#anyway this has been all sorts of soothing and exciting and new and familiar

[thebirdandhersong]

Literally dying inside again. One of these days I will have to clutch a wall for support

[luminnara]

It’s Been A Long, Long Time | Alpha!Bucky x Omega! reader Part 2

Summary: When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Part one | Part two | Part three |

Warnings: NSFW, Knotting, ABO

Tags: @kyrah-williams @oceanmermaidwitch

The soldier’s rut seemed to come around on a perfect schedule. Like clockwork, every few months Amoretta would be pulled out of her usual living space and sent to the rutting cell to wait for him. Sometimes, he came in smelling fresh and clean, like they had just hosed him down. Other times, he was covered in dirt and blood, most of which didn’t seem to be his own. She didn’t care; her heart soared every time she heard his heavy boots stomping towards her, and she always faced him with a confident, even gaze. 

They would spend his rut together, the soldier knotting her over and over until it passed. He grew bolder with her, showing her affection she never thought he was capable of. He would carefully lay her down on her side so that he could curl around her, waiting for his knot to go down so that he could start all over again. His hands became increasingly gentle, calloused fingertips brushing over her folds carefully as he tried to pull those beautiful moans out of her throat. 

He often succeeded; Amoretta woke up to his touch more times than she could count, her thighs already trembling as he played with her clit. The soldier was good at getting her ready for him, though she was almost always prepared to take his cock anyways. Her body responded to him eagerly, slick always pooling between her legs whenever he was nearby. She couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like if HYDRA didn’t have her on so many heat suppressants. 

Even without her hormones raging, she was falling for him. He was big and strong and protective, always putting himself between her and the guards whenever they appeared in the doorway. If it weren’t for his trigger words, Amoretta was positive he would tear them apart before they even got close to her. Did that mean he felt the same way about her, too? Or was she just being a silly omega, stuck in a cold series of tunnels, latching onto the only alpha she was ever permitted contact with? 

She couldn’t tell. 

She didn’t really care.

All she knew was that she wanted him. She had begun looking forward to his ruts, and by the end of her first year in captivity, her body had begun being able to predict when they were coming without the use of a calendar. It was like waking up on Christmas Day, excitement flooding her while she waited for the guards to come let her out of her cell. It always put her in a good mood, knowing that she was about to see the one person who seemed to care about her in that godforsaken place.

And he did. 

He cared.

Whenever he saw her, the soldier felt his chest swelling with happiness. There were no bond marks on either of them, but she was his, and she knew it. His omega knew that he was there to keep her safe. He was driven by a simple urge to take care of her whenever he saw her, his need to protect her always taking over his mind. She was so much smaller than him, but she took him so well and fit so perfectly against his chest when they laid together. He never wanted it to end. 

“Alpha?” She asked one night, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

His knot had gone down a little while earlier, but he was too exhausted by a full day of fucking to go at it again yet. Instead, he was dozing, an arm draped over her protectively while she snuggled up against his chest. 

“Hm?” He grunted, cracking an eye open. 

“Do you…” she sighed. “Never mind.”

He was fully awake now, both eyes open as he looked at her. “Do I what?”

She bit her lip, feeling stupid. “Do you think we would be together outside of this place?”

He was silent as he thought about it. He didn’t know anything other than HYDRA. Shit, he had never stopped to wonder if there was anything other than HYDRA. Did he have a life besides killing? He had no memory of it, if he did. 

“I’m sorry, it’s dumb.” Amoretta said, burying her face against his chest. “Forget it.”

“‘Mega,” his chest rumbled with the word. “It’s not dumb.”

“Then why didn’t you answer?” She huffed. 

He snorted quietly. There it was again. That brazen attitude she always had. 

“Because...I don’t remember anything outside of this.” He finally said. 

Amoretta looked at him. “Nothing at all?”

“It’s always been HYDRA.” He didn’t sound too concerned.

She frowned. “Well...if it wasn’t. If we were just two normal people.”

“Normal?”

“You know.” She couldn’t help but smile a little. “Just...two people, living in a city—“

“New York.” He interrupted quietly.

She paused. “New York?”

“A city. To live in.” He said. “New York.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. Why would he choose New York? It was a large city, to be sure, but it seemed out of character for him to interrupt with something like that, especially considering that they were currently being kept somewhere under Eastern Europe. They were as far away from the States as they could get, and she had expected to be talking about someplace like Paris, or Moscow, or Berlin. 

She knew the soldier was someone HYDRA had captured a while ago, which meant he had to have had some sort of life before they pumped him full of the serum. Could this be part of it? Was he...remembering? If he was, she wanted to know more. All HYDRA used her for was getting their asset through his ruts, so she had plenty of time to think, and plenty more time to be curious. The most interesting thing in the compound with her was him, and she had spent hours just wondering about him. This could be her chance to actually get him talking about something other than rutting, and she wanted to encourage more.

“Okay, New York.” She said, a reassuring hand on his arm. “What part?”

He thought for a moment, trying to concentrate. “Brooklyn.”

“Why Brooklyn?”

The soldier shrugged. “Heard about it. I think.”

“Never been there?”

“...I don’t know.” 

“Hmph.” She played with a strand of his dark hair. “If we lived in Brooklyn, what kind of life would we have?”

“A house,” he said. 

“We’d have a house?” 

He nodded, his nose finding the scent gland on her neck and rubbing against it. “Filled with lots...and lots...of pups…”

Her heart skipped a beat and she immediately felt heat coiling around in her belly. She couldn’t help it; she was pre programmed to get excited at the concept of being bred. Even without her heats, the thought filled her chest with butterflies. 

“Wanna breed you…” his voice pulled her back to reality. 

Amoretta licked her lips, grinning. “Then breed me, Alpha.”

He let out a playful growl, somehow finding the strength to roll her onto her front and grab her hips. He held onto her tightly enough to leave little red marks, but he never had to worry; she was strong. She was made for him. He knew that she could take whatever he gave her.

“Want my knot?” The soldier asked, toying with her wet folds for a few moments before he shoved his cock inside of her. 

“Y-yes, Alpha!” She squealed, pussy immediately tightening around him. She had grown so used to his size by now, she hardly even needed any preparation to take him. Her body accepted his girth eagerly, wanting nothing more than to feel his knot catching on her.

He groaned appreciatively as he began thrusting in and out of her, setting a lazy pace for himself. “‘M gonna fill you up, Omega...gonna fill you up, get you nice and pupped…”

Her cheeks were flushed as she listened to him, skin burning as her alpha fucked her. She loved the sound of his voice. She loved everything about him. 

“Please,” she moaned, melting down against the sheets. 

“Yeah?” He let go of her hips, moving both hands to hold her ass. He gave it a squeeze, chest rumbling happily at the feeling of so much supple flesh in his grip. “Fuck, omega...my pretty ‘mega…”

She sighed happily, her pussy squeezing his cock as a little orgasm fluttered through her. He was good at that, and giving her those tiny little ones every so often with nothing but his words. 

He snarled at the feeling. He wanted more. 

A metal hand snaked around her front, finding her clit and rubbing it roughly. She immediately cried out, surprised by the sudden stimulation, and it wasn’t long before her thighs were shaking and she was a moaning, crying mess underneath her soldier. How did he know what to do? Why did he even care if she got off, when she was only there to please him? 

He had to be more than just a flesh and bone HYDRA machine. She knew he had to be.

As she tipped over the edge, he followed close behind, his breath hot on the back of her neck as he bit into her shoulder. The pain felt dull, despite his massive fangs tearing into her. It always did; Amoretta was never worried about it, often sporting bruises and bite marks after her soldier mounted her. With the quickened healing abilities her body now had, nothing lasted very long before fading anyways. 

She wished they would stick around, though. She wanted to feel claimed. 

She felt his knot swelling and she sighed happily, slumping down onto the cot as he pressed his chest against her back. He began lazily licking at her shoulder, swiping his tongue over the bloody wound to soothe it. 

“One day,” he grumbled, “One day, ‘m gonna mark you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. 

“Wh-what?” She asked, looking back at him. 

He nodded, sure of himself. “You’re my omega. An’ one day, I’m gonna make sure everybody knows.”

—

How many years did she spend there, in HYDRA’S compounds? After the first, it was easy to lose track. She was kept on a monotonous schedule that consisted of a few feedings a day, exercise sessions, and the occasional “doctor’s visit.” Those always just meant that her suppressants were being increased, as her body was growing steadily angrier about them. She was building up a tolerance, the doctor said, and they would simply have to keep ramping up her dosage. 

She dared to ask why they couldn’t just let her have heats like normal, and the answer was simply that they didn’t have the facilities ready to raise super soldier pups. The thought of being separated from her own offspring mortified her; it was bad enough that she was always so far away from her alpha, and she knew she couldn’t bear to give up her pups for some twisted HYDRA program. 

So she shut up, and learned to deal with the side effects of the suppressants. They made her constantly nauseous, not enough to make her vomit, but definitely enough that she was uncomfortable all day. As her dosage increased, so did her headaches, and there were moments she considered begging the doctors to take her off of them so that she could feel at least some relief. 

But she knew that would be a bad idea. She had to continue acting like she had absolutely no interest in returning to her normal heat cycle, or else risk HYDRA thinking about how quickly they could get things ready to start a new super soldier program. Amoretta wanted to keep their minds off of it for as long as she possibly could, and it seemed like she was successful; it never came up during her visits to the lab, the doctors seeming much more focused on how to keep her from getting pregnant at all. 

It was for the best. She knew that. But part of her whined and yearned to be allowed to start a little family with her alpha, even though he hadn’t given her a bond mark. With every rut she spent with him, she felt herself growing more and more comfortable at his side, wishing more and more that they were normal people. She wanted to live that life in Brooklyn with him, to smell fresh air again instead of the recycled oxygen they pumped through the compound. 

Sometimes, Amoretta was moved to different facilities. They were always underground, always just as gray and dingy as all the others. The guards always tranquilized her in order to transport her, and she would wake up in a similar, yet different cell from the last, groggy and even more nauseous than usual. She figured they were moving both her and the soldier around, depending on where they wanted to send him off on missions. She just wished that she could go outside once in a while, too. 

One night, she got her chance. 

She woke up early, her body fighting off the tranquilizer she had been given. She could tell that she was in a cramped, dark transport crate, moonlight filtering in through the air holes on the top of it. Fresh air was coming in, too, the scent of grass and pine filling her nose. It smelled so delicious that she was gulping in lungfulls, immediately shifting to press her face up against one of the holes. 

It was small, barely large enough for her to see out of it, but she could spot a few twinkling stars up above her. 

She wanted more. 

The crate was heavy, reinforced with metal bars meant to keep her in and the soldier out, but she was determined. She hadn’t seen the outdoors in...shit, decades? 

A few good kicks was all it took before she was scrambling out, bare toes digging into the dirt as she stood and looked around. She was in the middle of nowhere, it seemed, a few trucks idling nearby as HYDRA workers moved supplies into the compound. 

As soon as they noticed her, she ran, sprinting off into the trees. She could hear shouting behind her, but she didn’t stop, too excited by the feeling of the wind against her bare skin. The night air was cool and refreshing, and as she skidded to a stop at the edge of a field, she could hardly believe she was really outside.

Turning her eyes up to the sky, she let out a happy gasp. The moon was full and bright, an entire galaxy of stars twinkling in the inky blackness of space. Amoretta hadn’t realized how much she missed it. 

Heavy footsteps drew her attention away from the stars, but she didn’t turn to look. She could smell her alpha approaching, his scent seeming more curious than angry now that he had found her. He was alone, free of the entourage of guards she had expected to come after her. 

“Omega,” he growled, his low voice rumbling. 

“Look at them,” she sighed.

He stepped up next to her, his side brushing hers. “At what?” His blue eyes were scanning the treeline, searching for anything that could be threatening his omega. When he found nothing, he tilted his head to look down at her curiously. “What is it?”

“The stars,” she sighed again.

Stars? 

He watched her face for a moment, surprised to find her smiling up at the sky. When he finally followed her gaze, he paused to admire the stars. He never really did that, did he? Whenever HYDRA let him out, he was sent with strict orders. There was never any time for stargazing. Though...it was nice, and the look on his omega’s face was even nicer. 

“That’s Ursa Major,” she said, pointing up to a collection of stars. “See? It’s a bear.”

The soldier snorted. “I don’t see a bear.”

“Then look harder.”

She glanced over to see him actually squinting, the lower half of his face obscured by the black mask he wore on missions. The sight made her laugh, quiet giggles quickly turning into full, hearty laughter that had her gripping her sides. There he was, a huge, terrifying super soldier, the most dangerous assassin in the world, and he was trying to figure out constellations. 

“What?” his head whipped around to look down at her.

“N-nothing,” she giggled. 

He gave her an exasperated look. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I might be.” she nudged his side with her shoulder. “You’re just...cute. That’s all.”

She could see him raise an eyebrow. “Cute?”

“Mhm. You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you outside of a rut.” she leaned against him, looking up with big doe eyes. “I like it.”

His chest puffed up a little as he looked down at her. “You do?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” his throat rumbled with a low purr. “I have to take you back now.”

She deflated with a sigh. “Already?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Not safe out here.”

“There’s nothing out here scarier than you, Alpha.”

His purr grew louder, a little more smug. “You’re right. But I have orders.”

“Can we stay for just another minute?” she pleaded. “Then you can drag me back.”

The soldier considered her offer. He really did enjoy watching her gaze up at the stars, and he had no idea when he would get this chance again. “...Fine.”

Amoretta smiled. “Thank you, Alpha.”

His arm found its way around her waist, pulling her up against him. “You like stars, omega?”

“I used to sit outside and look at them every night back home,” she said. “Well, when it was clear.”

“Back home?”

She nodded. “I grew up in this quaint little village, tucked away in the mountains...at the foot of the alps.”

He cocked his head. Something about the alps...it felt like there was a memory nudging at the back of his mind, but he didn’t know why. Maybe he had gone there on a mission? HYDRA was good at always wiping his memory between outings. It was hard to tell where he had been. 

“Let’s go.” he said, suddenly uncomfortable. 

Amoretta didn’t resist as he scooped her up, instead resting her cheek against his chest and trying to surround herself with his scent while he walked. She could tell that something was bothering him, but with no idea what, and with him nearing the HYDRA base, there was little she could do to try and pry it out of him. 

She would just have to wait and try again during his next rut.

[edenmemes]

horizon zero dawn starters

❝  you can sense it. you already know you’re going to lose.  ❞ ❝  did you want to be alone?  ❞ ❝  you wouldn’t be so eager to speak with me if you knew me.  ❞ ❝  that will draw attention. we won’t have this place to ourselves for long now.  ❞ ❝  it’s a world worth fighting for. not just here. everywhere.  ❞ ❝  trying to live up to glorious pasts has a way of getting people killed.  ❞ ❝  never celebrate a victory before it’s earned.  ❞ ❝  i crave vengeance. do you?  ❞ ❝  my comrades weren’t so lucky. i might shed a tear, if they weren’t all cutthroats and cheaters.  ❞ ❝  i’ll always have a minute for you. maybe even two.  ❞ ❝  you walk on the edge of life and death. i can tell.  ❞ ❝  what is a gift but an award you did not earn?  ❞ ❝  so many voices to listen to, it must make your head hurt. i promise my voice will be soft and soothing.  ❞ ❝  i wish i could borrow some of your courage now.  ❞ ❝  i’ve always wondered. are all your kind hunters and fighters, or just a few?  ❞ ❝  no one doubts your determination. but you need to rest.  ❞ ❝  a bold claim. i wonder if you’ll live up to it.  ❞ ❝  why would someone name a knife?  ❞ ❝  so you’re alive ! we should celebrate! drinks on me!  ❞ ❝  try not to forget me, while you’re out there saving the world.  ❞ ❝  when we spoke earlier, you winced, then looked like you were in pain - or frightened.  ❞ ❝  i’m really not one for crowds.  ❞ ❝  so - how are we gonna do that? oh, wait, i forgot. we won’t. i do all the dangerous stuff.  ❞ ❝  i knew there was something about you. hammered from the stuff they make leaders out of.  ❞ ❝  no matter what happens, i will not intervene. do you understand? you are on your own.  ❞ ❝  it’s always a pain in the neck when you show up, girl, one way or another.  ❞ ❝  you’re bleeding, let me have a look. here, hold still.  ❞ ❝  just don’t think this means i enjoy it.  ❞ ❝  i don’t want to jinx it, but we might be in the clear.  ❞ ❝  when i start a fuss, i like to finish it.  ❞ ❝  i promise to look solemn at your funeral before i hit the bar.  ❞ ❝  what could go wrong? turns out, a lot.  ❞ ❝  let me come with you! i won’t be a bother. i know how to stay out of sight.  ❞ ❝  now i’m supposed to fill ____’s shoes. and instead, here i am, stumbling around in them.  ❞ ❝  we need to talk - alone. and you need to pull it together.  ❞ ❝  i guess growing up means putting what you should do in front of what you want to do, right?  ❞ ❝  oh, are you going to shut your mouth now? because that would be a surprise.  ❞ ❝  i will come to you in secret. no one will see me, so i won’t get in trouble.  ❞ ❝  it looks like something chewed you up and spat you out.  ❞ ❝  these are the true wilds, with threats unlike any you have ever faced.  ❞ ❝  that moment the door opened and you were standing there, and the way you smiled... i had to look away or you were going to see. on my face. what had just... blossomed inside me, you know?  ❞ ❝  i’m not afraid of you - i’m not afraid of anything.  ❞ ❝  stop being evasive? you might as well tell me to stop being charming. it’s impossible.  ❞ ❝  what a waste. at least he died better than he lived.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been looking up at the stars a lot, and the only story i see written across them is that we are small and insignificant and will soon disappear with hardly a trace left behind. it’s a hard story, and i don’t like it much..  ❞ ❝  if i’m going to stand for something, it’ll have to be something i believe in.  ❞ ❝  the strength to stand alone, is the strength to make a stand.  ❞ ❝  soon it’ll all seem familiar. like home.  ❞ ❝  now i see that i was just lucky to get a minute of your time.  ❞ ❝  i know my duty to them - and to you. i’m here. and wherever you go...i will follow.  ❞ ❝  you're really good at making it impossible to like you.  ❞ ❝  i’ve missed our little talks.  ❞ ❝  will change happen at all, while men live in palaces?  ❞ ❝  confidence is quiet. you’re not.  ❞ ❝  you’re not a very convincing liar.  ❞ ❝  i already have all the friends i need. i don’t need the bother.  ❞ ❝  all right, cool your fire. i got nothing to hide.  ❞ ❝  i see you don’t recognize me. well, it was a long time ago.  ❞ ❝  you will turn back - or bleed. your choice.  ❞ ❝  when we met, i thought i was a big shot talking to a pretty girl hidden away in the middle of nowhere.  ❞ ❝  you would speak ill of the dead? truly you have no shame.  ❞ ❝  truth is, i get lonely once in awhile. there. i admitted it. don’t think less of me.  ❞ ❝  do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there?  ❞ ❝  but i don’t know anyone here.  ❞ ❝  come on, stop. you’re going to make me tear up.  ❞ ❝  i feel like i should drop to my knees and worship you.  ❞ ❝  think i’m done? think again. i’ve gotten out of worse scrapes.  ❞ ❝  it’s hard to imagine where we’d be without you - and i don’t want to try.  ❞ ❝  if we’re to fight together on the brink of life and death, i’d prefer to do so with your forgiveness.  ❞ ❝  trust is for fools. it shifts and crumbles like sand.  ❞ ❝  what will you do while i risk my life?  ❞ ❝  you can smile, can’t you? ...no, that’s a grimace.  ❞ ❝  you killed that demon...pulled its guts from the carcass!  ❞ ❝  the sooner you’re gone from here, the better.  ❞ ❝  for now, all you need to know is that i’m a whisper of reason in this howling pit of insanity.  ❞ ❝  i heard the rumors, but i didn’t know for sure until saw you just now. i’m glad to see you’re okay.  ❞ ❝  no barrier can now stay you from your sacred task.  ❞ ❝  i won’t deny i risked your life. but it was the only way.  ❞ ❝  they can’t shoot if they’re dead. keep them busy, i’ll find an angle.  ❞ ❝  comforts are weakness.  ❞ ❝  as for honor, sacrifice-- true sacrifice, the kind rulers know nothing of -- it’s all a fat joke.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been sharpening my blade, anticipating the scent of the fight.  ❞ ❝  you’re not just a traveler. that armor was fitted for you. and the way you hold your bow...  ❞ ❝  i’d expect to see some tomatoes fly, maybe rocks. hopefully not spears. in any case, be ready to duck.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here for the price on your head.  ❞ ❝  for a moment, i was a child again, rapt from stories told by hunters at the campfire.  ❞ ❝  this...attachment to me will only hold you back.  ❞ ❝  whatever you do, don’t let their shabby looks fool you! they’ll kill you as soon as look at you.  ❞ ❝  i’m doing what i love. and what could be wrong with that?  ❞ ❝  when the arrowhead passes between armor and skin - that’s the place i belong.  ❞ ❝  right. why would i expect an answer? it’s so much more exciting to keep it all a mystery...  ❞ ❝  oh, it’s a story all right, but it takes a while to tell. maybe another time, over a drink or three?  ❞ ❝  why are you talking like we’ll never see each other again?  ❞ ❝  i’ll wager you don’t scare easy - it’s a good quality.  ❞ ❝  there will be people celebrating, and feasting. more than you've ever see in one place.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t bring you here to answer questions. i brought you here to deal with that.  ❞ ❝  ...you’ve...put a lot of thought into this.  ❞ ❝  i do not want to hear this talk from you again. doubt is heavier than a week’s snow.  ❞ ❝  bandits are drawn to here like infection to a wound.  ❞ ❝  i guess you’re doing the right thing for the wrong reason.  ❞ ❝  i thought you and i were agreed: only enjoy the killing as much as the challenge.  ❞ ❝  rumors spread like blood.  ❞ ❝  they would steal from us, chase us through the night, laughing.  ❞ ❝  leave it too long, your fingers itch for the bowstring.  ❞ ❝  you’re strong, shrewd, capable... i could use someone like you on my side.  ❞ ❝  you defeated it? alone?  ❞ ❝  grasp your grief. and kill it.  ❞ ❝  at least i’ll have a fire to keep me company.  ❞ ❝  only survivors scar. after everything you’ve been through, you keep going.  ❞ ❝  just stop being evasive and tell me who you really are.  ❞ ❝  i don’t mind putting my worthless ass on the line. but not yours.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here to intrigue you.  ❞ ❝  how about you? who do you think i am? what will you remember of me? ❞ ❝  everything freezing. the ground, the air... me.  ❞ ❝  you lost someone you care about. that leaves a wound. the sort of wound a lot of people don’t recover from.  ❞ ❝  the only thing i know i’m still fighting for is...you.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t earn this mercy, but i will die to make myself worthy of it.  ❞ ❝  to say you have my gratitude feels woefully insufficient. you saved my life.  ❞ ❝  makes you wish you could kill them more than once, doesn’t it?  ❞ ❝  why did you act so strange when we spoke earlier?  ❞ ❝  being smart won’t count for nothing if you don’t make the world a better place.  ❞ ❝  to serve a purpose greater than yourself...that is the lesson you must learn.  ❞ ❝   if a big, meaningful talk is what you’re after, move along.  ❞ ❝  that carcass! what sort of beast was that?  ❞ ❝  what are you doing out here all alone? where are your men?  ❞ ❝  you’ve obviously heard of me. you know what i’m capable of. why do you think this will turn out well for you?  ❞ ❝  there’s so much to discover before the world ends.  ❞ ❝  i couldn’t wait to see you again. it’s like...i’m dead and only come alive when i’m here with you.  ❞ ❝  some even say you have a conscience. how extraordinary!  ❞ ❝  do you always accuse people you’ve just met of lying?  ❞ ❝  if you ever visit, look me up. i’ll show you around, make introductions. it’d be a whole new life, if you want it.  ❞ ❝  it had a name once, not that it matters now. i was born there.  ❞ ❝  i always knew you were different... i think you’re a blessing.  ❞ ❝  no one hears your prayers anyway.  ❞ ❝  this place is difficult even for the prepared.  ❞ ❝  i underestimated you. i won’t make that same mistake again.  ❞ ❝  oh. is that supposed to sound scary or something?  ❞ ❝  look, maybe i shouldn’t say this, but it’s obvious that you don’t belong in this... backwater.  ❞ ❝  were you kept hidden away? did you have overprotective parents or something?  ❞ ❝  hmph. don’t go soft on me.  ❞ ❝  i prefer the company of spirits. or my own.  ❞ ❝  blood spilled calls for blood spilled! if the ground is cursed, then let our vengeance sanctify it.  ❞ ❝  so many people here, all talking at once. how does anyone think?  ❞ ❝  why is it that every time something bad happens to you, someone else tells you something bad that happened to them, as if that makes it any better?  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen armor like yours.  ❞ ❝  the wrongness here jags at me like an arrowhead.  ❞ ❝  when you found me, i was trying to eke out a glorious death. but now a glorious life seems more preferable.  ❞ ❝  tomorrow, may the sun rise on the world.  ❞ ❝  you saved my epitaph from being ‘a fine soldier but a fool of a man’.  ❞ ❝  i don’t think i know you at all. but i’d like to.  ❞ ❝  i don’t like this. it feels...wrong.  ❞ ❝  oh, i’m grateful for this wound. it’s a lesson i won’t forget.  ❞ ❝  you’re a clever one. but not so clever as to heed my warning, i see.  ❞ ❝  not everyone follows the law like you do.  ❞ ❝  how many times have i pulled you from danger by your neck? made excuses for your behavior?  ❞ ❝  for what it’s worth, i’m glad you’re coming with me.  ❞ ❝  what have i ever given you but struggle?  ❞ ❝  it’s starting to feel real, you know? that we might actually get out of this place.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never been part of anything. i serve my own interests. always.  ❞ ❝  i apologize for my...behavior. i thought i was dead.  ❞ ❝  look, i don’t even know your story. must be a good one. if you ever feel like telling it, look me up.  ❞ ❝  when my anger has thawed, i will feel nothing.  ❞ ❝  i can’t remember when i had this much fun! i should be thanking you!  ❞ ❝  you gave him a quicker death than he deserved.  ❞ ❝  that...could be the last creepy thing you’ve said to me.  ❞ ❝  something’s really bothering you. if you think i’m gonna abandon you, you’re wrong.  ❞ ❝  surprised you saw me, the way you keep looking every other direction to make sure no one’s watching. careful there, or you’ll sprain your neck.  ❞ ❝  remember how the blood pounded in your ears? they’ll ring later, in the calm. it’s a call to arms, from your inner desires.  ❞ ❝  ___’s dead. i was ready to go through anything to make that happen. and i did.  ❞ ❝  is there a reason why you’re acting so cranky today?  ❞ ❝  you hold your grief close, like a tailsman.  ❞ ❝  i hope you can find peace.  ❞ ❝  you don’t know who i am, do you?  ❞ ❝  you know there’s always been dirt on my hands. now there’s blood too.  ❞ ❝  i want to be strong like you. but...  ❞ ❝  i hadn’t given up on hope, but i’ve forgotten the taste of it.  ❞ ❝  just...don’t start singing again.  ❞ ❝  you’re sparing me? after all i’ve done?  ❞ ❝  i don’t intend to die today.  ❞ ❝  it will take many good deeds to make up for the crimes you’ve committed.  ❞ ❝  but why should you have justice, and not me?  ❞ ❝  such a voice... a cold, awful jangle that scrapes your bones and hollows your guts.  ❞ ❝  one more word, and i’ll throw you in jail myself.  ❞ ❝  only in the struggle against death do we find, even for a moment, the spark of life.  ❞ ❝  the war changed you. changed us both. we’re not kids anymore.  ❞ ❝  i can’t sleep, i can’t breathe knowing you could be out there...hurting...  ❞ ❝  now i’m left to wear my sins. for me, at least, they hang heavy.  ❞       ❝  but what does a girl like you know of loss?  ❞ ❝  it’s a good thing you’ve got brains. because your personality could use some work.  ❞ ❝  i was going to ask you to leave with me...to go somewhere out in the sun where no shadow could reach us.  ❞ ❝  they didn’t need to disgrace my name. i did it myself, serving a rotten throne. ❞ ❝  you don’t approve? well, i have a secret for you. neither do i.  ❞ ❝  perhaps you are not an evil man. just a weak one.  ❞ ❝  losses can feel... overwhelming. but they remind us of our connections to others.  ❞ ❝  i don’t exactly see anyone beating down the door to spend time with you.  ❞ ❝  if i had known, i would never have spoken to you.  ❞ ❝  forge a new life. one of better make.  ❞ ❝  impossible odds, fine company, killing without consequence --- how could i resist?  ❞ ❝  look at me. i can’t imagine how you’re feeling, but you don’t have to go through it alone.  ❞ ❝  i wish i had known, all this time, what you were going through.  ❞ ❝  i’m with you. until the end.  ❞ ❝  i thought you just wanted to have tea and conversation! is there a battle coming? i wasn’t informed!  ❞ ❝  we’ve only met a few times, and yet you know me so well.  ❞ ❝  are you going to drive me off, too? it’s okay. i’ve dealt with worse.  ❞ ❝  now i know the kind of person i want to be, watching you.  ❞ ❝  it’s so...bittersweet. like a smile through bloodied teeth.  ❞ ❝  i swear i saw my ancestors... they said: ‘we’re not surprised to see you here’.  ❞ ❝  more mercenaries? what kind of person sells their loyalty?  ❞ ❝  keep moving or you’ll die!  ❞ ❝  this is the kind of place you’d take someone if you want to lose them forever.  ❞ ❝  if that’s destiny, i wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  ❞ ❝  i’ve thought about what you said. every time, the wound you gave me caught on my ribs.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen such disregard for personal safety.  ❞ ❝  the most important thing is what you’re not like - your father.  ❞ ❝  i’m never lonely where there’s killing to be done.  ❞ ❝  my past - and my secrets - are my own. you’ll do well to remember that.  ❞ ❝  only to you do i extend the courtesy of a warning.  ❞ ❝  if the war’s not over, i’m not done.  ❞ ❝  a long kiss, the best kind... i can still remember the feel of your hand on the back of my neck.  ❞ ❝  it would be a worse fate to bow our heads to the challenge and say, ‘too much’.  ❞ ❝  let’s not say farewell. i’ve had enough of that to last me a dozen winters.  ❞ ❝  have your wounds even had time to heal?  ❞ ❝  you can stop worrying. the secret’s safe with me.  ❞ ❝  just to be clear, i have no plans to murder you, alright?  ❞ ❝  you’re an idiot. a dangerous idiot, but an idiot.  ❞ ❝  i’m kicking myself for not seeing your potential from the beginning.  ❞ ❝  for your sake, you must go where you will never find me. this is goodbye.   ❞ ❝  so that’s what this is? a tantrum? a cry for attention?  ❞ ❝  change won’t come in a single sunrise.  ❞ ❝  this place may not seem like much, but we’ll make the best of it.  ❞ ❝  no murderers here, if that’s what you’re asking.  ❞

