mister Hyde can have a ride anytime.”

Ty gave him one of his rare wicked smiles… The ones that always got Anush’s heart rate into high gear. He put his shirt back on and moved soundlessly to the door.

“Ty,” Anush called.

Tiberius paused, his hand on the doorknob.

“Yeah?”

“Stay for the night. No noisy and sweaty sex. Just…lie down next to me.”

“Anush,” Ty breathed, his look apologetic. And Anush braced himself for what would come next. The blow to his chest. Because he already knew what Ty would say. “Anush. You know I can’t sleep that way.”

“Yeah, no problem, I understand. Raziel knows we definitely need the rest.” Anush tried to reply in a light tone but the pitch of his voice rose awkwardly at the end. “It’s okay. Good night Ty.”

“Good night, Anush.”

#the wicked powers #the dark artifices #tsc fan fiction #tda fanfiction #the secrets of blackthorn hall #kit herondale and ty blackthorn #kit herondale #kit herongraystairs #tiberius blackthorn #ty blackthorn #anush joshi #kitty fic #kitty fanfiction #kitty tda #cassandra clare fan fiction #cassandraclare #the shadowhunters chronicles icons #the shadowhunters chronicles #shadowhunters

19 notes · View notes

mintaka14 · 3 years ago

Link

See the Light

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Three – Living in a Blur

“No Rose or Juleka today?” Marinette asked as she stepped down into the galley of the Liberty with that effortless grace that Luka was coming to associate with the woman she’d become. She reached up to tuck back a lock of hair that had escaped from the braid over her shoulder, and Luka moved around the tiny kitchen, pulling out mugs, while the kettle whistled loudly in the background.

“No, they had a few things to organise today for the wedding. They said to say hi, though.” He didn’t mention the other things that Rose had had to say, or the broad, suggestive beams she given him before she dragged Juleka away on whatever mission she’d manufactured.

He handed Marinette the tea that he’d just made and shifted towards the couch in the living room, cradling his own coffee. Marinette sank into the armchair across from him. She blew on the mug and closed her eyes to inhale the steam.

“I still can’t quite believe that Juleka and Rose are getting married. It feels like only yesterday we were all in collège.” Marinette smiled, and sighed.

“They’re incredibly lucky to be getting MDC original wedding dresses. That’s one hell of a wedding present you’re giving them.”

“Juleka and Rose are covering the materials I’m just volunteering my time and a bit of sewing.”

Luka’s eyebrow rose sceptically. “One artist to another, I know it’s not ‘just’ anything, Marinette. Your time and skill is a very generous gift, and don’t forget, I’ve seen what you’re putting together for them. Jules and Rose can’t have been straightforward to design for.”

Marinette laughed. “But they’re giving me the chance to have fun,” she insisted. “I spend all day every day dealing with clients with no individuality or imagination, trying to convince them to trust me, so it’s a relief to get a chance to do something interesting for a change, with friends who are happy to indulge me.”

Luka leaned back, all plans to rehearse forgotten, as he watched Marinette talk about the inspiration behind the wedding dresses and the creative possibilities in dressing certain clients, her face lighting up and her hands gesturing animatedly as she grew more impassioned about her theories of clothing as a reflection of self. He followed the movement of her hands and lost himself in the endless blue of her eyes.

“I really need to ask Juleka if she’d be willing to model for me sometime. She’s always so compelling in whatever she wears, and so much fun to design for,” she said eventually. He found her eyeing him speculatively. “I’d love to have the chance to dress you one day.”

“You could at least buy me dinner first,” he said without thinking.

There was a heartbeat, then Marinette burst out laughing.

“Smooth line, Couffaine. Does that work on all the girls?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He decided to lean into it, and grinned at her. “I’ve only ever tried it on you. Is it working?”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “How are you still single?” she asked.

“You’re a hard act to follow,” he said, and Marinette levelled a look at him.

“Luka, I was a fourteen year old clumsy mess who kept on flaking out on our dates. You can’t tell me I’m the gold standard of your relationships.”

Put like that, it was ridiculous, but it was true nonetheless. He’d had relationships, and they were sincere in the moment, but he’d drifted out of them as easily as he’d drifted into them, and they’d left him with little more than fond memories. None of them had left a mark like Marinette had. Over the years, he’d put it down to rose-coloured nostalgia, but then she’d walked into his life again, more Marinette than ever, and he’d fallen harder and faster than he had before.

He looked down at the mug of coffee in his hands.

“How about you? Anyone special in your life these days?” he asked the coffee with casual disinterest. She gave a soft snort.

“Hardly. It’s not like anything’s changed since we were going out.” She seemed to catch herself, and froze as Luka’s head came up to stare at her. “I just… mean, who’s got time for a relationship, right? Life’s too busy.”

“Not since we were going out?” Luka echoed her, frowning. “Marinette, you were fourteen. You haven’t dated anyone since then?”

She shrugged uncomfortably. “I dated. It just never lasts long. It’s not that big a deal. And besides,” she muttered, “I’ve learned my lesson, the universe doesn’t want me to have a relationship.”

She put her mug abruptly on the table and stood.

“Weren’t we supposed to be practising?”

Luka got to his feet and reached for his guitar. Clearly this was a line of conversation that Marinette did not want to go down with him, and he dropped the subject to run through the song with her a few times, correcting her gently when her voice faltered.

He had to wonder, though, what the hell was wrong with the men in Marinette’s life that had left her love life such a sore subject?

Luka stopped again to make a suggestion about phrasing and breath control.

“All that time, never even knowing just how blind I’ve been,” Marinette tried again, sounding more confident with the slightly awkward vocal skips this time, and Luka gave her a smile.

“See?” he told her. “Fashion designer to the stars, artist, and now singer. You can add that to your résumé.”

He’d finally coaxed a laugh out of her, and then Marinette’s handbag buzzed. Luka watched the smile drop off her face. Her eyes flicked to the door. “I’m really sorry, I have to go. I have… a thing…”

She was gone before he could say anything further. For a moment, Luka sat there with his guitar silent in his lap, frowning thoughtfully. Apparently she was right – not much had changed in the ten years since they’d been kids together. There were still the abrupt excuses, the silences, the sudden disappearances.