[iam93percentstardust]

Not sure if you’ve written something like this before, but my prompt is Tony being really into skincare and one day Steve finally lets him do a skincare routine on him before they sleep? And tony climbs on Steve’s lap to do it while Steve just lets his boyfriend do his thing, indulging and amused. I thought of this while doing my night time skin routine hehe

Hi! No, I don’t think I’ve ever written a skincare routine fic before, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to try! Since my skincare routine is really simple, I ended up writing more of an introspective fic while Tony is incidentally doing his routine on Steve, but I hope it’s still something you enjoy!

As always, everything I write is also on ao3

~

Steve doesn’t understand it, but that’s okay.

The skincare routine has always been more Tony’s thing than his. Steve just doesn’t understand the point when his shower works just as well. Tony always calls him the peak of human perfection anyway and that’s without the routine so why should he take the time to bother with skincare on top of that?

Tony likes it though. Steve’s never asked, but he thinks Tony’s insistence on doing the skincare routine every single night before bed has less to do with how much he likes it and more to do with the routine being something he and Maria had done together before—before that terrible accident last year.

He looks at Tony, sleepily doing his routine in the bathroom. There’s something very soft about Tony when he’s sleepy. Tony when he’s awake and alert is always a sight to see—usually dressed in an oil-stained t-shirt and holey jeans, mind flying from one topic to the next, held back only by the speed of his fingers, positively beautiful in his exhilaration. But Tony when he’s sleepy, when he’s dressed in an oversized MIT hoodie and fuzzy socks, that’s something special that only Steve gets to see.

He gets up from their bed and heads into the bathroom, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist as he stands behind him. Tony makes a quiet, surprised sound, hands dropping down to Steve’s.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve says and nudges the sensitive skin behind Tony’s ear with his nose. Tony murmurs wordlessly, so he does it again before placing a kiss light as air there. “When you’re done in here, you wanna come out to our bedroom and do one for me?”

Tony’s head falls back on his shoulder. His eyes are shining, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “You mean it?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.” It wouldn’t be right of him to dangle that offer in front of him only to snatch it away. He knows that Tony’s been dying to try out his routine on Steve for ages. He’ll be excited that Steve is finally agreeing. He doesn’t know what makes him say yes today, other than it’s a completely random day and on completely random days, he likes to surprise Tony with things, spoil him the way he should be.

Tony’s face lights up. “I’d like that,” he says and stretches up enough to kiss the underside of Steve’s jaw. “Go sit on the edge of the bed, I’ll be right out.”

It takes a few minutes before Tony pads out of the bathroom, silent in his socked feet, arms full of products. Steve’s eyes widen at the sight, and Tony chuckles.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Tony tells him, setting the bottles down beside him. “It’s not as scary as it looks.”

“Looks pretty scary,” Steve mutters.

“Hmm, well then, let’s see if we can make it a little better. Sound good?” Without waiting for an answer, Tony slides into his lap, straddling him. Automatically, Steve’s hands rise to his hips, both to steady him and because it’s a Pavlovian response. His hands aren’t the only parts of his body that know what it means when Tony straddles him, and he fights back a wave of embarrassment as his cock hardens against Tony’s ass. Tony, though, just laughs again and raises up a little higher on his knees to relieve the pressure on his dick.

“You can sit down, sweetheart,” Steve says. “I can behave.”

“I know you can. But this is a better angle for me anyway.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Tony assures him with a wink. “So sure.”

Steve relaxes as Tony pulls out a small white tub filled with some sort of cream. He closes his eyes as Tony gently dabs it onto his skin with his fingertips, rubbing it in in little circles. It’s oddly soothing, Tony’s calloused fingertips gentle on his skin.

“This is cleanser,” Tony tells him. “If you’re wearing any makeup, it helps break it down, but for you and me, we just use it to break down any larger dirt particles on our skin.”

“Are you going to follow that up by telling me which brand you recommend and to subscribe to your channel?” Steve asks dryly, reminded of the influencers Bucky keeps showing him so they can laugh at them.

Tony snickers, pressing his face against Steve’s shoulder for a moment. “I like to think I’m not as bad as that. For one thing, this routine is way shorter than theirs.”

“Yeah?”

“I assume when so many companies own your soul, you have to stretch out the routine so you can cram all those products in.”

Steve grins, hands sneaking under Tony’s shirt to rub against his bare skin. “Well, thank god that there’s only one company that owns your soul.”

“Hmm hurray for SI, I guess.”

Tony follows the cleanser up with an actual face wash, cleaning Steve’s face with as much care as he’d shown him during the cleanser. He doesn’t describe any of the other products, instead telling Steve about his day at SI, a much better place now that Stane is ousted and Tony has hired a new CEO instead. Steve likes Pepper a lot; he thinks she’ll be good for Tony, bringing some of his more fanciful ideas back down to earth. They’re working on a new water filtration system right now, a cheaper but higher quality alternative to the systems out right now.

In turn, Steve tells him about his own day, finishing up the last couple of classes he needs for graduation. He’s getting a degree in art therapy, intending to help kids the same way he was helped back when he was young and constantly sick. He just needs to finish two more classes and he’ll be set, ready to “go forth and save the day” as Tony puts it.

Tony’s movements start slowing down as he tires, his eyes taking longer to open each time he blinks. “Hey,” Steve says gently, catching Tony’s chin in his hands so he can look him in the eyes. “We don’t have to finish this now. We can do this tomorrow.”

“No,” Tony says sleepily. “We’re almost done.”

“You sure?”

He nods, and Steve lets him get back to what he was doing. Sure enough, Tony applies one more product to Steve’s face—“A moisturizer,” Tony tells him—and then stands back up, wobbling on his feet. Steve reaches out to steady him, hands lingering on Tony’s waist.

“How about I put all these away and you crawl into bed?” Steve suggests.

“You sure?” Tony asks, echoing Steve’s own words.

He nods. Tony really must be tired because he doesn’t even put up a fuss about making sure Steve puts the products back in their place—which is good, because Steve has no idea where they go. He just wants to get them put back in the bathroom and they’ll take care of putting them away properly tomorrow.

Tony is already mostly-asleep by the time Steve heads back into their bedroom, only his hair peeking out from under the blankets. He smiles at the familiar sight and turns out the lights, easily picking his way across their bedroom in the dark to settle into bed next to Tony, who curls into him as soon as he lays down.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he murmurs, closing his eyes.

Tony mumbles something and presses the lightest of kisses to Steve’s shoulder.

[kjmsupremacist]

(there’s no one) like you (yuta/taeyong)

REQUEST (closed atm, sorry, but opening soon!): from a gma stan 🥰 “a different plot not in the gma-verse but yuta's still the dom. i was thinking like an established relationship au and jealousy make up sex 👀 but like loving?? like still kinky sex but no slapping and stuff like that” (this is very late aaa im sorry!!!)

Characters: Taeyong, Yuta

Genre: oneshot, smut, pwp, non-idol au, established relationship

Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, vibrators, breathplay (kinda? just taeyong choking on yuta’s dick a lil what else is new), jealous/makeup sex (nontoxic lol), two husbands being very deeply in love ewwww

Rating: Explicit

Length: 5.9k

Taeyong sets a bowl of fresh water down for the cats and then straightens, stretching, as he glances over at the clock. Yuta is due back in a couple of hours. He better get started on dinner.

Taeyong’s pretty sure he was meant to be a housewife. He enjoys homemaking tasks, like cooking and cleaning and tending the garden. It’s simple and it’s sweet; he’s good at it, and he likes that it’s a nice way to show how much he loves his husband. 

Yuta has been gone for a couple of weeks, attending a variety of fashion shows and networking dinners and interviews and god knows what else. It’s the life of an up-and-coming designer, Taeyong knows, and worth it—but definitely busy. He’s finally coming home today, and Taeyong is so excited to see him. The one problem with filling the housewife role is that he often gets left behind, but he knows Yuta cares about him, and he always makes up for his absences with gifts and activities that Taeyong enjoys.

He waits for the water to boil, humming softly to himself. One of their cats, Kkulbbangi (named for her golden-brown fur and the perfect loaf shape she makes when seated), brushes up against his ankle, making a soft inquisitive noise.

“Appa will be home soon,” Taeyong tells her somewhat absently. “Don’t worry.”

Taeyong has his own career, sort of. He runs an ASMR-esque YouTube channel where he uploads soothing videos of himself doing daily chores, taking care of his pets, and tending his garden. In terms of money and glamour, it certainly pales in comparison to Yuta’s job. But it makes him happy, and gives him something to do when Yuta is away. Kkulbbangi is a fan favorite. She appeared in the background of one of his earlier videos, when he was mostly just a food channel, and the people demanded more of her. Now, the internet is quite familiar with all their pets. 

Taeyong keeps an eye on the clock as he cooks. Yuta’s plane will be landing soon; Taeyong has his ringer on so that he’ll know Yuta’s safe and sound as soon as he sends him a message. 

Taeyong wouldn’t call himself dependent. He just loves his husband a lot, that’s all—loves him fiercely and protectively and perhaps a little jealously, but he knows Yuta feels the same way, so it’s okay. Besides, he thinks it’s fair to want Yuta all to himself for a little while. Too many strangers have gotten to see too much of him lately, while Taeyong’s barely had a few phone calls. 

Dinner’s almost done when Yuta finally texts. Sorry, baby, the text reads. Be home soon. Things were a little crazy at the airport.

You okay? Taeyong sends back, trying not to be hurt. Yuta landed over an hour ago. Why did it take him so long to think to text him? If he’s almost home, it means he’s been in the car for quite some time. Did he forget? He said things were crazy, Taeyong chides himself. Stop being a brat.

Yeah, I’m fine, Yuta replies. Just fans and things, you know how it is. 

Taeyong does not, in fact, know how it is, but he nods to himself anyway and replies, okay. Hurry, then. I miss you.

I miss you, too.

Taeyong sighs, setting his phone aside and turning back to dinner. Their other cat, Princess, skitters into the room, and Taeyong watches fondly out of the corner of his eye as she challenges Kkulbbangi to a fight. Princess is a kitten, so Kkulbbangi bowls her over easily with a swipe of her paw. 

“Hey, be gentle with your sister,” Taeyong says, giving Kkulbbangi a severe look. Kkulbbangi blinks slowly at him, swinging her head back and forth between him and Princess, who has sprung back up to her feet. “And stay over there, please, both of you. Eomma has to carry some heavy things to the table.”

Taeyong delights in speaking to his pets like they can actually understand him. Sometimes he swears they can, though, because Kkulbbangi sits straight up and flicks her tail across Princess’s face to get her to stop playing. They watch him solemnly as he sets the table.

Just as he’s putting out serving spoons, he hears the key turn in the lock of their front door. Kkulbbangi and Princess run off to greet Yuta; Taeyong follows more slowly. 

“Hello, my angels.” He hears Yuta coo at the cats as the door clicks shut. “Where’s your mom?”

“I’m here,” Taeyong says quietly, coming around the corner and smiling when Yuta looks up from where he’s crouched over their two cats.

“Baby.” Yuta stands, stepping carefully around the cats and wrapping Taeyong in a tight hug. Taeyong closes his eyes, taking a deep breath of Yuta’s cologne. He pushes his nose into Yuta’s neck. “Hi,” Yuta says. “I missed you.”

“Missed you,” Taeyong echos, refusing to let go. “You were gone so long, I’m surprised the cats gave you such a warm greeting. When I’m gone longer than a day or two, they shun me.”

“Well, what can I say?” They pull back a little so they can look at each other. Yuta’s eyes are sparkling. “I’m irresistible, you know.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, even though he knows Yuta’s right. At least in this case. All he wants—all he ever wants, really—is to trap Yuta in bed with him and never let him leave. But first, he thinks, in a desperate attempt to reel himself back in, dinner.

Yuta leans in and gives him a sound kiss, startling him a little bit. Okay, Taeyong amends in his head. This first. Then dinner. Then trapping Yuta in our bed.

Yuta knocks his forehead gently against Taeyong’s when they break apart. “I love you. Do you know that?”

“Mm-hm,” Taeyong says. “I love you, too.”

“Do I smell food?” Yuta whispers.

Taeyong can’t help it; he giggles, twisting himself out of Yuta’s hold. “Yes, silly. Come eat before it gets cold.”

Dinner is everything Taeyong hoped it would be. The cats come to sit in the empty chairs at the table, purring softly. Their dog, a Maltese named Podo, comes to beg for scraps, which Taeyong of course gives to him amidst admonishment from Yuta.

Yuta offers to do the dishes, but Taeyong doesn’t let him. “You’ve been busy,” he says. “I’ll do them. It’s okay. Just stay and chat with me. How are you?”

Yuta smiles, settling back into his chair. “You’re too good for me, you know.”

“Don’t be silly,” Taeyong argues. “You know I kind of enjoy chores anyway.”

“I know, but still.” Yuta’s quiet for a moment. “But yes, I’m good. Tired, but good. It was so fun! I got to meet so many people, especially a few really important designers. And I got to see some old friends, so that was nice, too.”

Taeyong smiles as he scrubs a plate. “That’s good,” he says warmly. “You saw that American friend of yours, right? What’s his name again—Jack?”

“John,” Yuta corrects. “Johnny, if you’re trying to be cute, which I always am. And—oh!” His phone begins to ring. “Hang on, it’s people from work.”

“But—“ Taeyong doesn’t even know how to protest, really. It’s work. It’s important. But at the same time—Yuta was just at work. For two weeks. And he has to know that all Taeyong wants is to spend the next few days attached to his side—Taeyong assumed that’s what he wanted, too. 

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Yuta promises, giving him a quick hug and a kiss to his hair before he retreats into the dining room, laughing his greetings into his phone.

Taeyong finishes the dishes silently, trying to decide if it’s something worth being upset about. Ultimately, as he finally pours some dish soap into the compartment and starts the machine, he decides he is going to be upset about it. Yuta’s still on the phone, and Taeyong’s getting impatient.

He wanders into the dining room, where Yuta has pulled out one of the chairs. He’s grinning at the ceiling with his phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah,” he says. “I wish we had some more time together. Next time, next time.”

Taeyong taps him on the shoulder, and Yuta trains his blinding smile at him instead. He holds up a finger and mouths one minute, baby. 

Taeyong doesn’t have a minute. He makes a face at him, and sits himself down in Yuta’s lap, straddling his thighs and resting his chin on his shoulder. Yuta watches him curiously as he gets settled, but wraps his arm around his waist and holds him tight. It’s something, at least.

“Hey, listen,” Yuta says after a minute. Taeyong can hear the low murmur of whoever’s on the other end, but he can’t make out words. “Yeah, I gotta go.” He runs his hand up and down Taeyong’s back. “Yeah, it’s getting late, you know. But thank you for calling. It’s always good to hear from you, Jaehyun. Next time I find myself near you, I’ll make sure I leave a day free so we can spend some time together, yeah?” Taeyong frowns at the sweetness in his tone. “Yeah, I promise. Okay, talk later. Bye.”

“That was Jaehyun, the pretty model, right?” Taeyong asks. 

Yuta sighs softly. “Yes,” he says, setting his phone down on the table so that he can hold Taeyong with his other arm. “We only had a few minutes to talk after one of the shows before I was getting dragged away to my next flight. He called to make sure I got home alright.”

“Mm-hm.” Taeyong tries not to grumble it, but he doesn’t succeed. 

“What is it?” Yuta runs a hand through Taeyong’s hair. Taeyong can’t see him, but he can tell he’s pouting. “What’s wrong?”

“I just thought—“ Taeyong sits back, giving Yuta a somewhat doleful look. “I thought since we spent a couple of weeks apart that you’d be excited to see me, to spend time with me—that’s all.”

“I am,” Yuta says. A crease appears between his eyebrows. “Just, you know. There’s always a lot going on with these kinds of trips, a lot of things that follow me home.”

“Well, yeah—if it was your manager or one of those designers, I’d understand,” Taeyong says. “But Jaehyun? I mean—I know he’s your friend, it’s just—“ He takes a steadying breath, not sure how to explain. “I missed you.”

“Taeyong.” The crease between Yuta’s eyebrows deepens. “I know. I missed you, too, of course I did. And of course I’m excited. You’re all I’ve been thinking about.”

“Am I?” Taeyong asks sourly. “Or are you thinking about Jaehyun instead?”

“Taeyong!” Now Yuta looks hurt. “What do you mean?”

“Well, what am I supposed to think?” Taeyong defends. “You leave in the middle of a conversation with me to answer a call from him when you only got home just about an hour ago. And you talk for a while. And I know what he looks like, Yuta, I’ve seen plenty of pictures. He’s gorgeous.”

“Alright, stop it.” Yuta reaches up and brushes Taeyong’s bangs out of his eyes. “Listen. Jaehyun is a good friend of mine, but I am not interested in him for many reasons. First, and most obviously, I have you, so who else could I possibly bother wanting? Also, he’s still kind of young. Also, he’s got a fiancé. He’s a lovely guy named Sicheng. Also-also, I love the guy, but Jaehyun is, like, the strangest man I’ve ever met. Like, I’m not sure if his brain is made out of normal human brain, or if it’s actually just wires and circuit boards. He’s a sweetheart, and very kind, but I swear there’s some shit going on in that head of his that I want no part of.”

Taeyong makes an amused sort of noise in the back of his throat. “Okay,” he whispers. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Yuta says with a sigh. “I really shouldn’t’ve taken the call. I just felt so bad about not getting to spend any time with him when I was over there. But you’re right. I’m here with you, and you’re my top priority. Always, okay? It wasn’t nice of me—you spent all evening preparing a beautiful dinner for me, and did nothing but shower me with love since the instant I stepped in the door, and even did the dishes. And I basically ignored you. I’m sorry.”