Luka plucked out Now she’s here, shining in the starlight, and he considered the empty space where she’d been. He was coming to suspect that whatever had been going on when they were kids, whatever she’d been keeping to herself when she broke it off with him, it was something bigger than he’d imagined.

At that moment, Luka’s own phone chimed with an akuma alert, and the timing of it was jarring. His hand dropped, as it always did, to touch his empty wrist. He looked down at it, his frown growing troubled as a new thought took hold.

He found himself thinking back over the timing of some of those disappearances, and odd excuses, and the times she’d had just a little more knowledge of Ladybug's movements than any random civilian ought to, but it had all sounded so plausible at the time. Seen through this new lens, those moments took on a new significance the more he turned them over in his mind.

Black pigtails, unmistakeable blue eyes. The same damn plain black earrings that Marinette, the consummate fashion designer, was still wearing ten years later.

How had he never put it together before?

Luka was still sitting there, his hands resting on his guitar and his gaze fixed on nothing, when Juleka and Rose came home.

“Where’s Marinette?” Rose asked in obvious disappointment when she took in the quiet room.

“She had to leave,” Luka replied absently.

“Luka! You just let her leave?”

Luka could see the tiny frown that he was feeling reflected in his sister’s face, although he wasn’t sure what had prompted it in Juleka’s case.

“I’m not going to badger her into staying if she needs to go, Rose,” he said mildly.

Rose threw up her hands. “And how is she supposed to know you want her to stay if you don’t tell her? I don’t get why you’re both fighting this so hard. She’s single, you’re single, but both of you are too chicken to make the first move.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Juleka interjected, shooting a dark look at her brother. “Because I remember weeks and weeks of Taylor fucking Swift, and I do not want to go through that again.”

“That was ten years ago! You cannot tell me that there’s not something there!” Rose whirled and stabbed a finger at Luka. “You can’t argue with the Sparkly Sense.”

Luka was only half paying attention to the argument, and responded vaguely, “Marinette has too much going on in her life right now to worry about a relationship with anyone.” Like saving the city, over and over and over again, holy shit, she was Ladybug.

Once seen, it was hard to understand how he could have missed it, and his mind briefly derailed to speculate that it must be some sort of kwami-induced magic that obscured her identity. Given how adamant Ladybug had been back in the day that the secret of the miraculous holders’ identities had to be preserved, and how hard she had worked since then to maintain that secrecy, Luka had a bad feeling about how things would go if he told her that he knew.

He was about to become another crack in her armour, another worry dumped on her already overloaded shoulders. Although, what did he really know, when all was said and done? He had his suspicions, nothing more.

“Hopeless, the both of you,” Rose complained, and glared at Juleka. “Don’t you want your brother to live happily ever after?”

“I don’t want to have to live through weeks of I Almost Do again, because my stupid brother hasn’t got the sense he was born with, and you’re just encouraging him.”

Rose stomped away, muttering things under her breath, but Juleka stayed silent after that. His guitar still in his hand, Luka got to his feet and headed for his bedroom before Rose could come back and start again. He had too much else on his mind to deal with Rose’s matchmaking.

Every time he thought Marinette couldn’t get any more extraordinary, she surprised him all over again, but the music he played softly in the solitude of his room that night ached with all the burdens he’d seen in her eyes.

Some time later, he heard a soft knock on his door and it opened quietly. When he looked up, Juleka was leaning there, her hand on the door handle and a look of equal parts irritation and uneasiness on her face.

“Luka –“

“I’m fine,” he cut her off before she could say what he knew she was going to say. “I know what I’m doing, and it’s all good.”

Juleka’s mouth pinched. “Do you, though? Because from where I’m standing, we’re heading for Taylor territory again.”

Luka didn’t answer, his focus on his hands and the fragments of melody that he’d come to think of as Marinette’s song. Eventually he heard a sigh, and Juleka said, “I love you, you dumbass.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

The door shut behind her, and he was left alone with his thoughts and Marinette’s secrets.

~~~~~

“You’re playing with fire,” warned the voice of responsibility in Marinette’s handbag, and Marinette sighed. She shifted the bulky dress bags in her hands so that she could see the little round face peering up at her.

“It’s just a dress fitting, Tikki. Can’t I even have friends anymore?”

“It’s Luka,” the tiny kwami said primly. “Things never stay just friends with Luka, and I saw the way you’ve been looking at him. Remember what happened the last time you told someone?”

“That was ten years ago, and Luka is not Alya. Don’t you think things have changed a bit since then?”

“It never ends well,” Tikki insisted, and Marinette felt the weight of Ladybug closing in on her all over again. She looked up at the Liberty as she drew closer, and had never felt less free in her life.

“Don’t worry, Luka’s not even going to be there,” she said wearily. “Juleka said he’s got something tonight, so it’ll just be her and Rose there. And anyway, there’s no chance he’d ever be interested in me like that again.” Because if there was a chance, then Marinette would have to walk away now before she could do any more damage, and she’d never get to see Luka again. She couldn’t do that. She just couldn’t.

“Luka was a wonderful holder for Sass,” Tikki conceded, “but he’s always been a little too perceptive for comfort. If he were to find out…”

“We’re here,” Marinette said, cutting off the rest of Tikki’s dire predictions. The kwami vanished into the depths of her handbag, and Marinette maneouvred the dress bags carefully as she climbed the gangplank onto the boat and called a greeting as she reached the empty deck.

In spite of her mood after Tikki’s lecture, she felt a tiny smile curl her lips as Rose’s answering shriek echoed up from below deck, and she followed the sound down into the depths of the boat.

“Marinette!” Rose scolded reproachfully as Marinette descended carefully into the galley with the two dress bags in her hand and moved through into the living room. “You didn’t even say goodbye last time! We got back and you were just gone.”

Marinette held the dresses clear as Rose engulfed her in a whirlwind hug, and turned to meet Juleka’s more sedate greeting. The dark-haired girl gave her a nod and a quirk of a smile that turned to a frown when Rose gave her girlfriend a smug look.

Rose turned towards the bedrooms, and bellowed, “Luka! Look who’s here!”

“What’s up?” she heard Luka’s voice, and felt her heart stutter. Oh, that wasn’t good. Luka swung around the edge of the door, leaning against the frame behind his sister as he directed a slow, sweet smile at Marinette.

“Hey, you,” he said, and Marinette couldn’t help but smile back at him. Juleka rolled her eyes and slugged her brother in the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Juleka!” Rose scolded.

“Weren’t you going out? Rose said you had a thing tonight,” Juleka said, and Luka frowned at her.

“Not for another hour. The band we were going to check out isn’t on til later.”

“Did I say eight?” Rose said innocently to the ceiling. “I meant nine. Oops.”

Marinette found herself standing there awkwardly holding the dress bags, her eyes shifting between the three of them.

“You don’t want to keep the guys waiting if you said you’d be there,” Juleka pushed.

“I only said I might,” Luka said, shooting his sister an annoyed look.

“Besides, he can catch them another time,” Rose insisted, staring at her girlfriend with a pointed message that Juleka ignored for once. “They won’t mind, and Marinette’s here now.”

Luka elbowed Juleka aside none too gently and came into the room. “I’m getting a coffee. Did you want anything, Mari?”

“I’d like a coffee,” Juleka said in a saccharine voice, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

“I didn’t ask you, monster child.”

“You don’t have to stay on my account,” Marinette told Luka. “I’m only here to do the final dress fitting.”

“Oh no!” Rose protested. “You have to stay for dinner. It’s the least we can do after everything you’ve done with the wedding dresses.”

“You haven’t even seen the finished thing yet,” Marinette pointed out, and felt a flush rising at the smile that Luka was giving her.

“We don’t need to see them to know they’re going to be incredible,” he said. “And it wasn’t important. I was only half thinking of going out anyway.”

The noise Juleka made was not polite, and Luka made a rude gesture back without looking at his sister.

“Well,” said Rose brightly. “How about we leave them to it? They’re going to be doing this for a while.”

In Juleka’s bedroom, Marinette didn’t have to ask Rose if she was happy with her wedding dress once she’d settled the clouds of soft pink organza around her and done up the miles of tiny buttons. Rose was making a noise like a tea kettle on the boil that rose to a squeal of happiness as she spun around in front of Juleka’s bedroom mirror. Handbeaded organza flowers spilled down in glittering trails across the skirts as she turned, and Rose raised a hand to touch the flowers that clustered all over her bodice.

“It’s perfect!” she breathed. She made a move as if she was going to throw her arms around Marinette, but Marinette fended her off with a laugh.

“Hug me when we get you out of the dress,” she smiled. “How does it feel? Nothing slipping, or too tight?”

“It’s perfect,” Rose repeated, her voice turning a little wobbly with emotion.

When Marinette finally got Rose to stop twirling around for long enough to take the gown off again, they headed back to the living room to find the Couffaine siblings glaring at each other. Luka looked away as they came in, his mouth pressed in a tight line, and Juleka spun on her heel, stalking towards the bedroom without a word, leaving Marinette to follow.

She carefully removed Juleka’s wedding dress from its hanger while her friend stripped down to her underwear and slipped her formal shoes on, and then Marinette started easing Juleka into the gown.

“Mari, what’s really going on with you and Luka?” Juleka asked, her voice a little muffled by the softly glittering black fabric over her head. Marinette slid the dress down and settled it into place. “I love you, but he’s my brother and I’m worried about him.”

“We’re just friends,” Marinette said, and suppressed a flinch at the words. Juleka rolled her eyes.

“You were never just friends even when you were just friends. And the last time I thought you were just friends it turned out you’d been dating my idiot brother. So excuse me if I’m not buying it.”

Marinette swallowed at that, stung but unable to argue the point.

“Believe me, Juleka, I’m well aware of how badly I fucked up back then, and the last thing I want to do is hurt Luka like that again,” she said, insistent in the face of Juleka’s scepticism.

“You won’t mean to, but Luka gets stupid when you’re involved.”

“That was ten years ago,” Marinette protested.

“That was two minutes ago.”

Juleka’s exasperated words provoked a cold wash of dismay. Juleka had to be mistaken. Luka was long over her, he had to be. Somewhere deep down, though, Marinette felt a tiny fireworks explosion of something that she didn’t dare acknowledge.

“The moment you turn up, he drops everything without a second thought,” Juleka muttered as Marinette eased the hidden zip up. Marinette stepped back, and Juleka turned to face the mirror.

“Wow. Damn, Marinette,” she breathed. She angled herself a little, her eyes still on her reflection in the mirror. “I take it all back. You’re welcome to wreck my dumbass brother, as long as I get to keep this dress.”

Marinette gave a tightlipped little smile, and went back to regarding the gown with a critical eye. There really didn’t seem to be much that needed adjusting. She repositioned the crystal chipped dragon brooch that coiled over Juleka’s hip, where it caught up the fall of the fabric, but it all seemed to be working.

She extracted Juleka from the gown again, and back in the living room Rose was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through something on her phone. Luka had his guitar in his hands again, strumming something with his coffee forgotten on the table beside him. He looked up as Marinette and Juleka came in.

“How’s the dress?” he asked.

“It’s stunning,” Juleka said, and heaved a put-upon sigh. “I can’t stop you from being stupid, but at least you have good taste.”

He gave her a suspicious look, his eyes shifting to Marinette when there was no further explanation forthcoming. “What was that all about?”

Marinette shrugged awkwardly, but fortunately he didn’t press her on it.

“So are we doing Thai or that new Indian place tonight? There’s nothing on the Akuma alert,” Rose said from the couch, “but there is a new theory about who Ladybug is on the conspiracy forums.”