Taeyong can barely meet Yuta’s eyes. His raw sincerity still knocks Taeyong off his feet, even after knowing him for ten years. But he nods. “I’m sorry, too,” he says. “I overreacted. I just—I don’t know, you didn’t text right when you landed, and I’ve been seeing pictures of you surrounded by beautiful, successful, powerful people, and—I don’t know, it makes me worried. Like, it’s not that I have something against your career or anything, but all those people get to look at you! All those people get to spend time with you, all your fans get to pretend that they know you. All of them watch you and talk to you and—and—sometimes I wish they couldn’t. Sometimes I wish it could just be me.” He looks down at his hands. “Which is insane, I know. Of course I could never actually wish that. But sometimes—sometimes I just want you to myself.”

“I know.” Yuta’s voice has taken on a dark sort of quality, and Taeyong chances a glance up. His gaze is intent and probing. “I know what you’re like, and I like that. You know I do.”

“Then prove it, prove that I was really all you were thinking about,” Taeyong challenges, jutting out his chin. 

Yuta smiles, sharp and dangerous. “What’s this?” he says slowly. “Is my husband jealous? Does my husband think I don’t care about him anymore?”

Taeyong smiles to himself, turning his face away so Yuta can’t see. “Maybe,” he replies.

“Guess we’ll have to do something about that, huh?” Yuta murmurs, and Taeyong feels his lips against his neck. 

“Guess you will,” Taeyong says, still not looking at him, hoping to goad him into something a little more dramatic.

Yuta hooks his hands under Taeyong’s thighs and stands; Taeyong barely swallows a squeak of surprise, scrambling to wrap his arms around Yuta’s shoulders, whipping his head back around to bury his face in Yuta’s neck. His stomach swoops low, partially from the shock, partially from the sudden movement, but mostly from the hot arousal that drips into his veins. 

Yuta carries him up the stairs and to their bedroom, where he finally sets Taeyong back down on his feet. Taeyong begrudgingly lets him kiss him, though he balls his fists in Yuta’s t-shirt, bending his wrists so he can dig his knuckles into Yuta’s collarbone until he’s certain it hurts. Yuta lets him, doesn’t even wince, just pulls away gently with a soft smile.

“I should probably shower first,” he points out. “Don’t want all my airport germs on the clean bed, do we?” Taeyong shakes his head. “Want to join me?”

Taeyong debates it in his head as Yuta gets undressed. On the one hand, it would be nice to deny Yuta for a while, maybe change into something pretty, but it would be denying himself, too. Besides, he was the one who’d just been complaining about not spending time together. So he nods.

Yuta starts the water, undressing without show, tugging his turtleneck off and swiftly undoing the buckle of his belt. Taeyong watches for a minute, dazed, until he remembers he’s supposed to be getting undressed, too. He hastily starts working on his jeans.

Soon, steam is floating out of the shower into the rest of the bathroom, and Yuta and Taeyong are both naked. Yuta steps into the shower, offering Taeyong his hand. He tugs him close, pulling the door shut behind them.

The steam undoes the careful styling of Yuta’s hair almost immediately. It droops and flattens as Yuta steps closer to the faucet, bringing Taeyong with him. Yuta reaches to the side to get his makeup remover.

“Hold this for me?” He hands the jar and lid to Taeyong, scooping some out on his fingers and rubbing it into his face. Taeyong watches wordlessly. It’s sweet, in a way. He gets to watch Yuta wash the outside world away, until he’s not Nakamoto-Yuta-the-hotshot-designer, but just Yuta. Yuta, Taeyong’s husband. Yuta, the boy Taeyong loves more than anyone or anything in the world.

Yuta scrubs his face clean, taking the jar back from Taeyong and putting it up with the rest of their toiletries. He leans in for a kiss, which Taeyong accepts half-heartedly. Yuta pouts at him when he pulls away.

“Still mad, are we?” he asks. “Gimme just a second.”

To his credit, he moves quickly, working shampoo into his hair and pausing to give Taeyong kisses whenever he can. It’s only after he’s mostly clean that he starts getting handsy, running his fingertips up and down Taeyong’s back the way he knows makes Taeyong’s leg’s turn to jelly. He kisses Taeyong’s jaw, his neck, his chest. Taeyong watches, trying to remain impassive.

“I’m sorry,” Yuta murmurs. Another kiss. “Very sorry. I’ve behaved terribly.” He wraps a hand around Taeyong’s cock; Taeyong inhales sharply. “Let me make it up to you.”

He reaches for the ledge again and Taeyong realizes he’s brought lube with him into the shower. “We could’ve just used water,” Taeyong points out.

“That’s not safe for your body!” Yuta frets, and Taeyong honestly isn’t sure how much of it is genuine and how much is for show. “I can’t be treating you like that after being gone for so long.”

“How do you plan to treat me, then?” Taeyong raises an eyebrow as Yuta squeezes out a dollop of lube.

“Nicely,” Yuta says. Taeyong highly doubts that, but that’s fine. “Let me show you? I promise I’ll make you feel good.” He comes up close; Taeyong can feel his breath on his skin. “I promise you’ll forget about everything else.”

Taeyong’s resolve cracks; he can never hold up against Yuta for very long, especially when he’s so hell-bent on being loving. He sighs and leans in to kiss him, really kiss him. Yuta moans softly, caught off guard.

He lets Yuta sneak a hand down between them, spreading his legs so he has better access. He feels one of Yuta’s fingers circling his entrance and he sighs, leaning into Yuta to help him relax. Yuta swallows the sigh, pressing his finger in. Taeyong’s body jerks involuntarily at the intrusion and he wrenches his mouth away from Yuta’s so he can lean his forehead against the ridge of fleshy muscle that makes up Yuta’s upper shoulder.

“You’re tight,” Yuta whispers in his ear. “Didn’t you get yourself off when I was gone?”

Taeyong huffs, hot, against Yuta’s skin. “I did,” he says. “But not—I didn’t finger myself or anything. It takes too long and I didn’t have time.” Yuta crooks his finger inside him and Taeyong has to pause to gather himself. “A-and I had to film a lot, you know, for my channel? So—ohh.” Yuta has added another finger, and the stretch burns. 

“I don’t mind.” Yuta’s almost crooning; he sounds mesmerized. His other hand is splayed flat on Taeyong’s back, holding him up and drawing him closer. “It’ll be like the first time again.” He noses at Taeyong’s hair as he pumps his fingers slow and steady, in and out. He kisses his temple. “Want me to pop your cherry, baby?”

“You didn’t take my virginity to begin with,” Taeyong protests, but he has to admit the idea is alluring. And he had said himself that no one else had fucked him like Yuta can. And Taeyong can go on about how virginity is a heteronormative construct made by men to control women—but that would require using his smart brain, and he put his smart brain away the instant Yuta walked in the door. His cock twitches at the thought of it—that Yuta is his first, his only, that Taeyong could belong so wholly to him.

“Let’s pretend,” Yuta is saying, and Taeyong moans as he brushes past his prostate. “You might as well have taken mine, anyway.”

Taeyong blinks. He shouldn’t be so surprised, considering they’ve been married for years and dated for even longer, but often it catches him off guard how often they find themselves on the same page. “What do you mean?” he asks quietly.

“There’s no one like you,” Yuta says, and Taeyong melts.

“And that’s why you could ignore me all evening?” Taeyong asks anyway.

“I’m not ignoring you now,” Yuta points out. Taeyong has to give him that. He’s already over it, really, he’s just giving him a hard time. Yuta adds a third finger, and Taeyong gasps, trembling as he tries to convince his body to relax. It’s not easy; his cock is brushing up against Yuta’s where their bodies are hovering so close together. 

Yuta is patient, even though Taeyong has to imagine his wrist is cramping from their position. Taeyong shifts his weight, slipping a little in the process. The movement causes Yuta’s fingers to slip deeper, and Taeyong whines. Yuta keeps them pressed up snug to his prostate, stroking against it until Taeyong is shaking. 

“What you said,” Taeyong pants softly, “about how I might as well have taken your virginity. It’s the same for me.”

Yuta’s pleased hum vibrates through Taeyong’s body. His fingers move faster; it makes Taeyong’s knees feel weak. Dizzily, he wonders if he can coerce Yuta into carrying him to bed after they’re done here.

“Yu-ta,” Taeyong slurs. “Gonna make me come.”

“Hold onto me,” Yuta says. Taeyong clings tight; the hand on his back disappears. He pitches forward, but Yuta’s sturdy body is there to catch him. Yuta wraps his free hand back around Taeyong’s cock, grip gentle, and begins jerking him off in time with his thrusts.

Taeyong goes up on his tiptoes to better accommodate him, burying his face in Yuta’s neck. He makes a very embarrassing noise, somewhere at the intersection of a sob and a moan, and comes in Yuta’s fist, quivering as he releases hot and wet on their stomachs. 

Yuta pulls his fingers out and lets go of his cock so that he can catch Taeyong when his legs give out completely. He kisses his shoulder, then his neck, then his cheek as he rights him, holding him close.

“Feel good?” Yuta asks softly.

“Yeah,” Taeyong breathes out.

“Like I promised.” Another kiss. “Am I forgiven? Are you satisfied.”

“Hm.” Taeyong pretends to think about it, eyes closed. “Forgiven, yes. Satisfied, no.”

“I should’ve known,” Yuta says, but Taeyong can hear the smile. “Let’s rinse off quickly, hm? I want to take you to bed.”

Taeyong leans into Yuta, forcing him to do all the hard work of cleaning his come off their bodies. Yuta doesn’t complain. He wraps a strong arm around Taeyong’s waist and rinses both of them, then guides him out of the shower to dry off. Taeyong keeps his limbs loose and heavy the whole time. I deserve it, he thinks to himself. He was the one who left me—me, his precious husband—all alone for two whole weeks!

Taeyong doesn’t even have to ask out loud. He raises his arms up and Yuta scoops him off his feet in an instant, carrying him the short walk from the bathroom to the bed. He lays him down, gentle, like Taeyong is made of glass, and kisses him soundly. When he straightens, he’s smiling. 

Taeyong gazes up at him. There’s a drop of water hanging off the simple silver hoops dangling on Yuta’s earlobes, sparkling in the warm light of their bedroom. His skin is smooth and soft; some of his damp hair brushes his eyebrows.

“What does my poor neglected husband want now, hm?” Yuta asks, tracing a finger down the center of Taeyong’s torso. 

“I dunno,” Taeyong says honestly. “Anything. Everything.”

Yuta smiles, pulling his hand away. “Okay,” he says simply, turning away from him. Taeyong lies quietly, waiting. He saw the look in Yuta’s eyes. He knows what he’s doing. 

He returns not a minute later. “Legs up, please.” Taeyong complies. He sees a flash of something shiny in Yuta’s hand, but then he’s distracted by Yuta’s tongue on the underside of his cock. He gasps, still sensitive, but Yuta relents before it actually becomes an issue.

There’s something cold pressed to Taeyong’s entrance, and then a plug slips easily into his hole. “Oh,” Taeyong chokes out. He pouts at Yuta. “You’re not gonna fuck me?”

“Not yet,” Yuta murmurs. He presses against the base of the plug, and it buzzes to life. Taeyong convulses with a yelp of surprise. Luckily, Yuta seems to be playing nice. He keeps it on the lower setting, drawing his hand away so he can crawl up next to Taeyong. 

He pets Taeyong’s hair lovingly as Taeyong adjusts to the new sensation, convulsions quickly dimming to shuddering, until he’s only shivering every few seconds, quiet.

“Yuta,” Taeyong mumbles. “Feel so full.”

“Too full?” Yuta asks, still petting him.

“Mm-mm,” Taeyong replies.

Yuta brings his hand down to Taeyong’s lips, offering him two fingers. “Not too full for my cock?”

Taeyong moans openmouthed, letting Yuta push his fingers inside. His wedding band is cool against Taeyong’s cheek. “Mm-mm,” he repeats around Yuta’s fingers. “Wan’ it.”

Yuta smiles. “Okay.” He lets him suckle on his fingers for a moment longer, then extracts them and wipes the spit on Taeyong’s cheek. It’s absolutely disgusting and it makes Taeyong flush. “Roll over, honey. Head in my lap.”

Taeyong does so gingerly. Yuta turns to him, opening his legs; Taeyong crawls to him on his elbows, mouth already open. He’s overwhelmed by the scent of their soap, the detergent on the sheets, and most of all, Yuta. 

Yuta feeds him his cock, running his hand through Taeyong’s hair as he sinks down on him, pressing his nose to the seat of Yuta’s stomach. He hears Yuta sigh above him and it fills his head with a sweet haze. The weight of Yuta’s cock in his mouth is soothing, almost, warm and heavy on his tongue. The head bumps against the back of Taeyong’s throat and he takes one deep, steadying breath.

“So good, honey,” Yuta says. Taeyong whines. Yuta’s hand is still in his hair, not necessarily to hold him there; it’s more possessive than it is directive. Taeyong bobs his head experimentally. Yuta’s hand follows the movement with ease, so Taeyong goes bigger, rising up to the tip of Yuta’s cock and then dipping back down. He gags wetly when he bottoms out, more for show than because his body actually needs it, and Yuta moans through closed lips.

He keeps up a steady pace until Yuta is panting. He holds Taeyong down when he has his face against his body, blowing out harsh breaths. Taeyong breathes thinly—it’s hard to get air in with his throat blocked off and his nose squished against Yuta—but he doesn’t mind. He forces himself to swallow wickedly, and Yuta moans low and rough, finally pulling Taeyong up off his cock. Taeyong lets his head loll to the side, resting his cheek on Yuta’s thigh and catching his breath. He’s mildly disappointed, really. He was kind of hoping Yuta would come in his mouth, or maybe on his face, and then again when he fucks him. But, he supposes, he’s probably tired. There’ll be plenty of time for that tomorrow.

The thrum of the vibrator has coaxed Taeyong’s cock back to life between his legs. His hips twitch of their own accord; he wants something to rub up against, but the friction of sheets will be too harsh. 

Yuta’s hand is on his jaw, his chin. “You’re drooling, honey,” he says breathlessly, almost laughing. “Want me to fuck you now?”

Taeyong whines, high and pleading. “Yes,” he says, trying to sound plaintive instead of desperate. “Yes, fuck me. Show me you missed me.”

Yuta cradles his head, shifting him to the side so he can get up out from under him. Taeyong rolls onto his back, wiping his chin with the heel of his palm. Yuta wasn’t lying. He was drooling. He can’t find it in himself to be ashamed.

Yuta lubes up his cock, then switches the vibrator off and pulls it out of Taeyong, tossing it to the side. Taeyong makes a little noise of complaint at the loss, and Yuta shushes him as he lines himself up with Taeyong’s hole. “Be patient,” he says.

He spreads Taeyong’s legs a little wider; it makes Taeyong feel exposed in the best way, vulnerable here on the bed for his husband. Yuta’s touches are gentle; he pushes in slow even though Taeyong’s been opened up quite sufficiently over the course of the evening. Taeyong hooks his ankles behind Yuta’s back once he’s seated inside of him.

The first time they slept together, Yuta fucked him like he was trying to carve out a place for himself inside Taeyong. It left Taeyong’s brain numb and his body aching, but whatever he did, it seemed to work. Yuta fits inside him perfectly now, filling him just right, so his head spins from the feeling of it without it being painful.

Yuta splays a hand on Taeyong’s chest, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. “God, you always feel so good, honey,” he says. “Like you were made just for me, hm?”

“Maybe I was,” Taeyong breathes. “C’mon, move.”

Yuta rolls his hips once, twice, and Taeyong grabs a fistful of sheets, arching up off the bed. “Maybe you were,” Yuta agrees. “Baby.” Taeyong opens his eyes to find Yuta staring back at him intently, expression laden with emotion. “I missed you.” He runs a hand up Taeyong’s side, hip to ribs. “Missed you so much. It felt awful sleeping alone.” Taeyong whimpers softly. “But what was worse was imagining you here, in our big bed, all by yourself.”

Taeyong grits his teeth as hot pleasure washes over him with each thrust of Yuta’s hips. “I was so lonely,” he says, almost accusingly. “Missed you.”

“Sorry about earlier tonight, really,” Yuta continues, sounding a little out of breath now. “I wanted you, you know. But I didn’t want to just throw myself at you, especially since you worked so hard on dinner, and—” He shakes his head. “So I was glad for a distraction, I guess. But I wanted you. I always want you.” He’s moving faster now, harder. Taeyong wraps his hand around Yuta’s wrist to ground himself. “Do you believe me now?”

Everything feels good, so good. Taeyong can barely think. “Yes,” he replies, trying to speak clearly around his heavy tongue. His voice sounds muffled in his own ears. He blinks, trying to keep Yuta’s face in focus. “Always believed it. Just—just wanted you to show me.”

“I know,” Yuta says quietly. “But I’m all yours, yeah?” Taeyong nods dumbly. “Just like you’re all mine.”

“Yuta,” Taeyong whispers. Yuta hits particularly deep on the next thrust, and Taeyong’s eyes roll back in his head. He feels Yuta’s lips on his neck and moans quietly. “Fuck, oh fuck, Yuta.”

“I love you, honey,” Yuta murmurs, over and over, against the warmth of Taeyong’s pulse. “I love you. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Taeyong manages, stuttering from the force of Yuta’s movements. One of Yuta’s hands has found its way to the back of Taeyong’s head; Yuta is cradling him close as he bites and sucks marks into Taeyong’s neck. “Love you so much,” he adds.

Yuta groans into his skin, going faster still. Taeyong’s jaw is slack, so his teeth click against each other as Yuta rocks into him, rough and so fucking sweet, and really, Taeyong never thought he’d be one of those people—the ones who have what the poets would call passionate sex, loving and intimate. Taeyong always liked it painful and harsh. He never thought he’d be able to get off with someone else any other way. But then he met Yuta, and now, at least sometimes, things are like this—him and Yuta, wrapped up tight in each other’s bodies, murmuring love into one another’s ears as their desire climbs.

Yuta’s mouth has found one of Taeyong’s nipples. He nips at it gently, his still-wet hair sending goosebumps scattering across Taeyong’s skin. He’s breathing hard, chest heaving. The hand that isn’t holding Taeyong’s head is gripping his ribcage, steady and sure. 

“Yuta,” Taeyong whimpers. “I’m gonna come.”

Yuta raises his head; his pupils are blown out and his eyes are glassy. His tongue darts out between his lips before he replies. “Then come, honey,” he says softly. “Come for me.” His hips keep moving smoothly as he stretches up to kiss Taeyong on the lips. “Come for me,” he repeats, quieter.

Taeyong lets his eyes flutter shut, opening his mouth a little so Yuta can push his tongue in past Taeyong’s teeth. He swivels his hips up to meet Yuta’s next thrust, and then heat sweeps through his body, and there are stars behind his eyelids, and he’s coming for a second time, splattering against his own skin as his cock twitches again and again.

Yuta stills inside him, still kissing him deep and messy, and Taeyong feels the warmth of his release inside him. He makes a punched-out kind of noise into Yuta’s mouth; it feels right, somehow.

Yuta knocks their foreheads together, panting quietly, eyes still closed. Taeyong watches him closely, tracing the blurry lines of his face. They’re silent for a few long moments, and then a smile creeps over Yuta’s face.

“Satisfied now?” he asks. His voice is hoarse.

“Yes,” Taeyong groans. “Help me up so we can rinse off. I can feel my come drying on my stomach, and it’s itchy.”

Yuta laughs, pushing himself up, pulling out, and quickly shuffling Taeyong off the bed and into the bathroom. They get cleaned up quickly, never straying too far from each other’s sides, and then Yuta runs downstairs to get them some water while Taeyong puts their bathroom back in order and turns off the lights.

Hydrated, sleepy, and content, they snuggle into their bed together. Yuta pulls him close, so that it’s unclear to Taeyong exactly where one of them ends and the other begins. They’re nose to nose, and Yuta’s eyes shine, even in the dark.

“Next time,” Yuta says quietly. “When I’m traveling, you can come with. If you want. I’ll help you film things for your channel beforehand so you can keep posting, and then you can come, come to all the shows and parties and things with me, and then we won’t have to be apart. And everyone will know who I belong to.”

His tone is earnest and a little shy. The love Taeyong has for him almost chokes him, and he struggles to reply. “I’d like that,” he says.

“Good,” Yuta hums. “So would I. And here, I’ll change the settings on my phone—” He reaches behind him; they both wince when the brightness of his screen stings their eyes. “I’ll change the settings so that only calls from my manager and my agent can come through, okay? And we’ll spend the next few days together. No one else.” Taeyong smiles. “Just us. And we can do whatever. Anything you want.”

Taeyong reaches up and pats Yuta’s chest. “Everything I want is already right here,” he murmurs, letting his eyes fall shut. Yuta’s laughter rumbles against his fingertips.

The last thing he remembers before sleep takes him is the feeling of Yuta’s lips against his forehead. 

[toovirgins]

November, 2001

Summary: George Harrison reunites with an old friend.

There was a chill in the air.

All but uncomfortable, it was still and cool and calm, his skin refusing to prickle up into chills. There was no wind, or rain—bright, but no sun. Just air, all around him, refreshing and energizing and soothing all at once.

His eyes were closed. As his body began to come into itself, familiar sensations tickled up his spine. The first thing he noticed was the press of his feet and backside on the ground—must have been sitting cross-legged—and the feeling of dry, rough linen under the fingertips that rested on his thighs. His skin prickled as it recognized the feel of the linen up his torso as well.

He shifted slightly, as if waking up from a deep sleep. There was a certain mindfulness in practice, hyper-aware of the environment of his body: the cool, smooth ground beneath him, the scratch of the clothing on his skin, the curl of hair against his ear, the tickle of a mustache on his upper lip. When did he grow a mustache?

Internally, he felt… warm, cozy, almost as though in a deep state of meditation. His mind itself was drowsy, though he hadn’t tried to assess the situation much beyond physical sensation. He didn’t feel the need to.

It was nice. Peaceful, really. George couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a strong mind-body connection during meditation. There was nothing that existed besides the present; he had no past, and there was no future. It was not one of those times where the mindfulness revealed some grand ethereal Wisdom, and thus it somehow contained more truth. It was nothing and everything all at once.

Rather than let him enjoy this newfound spirituality, a familiar voice (in familiar habit) drew him out of the trance.

“Never thought I’d see the likes of you again, mate!”

George languidly struggled to open his eyes, a half-fight as the voice dropped the silly tone and resorted to a short, sharp chuckle at his own antics. When the eyelids had finally pried themselves open and his vision focused, George frowned.

He looked like a picture, straight out of 1961. Standing before him, arms crossed as he bit his lip with childlike excitement at the reconciliation. George blinked, hardly believing the sight in front of him.

“John?”

“In the flesh,” he grinned. Then a pause. “Or, rather, anything but the flesh?”

John was in front of him, a quite young John, staring at him with a bit of a worried expectancy.

George’s stomach suddenly dropped.

His gaze flicked around the room wildly as unrestrained panic rose in his chest. They were in a room, though it wasn’t a room, just a dull white, not so much white as simply colourless, with no décor or wallpaper or flooring or furniture although somehow, he was now sitting in a chair.

He was dead.

John must have watched the color drain from his head, for he made his way over to where George was sitting and laid an uncertain hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, nothing mocking. Nothing to make a joke of. “Takes a minute.”

George suddenly remembered he’d been sick. It was feeding back into him, slowly, as if each thought trigged a new repressed memory. He’d been sick for some time now. Images of nurses and hospital and IV’s and the dread of going to “treatment” began to flood his mind, and he shuddered. He felt a stubborn powerlessness rise within him: yes, it had gotten progressively worse, but it was nothing the old chap couldn’t handle. He’d beat it once already. He’d been stabbed, for Chrissake.

How could this happen?

He thought of Olivia, and Dhani, and choked back a sob.

“I don’t want to be here,” he spluttered in a near-beg, his chest tightening in terror once more. “I can’t be here.”

John’s hand dropped to his side as he almost (almost) rolled his eyes. He held up an imaginary list with one hand, gesturing wildly at it with the other. “Join the queue of nearly every person ever.”

George felt a needle of annoyance shoot through the fear that was slightly ebbing away. He half-wondered if this was the acceptance people talked about in death: the strange inability to control your emotions, your body progressively growing used to the idea and the knowledge of your own helplessness.

“You could stand to be a bit more empathetic, you know. I’ve just died,” he reminded with sarcastic flair.

John smiled brightly at the twinge of normalcy in the expression.

The fear was almost entirely faded now, which struck a new worry in his mind. He couldn’t just surrender to this already—it would solidify it. Make it too true. But the more he thought about it, the more comfortable he became. Against his own will, George was growing in acceptance, knowing that he should be worried but unable to feel the pull of anxiety within him. In an exasperating tug-of-war, he fought between the poles of acknowledgement and fear, a vicious feedback loop that left him confused and exasperated.

Maybe curiosity didn’t mean surrender. Maybe he could test John for some of the millions of queries floating around in his head whilst still protesting the concept of his state.