“Aliens, or the Mayor’s secret revenge love child this time?” Juleka asked, dropping onto the couch beside her.

“I miss the Ladyblog,” Rose said, stretching her arms over her head. “Remember that time Alya thought that Chloe was Ladybug?”

Marinette remembered.

On the couch, Juleka laughed. “How is Alya,” she asked, and tilted her head to throw a look at Marinette. “Have you seen her lately?”

Alya again. The universe seemed determined to beat her over the head with her failures. She opened her eyes to find them all watching her, and she gave a strained and unconvincing smile.

“Not recently. I think she’s working in a travel agency now. It’s been a few years, though.”

Nearly six years, to be exact, since she’d last bumped into Alya.

“Jules,” Luka said casually, “how about you and Ro go pick up dinner? Mari and I really should work on the song for the wedding a bit more.”

It was a transparent excuse to shift the subject and give her a bit of space, and she was grateful for it, even if Rose did give Luka a very unsubtle wink that he pretended to not see. Rose and Juleka didn’t seem to have noticed anything odd, but Luka threw her a quick glance as he laughed at something Rose said, and reached out to toss his wallet at Juleka, who pulled a few euros from it and threw it back. Marinette managed to respond lightly enough to a question about her preferences, and by the time it was just her and Luka she’d pulled herself together again.

“I take it that things aren’t good with Alya,” he said gently.

She shrugged, and the smile she gave him was a little unsteady. “Our friendship didn’t end well. We don’t talk to each other anymore.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was as close as she could get without giving away too much. There was no way she could explain how her former best friend had looked straight through her as if she was a stranger the last time they’d run into each other, or the sickening wash of guilt, remorse, and self-loathing she still felt over the reason behind it, even after all these years.

“It was a long time ago,” she said as easily as she could manage, but Luka had always been able to read her better than that. His hand closed over hers briefly, reassuring and strong, and for a moment she let herself draw on his warmth.

“It still leaves a mark, though, doesn’t it?” he said.

She couldn’t help wondering a little bitterly how different things might have been if she’d told Luka everything, instead of Alya, back when she was fourteen. Would it have been Luka looking at her with that terrible emptiness?

Marinette broke eye contact and pulled her hand away to wrap it around her now-cold mug. She was aware that Luka was regarding her as if he saw a lot more than she was letting on, but he didn’t push for more. Instead, he got to his feet.

“I need another coffee,” he said, and gave her a questioning look. “Tea for you?”

She took the distraction, and followed him into the galley.

Luka kept to safe subjects after that, telling her about the group of students he’d been working with after school, and a gig that had gone disastrously wrong, until she couldn’t help but giggle when he described the drummer slowly sliding off his stool and passing out face down on his snare drum.

“It actually improved the quality of his playing,” Luka said wryly.

And he laughed when she countered with an account of Chloe Bourgeois commisioning her to design and make an outfit last season.

“I don’t think she’d even considered that MDC might stand for Marinette Dupain-Cheng until she turned up for the fitting,” Marinette grinned. “You should have seen the look on her face, though.”

“Ridiculous!” Luka scoffed in a passable immitation of the Mayor’s daughter, and waved his hand in the air as Marinette giggled at him. “Utterly ridiculous!”

“And of course, nothing was good enough. She couldn’t believe I was expecting her to pay full price for such shoddy workmanship. I should be paying her to wear my rags.”

“Tell me you told her where to shove it,” Luka said, and folded his arms on the benchtop, leaning forward in anticipation. Marinette’s smile grew broader.

“Oh, better than that. I told her if it wasn’t to her satisfaction she was welcome to leave the dress and I’d cancel her contract, and I’d even waive the cancellation fee because we’d known each other such a long time. I was very helpful. I told her I was sure I could find someone willing to buy it instead, and Clara Nightingale had already seen it and asked if it was for sale. Which was true,” she added as an afterthought.

“And?”

Marinette tilted her chin, her smile turning smug. “She took the dress, of course. And ordered another one under a fake name a month later.”

“Seriously?”

“B. Queen, to be delivered to the Grand Paris Hotel. With her exact measurements. Seriously.”

Luka tipped his head back and laughed hard, and Marinette lost herself in the sound. God, he was a beautiful man.

Next to the couch in the living room, her handbag shuffled in agitation, and Marinette ignored it, but her smile faded in response to the reminder.

“Marinette,” Luka said more seriously, and when she looked up his blue eyes had deepened into something that was a little hard to read. He frowned a little, as if he was trying to decide what he should say. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I get the feeling that things haven’t been so easy for you. I know it’s been hard to let yourself get close to anyone.”

He was speaking slowly, measuring out each word carefully, and it felt like there was a whole lot he deliberately wasn’t saying.

“I just need you to know, the Liberty is always a safe place. We’re here for you. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

It would be so easy, so very easy, to fall into those ocean deep eyes and fall into his arms, and tell him everything. That was what made Luka Couffaine so dangerous to be around. With ten years of Tikki’s constant litany of concealment and duty ringing in her ears, Marinette clamped her mouth shut on all her secrets even as a tiny voice in the back of her head pleaded but this is Luka.

“Weren’t we supposed to practise the song?” Marinette blurted out, and felt the heat of an embarrassed flush rise in her cheeks. She hadn’t felt this thrown in years.

Luka accepted the abrupt shift with nothing more than a nod and a soft smile, as if he’d expected it.

“Back to the Disney salt mines,” he said drily, and startled a laugh out of her. “Don’t tell Rose I said that. She’d have me tried for treason.”

“How did we get ourselves into this?” Marinette asked, and Luka chuckled.

“Well, Ro loves Disney, no surprise there, and Jules loves Ro.”

“And you love them both,” Marinette said softly.

“And you’d do anything for the people you care about, even agree to sing at their wedding if they asked you to,” Luka said just as gently, and they exchanged glances. “So here we are, knee deep in Disney magic. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to sit through Cinderella, both versions, and I can recite Tangled in my sleep.” His smile softened. “I’m developing a new appreciation for it, though.”

Marinette dropped her gaze, avoiding his eyes. He said in an easier manner, “I have to admit, there’s some great music. You should hear Rose belt out Let It Go sometime, and Jules did an incredible cover of Once Upon a Dream one Valentine’s Day for Rose.”

“What about you? Do you ever sing along?” she asked, trying to match his tone.

“What do you think? Music nerd here.”

He rapped out a solid, syncopated beat on the benchtop, and that husky voice of his sang, “Tatou o tagata folau...” She couldn’t help grinning, and he grinned back as he segued into a phrase from Circle of Life before riffing a bit of the simple bear necessities, and then finished on “You’re welcome, and thank you!” as she burst out laughing.

“Good music is good music,” he said with a shrug. “I get a lot of eyerolling from some of the kids when I start talking Disney in class, but it’s a starting point for a lot of discussion, and it turns out everyone always has their favourite song.”

“So what about you? What’s your favourite?” she asked, and he said easily, “Oh, there are a lot I could go with. It all depends on my mood.”

“Yes, but if you had to pick one?”

She wasn’t sure why she was pushing, and he hesitated for a long moment. Just when she thought he was going to brush it off, he reached for his guitar.

“It’s not strictly Disney, but ...” She didn’t recognise the soft, rippling intro that he played, and it wasn’t until he started singing that she worked out what it was.

He didn’t look at her as he sang about someday, out of the blue. It didn’t have to mean anything, it was just a song, he could have been thinking about anyone, but when he sang about still believing and still having faith in a voice that was far too heartfelt, Marinette felt her breath catch.

She couldn’t be doing this to him all over again.

~~~~~

He knew, the moment that his hands stilled on the guitar strings, that he’d gone too far and given away too much. The stricken look on Marinette’s face made that blatantly clear.

From the doorway, Rose breathed, “Oh Luka, that was lovely!”

Juleka dropped the bags of takeaway on the table and muttered something, while Luka watched Marinette and felt his heart sink like a stone.

“We so have to do a Road to El Dorado movie night tonight,” Rose was saying brightly. “You’re staying, aren’t you, Marinette? Otherwise Luka’s going to be the odd man out again.”

“I wish I could,” Marinette said. “I… I have to go. Sorry, Rose, maybe another time.” Her glance flickered in his direction. “Sorry. I’m really sorry I can’t stay for dinner after all.”

She scrambled her things together, dropping her handbag and coming up red-faced. This was more like the Marinette he remembered from their teenage years, and it brought up some difficult memories. She flashed an awkward smile in answer to Rose’s protests, and then she was gone.

“Well,” Rose said, staring at the empty doorway. “I guess Marinette’s still Marinette.”

“Rose!” Luka’s voice cracked like glass, and his future sister-in-law’s eyes widened at Luka’s uncharacteristically sharp tone. “Remember all those plans to get Marinette and Adrien together?” How well did those work out?”

“But this is different!” Rose protested.

“This is no different. No more plans. I’ve screwed things badly enough as it is.”

He drew in a deep breath and blew it out again, thinking of all those secrets that Marinette had to keep, and the distances that had grown in her life because of them. More quietly, he said, “Marinette could really use a few good friends in her life. I don’t want her to lose us again because we’re pushing for more than she can give.”

“I…” Rose looked away, biting her lip, and then met his eyes. “Yeah, I get it.”

Dinner was quieter than usual, and Luka ignored the perturbed glances his sister kept shooting him. He pushed the food around, barely tasting it, and put it aside when he couldn’t pretend he was actually eating it anymore.

Luka swung away from the table, his phone in his hand, and hesitated, then he texted Marinette before he could talk himself out of it.

+Sorry about that. Rose has promised to back off on the matchmaking – I think she’s just got wedding fever. Want to run through the song one more time before the wedding?+

It wasn’t Rose’s schemes, though. He knew that. Marinette was taking far too long for it to mean anything good, although he kept trying to tell himself that she might not be able to answer, she might be in the middle of something, she might have her phone off... Juleka muttered at him to stop fidgeting so much, god, you’re driving me crazy, before it finally chimed with a response.

+I think I know it now+ she sent back. +See you next week+

Luka stared numbly at the words on his screen. It was happening all over again, and this time he had no defences left. Juleka was watching him with a look of exasperated sympathy.

“You’re just as stupid as you ever were,” she told him, and Luka exhaled heavily. It was hard to argue with that.

#see the light #lukanette #lukanette endgame #pro lukamari #Disney

31 notes · View notes

solinarimoon · 4 years ago

Text

A Song for the Sea

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Pairing: Finan x OFC

Warnings: some violence, held against their will, forced marriage, hints of abusive relationship

~ ~ ~ ~

Her eyes were like the sea before a storm. Blue and green marbling together. They spoke to him. Of depths hidden under their surface. Of secrets and sadness.

Finan could not keep his eyes from searching for her. He yearned to fall captive to their stare once more.

While walking through the street of Coccham, his eyes were roving every face for a glimpse of those startling eyes.