John was staring at him with wonder, almost as if he was watching George’s mind work.

Here goes nothing.

George looked at him pointedly, raising the most pressing question in his mind. “Is this Heaven?”

John blinked, and George recognized the infamous John-trying-not-to-laugh-because-this-was-a-very-extremely-serious-situation expression rise to his face. “Yes, George. It is. Jokes on you, religion, because Heaven is just me, and you, in this room, and sometimes we play marbles or jack off.”

His face turned more serious at George’s scowl. He went for a Take 2, his voice much softer now. “No, actually,” he corrected, scratching his cheek. “I think it’s some sort of… Purgatory. Bardo.”

George’s chest felt odd. “Purgatory,” he repeated slowly.

“Purgatory.”

“I don’t understand.”

John clicked his tongue. “Again, love. The queue.”

“Purgatory,” George said again, softly, the words dripping with disbelief.

“The in-between,” John elaborated with a grandiose wave of a hand. “You die, you fuck around here for a bit, and if you’re lucky, you pass on.”

George couldn’t contain his curiosity. “To what?”

John’s features twisted into a strange expression. “I, erm… I don’t know.”

George’s face fell. Right. “Do you…” He began carefully, mulling over the taste of the words in his mouth and sussing out which were the least bitter. “Does time pass the same, then? Here?”

John shrugged indifferently. “You don’t notice it, really. There’s no days or nights—time is a construct, anyway. Haven’t thought about it since. There’s also no expectation, so no boredom. And sometimes I see old friends.” He finished with a signal in George’s direction.

George nodded, swallowing dryly. He doesn’t know.

How long it’s been.

John caught his eye, and George flicked his gaze away in an instant before he could catch on. But John was quick as a cat, just like in youth, and his mouth pressed into a firm line. “George?”

George shook his head.

“George?” His voice was strained now, his demeanor thrown by the unsettling responses. “How long has it been? In-in actual time.”

Wincing at the question he knew he’d elicited, George averted his eyes and spoke near incomprehensibly. “Twenty years.”

John looked dazed.

After a long beat of silence, he snorted dryly. There was nothing humorous in the sound. “Suppose they’re still tryin’ to figure out what to do with me, then.” He paused. “For Chrissake, I already apologized in ’66.”

Neither man laughed at the joke. It was quiet for a long time.

“So.” John interrupted the stretch of silence, rather loudly, startling him. He clapped his hands together. “How’s Rings?”

George felt strangely hollow at the mention of his best friend. “Good. Married again, not long after you—” He stopped himself, unable to finish the sentence. It was still hard to wrap his mind around, all these years later. Even now, that John was standing in front of him, chipper as the day they’d first met (more so, perhaps). Even now, that they were both… “After you.”

“Is he?” John looked surprised, curious. “What’s she like?”

“Name’s Barbara. Ritchie made a film in ’81 called Cavemanand they met on the set. He really loves her. Oh, she’s fantastic,” George asserted, wishing John could have been there, needing John to have been there.

“Watch it,” John warned, his voice light and teasing.

George scowled.

John pushed his shoulder playfully, and George slumped further into the chair, defeated. As John’s laughter died down, George looked up at him and watched in fascination as the man did a complete 180.

The smile melted from his face, and a chill fell over the room.

“I—m…” John cleared his throat, offering the ground a watery smile. “I miss Paul.”

George was suddenly standing knee-deep in the ocean. Nothing in the room was different besides the knowledge that the water on the floor was Pacific. John was there still, only further away now, feverishly blinking the tears away with that desolate smile on his face. Before George could call out to him, comfort him, he turned back towards the expansive sea only to be confronted with a fifty-foot wave.

The breath was knocked from his chest as the wave crashed down with full force, heart shattering on impact. He let out an involuntary gasp at the sudden rush of pain that washed over his chest and began to stumble backwards, tears burning in his eyes. There was no water, no wave, and he was still standing, dry as a bone, but the sensation was all the same. Panic began to rise in his throat, blinded by an incomprehensible catalogue of torment, longing, anger, desperation, heartache. Every excruciating emotion simultaneously wrecked his being, coupled with the strangely overpowering feeling of raw, unabashed love.

John caught his arm, quickly pulling him into a hug. George hadn’t realized that he was close again, and gripped him tightly for fear of having him drift away with the tides that were no longer there. Tears streamed down his face as John stroked soothingly at his hair, muttering sweet comforts and apologies over his head.

“I’m sorry, fuck, mate, I’m sorry,” he babbled, trying to squeeze away George’s trembling sobs. “It works like that here, sometimes. Christ, I’m sorry. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

George sniffed, feeling like a child as he pressed closer into his friend’s body. “Works like what?”

John tensed a bit, though George couldn’t understand why. He spoke slowly, sure but hesitant in his explanation. “Emotions. They’re… different. It’s sort of like all that Hare Krishna unity bullshit—” George wrinkled his nose. “—and whatnot, the whole ‘collective unconscious’.”

George frowned at the implication, taking a tentative step back. “You mean…”

“Feel each other’s emotions, you can,” John answered without missing a beat. He spoke plainly, as if he’d explained this away hundreds of times before. “But there’s a historical aspect, too, that part I don’t quite understand. It only happens sometimes.” His eyes lit up as his voice quieted, mumbling to himself more so than George. “Maybe they had to have been there at the time? ‘Cause of the thing with Elvis…?”

George looked up at him in shock, ignoring John’s musings. “That was you? All that?”

John offered him a lopsided smile.

George’s heart began to pound in wild misunderstanding. He’d always known, of course, that John and Paul had that “special connection” that whisked them away to an entirely different reality. He’d grown up an outsider, watching in on the world’s most famous duo and feeling just like anyone else, at times. His stomach felt queasy and slightly bitter at the thought that perhaps he hadn’t even known the half of it.

All that for Paul?

He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to comfort John. John’s pain was gone now, replaced by only a dull ache, causing George to shudder at the idea of his mate going through that alone all those years ago.

“Paul’s… good,” he said, slightly unevenly. It felt like a good place to start.

John looked up at him quickly, his eyes both intrigued and desperate. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” George smiled. “He came to visit me. Not long…” His breath caught. “Not long before this.”

“I saw Linda,” John said quietly.

An image flashed in George’s mind of John in the very same room, sitting in a cushioned chair. In the vision, his eyes flicked up from the book in his hands, and he did a double-take, uncrossing his ankle from his knee and sitting up abruptly. Somehow, George knew that he was Linda, seeing John through her eyes. He—Linda—offered John a welcome, familial smile, and George noticed the portfolio of expressions on John’s face as the two radiated towards one another with emotions that George could not feel. And then—nothing.

In front of him now, John shifted uncomfortably, and George tried to get his bearings in the present once more. “She didn’t stay long.”

“It was hard,” George agreed, still trying to shake the vision. “She was the love of his life.”

John nodded, avoiding his eyes.

“He never stops talking about you.”

A beat. “I never stop thinking about him.”

Something passed between them. George wished he could go back in time and relive every Beatle moment together with this newfound information. Suddenly, as if they hadn’t before, things made sense: Paris, the LSD trips, India, the breakup. The songwriting feud. Yoko.

He understood now, that it was a complicated love that surpassed the boundaries of typical labels: no dating or marriageor sex, neither platonic nor romantic. There was a lust, but it was different than any other attraction George had experienced; it was motivated, driven by something much larger than himself. None of it was a means to an end—simply living, appreciating one another, taking it day by day until it imploded and rained down on them like a meteor shower, the disastrous aftermath of planned obsolescence. A love like that could never be.

George felt eager to change the subject.

“Have you seen lots of people passing through, then?” His gaze twitched away to offer the barest amount of privacy as John’s hand came up to quickly swipe a stray tear.

“Um, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “You’d never believe—Elvis was here, when I first got here, which was right thrilling. We talked about everything under the sun for who-knows-how-long, but he left too not long after.” He nodded. “Linda. Some lads from school. Real nice chap named Freddie. He and I made a song together, though I can’t remember it now. He was in that up-and-coming rock group, the one on the tail end of the Beatles.”

“Queen,” George corrected, fascinated.

“No, that’s not it. I wanna say… Oh, you know who was a pleasure?” John switched onto this entirely new track, never missing a beat. “I met some psychologist. Taught me all about these fab concepts like behaviorism and operant conditioning and all that. I’d heard about his book, but I hadn’t read it until I met him. Verbal Behavior, is what it was. Real smart guy.”

“Do you see everyone?”

John thought for a moment. “No, certainly not. People die every minute. I’d be dreadfully overwhelmed.”

George smiled. “That is true. Lucky I showed up here, then.”

John returned the grin, almost sadly. “Yes, but you won’t stay long.”

George felt the strangest urge to reach for John’s hand. He suppressed it. “I want to.”

John shook his head. “You’re a good person, George.”

There were a lot of things to say in response. You are too, Johnny. I’m not a good person. We’ve both done some shit. ‘Good person’ is an arbitrary term because we are not our actions, so it wouldn’t matter, even.But nothing felt quite equipped to rival the emptiness of John’s eyes, so he said nothing.

“What do I look like, Geo?” He asked suddenly, staring a hole in George’s head with newfound curiosity.

The question caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

John waved a hand dismissively as if it were the most normal question in the world. “Come on now, what do I look like?”

George just blinked. “Like… John.”

With a roll of eyes, John reached out and twirled a finger around the tip of George’s mustache. “You’re all Pepper-like. What about me?”

It suddenly occurred to George that this was not how John always looked, and hadn’t been for nearly forty years. He shifted a bit, startled at the realization. “Oh! Erm—Hamburg. Like we’d just stepped out of Top Ten.”

John grinned and stepped back. “Fascinating, isn’t it? It’s always different. That one, I can’t figure out. I first realized when Freddie asked why I looked like ’74 instead of when I died. I couldn’t give him an answer, on account of I hadn’t even realized that fact.”

George laughed, though it wasn’t funny. There was a giddiness bubbling up in him, mirroring the excitement with which John talked. He felt so bizarrely thrilled that his fingers began to tingle, and he chuckled at that too. The feeling rivaled that of a limb falling asleep, and he mindlessly shook his hand to quiet the growing sensation.

John’s face immediately fell.

George’s stomach dropped at the sudden change of pace. “What?”

His eyes were shining when he spoke the plea to anything that would listen. “No, please,” he muttered, lip trembling. Shaking fingers reached out to grasp at George’s bicep. “Not—not yet, I’m not ready—”

George’s heart hammered in his chest, hardly able to hear himself speak over the blood rushing in his ears. The tingle had snaked its way up his forearms now, and a similar feeling started in his toes. “John, John, what is it? What’s going on?”

“George, please don’t go. Please. This isn’t—it’s not long enough, I need you, I need more time, Geo…” The words trailed off, and a tear fell from each eye as John pulled him into his arms as if that could keep George there. As if he could save them.

George slowly started to understand, swallowing the alarm at John’s frantic reaction. He was going to pass on, to leave John behind just like everyone else in his life. But this was a different kind of departure. It was not Julia’s absence, Mimi’s coldness, Paul’s Linda. It was not even Uncle George’s death, or Brian’s death, or even Julia’s death. At least, those times, he could find someone, something new to latch on to.

George would have felt pity for the man if not for the immense heartbreak, the indescribable pain of watching John come emotionally undone before him.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, blinking as a falling tear graced his own face. He felt oddly in control of the situation, despite seconds away from venturing into the greatest Unknown of all Unknowns. “Shh, John, it’s all right. Listen, we got to do this, didn’t we? We got to talk. And laugh. Just like old times, right?”

John’s voice broke. “I love you, Geo. Don’t go.”

They both knew it was a fruitless request.

George gripped him a bit harder in the embrace, feeling with hopeless acceptance as the tingling feeling reached his shoulders and began to pour down his back. He spoke the only thing that would come to mind.

“I’ll see you,” he whispered, a promise tainted by his own fearful tears slipping onto John’s shoulder.

John’s arms tightened around his waist. “I’ll see you,” he repeated.

[winterscaptain]

long shot.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic - no context required

a/n: this is in response to this ask in kind of a loose way, and also fulfills kiss prompt #6 (on a falling tear). i sat down and wrote this all in one sitting this weekend and it makes me smile SO MUCH. tell me what you think! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it :) this one takes place in au!december 2012

words: 2.3k warnings: alcohol use/mention, allusions to sex, language

summary: “i couldn’t have dreamed you into existence because i didn’t even know i needed you. you must have been sent to me.” - kamand kojouri

It’s a rare early night off in December and you all make the ill-advised choice to go to the bar closest to the base for some drinks and dancing, completely forgetting that academy graduation is tomorrow. 

There’s part of you that feels aged by the whole thing. Even newly-minted agents your own age look fresh-faced and about a decade younger than you feel. 

When you all walk in, there’s a bit of a hush, a lull, in the conversations around you. You find eyes on you from all directions and realize your faces are familiar ones, and in the case of Aaron and Dave, almost-famous ones. 

Aaron pulls you further into him, almost shielding you with his body as you navigate through the crowd that parts before you. It seems like an eternity before you find a table, but Derek, Aaron, and Spencer hold down the fort while the rest of you manage drinks. Strategic postings at either end of the bar is likely going to get you the best return, so you fan out accordingly. 

It’s unsurprising in the least when the bartenders make a beeline for you all, getting your orders down and drinks started over the shouts of NATs - many of them already blasted with three or four shots under their belt. 

While you wait, you can still feel a fair few pairs of eyes on you. You meet one pair, set in the face of a rather handsome new agent about your age. He smiles at you, and you shift your eyes away from him, your expression unmoving. 

He apparently takes that as invitation enough. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot him as he winds his way to your side. 

You meet Aaron’s eyes across the room, and there’s a smile in them. You offer the smallest twitch of your lips and a wink. Watch this. 

Oh, I’m watching, his eyebrows say. 

“Hi.” The young agent finally reaches your side and offers his hand. You take it. “Agent Mark Sullivan.” 

You smile thinly and introduce yourself. “So, I take it you’ve just received an assignment?”

He laughs, making an attempt at charm. “Alright. You’re a profiler,” he says with confidence. “What gave me away?” It’s a challenge.

It’s also a long shot. A really really long shot. 

There were plenty of people in the vicinity that would be reeled in by his warm smile and handsome jawline, but your fine man (currently sprawled back in his chair with an arm on the back of the chair and a hand over his mouth to cover his smile) stands head and shoulders above the rest, sometimes literally. 

“Well,” you start, making a show of eyeing him from head to toe, “Your papers are still in your pocket and you’ve left your ID tag on, against academy and bureau regulations.” 

He startles and snatches it off his lapel, tucking it into his pocket. 

With a little smile, you soothe his embarrassment - it’s a play only designed to endear yourself to him. “It tells me you’re proud, excited. I felt the same way when I received my assignment and credentials. It’s a significant accomplishment.”

You can’t quite tell in the irregular darkness in the room, but he looks almost like he’s blushing. “Thanks.” He collects himself after a moment, putting his bravado back on. 

Your eyes flicker to Hotch once, twice. He’s still watchful. Amused. 

“So, I was lucky enough to see your lectures with the BAU and I must say...it’s impressive.” 

He says that like it’s some kind of validation. 

I need validation from this clown like I need a hole in the head. 

“Thanks. I’m usually rather modest, but I think it’s alright to say the BAU is a very fine unit.” If you’re honest, you’re talking about one particular unit chief’s...um...unit, specifically, but that’s neither here nor there.

He smirks. “What would you say if I told you I got a placement on one of the BAU teams?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Really? That’s quite the accomplishment.” A pair of arms wind around you and a kiss is pressed to your temple. 

It would also be a lie.

You smile and flip in Aaron’s arms, completely ignoring poor Mark. “I was just getting you a drink,” you explain, gesturing vaguely to the bar behind you. 

“I see. Did you get me -”

“Double scotch, neat, aged at least fifteen years? Yes, sir.” 

He smiles. “You know me so well.” 

“I sure do.” You pull him down by his tie and plant a firm kiss on his lips and shove him off with a smile. “Go. Sit. I’ve got it.” 

You turn back to Mark with a breathless sort of laugh. Aaron always makes you feel a little flushed and you’re happy to play it up for the benefit of the moment. “Sorry about that.” 

Mark, you find, is reconsidering his strategy. His face, while still outwardly warm, harbors a kind of calculated look to it that would almost be funny if you weren’t so eager to see what kind of trick he’d pull next. “So, Hotchner?”

“What about him?”

Mark shrugs. “I dunno. Doesn’t he have a kid?”

You nod. “Yep.” 

“And he’s a widower, right?”

“Yes.” 

Mark laughs a little. “Wouldn’t it be kinda nice to, I dunno, have some fun for a little while?”

You frown at him, and your drink arrives at the hands of the frazzled bartender. You pull the fifty from your sleeve and pass it to him with a smile. After a sip, you ask. “What do you mean?”

“It seems like a lot to take on, you know?” He backpedals upon seeing your squint. “I mean, I’m sure he’s a great guy, but wouldn’t it be nice to have someone...I dunno -” He restores his confidence and leans on the bar. Again, his moves would probably work on someone else, but you were a lost cause. “- easier?”

Aaron’s scotch arrives. You pick it up in your free hand and shrug somewhat breezily. “Maybe.” 

You brush past him, leaving Mark a little confused and a bit stunned. When you return to the table after much jostling, you take a seat right on Aaron’s lap and pass him his drink, reclining in his arms. Scanning over the crowd, Mark’s frowning face sticks out like a sore thumb and you try not to look too smug. 

Other than Rossi, the rest of the team is already out on the dance floor, so you know Aaron doesn’t mind having you close. 

He sets his scotch down and wraps his arms around you kissing the underside of your jaw. You lean into his touch and smile. 

There’s nothing easier than this. 

+++

There’s something a bit sulky about Aaron when you settle next to him in bed. You squint at him, looking for his eyes as they follow the loose pattern on the bedspread. 

“Hey.” You bump his shoulder with yours. “What’s on your mind?” 

He shakes his head a little, still not meeting your eyes. “Nothing. Just thinking.” 

With a roll of your eyes, you throw the covers off and sling a leg over him, straddling his thighs. You tap your palms on his pecs on-beat with your begging. “Come on. Tell me tell me tell me tell -”

“Jesus, alright!” He cuts you off with two hands over yours, his thumbs running fondly over your knuckles. “I just…” He huffs, already a little frustrated with himself for feeling put out. 

You slide your hands out from underneath his, running up over his collarbones and shoulders to find the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I couldn’t help but overhear…”

You let all your breath out in a huff. “Oh, Aaron. He’s a stupid NAT who knows the only way to come after you is to come after your history.” You kiss his cheek and tuck into him. “He was trying to be a big-dick boy and it didn’t pay off for him.” 

There’s a halfhearted laugh from underneath you, and his hands wander across your back. “He is right, though. It would be easi-”

“If you say ‘easier,’ Aaron Hotchner, I’m going to lose my shit.” 

He sighs, and you pull back, tipping his chin up with a finger. 

“Hey. I love Jack. He is not an added weight in my life. He does not make my life harder in any way. Your son,” you emphasize with taps on his lips, “is the light of my life and I wouldn’t ever want to be without him.” 

Aaron’s eyes get a little misty. For his sake, you ignore it and continue. 

“I never feel like a replacement for Haley. I’ve never once minded leaving room for her in our lives because she’s my friend and I love her and I love you. I loved you before we lost her and I’ve loved you long after. This baggage keeps my feet firmly planted on the ground.” 

Aaron takes a deep breath, and his voice has the smallest of wavers when he speaks. Before he even starts, you concede to let him share what he’s feeling, if only to rebut it. “But you could - you could have so much. You could have someone ten or fifteen years younger who - I don’t know - could do things with you that thirty-somethings do. You wouldn’t have to spend your weekends at soccer games or your evenings rubbing Icy Hot on my bad knee or dealing with me on rough pain days or raising your voice because I can’t hear shit on my right side.” 

He shakes his head, and you brush the tears that fall with your thumbs. “You could have - You deserve, so much more...” The rest of his words go unspoken, but you hear them anyway. 

You deserve so much more than me.

Your eyes sting and you blink rapidly, letting your tears wet your lashes. Leaning forward, you kiss away his remaining tears, shifting your weight to wrap your legs around his waist and get as close as you can. 

With your head on his left shoulder, you whisper, “Aaron, I don’t want someone ten or fifteen years younger. I don’t care what I’m doing on my evenings and weekends because I get to spend them with you.” 

You pause for a moment. “And, I don’t need boys. I’m done with boys.” 

You lean back, looking him square in the eye, or at least trying to. “I have a man who has silver in his hair because he worries and is in his mid-forties and it doesn’t fucking matter. I have a man who is the subject of so many crushes and fantasies at the academy it makes me want to vomit.” You laugh a little at your own joke, but he’s still focused on the seam of your shirt at your collar. Changing gears, you bring your hands to the sides of his neck, feeling his pulse jump under your thumbs.

“I have no need for boys because I have a man who treats me with kindness and respect. A man who is thoughtful, who isn’t afraid of himself. A man who knows himself, who loves his son, who invited me into his life when he didn’t have to because he’s brave.”

A couple more tears fall down your cheeks and you frame his face with your hands. “You love better and more courageously than anyone I have ever known.” 

You sniffle a little. “Aaron, honey...I love you. I wouldn’t want anything else, or anyone else, for my life, to be my partner, my best friend, the person I love. Odds have it that you’ll be my husband and the father of any other kids we might acquire and that we’ll grow even older and grayer together.” 

You let a little facetious smirk cross your lips. “And I’d like you to look at me and tell me I’d be happy with some dickhead named Mark with a business degree who wears shoes well-outside his pay grade.” 

That does it. 

Aaron smiles and pulls you to him with a hand at the back of your head. Your lips meet and you can taste the saltwater, but it doesn’t matter. 

He pulls back to look at you, and he really looks at you. His eyes roam hungrily over your face as if trying to memorize every line and curve and lash and budding wrinkle he finds there. 

You simply melt in the dark brown of his eyes, watching him take his time. 

Even then, as you expected, there is some doubt - not in you, of course, but in him. “Really?”

“Really.” You hold up your fist between your faces, pinky extended. “Pinky promise.” 

He smiles a little and links your pinkies together, twisting your hands to kiss your knuckles. Your hands drop into your lap and another little smile crosses your face. 

“What?” He asks.

You shrug. “I’m also thinking about how thirty-something-year-old boys absolutely suck in bed. I can pretty much guarantee that you’re better at - well, just about everything.” 

He closes his eyes and smiles, looking the picture of a happy house cat in the sun. You draw closer, running your nose along his. He leans toward you and captures your lips again. 

The next few hours? Don’t worry. They’re spent proving your point.  

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101 @kerrswriting @mac99martin @itsalwaysb33nyou

[lizbotw]

Oikawa, Akaashi, Kuroo, Kenma, and Nishinoya With a S/O that Has a RBF and Can Be Moody

Anonymous said:

Hi! Can you do Oikawa, Akaashi, Kuroo, Kenma, and Noya with an S/o that has a resting bitch face and gives off a strong “dont talk to me” aura when moody or tired?

hey! these took me a while to finish so i hope you like them ♡

Oikawa Tooru

He’s used to people praising his personality, all sweet words and thoughtful gifts. What he wasn’t used to was someone other than Iwaizumi blowing a fuse in response to his actions, especially if it was over something miniscule.

You had forgotten your water bottle in the gym after your daily P.E. class, but with your lunch period having already passed, you had no choice but to wait until the end of the school day to go pick it up, lest you get scolded by a teacher for “skipping class” and going to do something deemed “unnecessary” during their precious class time.

And so you impatiently waited out the last few classes of the afternoon before you hurried to the gym, hoping that no one had moved your bottle. (If you had to go run to the lost and found because someone had placed it there, you swore you would just about scream—you were tired and wanted to go home, plus the extra time spent going on a wild goose chase for the object meant you might actually miss your ride home if you didn’t hurry).

You shoved open the gym doors unceremoniously���after-school sports clubs were already gathering in the room for their pre-practice warmups—and you kept your eyes focused on the area in front of you, wanting to get in and out quickly.

You squinted a little at the familiar shape in your line of sight. Ah! There it is. In the distance you could make out your water bottle resting upon the same bench you had left it on, and you jogged over to it, swooping it up and slinging your backpack down and off of your shoulders in one movement. Your bag landed on the bench with a thump and the hiss of the zipper when you tugged the main compartment of the bag open were all you were focused on.

While you were shoving around a few books in your bag, trying to make room to squeeze the water bottle in, you failed to notice the intense stare you had earned from one of the very sports players you had ignored on your way in.