Osferth at his side, they meandered through the market expecting that they would find them looking to replenish supplies for their journey.

~~~~~

Muireann and her husband, Cael had docked at Coccham a few days prior.

Upon their arrival, Cael asked to speak with the Lord Uhtred. He claimed to be a trader of fur and wished to stay on in the burg a few days while a storm that was following them passed.

He had a large amount of seal skin pelts he was willing to trade for the lord's permission.

Uhtred agreed to allow them safe harbor.

After showing them to the town’s tavern where they could pay for a room for a few nights, Uhtred informed his men that Cael and his wife were to be watched closely. He did not get an honest feeling from them. Sihtric and Osferth both agreed with their lord's appraisal of their new visitors. Finan was glad he was not alone in his judgements either.

Cael had a sly demeanor and Uhtred’s first impression was that he was either a spy (though for whom he did not know) or was looking to cheat the good people of Coccham out of their money. As a young man, Uhtred had experience with men such as these. They were not to be trusted. Several pieces of their story did not sit well with the men. Why was a trader traveling with only himself and his wife? And by boat?

Then there was the fact that Muireann kept her head down and was completely subservient to her husband. Finan knew that many marriages worked in such a fashion but it was not something he ever enjoyed witnessing. He firmly believed marriage should be a partnership. He saw that exemplified in Uhtred and Gisela’s marriage. The same could be said for Sihtric and his wife.

Muireann did not appear to be a threat. Instead, she gave him the feeling that she had something to hide. Some secret kept hidden from the world. This sense became pronounced when Muireann took his outstretched hand to board the dock from their small trading boat.

She had looked up as her feet hit the boards and their eyes locked.

And Finan was lost.

He could become lost in those stormy eyes for eternity and he would not have cared.

She had taken a sharp inhale of breath when their eyes met. Finan knew that she had felt some connection. Some pull. There was a meaning to their meeting on that dock, suspended above the rising waters and murky depths.

“Thank you…” she whispered, leaving her words hanging in the air like mist off the sea.

“Finan. I am called Finan, lady.”

“Finan” She repeated. And he could have listened to her lovely voice speak his name for 1,000 years.

“Muireann!” Cael spoke her name with a harsh bark.

Instantly, Muireann dropped Finan’s gaze and made a hasty apology. She practically ran to her husband’s side as Uhtred escorted them to the tavern.

Finan watched her leave and felt his world shift. He knew something had just changed for him. And Muireann was the cause of that change.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Back at the market.

It took several more minutes before Osferth and Finan spied Cael and Muireann at a stall on the far end of the market. Close to the harbor. This was likely so they could keep an eye on their boat and it’s content. Muireann’s gaze was constantly shifting to stare across the water. As they approached, Finan watched her. Her eyes continued to return to the water. Her gaze betrayed a sense of yearning.

“Our lord would like it if you and your wife could join us in the hall for supper.” Finan said as he approached Cael. “He knows you’ll be departing soon and wishes to send you off with full bellies.” His Irish brogue lilted.

~~~~~~

The pair had stayed in the village tavern, paying for one of their upstairs rooms. For several nights, a strong storm had indeed blown through the harbor at Coccham. In that time, one or more of Uhtred’s men had staked a claim drinking and cajoling with the other tavern guests.

Everyone agreed that the couple gave them the sense of concealed secrets. What the men could not discern was if that secret would be of any importance to them or to Coccham.

Finan had volunteered to be at the tavern more than the rest of the men. Sihtric had a family and much preferred spending his free time at home when they were not required to be traveling with Uhtred. And Osferth enjoyed the tavern but would have struck everyone as behaving oddly if he had hung around the tavern by himself. He was not one to drink unless with the rest of the men.

Finan admitted to himself that he was happy to take most of the time at the tavern. The fact was he was desperate to see Muireann again and determine what spark her eyes had ignited in him. He could not shake the feeling that she needed him somehow. And he needed her.

He felt a sense of urgency where she was concerned.They hadn’t said more than a few pleasantries to each other and yet…

Finan did not believe in destiny like Uhtred. Neither did he NOT believe in it. He had never felt the need to put much stock in it either way. But he found himself thinking about it now. On destiny and Muireann’s eyes.

~~~~~~

Back at the market

“That is very generous of your lord. My wife and I would be honored to eat at his table. Please give him our regards.”

“Yes please tell lord Uhtred and the lady Gisela that we look forward to it. Thank you, Finan” Muireann says while meeting his gaze.

The pull was there once again. Just as strong as before. Finan had to stop himself from reaching out to her. Time had slowed and sounds around them had become muffled.

Muireann was shaken from their reverie as her husband called her name.

Cael had shifted to a further stall after giving a farewell to Osferth. Muireann dropped her head and folded her arms across herself as she said goodbye.

“Coming,” she called to her husband.

She took a final glance at Finan and then shifted her eyes towards the harbor. There, several seals were perched on a rock.

“That’s an odd sight,” Finan remarked.

“We don’t usually have seals this far into the harbor. They prefer to stay upstream. Closer to the ocean.”

The seals seemed to be staring at Muireann and Finan. Their dark eyes watching.

Muireann placed her hand on Finan’s arm, gaining his attention once more.

“Thank you again for the dinner invitation. If there is ale there that my husband can enjoy then I will appreciate the company.”

“Is your husband not enough company for ya? And what has ale to do with it?” Finan did not know what prompted him to be so forward. But he simply couldn’t shake the feeling she needed help. And she did offer the cryptic information about ale.

“The amount of his company is not to my liking nor is the quality. He… he is not a kind man. In fact he can be cruel. But when he has enough ale, I can”

But she was unable to finish that thought. At that instant, Cael’s harsh voice broke through their conversation once more, “Muireann do not linger.”

“I must go. I do not wish to anger him.”

With that final comment and all its implications ringing in his head, Finan watched her walk to her husband.

“So your husband is more tolerable when he’s full of ale. We will have to ensure that he gets plenty to wet his palette then.” Finan thought to himself. As he turned to rejoin Osferth and return to the great hall, he did not notice the seal's eyes following Muireann.

~~~~

Dinner that evening had gone harmlessly.

Uhtred kept up a lively conversation with Cael throughout the evening. They mainly spoke of travels and common places they had both visited. The words spoken were amicable enough. But it did not go unnoticed that Cael stifled any attempt Muireann had at joining in on conversation around the table.

He would interrupt her or loudly bring the subject back around to himself. When Gisela and Sihtric both attempted to make conversation with Muireann, Cael answered for her even as she opened her mouth to reply for herself.

The one mistake Cael made was to continue to drink. Finan made every attempt to casually keep Caels cup full. And the man did not protest. As Ceal became inebriated, his controlling demeanor towards Muireann lessened. He began to lose focus on details of his surroundings, like men do when they drink.

Muireann, who had noticed what Finan was doing with Cael’s cup, even began to smile at the conversations around her. Finan saw her shoulders begin to loosen and relax.

“A song for the sea! That’s what Muireann calls it. It’s a song sung to bless sea voyages. She’s the voice of a goddess.”

Somehow the conversation had steered towards superstitions and rituals used in sea voyages. Uhtred had recounted some of the rituals used by the Danes that were taught to him as a child. This prompted Cael to drunkenly proclaim that Muireann’s voice would bless all his travels.

“Sing it for everyone, wife.”

“They do not wish to hear my song,” Muireann whispered.

“I do,” Finan said, across the table from her.

“Yes, please let us hear this magical song,” Gisela urged, smiling gently at Muireann.

Muireann had looked up to Finan after he spoke. Their gaze was locked once again. The edges of their reality began to blur and sounds became muffled once more.

Cael placed his hand on Muireann’s shoulder, “You will sing it for us, wife.” His words were a command.

Slowly, Muireann took a breath. Her eyes were lowered to her lap. As she began to sing, she closed them. A haunting melody that stilled the commotion in the entire hall. The breezes outside calmed and the waves crashed along the shores. The seals jumped and danced in the spray.

“I see your face across the sea,

you're in the waves surrounding me

I hear your voice call on the breeze,

on the ship out on the ocean”

Slowly Muireann opened her eyes and gazed across the table.

At that moment, Finan knew. He was captivated by this woman. He felt it in every sinew of his being.

She continued to sing closing her eyes or resting their gaze upon Finan.

“Sailing across the sea on a big ship on the ocean

The moon is rising in the East, the stars hang down around her

The bow is arrow to the hearts of the ones we wish to come to home to

But the newly-lit night directs this flight, singing 'The ocean road will guide you.'

I see your face across the sea, you're in the waves surrounding me

I hear your voice call on the breeze, on the ship out on the ocean

When I awake I'll cast my anchor down and dive below

I'll dive into my lover's arms and warm the ocean's cold

Across the sea into our homes, we'll meet again so soon

You'll be with me across the sea on the ship out on the ocean

I see your face across the sea, you're in the waves surrounding me

I hear your voice call on the breeze, on the ship out on the ocean

I see your face across the sea, you're in the waves surrounding me

I hear your voice call on the breeze, on the ship out on the ocean

On the ship out on the ocean, on the ship out on the ocean”

As Muireann’s gentle and soothing voice fades, so does the spell that held the hall entranced.

“Your voice is a gift, Muireann. Truly. Thank you for singing to us,” Gisela told her.

“Thank you, Lady. I do not often sing for others.” Muireann replies as she returned her gaze down to her lap. Throughout her song, if her eyes were not closed, they were connected to Finan’s.

Just then Cael snored. He had fallen asleep, her song acting as a lullaby. His head rested on the table while his hand still held his ale cup.