“Hey! Can I help you?” A chipper, smooth voice was the culprit.

You whirled around at the sound, water bottle half shoved into your already overcrowded bag.

Just your luck. The infamously chatty Oikawa Tooru had been the one to seek your company the one time you were actually in a rush. Resident pretty boy and captain of the volleyball team—of course you knew who he was.

His smile was charming and even in his normal workout clothes, you had to admit he still looked good.

And you also had to admit that while any other day this would have been a great conversation to have, right now you were so over it.

You ignored his attempt at conversation and focused on finishing up here and leaving, turning back to your bag and silently praying for the water bottle to just go in.

He was taken aback by your lack of response, but, never one to give up, he tried again.

Next to you on the bench, he gently placed down the small towel he had slung over one shoulder, along with his own water bottle, looking at you out of the corner of his eye as he set them down—he kept his grin on, although it was beginning to waver at your lack of reaction.

“This is the volleyball bench, so that’s why I was wondering if you needed something. We don’t usually let people stay and watch us practice, but you know, I’m feeling generous today so if you want to-”

You straightened up, backpack now firmly placed over your shoulders and water bottle secure inside. Your eyebrows had furrowed into an annoyed expression out of habit and thus an involuntarily glare was given to the captain. “Yeah, no thanks. I’ve got to go,” you mumbled, barely feeling like talking—seriously, how could someone have so much energy after school?

Oikawa watched as you left the same way you had come, confused and slightly appalled by your behavior. It took Iwaizumi giving him a firm punch to the arm and an order to “get back to stretching, dumbass, I’m not dealing with you pulling a muscle later and whining, I fucking swear,” to get him to go back to work.

Your interactions were minimal much of the time, but as though fate drew you together, you found yourself having many more similar interactions with the captain, much to your dismay. You didn’t hate him per say, but you definitely couldn’t stand his radiant, flirty personality when you already felt half-asleep after a long day.

First it was your friend leaving their water bottle in the same place you had and them begging you to go get it and give it to them first thing when you saw each other tomorrow because they had to go home right after school today for some reason.

Next it was someone forgetting their phone and you offering to go get it because they had done you a favor that one time a few weeks ago and you wanted to return it.

Then it was a whole textbook (what are you even doing with a textbook in the gym anyway?).

The cycle went on and on, and each and every time Oikawa was there, you used to his cliche conversation starters by now. It became a sort of routine, a game, and when your brain was clear from the throes of sleepiness later, you would mull over the interactions and realize that you actually enjoyed them.

It was quite the shock for Oikawa when he ran into you during lunch one day and you were bubblier than he had ever seen you (you were still filled with energy after a long night’s rest and school hadn’t sapped all of your vibrancy for the day just yet—plus you were excited that it was lunchtime), even being greeting him enthusiastically with a “Hey, Oikawa!” and waving to him when he had called out to you (he expected you to ignore him so he was frozen in shock for a moment at your display).

At some point, lunchtime hangouts between the two of you became the new routine, and from there the routines slowly continued to change and evolve until you two were miraculously dating. (The new routine was now stopping by the gym after school, even if you hadn’t forgotten anything there, to give him a goodbye kiss and a “Good luck with practice, babe!” before you headed home. The alternative routine was that you finally took up that offer he had made on that very first day about you staying to watch practice, and afterwards he would walk you home, you two stopping in a convenience store to buy ice cream before you got far. You both seemed the enjoy the latter a lot more.)

Oikawa, observant as he is, figured out that you become “pouty” when you were tired (you were sitting on his bed and doing homework with him when he announced that as though it was some sort of profound realization, and you hit him overhead with a pillow because why did you just described it like that, Tooru???).

He’s pretty good about giving you space when you need it, although most of the time, even if you’re sleepy or upset and don’t want to deal with anyone, he’s still liberal with the affection he gives you, knowing that you secretly love the attention. He just has to look past your sharp words to see what you really want and at this point you’re pretty sure he’s a mind reader.

When you’re not feeling tired and overworked, he knows you can actually be pretty sweet, so if he sees you staring off into the distance, your not-so-neutral resting face on, he’ll absolutely annoy the hell out of you because once you crack that million dollar smile? He’s done for (but he likes the pain of his heart beating wildly around you so it’s okay).

He’s just an absolute sucker for how angry you look most of the time but how you’re simultaneously the most supportive person he’s ever met underneath it all (in some ways it reminds him of Iwaizumi, although you’re less… prickly than Iwa seems to be much of the time; that and you don’t throw volleyballs at his head whenever he messes up a play during practice—most of the time that is).

Akaashi Keiji

The literal calmest couple ever that simply likes to stick to themselves—that’s the initial impression many have of you two.

That couldn’t be further from the truth though. Despite your outward appearance, you were quick to crack smiles around just about anyone (you got along well with Bokuto for this very reason), and Akaashi had proven to be unexpectedly playful at times as well (it was mostly around you and his team though, so that side of him was relatively unknown).

Akaashi wasn’t put off by how you appeared at all—that sort of thing didn’t really matter to him—and the faithful pairing up of you two together for a group project finally gave you the opportunity to talk.

He’s generally good with dealing with just about anyone, so while he was surprised once you started talking his ear off about the project, outwardly he didn’t so much as bat an eye, simply listening to you ramble on and responding when appropriate.

Once you two are together, quiet evenings become common, you most likely laying on his chest and scrolling through your phone while he holds a book above his head, the only noise being the flipping of the pages. Evenings like those are exactly what you need when you’re feeling overworked and want to snap at just about everything, and Akaashi is quick to soothe you—with even just a few words from him you can already feel yourself feeling better.

He secretly takes pride in the fact that others may look at your moodiness and intimidating appearance and shy away, meanwhile he’s able to actually understand you (also he has experience with Bokuto so literally just hit him with all you’ve got).

Together you two can seem pretty intimidating and unapproachable, but you also look cool as hell walking through the hallways side by side so it’s a necessary sacrifice.

Akaashi picked up the habit of taking pictures of you when you’re not looking because you look amazing with your neutral face and fierce expression, but also when you’re joking freely with him, eyes screwed shut and mouth open as laughter spills out, you’re simply stunning. He likes the duality and sees something poetic in it because of course he does.

He loves looking through his camera roll sometimes and just scrolling and seeing you simply minding your own business and looking out the window in one picture, but then getting up to all sorts of trouble in the name of fun in the next.

He’d probably be embarrassed if you found out, although he quickly realized that he also likes to show you the pictures sometimes so you can see yourself exactly how he sees you, and you have to admit that some of the shots are breathtaking with how he seems to capture you in the perfect way (the lightning, background, and of course you all look amazing because he’s Akaashi and to him every detail should be just right, especially if it involves you) and when the pictures are paired together with the others, the contrast jumps out and you have to smile at that.

Kuroo Tetsurou

A mostly empty hallway, the two of you being the only ones there, was where it all started. An entire open hallway and of course, he still managed to bump into you somehow. (To be fair, you were tapping away on your phone, complaining to your friend over text about how you just wanted to go home already and take a nap because the test last period had been exhausting, and not paying attention to where you were going at all).

To his credit, he was quick to apologize, turning over his shoulder so you would catch his words, seeing as you two were walking in opposite directions. “Ah… sorry, I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” A light chuckle on the end tied up the apology nicely by adding a charming casualness to it.

You looked up from your phone with an annoyed expression, eyes narrowed, and sighed to yourself before you turned around to reply to him. “Maybe work on that next time,” you snapped. You were clearly exasperated and Kuroo was left blinking in bewilderment at the interaction.

You two were in the same class and although you knew of each other, you weren’t exactly friends—more like acquaintances, although Kuroo was wondering if he had missed the memo on when that title had switched to sworn enemies.

He decided to test this theory and tentatively bid you “good morning” when he got to class the next day. He had almost chickened out because you looked absolutely terrifying, almost as though you were going to bite whoever so much as glanced in your general direction.

Although you seemed confused at first at the fact that he was even talking to you, you gave a small, “Good morning?” back. (It came out as more of a question, but you know what? He’ll take it.)

Okay, so… you didn’t hate him? Or at least not as much it seemed?

And so Kuroo kept this up, always the first one to say “good morning” to you each day—it was sort of like a science experiment, him trying to gauge what you thought about him and test out his hypothesis (the mystery of that interaction in the hallway is what kept him at it, even as silly as it seemed).

You asked him at one point why he suddenly started talking to you and he quickly deflected the question, afraid you would catch onto his little research experiment, even as outlandish the possibility of that happening was.

Those were the first few interactions you two had and even now when Kuroo looks back on it he has secondhand embarrassment for his past self—what was he even doing?

Nowadays, now that you’re finally dating, he doesn’t question your moodiness, knowing that everyone has off days. He has also finally figured out that you two were never sworn enemies in the first place (although he thinks that this love story would have been way more interesting if that had been the case).

Whenever you’re staring off and looking serious, Kuroo loves to pinch your cheeks to snap you back to reality and even as often as he does it, you fall for it every time and honestly he can deal with the death glare you give him because then the small smile you can’t conceal comes out right afterwards (what he can’t deal with though is you withholding kisses from him because you said he didn’t deserve them after pinching you three times in the span of two hours, so after that one time you learned that that punishment was horribly ineffective because so clingy throughout it).

If you’re looking tired, simply down on your luck and annoyed at life, he doesn’t let it affect him and knows not to take it personally, slipping you a cup of tea to help you calm down and clear your mind, and sitting across from you at the kitchen table and watching you as you sip at the drink, ready to talk whenever you want. His affection is quiet in those moments, but you welcome it as much as you do his grand gestures of love—he always brings each type of support out at just the right moment and you find it hilarious that he had ever thought that you could hate him (you could never, not when he was like this).

Kenma Kozume

The fact that the first impression he had of you was that you weren’t in-his-face hyper was jarring enough—he was used to his teammates and their high energy shenanigans, so you were an anomaly in his eyes.

He wouldn’t exactly make a first move, or at least not for a while, but in class when he’s bored, head in his palm, elbow on the table, and drumming his pen against his desk absentmindedly, he would watch you out of the corner of his eye.

You confused him. You had tons of friends, Kenma knew that much about you, and he always overheard people talking about how much fun you were to talk to, yet here he saw none of that rumored playfulness. You were stone-faced as the teacher droned on, rigid in your movements as you copied down the notes from the board robotically.

Watching you write reminded him that he should probably do the same, but even as he went back to trying to focus on that day’s lesson and stared down at his notebook, you stayed on his mind.

He knew that not everyone always outwardly showed their entire personalities, but he had been watching you for what felt like forever and you never so much as cracked a smile. Surely that was unusual?

Kenma found himself itching to just walk up to you and say something—he hated not being in the know and… you seemed approachable enough. Even when he came to the conclusion to stir up a casual conversation with you to finally put his mind at rest, he was still surprised with himself when he actually did it.

He was even more surprised when you instantly brightened up when he talked to you, polite in your responses, yet not stiflingly so, the conversation flowing easily as you two jumped from one topic to another—he wasn’t even exactly sure what you two discussed, just that the words kept flowing out of him as he followed your lead, and for some reason he didn’t want it to end.

He’s not sure how it happened, but that one time conversation soon turned into multiple conversations and he found himself getting strangely attached to you, your excitable personality growing on him as time passed.

Kenma found it endearing how you could be upbeat and ready for an adventure most of the time, but that those times when you simply got tired or weren’t in the mood, you were the complete opposite, either wanting to talk to no one, or claiming that you wanted to talk to no one and secretly actually wanting someone to let you rest your head on their shoulder and just hold you (that’s what he was there for).

If he can tell you’re not in the mood to socialize, he won’t force you to do anything or talk about it if you don’t want to. He’s good at picking up the little cues you put out and you love him all the more for it.

Kenma knows what it feels like to just want some alone time, so it’s common for you two to just hang on in one of your bedrooms on weekends, each of you doing your own thing and not bothering one another. Sometimes one of you will just get up and move closer to the other person, cuddling up under their arm, and no words will be exchanged the entire time. (If you’re sitting between his legs while he plays a video game, he likes to lean down and give you a quick kiss on the forehead whenever he feels like it—come on, you’re right there, how could he possibly resist?)

Nishinoya Yuu

He’s used to Kiyoko outright ignoring him, and even any harsh words from her have him running to go tell Tanaka the “good news” about their latest interaction, so he wouldn’t be put off by your seemingly cold demeanor at all. In fact, he may be even more intrigued. He likes the chase after all.

You were sitting in class one day during a break, spacing off and simply watching your other classmates mingle around the room, and Nishinoya saw this as the perfect opportunity to talk to you, bounding over to you with a spring in his step.

He leaned down close to you, a mischievous smirk matching the playful lilt in his voice. “Hey, (Y/N)-”

He stopped short though when you turned to him smiling and returned the greeting without missing a beat. Wait, what?

In class you always looked bored out of your mind, or just plain angry to be here, unamused look in your eyes and the corners of your mouth downturned. He hadn’t seen you out of the classroom that much, or if he had, you had never been with your friends (so he had missed all the times when you joked around with them), either standing in the hallway alone waiting for someone and on your phone, or walking out of the school after class to head home and looking like you would absolutely fight anyone who prevented you from doing so. Even during group work in class, you were closed off—you had spoken the bare minimum during the majority of that one time that he had been paired up with you.

But now? You were a literal ray of sunshine. Nishinoya blinked at the sight, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights—and then a giant grin spread across his face. He liked this.

His constant high energy is a great contrast to your sometimes “just done with everything” appearance (also school was absolutely tiring, so it was more likely to catch you in one of your sleepy, unenthusiastic phases than not during particularly high stress weeks).

He’s amazing at dealing with the times you just don’t want to interact with anyone besides him, never forcing you to speak if you’re tired and instead filling up the empty space in the air with his own words while you lean against his chest, you two on his couch and watching a movie during the weekend.

He thinks you’re absolutely badass and the fact that people are easily intimidated by you at first glance is just awesome to him like yes! That’s his baby right there! You should be scared! (But then, of course, people come to realize you’re actually a giant teddy bear inside.) He may or may not ask you to give Asahi some confidence pointers because you both can give off the same energy at times.

Even when you’re in a bad mood, Nishinoya is as vibrant as ever and has an infinite amount of energy and love to devote to you. Sit down with him and just vent all of your frustrations and he’ll make you feel better about everything, hyping you up if you display any sort of worries, and actually racking his brain for solutions to your problems if you ask for his opinion on what you should do (it’s adorable when he sits there with his thinking face on, going full on serious boyfriend mode).

[celosiaa]

Hi! I am obsessed with your writing, it is so so endlessly good and you. Are so. Talented. Anyway, please feel free to ignore this, I won’t expect a reply, but prompt idea of someone (probably martin) giving jon a shoulder rub, and it giving jon flashbacks to his kidnapping and him very not being ok. Could take place either soon after the kidnapping, or like in post canon (maybe even with emma?) Again feel free not to reply, just wanted to share and tell you how much I love your work❤️❤️

hi friend!!! thank you so so much for this wonderful prompt!! and your sweet message <3 I apologize that this has taken so long, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! and I hope you’re having a wonderful day!

CW PTSD, flashback, panic attack

Quiet.

Peace of solitude, silence, loneliness has always been a bit of what Martin has missed from his life. He needs it as much as the sun, as much as the breath in his lungs. Sometimes the lingering ache of it all leaves him hurting—hurting over the fact that he shouldn’t want this; he should want to be, not to fade. He should be over this by now.

But, Jon. Jon understands. He understands that need for something you do not want better than just about anyone. So when Martin needs to disappear, or begs for quiet, or takes time to meditate and drift away, Jon always keeps his worry under what he surely thinks to be a careful façade. Martin sees right through it, of course. And loves him all the more for it every time.

Days like this should build up his reserve—the quiet days, where Jon is either gone, or busy, or engrossed in a novel Martin would never dream of picking up. But something about this is off, and Martin knows it.

He knows it by the way that Jon has barely shifted positions at his desk for many hours, other than to unfold and refold his legs under himself. Surely they must be aching—Martin knows they must. So many hours in one place tend to make Jon restless, his muscles cramping and his mind running wild. Sometimes in a good way—Martin is now accustomed to listening to very excited, lightning-fast monologues about whatever Jon had found himself fascinated by that day. But sometimes...sometimes, in other ways as well. Other ways not altogether pleasant.

Martin is certain this is one of the latter type.

From his vantage point in the kitchen, Martin can see the screensaver on Jon’s laptop running across it. Jon is working on nothing at all—has not been working on anything for nearly an hour now, and yet has not moved. It sets Martin’s teeth on edge, this sort of thing. When Jon appears as himself, is present as himself—and yet, not quite. Never quite there, not really. It reminds him of the early days after they had put the world back together, coming up on five years ago now. Days when Jon was drifting…and Martin had never been sure if he would come back.

Stop thinking stop stop

Don’t go there. Not now. Focus.

His head feels heavy with fog when he stands, as it often does—and he makes his way over to Jon, careful to step a bit heavier than usual so as to give some warning of his approach.

“Jon love?” he murmurs, keeping his tone as light as possible, much lighter than he feels. “You alright?”

The tiniest of jumps, barely noticeable. Jon freezes in place for a moment, before attempting to turn his head to look at Martin—and coming to a sudden stop with a groan, and a hand pressed into his shoulder.

“Hmm. Martin.”

His voice is rough from disuse, and he lets out a dry cough as Martin kneels slowly beside him.

“What are you working on?” he asks, trying the gentlest approach he can think of—and trying not to feel affronted when Jon flinches against the fingertips brushed against the back of his arm.

“I-I—erm—I was just…” He trails off as he realizes his laptop is asking him to enter the password again. “Ah. Well. Nothing at all, it seems.”

With a long sigh, Jon tips his head against the back of his chair—or rather, he tries. The motion seems to pull something uncomfortably in his neck, and he hisses painfully as he replaces his hand over the angle between his neck and shoulder.

“Alright, love? Can I help?”

“Ah, it’s—it’s fine, I-I did this to myself, I—”

“Jon.”

“—should get back to work—”

“Jon.”

Something of it seems to cut through his downward spiral, and he manages to meet Martin’s eyes at last—the shadows beneath his eyes outlining the exhausted desperation bubbling just behind them. For what, or who, or when, Martin cannot be sure—but he is sure that he needs to coax Jon out of whatever space he’s found himself in today.

“Does your neck hurt?” he asks, creasing his brows together when Jon attempts to shake his head, and winces instead. “Right, stupid question—how bad is it?”

“It’s fine—it’s nothing, it’s my fault anyway.”

It drives Martin mad how much Jon still wants to blame himself for everything, even the mundane, even things that require none. Especially things that require none. But, instead of putting a voice to this unsolvable frustration, Martin softens for the moment, stretching out a hand to cover Jon’s own where it still rests on the side of his neck.

“Want to try a little massage?” he asks, pressing a small kiss to Jon’s temple. “Maybe it’ll loosen you up enough to turn your head, at least.”

“Hmm,” is the only reply Jon gives, eyes falling closed against the gentle warmth of Martin’s hands.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” Chuckling lightly, Martin stands behind him and gets to work.

He rests his fingertips lightly on the sides of Jon’s neck at first, being sure to always remain toward the back and away from his scar. Slowly, he begins to work his fingers a bit deeper into the muscle, traveling from the nape of his neck and down, as Jon unbuttons just the top of his shirt and shrugs the material off his shoulders. It warms Martin’s heart immeasurably to see him beginning to relax under his hands. And more importantly, gives him a wonderful idea for how to make this even better.

“One moment, love,” he whispers next to Jon’s ear, pressing another quick kiss to his temple before stepping away to root through his desk for the massage oil he’d been given by a friend. Sure, maybe he’s never used it, but…lavender certainly sounds like a relaxing smell, and god knows that Jon needs as much assistance with that as he can get.

“Alright, here we are.” He uncaps the bottle and holds it in front of Jon for him to smell. “What do you think?”

Jon blinks in surprise at the new smell, then furrows his brows.

“Wh—what is this?”

“Massage oil. I’ve never used it but—well, now’s as good a time as any, right?”

“I-I…I suppose so.”

The hesitance in Jon’s voice sends up warning flags in Martin’s mind at once—and he steps to the side to get a better look at Jon’s face. A bit glazed, vacant, as he turns the bottle of massage oil over and over in his hands.

“Is something wrong?” Martin asks, cocking his head to one side in confusion. “If you don’t like the smell, I won’t use it.”

“No no, it’s not that,” he assures, closing his eyes as if to clear some picture displayed in front of them. “I don’t know. I—erm. You can try it.”

“Jon…”

“Try it, please try it. It—it should be nice.”

For all that he insists, something about this gives Martin pause. Something in his voice, his body language doesn’t sit right at all—

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, setting a gentle hand on his knee as he crouches to his eye level. “What’s going on?”

A few tense moments go by before Jon responds, the knee beneath Martin’s hand beginning to bounce with an all-too-familiar surge of anxiety. Face going ashen, he attempts a strained, awful sort of smile.

“S-sorry, I—sorry, it’s fine, just—ah.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, love—is it the smell that bothered you? Can you tell me what’s happening?

His leg bounces harder, the other one beginning to join it. As he meets Martin’s eyes again, it is with a particular brand of shock and horror that tells Martin he is barely hanging on to his surroundings. It twists as a knife in his gut, pulling at his insides as his new task shifts to keeping Jon with him.

“Alright, love. You’re here with me, okay? Here, take my hand—”

He extends his own trying to pull Jon’s away from the white-knuckle grip on the arm of his chair—and Jon takes a gasping inhale, clutching at his neck in panic.

“Woah woah, Jon—”

“STOP stop stop please stop—”

Reeling from the sudden shouting, Martin pulls his hands away from Jon as if they had been burned, falling backwards from his crouch and onto the floor in alarm. The lavender oil in Jon’s hand skitters away across the floor as it slips from his hold. Pounding, pounding, pounding is Martin’s heart in his chest, adrenaline overpowering his thoughts for a few moments before he can really take action. What had happened? What had he done to make Jon feel so unsafe?

“Mm—ha—ah—”

“Hold on love, hold on,” he soothes, reaching out a hand of comfort, before thinking better of it. “I’ll be back, just hold on.”

Lifting himself as quickly as possible from the floor, Martin strides quickly towards their refrigerator, yanking open the freezer door and grabbing an ice cube for Jon to ground himself with. Or at least, so he hopes.

What happened?

What did I do? Did I say something?

Did I—

Oh.

Oh god, no.

Heart twinging with guilt, he hurries back to his husband’s side, gently slipping the ice cube back into his palm with as little skin contact as possible. If he feels like he’s back there, back with the clown, with unfamiliar hands of plastic and metal touching him, preparing him, readying him for the harvest—then Martin knows even his own familiar hands will be lost among the noise of the others. Interpreted as a threat.

God, Jon. What have I done?

“Here, sweetheart. I’m right here. You’re here with me.”

The words seem unable to reach him in this state—he blinks rapidly, staring into something unseen, unheard—his entire body trembling with adrenaline, fear, anticipation…and god knows what else. Aching, aching is Martin’s chest as he watches it all unfold, knowing that there is nothing to do but wait for the flashback to end and hope his suffering is as brief as possible.

“N-no—Nikola—”

“You’re here with me, Jon. You’re safe.”

“S-stop, don’t—touch me!”

Oh, Jon.

A few more seconds of true unawareness—before a bit of movement from his right pulls Martin’s gaze down towards the hand which holds the ice cube. As he begins to roll it around, Martin prays the sensation of it will be enough of an anchor this time, that this will be the end of it. That nothing will launch him back into the panic, just as his breathing begins to slow.  As a precaution, Martin grabs the small vial of lavender oil from the carpet, shoving it into his pocket and out of sight.

“Jon? You back with me?”

“…mmm,” he hums, after a few moments’ delay. His eyes slip closed as he attempts to control his breathing, still running the ice between his fingers while his entire frame trembles.

“Alright,” Martin murmurs, coming to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him. “I’m right here. I’m not gonna touch you, but I’m right here.”

Eerie stillness hangs heavy in the space between them, all silence save for the shuddering of Jon’s body against the chair and the scant air moving through his lungs. And oh, how Martin wants to reach for him—but knows of course he cannot, not until it’s passed a bit, not until Jon remembers where he is. When he is. It cracks in Martin’s chest, spidering through his heart and lungs the longer the silence holds.

Come back.

Come back.

Come back.

I’m not going to leave you.

“Mmm,” Jon echoes his earlier hum, leg beginning to bounce again, stocking feet curling into the carpet. “I’m—here. Here.”

“Yes, you’re here. Here with me,” Martin breathes, nearly crying with relief as tears begin to slip down Jon’s face. “Do you know where?”

“Home.”

His voice cracks in the middle, forcing a shuddering inhale; a broken sob of an exhale as at last he leans forward, bracing his head in his hands.

“Martin.”

“I’m here, love. Home with you.”

“I can’t—” He breaks off to inhale sharply. “Can’t feel my legs, Martin, please—”

“Okay, alright, love. Head between your knees—you’re gonna be alright.”

Jon obliges at once, sinking lower, deepening his breaths, following Martin’s careful pattern toward some semblance of calm. Not quite there, and will not be for some time. The knowledge of it sits heavy in the back of Martin’s throat, and he swallows angrily at it. This is his fault; he should have seen this coming, should have spared a single thought for the wellbeing of his husband and now he cannot even comfort him—

A trembling hand suddenly brushes against his arm, searching. Asking for him—searching for his anchor. After all this time…after everything.

Martin can no longer keep the tears back—and does not want to.

“Oh, darling,” he whispers, pulling Jon into his chest at once, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his hair. “I’m here. I’m so sorry, love. So sorry.”

“Martin.”

“You’re safe. I’m here.”

Jon buries his face into the soft knit of Martin’s jumper at his shoulder, slackening so deeply into his hold that Martin nearly topples over.

“I’m safe,” he echoes, muffled. “You’re here.”

[writersrealmbts]

All I Want for Christmas

Description: You’re ready for another Christmas at the shelter, but Taehyung has other ideas, and brings you home with him instead. You never thought you’d receive this many gifts.

“For the Christmas request, can I please request a human!Taehyung x Calico cat hybrid!fem!reader where he adopts her and brings her home on Christmas? It’d be so cute because she’d be so happy to have a home and it’d honestly be the best Christmas for both of them🥰🐈💜”

Warnings: Fluff and stuff

Posted: 12/17/2020

Tags: taehyung x reader, hybrid au, hybrid reader, calico cat!reader

1,779 words

A/N: For @kpopgirlbtssvt​

You stared out your window at the glittering, snow-covered scenery, while you played with the Christmas-bells bracelet that your secret Santa had gotten for you. You loved it. You liked the gentle sound it made instead of the harsh jangle of the bells that someone had hung on your door, a cacophony of dissonance that made your tail curl.

You winced, turning toward the door as it opened. You weren’t sure why it would be opening, you’d just returned from breakfast and it wasn’t time for activities yet.

A stranger stood in the doorway, holding papers and a small gift bag. And while he didn’t look familiar, he smelled very familiar.

The one that had been observing everyone for adoption purposes for the past two weeks.

He smiled softly at you. “Hello, y/n. My name is Taehyung. I got you a Christmas present.”

You felt excitement bubbling up within you, and you slowly moved toward him.

He met you half-way, holding out the bag.

You carefully took it, bowing slightly, then carefully pulling the gift from the bag.

It was a charm bracelet, pretty and gold and shiny and it had three charms. One was a sleigh, carefully and intricately made with a bag of presents in the back. Another was a cute, but realistic looking bear. The last were simple mark-tags, ones that displayed your basic information and your owner’s….

You slowly looked back up at him. “You’re adopting me?”

He shook his head. “I have already adopted you. I’m bringing you home. I have more presents for you at home. I hope you can accept my first gift, though,” He said, looking hopeful.

You grinned and eagerly put it on behind your jingle-bracelet, admiring it in the morning light. You were being adopted!

He laughed a bit. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” You agreed, vibrating with excitement. You were getting the best Christmas present ever! You had an owner! You were being taken to a home!

“Y/n, your things?” The shelter worker prompted.

“Oh! Right!” You bounded toward the closet and grabbed your two dresses, your socks, and your shoes, putting them into the laundry sack, then got your 2 pairs of pants and 2 sets of pajamas and 3 shirts. “Ok!”

“Pillow? Friend?”

You squeaked in alarm and raced to the bed to grab the pillow and your stuffed calico kitty that had ears and a tail exactly like yours, then hesitated, hand on the old, worn blanket that you kept carefully folded over the end of your bed.

The worker nodded, smiling softly. “It’s yours.”

You grinned again and shoved those things into the sack as well. “Ready!”

“Uh, you might want to wear some shoes instead of slippers,” Taehyung suggested gently, looking just as happy as ever. Not scolding.

You stared down at your slippers for just a minute too long before diving into the sack and grabbing your shoes.

“Relax, kitten. We’ve got time to get home, it’s not going anywhere,” Taehyung said in a soothing tone as you fumbled with the straps of your shiny, black shoes. They looked cute with your red Christmas dress with the pretty white furry lining. You didn’t care what that know-it-all tabby three doors down said, you thought the shoes were cute. And they fit you, it was rare for shoes to actually fit properly, though the shelter tried their hardest to make sure all of you had at least one pair of shoes that fit properly, outside of the slippers which were bought in the proper sizes for everyone.

“Y/n! I found the…sash….” The other hybrid peered into the room, swallowing hard. “Oh…are you….”

“I’ve been adopted, Jiyoung!” You squeaked happily, dragging your sack over to her. “What did you find?”

“The sash, to the dress,” She said eagerly, grinning in happiness for you and then whipping the white sash around your waist and tying it in a big, fancy bow behind you. “There! Now it isn’t just a sack! I will tell you again, though, it was made to be a costume.”

“It’s pretty and soft,” You argued, hugging yourself.

She kissed your cheek. “Good luck in your new home, y/n. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” You responded, voice a choked whisper. You were leaving your friends.

Someone gently took your sack of belongings from you. “Come on, y/n. Let’s go show you your new home.”

You looked back at the gentle, understanding expression on Taehyung’s face and melted a bit. “Okay.”

Jiyoung patted your arm and hurried back down the hall to the donations room where she helped out. She was one of the owner’s hybrids, so at least you knew she was loved.

“Everyone else is in the main room, they’ve been told you’ve been adopted and are waiting to say goodbye,” The shelter worker said gently, noticing your hesitation.

You nodded and took Taehyung’s offered hand, going to the main room.

And maybe you gave your jingle bracelet to the grumpy tabby from three doors down because you knew she’d been jealous of it and you wanted her to be happy and your secret santa had given you an approving smile.

You sort of bet that Taehyung might get you another if you asked really, really nicely.

Taehyung’s car was very nice, nicer than any vehicle you’d ever been in before, and he played Christmas music softly on the radio as if knowing you were nervous as well as excited.

“I understand the sleigh, because you’re adopting me on Christmas, right?” You asked, attention on the charm bracelet again.

He nodded, smiling.

“But what about the bear?”

He looked a little sheepish. “Um…well, I have this song. It’s called winter bear, so I thought after a while if you look at the bear charm you’ll think of it as part of me.”

You were purring before he even finished speaking, holding your wrist and the bracelet close to your heart while you stared out the windows at the Christmas decorations the people all bundled up.

He parked at a large apartment building, grabbing your things and offering to hold your hand again. “Anyway, I do sometimes travel for work. And I was hoping the charm might remind you of me if I’m not able to take you with me. I’m going to make sure to try and get you in every trip, because you’re my responsibility now, but there will be times even when you’re with me on a trip that you might be at the hotel while I’m working. If you can’t go with me on a trip, you’ll probably stay with my parents, and they’re really nice so I think you’ll like them and I won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with. And—”

“Taehyung-ah,” You whispered, trying to be respectful since you weren’t sure how he wanted you to address him yet. “It’s a little cold outside.”

He blinked at you, then his eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. “You don’t have a coat!”

You shook you head.

He hurried you into the building then ran back and grabbed the sack when you pointed it out, before punching the button to the elevator and muttering about warming you up so that you wouldn’t get sick and how he was a terrible owner.

You patted his arm. “You’re not a terrible owner, and I’m not that cold. See, I’m not shivering. We can still have a nice Christmas.”

“Right,” He breathed, sounding relieved. “You sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, smiling up at him.

“Right, oh, and you can just call me Taehyung.”

You nodded again, smiling and blinking up at him.

He led the way down the hall once the doors opened, holding your hand again, unlocking the door to his apartment (it had a pretty wreath on it). “It isn’t much but this is home.”

You stepped in and took off your shoes, then realized you didn’t have your slippers out.

He caught your panicked looked and smiled gesturing to two pairs of slippers, one pair smaller than the others that looked adorable and comfortable. Like fairy slippers. “I got those for you. They told me your sizes so I could get you some things.”

You felt warm all over and you carefully tried on the slippers, purring at how soft they were.

He looked relieved that you liked them.

Then you saw the rest of his apartment and gaped. Not because of the Christmas tree, which really was delightfully decorated, but because it was very large. You’d seen other apartments before, for home visits before adoptions that fell through at the previous shelter you’d been in as a child. This place was…expensive.

“Wow,” You breathed.

“Like I said, it’s not much, I don’t really even have that much furniture. I just sort of moved in a couple months ago.” He rubbed his neck.

You stared at him, then at the apartment. “It’s huge. You lived here alone?”

“Oh…well…yeah. That’s also why I got you, I’m not used to living alone and the others drop by now and then and I drop by their places now and then but…it’s not the same as what I’m used to and then I saw the shelter and I just got curious and…I didn’t want to be alone anymore and you were so bright and lively that I thought…you’d help me liven the place up. Help it feel warm in here instead of empty.” He looked embarrassed.

You smiled. “I can certainly try.”

He smiled back at you. “Ready for your presents?”

“I feel bad, I don’t have presents for you,” You replied, worried.

“You being here and enjoying what I’ve gotten for you will be enough,” He reassured you, looking happy again.

You nodded and let him lead you through the apartment to a door with a ribbon stuck to it.

“This is your room, y/n,” He whispered, then opened the door.

You squeaked in surprise as you looked around the absolutely plush room. Big bed, lots of pillows and blankets, and pretty pretty furniture. Gentle colors, pretty colors. A lamp, a ceiling fan. And he had some clothes in the dresser and the closet, and some books on the shelves.

He was watching you hopefully, waiting to see if you liked it all.

Your eyes filled with tears and you raced over you hug his waist tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” You breathed, locking your arms around him.

His lips pressed lightly to your temple. “Merry Christmas, y/n.”

“Merry Christmas,” You whispered back.

[roman-writing]

bring home a haunting (1/12)

Fandom: The Haunting of Bly Manor

Pairing: Dani Clayton/Jamie Taylor

Rating: M

Wordcount: 11,511

Summary: Dani almost has her life together, when a familiar face arrives back in town after ten years. A childhood friends AU written with @youngbloodbuzz

read it below or read it on AO3 here

“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing — to reach the Mountain, to find the place where all the beauty came from — my country, the place where I ought to have been born. Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back.” - CS Lewis, Till We Have Faces

—

I: 1987

—

The sound of water sloshing through the pipes was a constant drone in the air. Dani stared at herself in the mirror. Her hand rested on the tap, holding it open. Steam crept in along the edges of the mirror as hot water continued to stream into the white porcelain bathroom sink, pale tendrils framing her face like smudged fingerprints against the glass. She was still dressed in pajamas, her hair a rumpled mess. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes. Her face felt puffy and her stomach heavy, but above all else she just appeared tired.

There was movement behind her. The bathroom door opened and her head jerked up in surprise as the door frame squared around Eddie's tall silhouette. In the misted mirror, his glasses seemed to reflect all light, obscuring half his face in a gleam like the sun glancing across the surface of a windscreen.

His reflection smiled. "You still getting ready?" he asked. "We need to go in ten, if I'm giving you a ride to work."

Abruptly, Dani twisted the tap, cutting off the flow of water. She cleared her throat. "Sorry. No. I'll — I'll drive myself."

"You sure? I don't know if your poor little car will make it."

"No. It'll be fine," she assured him, trying to sound far more confident than she felt. Never mind that the local mechanic had given her a list of incomprehensible ills that plagued her car the last time she had taken it into the shop after it had broken down again. "Thanks, though."

"All right," he said, but still he did not turn to leave. "You know, I was thinking. We should probably sell it."

"Hmm?"

Dani had opened the mirror door to reveal a jumble of bottles and toothpaste and toothbrushes, only some of which were hers. She scouted around for what she was looking for. Even after a few weeks, everything still felt so displaced. She struggled to find the smallest item these days, be it her favorite sauce pan or a bottle of — oh, there it was.

"Your car," Eddie was saying behind her. "Don't you think we should sell it? We don't really need two. Not now that we're living together."

Dani froze with her hands cupped in the water of the sink. She could see her own reflection weaving and waving from the disturbance until her face looked disjointed. Like some sort of Picasso. An eye here. A jaw there. Scattered into separate chambers.

Without answering, she leaned down and splashed her face, rubbing at her cheeks until a foam lathered, eyes squeezed shut.

"Well?" Eddie asked.

She bought herself a moment by rinsing the suds from her face and reaching blindly for a towel that she had perched on a nearby rail for just that very purpose. When she spoke, her voice was muffled through the cloth, "I don't know. I just think —" She lowered the towel and wiped at her neck. "Wouldn't it be inconvenient? You having to drive me around everywhere?"

In the mirror, his outline shrugged. "I don't mind. More time spent with you, right?"

She offered him a weak smile, drying her hands and folding the towel neatly back on its rack. “You’re sweet,” she said. “But really. I mean — What if I need to pick up groceries on the way back from the school? Or what if I want to visit your mother? Or —?”

“All right. All right. You win,” he laughed, softly. He came up behind her, hands settling on her waist, gentle but heavy all the same. “Just think about it. Okay?”

The steam at the edges of the mirror had begun to fade, and Eddie’s features came into sharp relief. Looking at their reflection was like looking at the picture in their living room where they were posed for prom. Eddie’s hands clasped at her waist, and Dani still with that deer in the headlights smile. It was almost perfect. It was almost enough. Being a fresh-faced fiancée. Wearing rumpled pink pajamas. Living together. Watching a life unfold before her as though it belonged to someone else.

She shrank away from him in order to turn around. “I should finish getting ready,” she said. 

He let her go but leaned down for a kiss. Instead, his glasses bumped the side of her face. Laughing, she pushed the glasses up his nose as he retreated with a wince. 

“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Her hand was still lingering on the side of his face — scratch of stubble beneath her fingertips — and Eddie pressed a brief kiss to her palm before striding from the bathroom. Dani stood there, clutching her hand back to her chest, listening to his retreating footsteps down the hall. Something curdled in her stomach, though she hadn’t eaten anything yet this morning. She passed it off as hunger instead of guilt. 

Eyes squeezing shut, hand clenching into a fist at her sternum, Dani inhaled a deep steadying breath. Then, opening her eyes once more, she turned back towards the mirror and reached for a hairbrush. 

—

The coffee in the teacher’s lounge was always dark as sin and tasted of battery acid. Dani pulled on the tap, filling up her styrofoam cup until her hand burned and she had to hold it gingerly from the top with her fingertips. Enough creamer followed so that the coffee resembled milk more than the original brew. She tested it with a sip, crinkled her nose, and added sugar until it was barely palatable. It would still strip paint in a pinch, but it would also keep her going throughout the day. 

With a resigned sigh, she carried the coffee over to the round table in the back corner of the lounge, where her piles of notes and textbooks waited. The binders sported multi-colored tongues, every section marked with a tab and her broad loopy handwriting, and there was a satchel of pens and markers in every hue under the sky. Taking a sip of her cup of paint thinner, Dani pulled out a plain black pen. She trailed her thumb down the tabs until she reached the desired section, and flipped open to the correct page. There, she began to record her meticulous notes. She would pause every so often to flip through a textbook and double-check some figure or another that she had convinced herself she had forgotten.

The lounge was mostly empty but for her. It was still an early hour, even for her colleagues. Here, she felt like she could actually work. Back home she would inevitably feel like she had gotten in the way. Not of Eddie. Not usually. Though sometimes he would wander over to the table while she was trying to arrange a lesson plan and distract her with talk of banalities that always made her hand slip, that always made her lose her place on the page. Other times he would complain about how her work sprawled and took over the whole dining room.

Mostly it was the house itself. Still so fresh and new and clean, walls pressing in like a stomach lining. Spreading all her work notes out felt like she was intruding upon the space of the napkins and cutlery. As though all of the items people had bought them for their engagement were more at home there than she was. A house of cardboard boxes. Of clothes. Of china. Stuff. Things. Their things. 

Dani’s writing had slowed. She shook her head briskly and straightened in her seat. Another sip of fortifying turpentine, and she was scribbling away again. 

“Enjoy the summer holiday?”

Dani glanced up at the sound of that familiar voice. Hannah Grose, seamlessly elegant in a wine-dark skirt suit, stood with her hand on the back of one of the chairs around the little table. 

A smile broke across Dani’s face, and she said, “Yeah! And you?” She gestured towards the chair with her pen, adding, “Please.”

“Not much to report on the western front.” Hannah sat, delicately leaning her elbow upon the table so as not to disturb the sprawl of Dani’s notes. “But I hear that’s not the case in your camp. Congratulations are in order.” 

Dani could feel her cheeks strain with the effort of keeping her smile in place. “Thanks!”

“Well?” Hannah asked, her eyes agleam with warm curiosity. “Go on then. How did he propose?” 

“Which time?” Dani joked half-heartedly. When Hannah gave a little huff of laughter, Dani said, “No, seriously. He’s been asking me to marry him since we were kids.” 

“Well, congratulations,” Hannah said. “Do you have a date planned? Or is that still in the works?”

Dani fiddled with the pen between her fingers, repeatedly removing the cap and sticking it back on with a nervous jab. The plastic clacked dully against the unfamiliar band of gold around her finger. “Oh, no. Not yet. We — uh — we’re going to wait a bit. Eddie just started his new job, and I’ve — well. You’re the one who asked me to teach sixth grade this year. And I’m excited, but also I feel so unprepared for a whole classroom of twelve year olds.” 

“Don’t be nervous, dear,” Hannah said, and though her tone was soothing her small smile was teasing. “They can smell fear.”

Dani’s laugh was slightly too breathy and too short to be heartfelt. “Oh, I know. It’s just —” She made a flighty gesture with one hand, “— getting a new batch in. It’s always a little nerve wracking. There are so many names to memorize in the first week. And sorting out the dynamics of them all, how they interact, and — well, you know.”

“No, I don’t. Not really, anyway,” Hannah said. “I came up the ranks through an administrative route. Never had any classroom time to speak of.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Dani said.

Hannah gave Dani’s notes a nudge with her elbow. “What was it you were just telling me about the trials and tribulations of homeroom?”

This time when Dani laughed, it was far more relaxed. “The kids are the best part. Really. That’s why you do it.”

Hannah gave her a knowing look. “Yes. And that’s why I hired you.”

“Have I thanked you for that, yet?”

“Only once a year for three years.”

“My next gift basket is in the mail tomorrow, then,” Dani joked.

“Hang the basket and bring me a slice from the cafe instead.”

“With coffee?” Dani asked, grinning when Hannah wrinkled her nose at the idea. “You got it, boss.”

“Tea,” said Hannah primly, “is perfectly serviceable. Thank you. It’s eight thirty, by the way.”

Dani’s eyes widened and she checked her watch to find that Hannah was, in fact, correct. “Oh, shoot!” Hastily, she scraped together the loose papers, shuffling them back into their notebook. Tucking it beneath one arm, she snatched up her styrofoam cup and made a dash for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Grose.” 

“Don’t forget to bring back a receipt for the slice!” Hannah called after her. “You must let me pay you back this time!”

“Put it on my next remuneration review!”

—

The kids were all filing into class, and Dani was hesitating at the blackboard. She held the tip of a piece of chalk against the dark grain. Her hand had frozen on the final downward stroke of the 'M' when she thought — should it still be 'Miss'? 'Ms.'? What were the rules?

The sounds of children jabbering away behind her, chairs scraping, things being thrown, urged her into action, and Dani wrote the name she had always written before turning around.

"All right, let's settle down, please." She waited until twenty-five faces were turned towards her in relative silence — as good as she could hope for given the circumstances — before smiling. Then, she set aside the chalk and picked up a clipboard full of names. "Hi, everyone. I'm Miss Clayton. Welcome to homeroom. Let's go through names. Make sure everyone's here."

It was the same, she told herself even as she meticulously took roll. How different could a bunch of twelve year olds be to her usual ten year olds? She even recognized one or two names from when she had taught a previous class. One of her former students waved at her from the back of a row of desks, and Dani smiled in return.

She skimmed right over the roll call and into the first introductions to the year. It happened so fast, that she hardly even registered a familiar looking name on the list. The boy in question merely raised his hand upon his name being called out, and Dani forged on to the next. With so many new faces to memorize, she did not even pause to mull over the presence of a Michael Taylor in her class. There were too many of them. Always too many. She never could keep track. Always remembering faces, but never names. Maybe if there were fewer of them, she thought. Maybe if they were younger. 

They never were.

—

Even after two weeks back in the classroom, the bell ringing never failed to make Dani jump slightly. She nearly dropped her chalk from where she was drawing on the blackboard. Already behind her she could hear the scrape of chairs and the excited babble at the arrival of the weekend. 

Setting down the chalk, Dani turned around and began wiping her hands against her skirt. She had to lift her voice to be heard. “All right everyone, don’t forget your permission slips for a trip to the community library! If you don’t bring back a signed form, you won’t be able to go, and you’ll have to stay here! And, Michael? Can you stay behind for a minute, please? I want to talk to you.”

Michael’s head whipped around at the sound of his name. A few other students shot him odd glances and his shoulders crept up around his ears. He shoved his books and notes into his bag — a dark blue canvas with silver stars that looked like they’d been painstakingly drawn on — then slouched at his desk until the others had all left. 

Sitting behind her own desk, Dani brushed at the chalk handprints on her skirt — she was always a mess by the end of a school week; chalk everywhere — and gestured for Michael to come closer. He hesitated before pushing himself upright and walking forward until he stood in front of her desk. His brow was furrowed but his head was bowed, looking contrite, as though waiting for some sort of reprimand.  

Dani gentled her voice. “Michael, I just wanted to -"

"Mikey."

She blinked, faltering. "I'm sorry?"

"My name," he said very firmly for someone who stood with such a stoop. "It’s Mikey. I don’t like Michael."

With a smile, Dani said, "Of course. Mikey. You’re not in trouble. I promise.” With a light tap of her palms against the surface of the desk, she pulled out a piece of paper from atop one of the stacks and slid it towards him across her desk. “This is your homework from Monday. Do you remember this problem here? Number eleven?”

Shrugging at the weight of his backpack, he nodded. 

“Well, I kind of messed up,” she said, lowering her voice and leaning forward as though revealing a secret. “And I copied this problem from the wrong section of the book. The back section of the book, I mean. Most of the others didn’t even try to answer it, and those that did got it wrong. Except —” Dani tapped a finger against the edge of the page, “— for you.” 

Mikey did not say anything. His gaze remained dropped, as though he were studying his shoes.

“Do you know what this ‘x’ is?” Dani asked, pointing to the math problem in question.

Mikey shook his head. “No. I thought it was like a question mark?” 

“Yeah.” Dani smiled. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He glanced up at her, saw her watching him, and then hastily lowered his eyes again, shuffling his feet. 

Leaning her weight on her forearms, Dani said, “I know you’re a transfer student this year, and you came from somewhere out of state. Did your other schools teach you algebra by any chance?”

Again, he shook his head. 

“Okay.” She ducked her head down in an attempt to look into his eyes. “I told you: you’re not in trouble. I just wanted to know — do you like math? Because it seems to me you’re really good at it.”

“I guess,” he mumbled. His hand tightened around the strap of his backpack. “Can I go now?”

Dani toyed with the edge of the page of homework. Then with a sigh she leaned back in her seat. “Yeah, you can go. Have a good weekend.” 

He murmured some pleasantry in response, but in the next moment he was gone from the room so fast she thought she must have imagined it. For a moment, Dani frowned after him. She pulled his homework towards herself, studying the page. Mikey’s handwriting was cramped and messy, but there was no mistaking the fact that he had written every answer only once. There were no eraser marks to be seen. He even showed the steps he took to reach his answers. 

Her thumb traced over his name at the top right hand corner. Then, with a little shake of her head, she set the page back atop the stack of other papers and began to clean up. 

Even after the kids had mostly left, there were always a few stragglers left behind. Some trotted through the halls in packs on their way to whatever extracurricular activities their parents had signed them up for. Dani kept the door to her classroom open, and the squeak of their shoes echoed down the corridor along with the sound of their fading voices. Tilting her wrist to check the time, she pulled out the latest round of homework assignments that had been handed back to her earlier that day. The set she hadn’t had a chance to mark yet. 