Everyone stifled their laughter and then continued to eat and talk.

~~~~~

Slowly, the dinner began to come to an end. Muireann kept sending uneasy glances at her husband. Finally, she stood up and asked to excuse herself.

“My husband will not move until dawn, I am afraid Lord. He is a sound sleeper when drunk. I feel this is a horrible way to ..” but her words had been cut off by Uhtred.

“Think nothing of it, Muireann. He can sleep it off here. I have guards positioned and no harm will come to him.”

“Thank you. If you’ll excuse me then Lord Uhtred. I will retire to the tavern. I would like to rest before we depart in the morning.”

“Of course, lady.”

With that Muireann lifted herself from the table and walked towards the door.

Finan was standing by the doorway speaking with Sihtric before he went home to his family. Sihtric had not missed the intensity between the trader's wife and his friend. He cautioned his friend against making unnecessary enemies.

“You don’t understand, Sihtric. She is in peril.”

“Did she tell you that? We all see that he is an ass. She does not seem happy, but many women are unhappy with their marriage. That does not mean she…”

Sihtric’s words are stopped as Muireann approaches them. Both men have noticed her change in demeanor. She breathed heavily and her eyes kept darting back to the still form of her husband.

“Are you alright, Muireann?” Finan asked, his voice laced with concern.

“Finan, I… No I am…” She took a frantic breath. “No, this may be my only chance.” Muireann said.

“Only chance?” Sihtric questioned.

Muireann glanced at him then down to the ground.

“Cael has something of mine. Something precious.” She drew her eyes up to Finan’s and spoke with more conviction. “He holds it captive. He has never given me even the slightest chance to retrieve it,” She spoke. “But tonight, I will,” She finished.

Finan looks to Sihtric and then back to Muireann. Those eyes like the sea. He was drowning in them.

“We will do what we can to help you.” Finn did not know what to make of her words. “We will do what we can to protect you. Sihtric, keep watch on Cael and I will come with you Muireann.” Sihtric’s mouth had drawn to a tight line. He gave a short nod while looking past Muireann towards her husband.

“Thank you.” She took Finan’s hand.

“Thank you both,” she gave Sihtric’s arm a squeeze.

Then she was past them and speeding to the tavern.

Once they were at the tavern, Finan stood outside her door keeping watch.

He could hear her rummaging through their goods, turning over furniture, looking everywhere. He also heard her speaking to herself frantically, in a language he did not know. After several minutes, she opened the door with tears pooling in her eyes.

“It is not here. It isn’t here” Muireann told him. Her words were distraught.

Finan took her shoulders in his hands. “Hey, hey. I will help ya. I will keep you safe”

Muireann was mumbling to herself. Some words in English and others in that strange foreign tongue. She did not hear him.

Finan grasped her chin gently in his hand and tilted her head to look up at him. “Muireann, , it will be alright. I won’t let him harm you. We will find it.” Finan shifted his palm to cup Muireaan’s cheek. His thumb made gentle strokes along the curve of her face.

Muireann’s eyes brim with unshed tears.

She took a long shaking breath and leaned into Finan’s hand.

“I would have liked to have met you that day on the beach, instead of my husband. I do not think I would mind you holding me.”

“I do not understand. Muireann… help me understand,” Finan voiced with uncontrolled concern. He touched his forehead to hers.

The moment was broken when the two heard Cael screaming in a voice hoarse from ale.

“Muireann...Muireann!”

Muireann took a steadying breath then turned and walked down the stairs and out to meet Cael. He stood outside the tavern, breathing heavy and wavering as if standing on waves.

Sihtric was running towards them attempting to keep himself between Cael and Muireann. He had a large bruise forming around one eye and a small line of blood mingled in his hair under his nose.

“Where were you Muireann?” Cael barked at her. He did not attempt to reach her. The two warriors blocked his path.

When she didn’t answer him, he spoke again. His voice quieter and with more malice.

“Where were you?”

Muireann brought her eyes to meet his gaze. She walked between the warriors and took two more steps towards Cael. Still silent.

By now, Osferth and Uhtred were standing watching the wordless exchange take place as well.

Muireann kept her eyes locked with Cael.

Then he understood.

She was looking for it.

And that was when he made his second mistake that evening. Upon instinct, Cael’s eye could not help but flit towards his carefully selected hiding place, the stables across the square.

Muireann didn’t miss his look. And she remembered him visiting the stables with Uhtred upon their arrival, claiming they may carry on their journey on foot. He must have hidden it there.

Quick as lightening, Muireann had bolted towards the stables. Equally as fast, shocking for someone so drunk, Cael lunged forward and grabbed her arm whipping her back. The back of his hand connected with her cheek with a loud crack.

In the next instant, the men were in action.

Sihtric and Finan restrained Cael but not before Finan placed a few well aimed blows to his gut.

Osferth ran to Muirann’s side and helped her rise to her feet. She brought her hand to her temple and gripped Osferth’s arm to steady herself.

“ I will not tolerate someone to strike a woman in my presence,” Uhtred spoke.

“Just let me take my wife and we will leave. You will need never see us again.”

“I will not leave with you,” Muireann spat.

“You must. I hold you. Your will cannot overcome it” Cael spat back.

“Of what do you speak? You hold her?” Uhtred asked.

“She can never leave me. I …” Cael began.

His words were stopped short as Muireann drew a blade across his throat.

As Uhtred had gathered Cael’s attention from her, Muireann had grabbed the dagger from Finan’s belt.

Sihtric and Finan dropped Cael and the warriors all remained silent.

Muireann panted as she watched Cael’s eyes dull and the life leave his body. She looked up to Finan. As he took a hesitant step towards her, she dropped his knife.

Then, as if compelled by an unseen force, Muireann streaked towards the stables. It was as if she ran for her very life. From the still form of her husband, the warriors. From Finan.

When Muireann reached the stables, she wrenched open the doors and sank to her knees in the first empty stall. Buried underneath the rushes, she found it. A small wooden chest, locked.

Muireann picked up the chest and with the strength of five men, hurled it at the stable wall. The chest, weathered and sea worn, cracked into splinters.

Muireann grabbed the contents and ran towards the river. Her breath was coming in gasps and her motions were frantic. Once she reached the river, she continued along it until she reached a clearing with a small beach.

Muireann had removed her dress and was stepping out of it as she heard Finan approach her from behind. Muireann swung around to face him. He was not alone, but he was the only one her heart could see.

Uhtred, Sihtric, and Osferth had stopped at the bank on the top of the clearing. They allowed Finan to walk towards Muireann. She clutched the contents of the box to her chest. So hard that her knuckles were white. Finally, Finan got within arms reach of Muireann.

He stopped and she stared at him with wide, terrified eyes

Finan held up his hands, “We won’t hurt ya, Muireann. I won’t hurt ya.”

“I know. I meant it when I said I don’t think I would mind if you had a hold on me. If you kept me bound to you.”

“What are you talking about, Muireann. I don’t understand. What did he do to you? What did he keep to bind you to him?” Finan’s voice was desperate for answers. For understanding.

“I will return. Near midsummer’s eve, look for me from the river,” She whispered.

Slowly, Muireann backed away and careful to never lose grip of her precious bundle from the box, she slipped her shift from her shoulders. It fell away and lay at her feet.

She never broke eye contact with Finan.

They all watched her.

Transfixed.

Under her spell.

Muireann walked slowly into the water letting herself glide backwards. She was going home. Her head slipped below the surface and they all waited with baited breath.

A few moments later and slightly closer to shore, a seal broke the surface of the water. The sleek, beautiful creature stared at them all with human eyes. Her gaze lingered the longest on Finan. Then she slipped back under the dark waters and was gone. The seals from the harbor slipped away into the depths to join her.

“A selkie” Finan whispered.

“Was that..?” Sihtric asked. The companions had walked up to stand next to Finan on the shore.

“She’s a selkie.”

Osferth stared at Finan questioningly.

Uhtred answered for his brother. “She is one of the seal folk. Shapeshifters. Seals who can shed their skins to reveal a human form,” he spoke, entranced. None of them could believe what they had witnessed. Uhtred continued, “If a man takes a selkie woman’s skin and keeps it from her, she can never leave him. She can not be without her skin. That is how Muireann’s husband was holding her captive”

“We will see her again, Finan. She will return to you.” Sihtric said. “ She looks at you like my Ealswith looks at me. And how Gisela looks to Uhtred. I noticed it in the hall. She will return.”

“Aye,” Finan said, with tears in his eyes. “And when she does, I will not hold her captive. But I will love her. By the sweet lord, our God, I will love that woman.”

A few notes:

Moodboard is mostly stock photography found on Google/Pinterest. The top left corner is Woman in Tattered Dress by the Stormy Sea by Jill Battaglia. The song in the story is Across the Sea by The Wailin’ Jennys.

Muireann - An irish name meaning "sea white, sea fair". Pronunciation is like the surname of the actress Helen Mirren, but with the spin of a w sound after the initial M.

Cael - An irish name meaning “narrow, slender”. Pronunciation is like kale, the leafy vegetable.

#The Last Kingdom #finan the agile #finan #fanfiction

66 notes · View notes