Best to just get it done with now. Her car was clinging to the last vestiges of life and had landed itself back in the workshop earlier that week. She would be here a while until Eddie got off work. 

She grabbed a red pen and pulled the first page towards her. The pen flicked officiously as she scanned through the questions, barely pausing until she circled the final grade at the top and set the page aside in favor of the next. And so on. And so forth. It was almost relaxing. As relaxing as a known constant could be. She could always rely upon the dependability of homework that needed grading. Just like she could rely upon the dependability of death and taxes.

She glanced up only rarely from her work whenever a flurry of movement flitted across the corners of her vision. A bird darting from a tree branch here. A janitor sweeping the floors there. Dani paused to push her seat back from the desk and make small talk, asking after the janitor's wife and kids until he shuffled along with a wave, pushing his long-handled broom, which looked more like a breed of shaggy dog than a cleaning implement. She had almost finished grading the stack of papers, when she glanced out the window towards the street. She looked back down at the papers, then did a double take.

That was a student sitting on the curb. She recognized that blue backpack with silver stars. Dani checked the time again. Nearly four in the afternoon now. With a hum and a frown, she returned to grading, but her gaze would wander after each finished page back towards the window.

Finally, she capped the pen and set it down atop the finished stack of papers. She would need to enter those grades into the system later, but that could wait. For now, Dani swept everything into her bag before slinging it over one shoulder. Her keys jangled from their lanyard as she locked up and made her way outside.

Mikey was still crouched on the sidewalk when she approached. Her shoes clacked dully against the pavement, and he turned to look over his shoulder at who was approaching him.

Dani smiled brightly. "Hi!" she said. "You’re still here?"

Mikey nodded, but gave no verbal reply. Some sort of magazine was hanging loosely from his fingers, half open and tucked between his legs as though he had been caught red-handed.

Setting her bag down on the ground, she sat beside him and craned her neck to get a look at the cover he was clearly trying to hide. "Wonder Woman, huh?"

His cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and he refused to look anywhere near her direction.

"You know," Dani said. "I used to wait up at night to catch all the episodes of the show as they were airing. The Lynda Carter ones? You ever watch it?"

His eyes were wide when he finally turned to look at her. He nodded. "Yeah. I love that show."

"I recorded them all," Dani confided in a whisper, as though the two of them were in on a secret. "Still have them on tape at home, though I haven't watched them in forever."

"My sister gets annoyed when I rewatch stuff too often," Mikey said. He had straightened his legs, and now the comic book was sprawled across his bony knees to reveal a few inked pages.

She nodded towards the thin paper booklet. "I never read the comics, though. Are they any fun?"

It was like opening flood gates. Suddenly, she found herself being regaled about the entire publication history of Wonder Woman, while Mikey gestured wildly with the comic so that the loose pages rustled with every motion of his hands. His face came alight when he spoke. Dani listened with amusement. She perched an elbow on her knees and propped her chin on her hand, nodding along, asking appropriate questions. Once she asked what was obviously a dumb question, for he made a face and explained her error in great detail.

The early autumnal sun was slanting through the trees by the time a boxy silver sedan rolled up to the other side of the street. Dani could see a familiar mop of dark hair and the gleam of glasses through the windows. The car puttered to a halt, engine idling, and Eddie pressed down on the steering wheel so that the horn blared briefly. 

Dani waved in his direction and said to Mikey, “That’s my ride. Are you going to be okay out here?” She glanced down the street for any approaching cars. “Someone’s coming to pick you up, right?”

In answer, he held up the issue of Wonder Woman. “It’s okay, Miss Clayton. My sister will be here soon.”

“Okay, then,” said Dani. Slapping her hands on her thighs, she pushed herself to her feet, bag hanging from one shoulder. She walked towards the car with a smile and a wave back at Mikey. “I’ll see you next week!”

He did not answer. He was already nose-deep in his comic book again. Shaking her head with a small chuckle, Dani continued towards where Eddie was waiting for her, tapping at the dashboard. It wasn’t until her hand was on the chromed door handle that she finally registered what Mikey had said. 

A sister. He had a sister. At first she’d thought — well, a sister who got annoyed with a brother who hogged the television set would surely be a younger sister. But a sister who drove to pick him up from school was definitely not a younger sister. 

“Danielle, are you all right? You look a little pale.”

The sound of Eddie’s voice made her jerk half out of her skin. She hadn’t even realized he had rolled down the window. 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice catching in her throat. “Yeah. Can you just - Can you wait a second? I’ll be —I’ll be just a second.” 

Dani shoved her bag through the open window into her seat, then whirled around and marched back across the street. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side. She could feel the bite of her short nails into her palms. Something acidic boiled in her stomach, twisting it into knots, until she stood over Mikey, struggling to find her voice. 

“You said you had a sister?” she asked. “An older sister? And — And your last name is Taylor?” 

Looking puzzled, Mikey shrugged. “Yeah?” 

This was impossible. There was no way. For a long moment, Dani stared at him, his brown hair, his brown eyes, his narrow shoulders, the almost familiar shape of his nose and face. 

Dani cleared her throat and tried to sound nonchalant. “And what — uh — what’s her name?” 

With a quizzical frown up at her, Mikey turned a page of his comic book to where Wonder Woman was punching stars from one of her foes. “My sister?” he asked, as if it were the most bizarre question in the world. “Jamie. Her name’s Jamie.” 

“Right,” Dani breathed, feeling like she’d just received a blow to the space beneath her ribcage. “Right. Of course. Sorry. I’ll just — Bye.” 

Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode back towards the waiting car. She willed her breathing to even out, even as she felt something coil around her sternum and tighten with every step. Yanking open the door, Dani slipped into the car. She pushed her bag down to her feet and pulled the door shut behind her. 

“Everything good?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah,” Dani lied, her voice sounding oddly high even to her own ears. It was difficult to swallow; her throat felt too tight. A rush of blood flooded through her ears in a deafening crash. She stared fixedly at the reflection of her own clenched hands in the slanted windshield, willing them to relax even as her knuckles went whiter. “Fine. Everything’s fine.” 

And Eddie didn’t question it at all. He merely shrugged, put the car into gear, and drove away.

—

It stayed with her afterwards. Like a bruise upon her skin, blue and purple, tender to the touch. That cloying sense of the air too thick. Molasses on a hot summer day, the dark shadow that clung to her heels in sunlight, haunting her every step. She couldn’t breathe with it, couldn’t escape it.

Jamie. Jamie, here. Jamie, home.

Somehow Eddie didn’t notice. It completely passed him by, the way her eyes darted around as they stopped to pick up groceries, her clenched fists held tightly to her sides, consumed with the uneasy notion that she might turn around the corner and Jamie would appear, as if summoned by the gravity of Dani’s pounding heart. 

It should’ve been easy — like most things eventually — locking it away. Erasing it. She had managed now for years, days, months. Except now the very thought of Jamie being so near again, so tangible again, made her somehow indelible. As if she’d always been there. Waiting. As if she’d never gone. It felt altogether at once like being peeled and stripped away, down to an exposed nerve. 

Dani wished she could say she slept easy that night. Instead, after spending much of the witching hour staring at the ceiling, she finally succumbed to the sound of Eddie’s soft snores, his arm splayed across her waist, only to wake up feeling as if she'd been cracked open and hollowed out. Somehow, in between the moments of stumbling out of bed and driving up to the blue bungalow across town with Eddie in the small rental truck behind her, Dani managed to go through the motions of call and response. Her limbs moving, her mouth speaking all of their own accord, and she could only watch it happening. She pulled on the turn signal. The click of the light like an errant drip of a tap. It was only when she was cutting the engine to stare up at the house that was once hers, that something tightened in her chest, shunting her back to earth. 

Carson met them by the front steps where he sat in his studded leather jacket that he wore regardless of the weather, two takeout cups in hand. 

“Took you long enough,” he grumbled, standing and offering one of the cups to Eddie who reached him first. “Thought I was gonna have to drink these myself before they got cold.”

Eddie huffed a laugh, taking the cup. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want that,” he drawled before helping himself inside the house without a backwards glance, taking a long sip from his cup.

Carson stared after him for a moment before turning to Dani with a smirk, and said, “Someone’s in a mood.”

Managing a chuckle, Dani folded her arms around herself. “Yeah, he uh, he’s just eager to get it done, you know? Realtor wants the place empty by three today.”

“Well, in that case,” he said, holding out the last cup, his smirk softening to something kinder. 

“Oh, thank you,” she said, taking it. The brush of his fingers against hers was warm and welcome. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure, I did,” he responded with a shrug, and nudged her to take a drink, “Go on.”

At the first sip of what Dani had thought was coffee was instead a sweet and rich hot chocolate. Her eyes went wide. 

Carson laughed at the expression on her face. “Thought you could use a little something sweet today.”

She smiled at him over the plastic top and took another longer sip. “Thank you,” she said, “For coming. You didn’t need to, but —”

“— You needed some extra muscle, which I’ve plenty of.” His grin seemed rueful. There lingered in Carson more of the boyish youth that Dani had seen in Eddie so many years ago. He wasn’t as gangly or as broad-shouldered as his older brothers, but he was always, without fail, a comforting presence in an otherwise rowdy O’Mara household. 

“And yet none of your other brothers showed up, I see,” Dani said. 

“Yeah, well,” Carson shrugged against his leather jacket, hands stuck into the pockets. “Guess, I’m just the only responsible one.” 

“I knew there was a reason why I liked you best.” 

He winked and lowered his voice. “Don’t let Eddie hear you say that.”

With a snort, Dani reached out and ruffled his perfectly coiffed hair so that it more resembled Eddie’s unruly curls. He ducked his head and swatted her away with a whine of complaint. She laughed when he stepped away to carefully fix his hair in the reflection of her car window. 

“You leave your pomade at home again?” Dani teased. “Thought you never left without it.”

She could just make out his face in the reflection, nose scrunching up as he raked his fingers through his dark hair until it was suitably tamed. The door of the house one over opened, and a young man strode out, wearing a bathrobe and clutching a mug of coffee. Immediately Carson straightened, as though he’d been tapped with the wrong end of a cattle prod.

Dani waved. “Hi, Jason!” 

Her neighbor lifted a desultory hand while he fumbled with his letterbox. “Last day?” he asked, voice raspy with sleep.

“Taking the last of it now,” she said. 

Jason shut the letterbox and scooped up the newspaper that had been tossed onto his lawn earlier that morning. “Let me know if you need an extra hand.” 

“I should be all right. That’s what Carson’s for.” She gestured with her hot chocolate towards Carson, who had his hands jammed back into his pockets and was now leaning against her car with an odd expression on his face.

Jason glanced over and nodded, no more than a jerk of his chin up, before walking back into his house with the newspaper tucked under one arm. The muscles in Carson’s jaw were clenched, standing out like the ropes of a sailing ship. 

After the door to Jason’s house had swung shut, Dani asked, “I thought you two were friends?”

Carson grunted a wordless note. “We had a falling out a few months ago. Anyway —” He turned on his heel, grin back in place, and started making his way towards her house. “Show me the heavy stuff. Come on!”  

By the time they first made their way inside, Eddie was already hauling out boxes filled with her things. The tops and sides of each cardboard box had been painstakingly labelled in Dani’s hand, the letters neat and blocky. Carson slipped by Eddie with an exaggerated pose as if squeezing through a tight space as they passed one another in the door. Eddie paused, arms laden, and turned his face to Dani while she climbed the steps leading up to the entryway. The extra step allowed her to press a chaste kiss to his cheek and, mollified, he continued on his way towards the truck. Once inside, she found that Carson was already heaving an armchair up with his hands. She moved out of the way so he could trot after his older brother, leaving her momentarily alone.

The house was bare. Most of her things had already been carted away the week before. The transition into their new shared home had been gradual, just like everything else in their relationship. Eddie settling in first and coaxing Dani along as though she were a particularly nervous show dog that had slipped the collar. Looking around now, hands on her hips, Dani felt like an intruder. Like she was an archaeologist who had wandered into someone else's burial site with a rusty torch and hammer.

It almost looked bigger now that it was so empty. Her footsteps echoed too loud on the wooden floors, the sound traveling further and longer. The bare walls once peppered with paintings and photos now like a skeleton expanding its ribs, waiting to expel her in one long sunken breath. Her thumb gradually drifted to her mouth as she took it all in, biting hard at her nail and skin, fixedly eyeing the spot where once a small reading nook used to be. 

The sound of footsteps behind her was harsh and loud to her ears. “Hey, what did I tell you about that?” Eddie said from beside her suddenly, his hand gently pulling Dani’s away from her mouth.

She swallowed heavily and pulled her hand carefully back to hold into a fist by her side, and said, “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just —”

“I don’t like you hurting yourself,” he said, frowning. She couldn’t help but let her shoulders slump at the concern in his eyes, and only managed to give him a tenuous smile and a nod. “Look, we’re almost done. Soon we’ll be out of here in no time and we can finally just focus on our home. Just let me and Carson do all the hard work.”

“I can help,” Dani said. “I want to help.”

He sighed. “Danielle -”

“I have my inhaler in the car. I won’t keel over and die,” Dani said.

“Hey, Ed, buddy, what happened to that deadline, huh?” Carson said, leaning heavily on the wall and pointing behind him to the kitchen, “You gonna help me with this thing or not?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, and briefly placed a hand on her shoulder before disappearing into the kitchen with muttered grumbling. Dani grinned after him before catching Carson’s eyes, chuckling and shaking her head as he winked at her before following Eddie.

“Gotta give her a minute to breathe, Ed.” Carson’s voice was soft, but still Dani heard it all the same and wrapped her arms tight around herself. 

Clearing her throat, she strode off in the direction of her old bedroom. The bed had been taken away and put in their new spare bedroom for guests who might come to visit. The carpet still bore indentations from where the posts had once sat. Eddie had already been in here; the boxes were gone. Dani glanced around for any last remaining items that might have been forgotten. The closet door was slightly awry, and with a frown she pulled it fully open. There was a single wire coat hanger hooked on the bar that stretched across the closet. Her hand reached out to take it, when she froze.

There, tucked away into the corner beneath one of the built in shelves, was a small wooden box. She could hardly remember the last time she had seen it, let alone opened it. A layer of dust covered the top. Kneeling down, Dani pulled the box out and into her lap. She blew the dust off and had to wipe a bit more with the edge of her sleeve. It was made of plain wood with a bronze latch fastening the lid shut. Her thumb teased the corner of the latch. She worried her lower lip between her teeth before steeling herself and lifting the lid open on squeaky hinges.

Nestled inside were a series of photographs, faded with age. Something clenched in her chest as she touched the first one with trembling fingers.

She and Jamie looked so young, and they were. Barely fifteen. Jamie's arm flung around her shoulder, arm outstretched to snap the photo while she pressed a kiss to Dani's cheek even as Dani laughed and elbowed her ribs. Swallowing down the urge to be sick, she slipped the photo aside to see the next. Jamie was younger still. Her arms were outstretched as she balanced her weight on the narrow steel bar of the abandoned train tracks beyond the fields that surrounded the town. Dani could remember the day she took this with crystal clarity. The days of summer in those years had been longer somehow, stretching on into warm endless nights. 

She was a furtive grave robber, flicking through picture after picture, exhuming a past that she hardly recognized herself in now. And pictures weren’t all that were stored here. There was a band shirt that had been half eaten by moths over years of neglect. An old Zippo lighter with scratched edges along the chrome plating. A necklace that was actually just a worn old half dollar coin pierced through and hung from a cheap chain. A cassette tape labelled Jamie’s Mixtape (1978) in a messy slanted scrawl, long missing its protective case. And finally, an old battered copy of Valley of the Dolls, where if she were to flick it open, she would find a pressed blue morning glory hidden among the pages. 

She gently ran her hand over them, still trembling as if the living memories within the treasure trove thrummed under her skin with its own heartbeat. 

In the distance, she could hear footsteps and the back and forth between Carson and Eddie in the living room as they manoeuvred a couch through the front door. When the footsteps drew closer, approaching down the hall, Dani hurriedly stuffed everything back into the box and shut the lid. 

Carson leaned in the doorway. At some point he had shed his leather jacket, so that now he only wore a white undershirt that was two sizes too small, tucked into his jeans. “You good here? We’ve loaded the last of it into the truck.”

“Yeah,” Dani said. She pushed herself upright, clutching the box to her chest as though it were an heirloom. “Yeah, that's everything.” 

His eyebrows rose and he nodded towards the box. “What do you got there?” 

Dani’s grip tightened. She could feel the grooves of the box pressing into her skin. “Nothing important.” 

—

Dani went about her routine on edge. At the supermarket, gripping the shopping cart between her hands and turning down the different aisles. At the gas station, stepping out of her beat up old car to work the pump. At the school, peering out the window at all the parents dropping off their kids in the parking lot. At the local cafe nearest the elementary school, picking up a newspaper and a slice for Hannah. Hoping for a glimpse of Jamie and dreading any encounter with her all at once.

Except Jamie never appeared. And Mikey sat at the back of the class, doodling in his notebook, not paying attention but knowing all the answers regardless whenever Dani called on him to participate. She could always see him after school sitting on the curbside and reading a new comic issue, or thumbing through a book from the paltry school library or scratching at his homework with a pencil. Not once did Dani loiter long enough to see him get picked up, and she felt a stab of irritation that he should be left alone for so long. But it wasn’t her business, and he got along well enough with the other kids during recess. 

Dani was still stewing silently over the whole affair at dinner with her future in-laws. She sat at the dining table, chewing at the skin of her thumb, with Carson at one elbow and Eddie at the next. Mike, Judy’s soft-spoken stooping husband, sat at the head of the table, while Judy herself set the last of the platters down and invited everyone to tuck in. 

“How’re the kids this year?” Judy asked as she spooned peas onto her plate. 

Dani made a noise in the back of her throat, before lowering her hand into her lap. “Yeah, they’re great! I — uh — I actually have a transfer student.”

Judy made a sound to indicate that she was still listening even while she passed a platter across the table to Eddie. 

“He’s really smart,” Dani continued. “I don’t really know what to do with him. He — well, he always looks a bit bored, to be honest.”

“Don’t they have some sort of advanced program for kids like that?” Mike asked. He had already tucked into the food even though his plate was only half full. 

“I’d need to talk to the parent or guardian first,” Dani said, her stomach flipping at the thought. The peas had made their way around the table to her now, and she slowly scraped the last of them onto an available corner of her plate. Swallowing heavily, Dani concentrated hard on the steady movements of her hands, and said, “Judy, I don’t suppose you’ve heard of anyone new coming to town?” 

Judy’s mouth was full. She frowned thoughtfully as she chewed, and swallowed before answering. “No, I haven’t, now that you mention it. I’ll have to ask around the ladies at the book club if they’ve seen anyone.” 

Any hope Dani might have nursed of learning something new about Jamie’s presence in town flickered out like a snuffed candle. “Thanks,” she said, already feeling the conversation wander towards other topics. “Can you pass the salt, Carson?”

—

Sitting here in her Sunday best with Eddie’s warm hand in hers and a book of hymns in the other, Dani was sandwiched in the pew between her fiancé and her mother. Karen smelled sharply of cheap mall perfume, her dress pressing in tight on her ribs. The priest’s voice echoed from his place declaming near the altar, but Dani wasn’t listening. She was too preoccupied with the way her heart pounded in her chest, the clench of her stomach and the restless nerves that someone might have seen her. 

She hadn’t planned on going to the movies yesterday, not at first. Not until she had seen the ad in Saturday’s morning paper, an art house theater two towns over advertising a one-time showing of Desert Hearts. It had caused such a stir in the community a few years ago that any curiosity Dani had felt toward it had died and shriveled up inside of her. Yet her Saturday afternoon had been free, and Eddie had been mercifully busy after helping her move the last of her things. 

And now Dani sat in the same church she’d been going to her entire life, feeling like a marionette whose mouth was puppetted by invisible strings as she joined the others in song. The priest leading them through a hymn wasn’t the same man who baptized Dani as an infant. The bench she was sitting on wasn’t the same she sat in week after week. The woman on her right was virtually nonexistent. The man’s hand she was holding loosely in her left wasn’t the same man who she grew up with, he wasn’t the boy who asked her again and again to marry him. 

This Dani, this new Dani, lied to her fiancé and drove an hour out of town the day before with a whispered prayer on her tongue for her car to just hold on for once, for just one more day to see a film that left her blushing scarlet and her stomach dropping not uncomfortably, sitting alone in the dark with a carton of untouched popcorn. This Dani would return to her car, and her first thought would turn to whether this would be the kind of movie Jamie would have picked as her choice of their weekly film showing — knowing immediately that the answer would be 'yes.’ And just as abruptly as the thought appeared, she promptly squashed the idea of even contemplating such a question. 

Dani’s voice faltered, wavering over the words as a flash of guilt washed over her when the heat returned to her skin. She looked up at the cross, hanging on the back wall over the priest’s head, and glanced furtively at Eddie to see where he was in the verse, praying no one had seen her stumble. When service finally ended, and the ritualistic gossip on the front steps had been entertained, she allowed herself to be led outside. Eddie’s hand was warm and steady, completely enveloping her own, pulling her to the warm air where it finally felt like she was able to breathe again. 

She felt a heady rush of relief when her mom begged off brunch, claiming to suffer from a headache as she walked to her car with a half-hearted wave. Relieved two-fold when Eddie needed to run off to the office for preliminary work for Monday, kissing her on the cheek in a goodbye that she barely registered before rushing off to his car. Until she was only left with Judy. 

“So,” Judy asked, and for a brief terrifying moment Dani thought she might know, she might have finally seen her. In the end though all Judy said was: “How about that lunch?” 

Judy linked their arms, pulling her in close until all Dani could do was smile and say, “Lead the way.”

The bistro Judy directed them to was relatively new, Dani had passed it multiple times over the last couple weeks but had never actually gone in, always driving by with casual curiosity and a bemused but charmed smile at the name: A Batter Place. 

“You’re gonna love it,” Judy said, guiding Dani in with an arm linked in her own, “Their macaroons are to die for.”

Gamely, Dani smiled along to Judy’s enthusiasm as Judy pointed to various fixtures of the restaurant, steadily ignoring the strain building in the back of her neck. It wouldn’t be fair to say that Judy made her nervous. There were too many good intentions behind her warm eyes and her warm hugs, always with her hands full of containers of hearty food, always holding on a little longer than Dani expected, like she was afraid Dani would drift away. Judy, she knew, at least cared. 

Perhaps that was why, after settling in their seats and ordering their lunch, Dani hid her hands under the table, fingers trembling as they picked at the skin of her thumb. 

“So, how have you been, honey?” Judy asked over her cup of coffee, smiling that kind, good-intentioned smile. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you since school started up again.”

A small pressure valve released in Dani’s chest, and she finally allowed herself a real smile. “I’ve been keeping busy, and well — you know how it is with a new school year. This year especially is different.”

“Because of the higher grade?”

“Right. And I just — I want things to be perfect, you know?” Dani said, and chuckled ruefully, “Though twenty-five twelve year olds will certainly be a challenge.”

This she could manage. This she could at least be grateful for, the way Judy allowed the conversation to steer towards something that filled Dani with a sense of purpose, smiling proudly at her over the din of conversation around them with no mention of Eddie or long overdue wedding planning. 

Judy took a pointed sip of her coffee. “Well, I know you like the challenge, but you can’t forget to take care of yourself,” she said, her lips pulling into a familiar smile. One to be used when nearing a cornered animal. Dani’s stomach sank, when Judy continued, “Now, I know you and Eddie need time to get used to living together, doing all the things couples have to learn to do alone but, you don’t have to steer clear of the house forever. I know we all recently just had dinner together but —”

Dani glanced away. 

“— You could come over at any time. Like yesterday! What were you up to yesterday? I would have made lasagna for you.”

“Oh, uh —” Dani gave a nervous breathy chuckle, hoping to hide the grimace at the memory of the two women who had stared brazenly at her when she had exited the art house theater yesterday, Dani in her too bright blouse and high jeans, looking frazzled and out of place. She took a long sip of her coffee, hoping to hide the same feeling under her skin now. “You know. Busy.”

Judy waved her explanation away with that same smile. “Oh, well, never mind that. It doesn’t matter now. There’s always next weekend,” she said, and her hand reached over to clasp Dani’s before she could hide it again. “I’m just hoping I get more time to spend with my favorite future daughter-in-law before things get too crazy. Wedding planning and teaching a class of twenty-five kids is one thing, but thinking about raising a baby is another.”

A moment passed before Dani could process the words. A baby. Of course. 

“Oh,” was all Dani managed to say, a polite smile frozen on her face as Judy’s grip on her hand tightened in a way that anyone else would have found comforting. The hand that Dani so wanted to pull away, to press against her chest. A pressure building inside her ribs, pulling her skin taught and straining at the edges. A ringing in her ears that sounded more and more like the whistle of a tea kettle or the whine of an over-revved engine. 

She was only saved by the grace of their food arriving, the pressure abating to something manageable as Judy freed Dani’s hand to make room for their plates. It gave Dani the opportunity to down half of her coffee, hot enough to scald, and to clench a fist under the table, her nails pressing hard into the soft skin of her hand.

At the first bite of food, Judy hummed and sank back into her seat. “Now that is delicious,” she said, gesturing with her fork. “Go on, take a bite.”

Dani took advantage of the moment, letting the previous topic of conversation pass over them untouched as she pulled her own forkful of food in her mouth. She blinked in surprise. 

“Wow,” she said after swallowing, sharing an incredulous chuckle with Judy. “That is really good.”

“I’m telling you, this new chef knows what he’s doing,” Judy said with a grin, as if she had known exactly how Dani would have reacted. 

It should have been comforting, being so well understood. And for the most part it was. Afterall, Dani had spent much of her youth at Judy’s table, being fed day in and day out as if she were Judy’s own. Always having a safe haven. A home away from home, where she would be welcome. No questions asked. It should have been an absolute solace. Yet somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being made of glass. As if she were standing there and Judy was looking right through her at someone else that didn’t exist. 

The bell attached to the door rang as it swung open, and the sound drew her back to the table, almost startling her. She swallowed down an unexpected thickness in her throat, ignoring that steady pressure in her ribs, and shared another unassuming smile with Judy, taking a second bite. 

“We should come here again,” Dani said, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure that was building in her lungs. 

“Then it’s a date. Next Sunday.” Judy smiled wide. 

It was so easy, making Judy happy, making her smile wide and bright like she’d won the lottery. It was something Dani was good at, pleasing others. The very thought of speaking up and potentially ruining the moment was enough to cause a vein of dread to thread its way through her. Yet something in that moment caused Judy’s smile to flicker, the sound of the bell ringing again as the front door swung open with a squeak of unoiled hinges. Judy’s eyes glanced over somewhere behind Dani’s shoulder and they slowly widened to an expression Dani had only seen once before — when Eddie announced their engagement during family dinner. 

“Jamie Taylor?” 

Dani tensed and turned around, and sure enough, there she was. Jamie Taylor herself. Dark jeans, big work boots, and a brown jacket, strolling into the bistro like she’d never left town. Like the air from Dani’s lungs hadn’t been sucked out by a gut punch releasing every single pressure valve at the very sight of her. 

“Oi, Sharma! Whatever happened to you saying you could fix those hinges without my help?” Jamie’s voice rang clear across the room.

“Danielle, honey, you didn’t tell me that Jamie was back,” Judy said in a rush of breath, already out of her seat and walking toward Jamie like a woman on a mission, as if there wasn’t a hurricane forming within Dani’s chest. As if a swell of feeling wasn’t rushing through her as she sat unmoving with wide eyes attached to the lines of Jamie’s back, to the curl of her hair, unchanged, unkempt, and yet completely different. 

Whatever Dani had expected to feel upon hearing that voice again, it wasn’t to feel all of it at once. She didn’t know which feeling to land on, watching Jamie turn at the sound of Judy’s voice, catching sight of the familiar lines of Jamie’s face as they twisted in surprise and fell into a charming smile as Jamie conceded to a tight hug from Judy; the fluttering of happiness, the rush of anxiety, the desperate desire to flee, the shock that belied the anger and muted resentment. 

In the end, Dani just sat there, unable to move and unable to look away. 

The pair pulled out of the hug, with Judy briefly and affectionately framing Jamie’s face with her hands like she used to. And Jamie rolled her eyes good naturedly with a crooked smile, burying her hands in her pockets. It was like no time at all had passed. They were teenagers again, and Judy was sending them off back home from dinner with warm hugs and piling their hands with leftovers in tupperware. 

When Judy gestured over towards their table towards Dani, it was all she could do to not run and excuse herself to the washroom, to not slip out the back door. But it was too late, tension coiling in her body as Jamie’s head turned towards Dani and their eyes finally met. 

It was suddenly incredibly hard to breathe. Dani blinked, and the look on Jamie’s face at the sight of her — startled, mouth agape — was gone, and all that was left was something entirely unfamiliar. A polite placid smile as Judy talked her ear off, answering Judy’s questions and gesturing across the counter towards a handsome man with a thick moustache wearing an apron. Even so, Jamie only had eyes for Dani, her gaze occasionally roving back, her expression unreadable. 

Before Dani could do more than stare, Judy was guiding Jamie back to their table, a hand on her back. Dani’s stomach twisted itself into a knot at their approach. Her heart began crashing against her ribs until it was all she could hear. Jamie was looking at her with that crooked grin, and Dani didn’t know what else to do but stand from her seat, faintly dazed, a hand brushing against invisible lint and wrinkles along her sky blue dress. 

“Look who I found!” Judy said as they pulled up to the table, as if Dani hadn't been on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the last minute. The last decade, if she were being honest with herself. 

All Dani could do was give a trembling smile. “Jamie,” she said, almost breathless, the name feeling foreign on her tongue. “Hi.”

Jamie’s grin shifted into something like a smirk, gaze drifting over Dani so fast that she felt it on her skin like a flash fire. “Danielle,” she said, and Dani’s smile faltered. “Been a minute.”

“It has,” Dani said in between barely gritted teeth, the feeling in her stomach souring. 

“I was just telling Jamie how this is the first time I’ve brought you here,” Judy interrupted, oblivious as ever. Jamie’s smirk dropped back into something softer, an eyebrow quirked and her head tilting curiously. “How today of all days, that we all walk in the same restaurant together. It must be kismet.”

“Don’t know about that, Mrs. O’Mara. Was never much one for kismet,” Jamie said with a shrug, looking so much like she’s sixteen again that a dull pressure returned to Dani’s chest. “World’s too chaotic for that.”

“And yet here you are.” Judy shuffled back into her seat and gestured to Jamie. “Come, come sit. Just for a while until your takeout is ready.”

It was only by the grace of luck and Judy’s affection for Jamie, that she gestured toward the chair next to her instead of Dani. Jamie didn’t argue, taking the seat, and Dani following after, almost a second delayed from the shock of it all. She could feel Jamie’s eyes on her as she settled in her chair, but Dani kept her attention low and focused on her food, feeling distinctly like she was in a dream.

“Danielle, truly, I can’t believe you neglected to tell me Jamie was back,” Judy admonished with a teasing grin. 

She clenched her teeth. Dani had a hard time believing it herself. “Must’ve slipped my mind," she said.

“How long have you been back again, honey?”

“About two months now,” Jamie said. At the admission, Dani finally pulled her eyes away from the table to look up at Jamie, lounging back in her seat like she had all the time in the world, noticeably avoiding Dani’s gaze.

Two months. Two months, and not even a phone call. Not even a letter. Dani took another heady swallow of her now lukewarm coffee in an effort to ground herself. Some things just never changed, she guessed. 

“We were so worried when you left, after — after everything, especially. We all were. I thought about you for so long afterwards. Kept you in my prayers,” Judy said, and while the words were sobering with the memories of those days, Jamie’s expression remained unchanged, detached and ambiguous, the corner of her mouth quirked. 

“Then I guess I have you to thank,” Jamie said, “All that praying must’ve done something good. Mikey and I have been getting on quite nicely, if I do say so myself.”

Judy gasped, a hand clutching at her chest. “Oh, Mikey! That sweet boy, how is he? Oh, I can’t believe it’s been so long. He must be — what? Eleven now?”

“Twelve actually,” Jamie said, then chuckled. It was something new. The way her eyes turned just a bit brighter, her smile more gentle, as she reached into her pocket to dig out a beat up leather wallet, flipping it open towards Judy. Judy gasped again, holding onto the wallet with a laugh. “Twelve years old and already reaching my chin," Jamie continued. "The little gremlin’s gonna have me beat by next year at this rate, I swear.”

“He’s wonderful,” Judy said, her eyes alight with emotion, “Gosh, he looks just like you. Except for the eyes, those sweet brown eyes. He’s definitely going to be a heartbreaker.”

“Not on my bloody watch,” Jamie grumbled. 

“Have you seen him yet, Danielle?” Judy held out the wallet to Dani, who had to refrain from recoiling back, as if Judy was holding out a live snake. 

“I have,” Dani admitted quietly, “He’s one of my students, actually.”

“Oh, so that’s what all those questions were about the other day,” Judy said, and tapped Jamie playfully on her arm resting on the table with her wallet. “What did I tell you? Kismet.”

Jamie flipped the wallet shut and returned it to her pocket. “Mikey did mention the name once or twice. Miss Clayton this, Miss Clayton that, and I thought: what are the chances?”

Dani swallowed down a scoff and the bitterness brewing in the back of her throat. Her left hand ached from clutching it so tight in her lap, knuckles white, crescent-shaped grooves in her palm. She stretched her hand out and ran it through her hair, her fingers trembling as they smoothed down the gentle waves and curls she put in that morning. 

“Ah, so he’s done it then,” Jamie said, apropos of nothing. She leaned forward on the table, staring so abruptly and intently that Dani shifted away in her own seat slightly, hoping she hadn’t noticed. 

It was the first time Jamie had fully addressed her since that singular hello. Dani frowned, that ever present knot in her stomach twisting tighter. “Sorry?” 

“That nice big shiny rock on your hand.” Jamie gestured down to the aforementioned rock, and sure enough, there was her engagement ring, shining bright against the afternoon light pouring through the window. “Must’ve cost a damn fortune.”

Dani had thought the same, when Eddie had dropped to his knee, proffering up the box where the ring lay, his face flickering through a wide array of emotions — adoration, anxiety, hope. At the time all Dani could think, staring down at the large square cut diamond, was that it looked heavy.

“But isn’t it gorgeous?” Judy gushed, reaching out to grasp Dani’s hand to pull it closer for Jamie to see. Dani breathed out an awkward laugh at the sudden motion but let herself be dragged along. “I went to help him pick it out, and — gosh, well, we all know how many times he’s asked over the years. Our Danielle always liked to keep him on his toes. I just about died at the news when they officially announced the engagement a few months later.”

Jamie whistled low. “I can imagine,” she drawled.

Judy continued to ramble about the announcement. She released the hand that Dani tried to surreptitiously and swiftly return under the table, hoping to hide the desire to shrink under the table as well. Meanwhile Jamie seemed to be only half-listening, watching Dani with a tilted head and a sharp glance that left Dani feeling like a strip of overexposed film. Her eyes strayed to Jamie's old scar against her will, landing on the long stretch of a pale line that started from her lower lip and descended down towards her chin. It was usually hard to see, but today it was easy to find in the light of the room.  

Dani swallowed thickly and glanced away. 

“So, how’d he do it?”

“Mmm?” Dani looked back up, a little dazed. 

Jamie’s head tilted pointedly towards her. “Ed,” she said. “How’d he go about it this time? To be honest with you, I had my bets placed on senior prom night, like he’d always planned. Flowers in the park after the dance, and all that rubbish.”

“He told you that?” Dani frowned. 

“Wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Oh.” Dani fiddled with the ring, glancing down at it. “No, it was um — “ She smiled, a frail subdued thing, only to fold her right hand over it, covering the diamond so that it dug into her palm, “ — it was during a dinner date.”

Jamie lifted an eyebrow. “In public?”

Dani nodded. “Yeah.”

“Christ,” Jamie breathed, looking somewhat horrified. 

“Language, sweetie,” Judy piped in, seemingly instinctively. 

And like clockwork, Jamie ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said, not looking sorry at all. 

Judy laughed, patting Jamie’s arm. “Gosh, just look at us,” she breathed, her eyes shining as they bounced between Dani and Jamie. “I still can’t believe it. Me and my girls back together again. Who’d have thought?”

Dani breathed out a chuckle, her cheeks aching from the force of holding a smile in place, not knowing what else to say. And what could she say, really? That none of this felt familiar? That it all felt so wrong? That after years of absence, to finally be just arm’s length away from Jamie, only to feel like she was meeting a stranger wearing a familiar face?

No. No, that wasn’t right. She worried her lower lip between her teeth, but Jamie had never stopped watching her. A shared look passed between them and it was there, finally, that she found something warm and tangible. The ghost of a memory of sitting across the table from each other at Judy’s during dinner, sharing a secretive knowing smile, while Judy gushed over Dani’s help in the kitchen, or admonished Jamie for yet another skinned knee. A smile pulled at the corners of Dani’s mouth, slow and real. Jamie blinked, her gaze softening as she mirrored Dani’s smile, and for the first time in a long time, Dani felt something in her chest unspool.

A bell rang. Jamie glanced away, and the moment was gone, leaving Dani chilled in its absence as if she had stepped out from a warm building and into a storm.

“That’s my cue,” Jamie said, sounding just as she had before, as if nothing had transpired between them. “Can’t let the kid starve without some lunch.”

She moved to stand but Judy’s hand held her in place. “Don’t think you can get away again this time without at least letting me give you my number,” Judy reprimanded not unkindly. "We got a new one at the house, you'll be surprised to hear."

Grinning crookedly, Jamie said, “And I imagine you’ll be wanting mine, then?”

Judy pulled out a pen from her purse and waggled it back and forth. “You know me too well.”

Grabbing a spare napkin, Judy jotted down a series of numbers. “Now don’t you forget to give me a call, all right? I want to hear all about your time away,” she said, handing over the pen and napkin for Jamie to rip out her piece, and note down her own number. Dani’s eyes strayed down to the confident, angled numbers, just barely able to decipher them from her vantage point. “And I hope you know, you and Mikey are welcome any time over for dinner. I want to meet that young man. See if he’s anything like his older sister.”

The words were fond, but Jamie snorted all the same. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. O’Mara. He’s my better half.”

Dani rose to her feet out of politeness when Judy stood to give Jamie a parting hug. For a terrifying moment, she thought Jamie might expect one from her as well, but Jamie only lifted her eyebrows and nodded before turning towards the counter to collect her order. She didn’t glance in Dani’s direction again as she left, pushing through the glass door and striding off down the street with the breeze in her hair. Dani watched her go, jaw aching from how hard she was clenching her teeth together.

Judy sat, and Dani followed suit as though she were simply mimicking Judy’s movements. “Jamie Taylor back from the dead after ten years. Imagine that.” Judy chuckled to herself and picked up her fork. “Feels just like old times, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dani breathed. “Just like old times.”

[pandoraborn]

It’s the day of the test launch! Tubbo’s excited, he’s standing on the platform with Jack Manifold, someone he trusts completely. All of Quackity’s warnings fly out of his head; Big Q is just paranoid these days. Tubbo knows he means well, but Tubbo’s been through more than enough lately, he can decide who he does or doesn’t trust anymore. He’s choosing to trust Jack.

The nuke launches. Tubbo watches proudly, seeing the plumes off in the distance rise up in the air, billowing into some destructive, poetic beauty he’s entranced by. There’s a certain catharsis in seeing a new hole appear in the landscape.

Perhaps it’s time to check out the destruction.

When he gets there, he realizes that he hadn’t been the first to arrive. Niki is standing just outside of blast range, and at her feet is the body of his oldest friend. There’s nothing left but a scrap of red cloth in NIki’s fingers, and she’s staring blankly at Tubbo.

“He’s dead, Tubbo,” her voice seems to echo. It’s not her voice, but Tommy’s. “You killed him. Bit you also should have killed him when you exiled him. I hope you’re happy.” She morphs into Dream, who’s holding a disk. “This was all your fault, you know. You shouldn’t have built Snowchester. Now the rest of them will die, Mr. President.”

Tubbo bolts awake, gasping for air. He’s clawing at his throat, rubbing it and trying to find some way to breathe. Everything hurts when his throat is aching as if he’d been screaming, white hot tears streaming down his cheeks. He flops back down and clutches his pillow tightly, trying to stifle his pained gasps. He still can’t breathe, and a small part of him tastes ash, as if he’s breathing in the toxic fumes from the blast.

“Tubbo?”

It’s Tommy’s voice again, and Tubbo freezes in place. He has a mental image of Niki-with-his-voice running into his room to taunt him some more. How the hell had Tommy even survived?

A figure does rush into his room, flipping the lights on. Tommy is standing in the door frame. Not melted, not decaying, not dead. He’s looking exhausted and confused, staring down at a still-wheezing Tubbo before he springs to action.

Tommy’s pouncing onto the bed and gathering Tubbo into his arms. “Hey hey hey, Tubbo!” The older teen can feel circles being rubbed into his back, and he has little other choice but to lean into Tommy. It’s comforting, it’s warm, and he wants so desperately for it to be real. “Tubbo, deep breaths, okay? It’s okay, please, it’s okay.”

Trembling fingers tug at Tommy’s sleeves. It’s getting easier to breathe now, especially with the lights on and the realization that they’re both safe.

“Tom-” Tubbo wheezes. “I didn’t mean-”

“Shut up, you clingy bastard.” There’s no malice in Tommy’s voice though. Tommy’s probably got his own demons to sort out, but he’s putting that aside for Tubbo right now. “I heard you crying, of course I’m going to come. What happened?”

“Nightmare,” Tubbo forces out. He wraps his arms around Tommy’s torso, letting himself relax into the embrace. He needs to hear this right now. He needs to hear Tommy’s voice, hear the familiar insults. He just needs to feel something positive right now. “You’re alright?”

“Wot? Toby I’m fine. I’m not the one that’s bolted awake from a nightmare yelling. Well I do, but I was already not sleeping anyway. You had a nightmare about Skeppy’s ugly face, didn’t you? I don’t blame you, he’s really ugly. So’s his boyfriend.”

Tubbo wheezes in laughter, more forced than anything natural. It also hurts, but he’s crying less now. “You’ve got to stop picking on everyone Tom. It’s not nice.”

“I’m the nicest bastard anyone’s ever met. I’m just more awesome than they are.” Tommy pulls back to shake his arms lose, but he’s right back to soothing Tubbo. “Seriously man, if you need me to stay the night with you-”

“-Please,” Tubbo whispers. “I don’t think...”

“Don’t worry man.” Tommy pulls back, then shuts off the light to the room before crawling back in bed. “Ask for help if you need it. I understand, man.”

Tubbo rolls over, not yet ready to stop clinging onto the one source of comfort he’s got right now. “Thanks, Tommy.” He closes his eyes when he feels Tommy return the gesture.

“Night, Toby.”

[mintvender]

UTOPIA [ 3 ]

Pairing: BTS x Y/N

Synopsis: Y/N L/N, the name of the current monarch of Corea. They became the ruler after successfully ending the previous king along with the dynasty as well. In their harem, countless men are present to help balance the court’s power. However, is this truly their intentions? The palace was always a place that needs to be proceeded with caution but as time goes by, recklessness would most likely outweigh it. You found yourself unable to prosper the kingdom without being too connected to it.

HaremAu!

Warning: None

Word Count: 4.1k

A/n: Finally finished part three of Utopia. Feedback are always welcome. Anyways, enjoy 🌿.

Masterlist

Focusing at the familiar sensation you were feeling on your back, you couldn’t help but let out a low groan. Satisfied with the pressure that is currently being applied, you obediently lay on the bed and let the magic occur. Combined that with the calming scent of lavender with a hint of rosemary, you couldn’t decipher whether or not if this was truly reality.

Continuing to let yourself sink into the mattress, you couldn’t help but be annoyed at the stare that you were getting.

“ A little harder on my shoulder blades?”

Feeling a heavier pressure applied to your tense shoulders, you could only sigh and not enjoy the entire experience because of a particular someone.

Despite you wanting to ignore it, luck was apparently not favouring you today. Well, you should have known that ignoring was never an option.

Hissing at a particular hard jab, you felt the pressure being lifted along with a line of apology. Little shuffles were then heard, until the person was standing a good distance away from you.

“ I… apologize?”

Scrunching your eyebrows at his tone, you were confused why he was using it. Turning your head around to meet his gaze, you offered him a curious look.

“ Do you need anything, Namjoon?”

At the mention of his name, Namjoon uncomfortably directs his gaze anywhere but you, obviously trying to avoid your questioning.

“ You seem weird today,” you commented, “ Do you perhaps have a fever?”

Quickly scanning his body, you tried to find out where the problem lies. Reaching your arm up to position it against his forehead, you tested his body temperature.

Seems normal.

While you were busy trying to come up with a potential reason, Namjoon could feel himself flushed in surprise. Stunned at what you were doing, he couldn’t help but stared at you, wide eyed.

Noticing how shocked he seemed, you removed your hand away, and chuckled.

Raising your left eyebrow, you teased, “ Why are you so stunned?”

Flinching at getting caught, Namjoon’s face continued to burn a crimson color.

“ I-I…”

Seeing how you manage to make the overly wise Namjoon speechless, you decided that it would be better to save your teasing for another day. After all, there are more important things to talk about as of now.

“ I trust that you will be more than capable of taking care of yourself,” turning around, you relax against the soft material, “ If you don’t, I don’t think that you have the ability to be by my side.”

Namjoon, a person who has been with you for years, is also a master in his own rights. Unlike Taehyung, Namjoon is well versed in the realm of medicine. Having memorized countless documents from ancient manuscripts to the most recent, Namjoon could be considered as a living medical dictionary.

With how long you have known each other, you know more than anyone how powerful Namjoon can become if he would put some effort in building his public relations. However, no one could ever be that perfect, every person has at least a flaw of their own.

“ … yes, your majesty.”

There it is again.

“ You don’t have to be so formal, Namjoon,” you reminded him, “ We, basically, have known each other for most of our lives.”

Not only has he learned many valuable information from the countless documents he had read, it had also somewhat affected his ability to be casual with others. Normally, it would only happen when he is with friends and whatnot, but never with you nor Taehyung. However, Namjoon seemed to become much more closed off the moment you guys took up your positions within the palace.

Maybe it was the difference in rank, but knowing Namjoon, he wouldn’t have cared so what’s the actual reason?

“ But, yo—“

You interrupted, “ No, I know what you are going to say… I don’t care if I am your current superior.”

Pushing yourself to your knees, you drowsily sit on the bed, still feeling the impact from earlier.

Sighing, you continued, “ Namjoon… before becoming the monarch, you were my friend first. You should know this better than anyone else, Namjoon… that our roots are intertwined.”

Hesitantly nodding at your word, Namjoon seemed to be more conflicted than before. You, this time however, waited for him to sort those feelings out himself.

The moment he called your name, you nodded and moved on, careful to not make him too uncomfortable.

Rubbing your back, you asked, “ My back is fine, right?”

“ Your back is fine. The soreness you are feeling is your body’s reaction to such an abrupt impact.”

Nodding at the reasonable answer, you reach your right hand over to your left shoulder and massage them, attempting to relieve your shoulders from its tense state.

“ Hwan is really big nowadays, she must’ve thought that she is still a puppy,” you said, finding how cute she is.

However, thinking back to earlier, your body couldn’t help but shudder at the feeling.

Groaning at the heavy weight on top of yourself, you tried to push them off but to no avail. Somewhat having an idea who this could be, you definitely have to handle it with care. If not, someone was going to be extremely mad at you.

Suddenly, you felt a chilling sensation on your left cheek, feeling a shiver wrack your body. Instinctively you brought your hand up to your cheek and wiped the substance off your skin. Wrinkling your face at the substance, you helplessly ruffled the big ball of fluff that was currently nibbling at your neck.

Purring at the feeling, it digs its head to the crevice of your neck and cuddles into you.

Normally, you would have also cuddled into the pile of fur if you were in a more private setting. However, with Taehyung screaming at someone, that scenario seemed far too out of reach, especially with you being stuck under a portable comforter.

Unable to contain your exhaustion, you let out a sigh, wondering why no one was helping you.

Am I really that cuddly? Why does everyone have to hug me today?

You flapped your arms around, silently gesturing for help which was thankfully answered by General Kim’s assistance. Lifting up the large body off you, he also assisted you on your way back to your feet.

Feeling painful pricks continuously nib at your feet, you waited for some moments to get blood to travel back to your asleep lower body.

Patting your attire to get rid of any dirty particles, you looked over to the pile of fur that was now hiding behind a certain person. You would have deceived yourself for its pitiful form if you didn’t see its excited eyes, piercing at you.

Looking up, you met the new arrival’s eyes who was awkwardly rubbing his neck, silently apologizing for his dog’s actions.

“ You should have put her on a leash!”

Taehyung, who had seemed to fully restore all his energy, was full on ranting at the person situated opposite of you, who was now pouting because of the lecture. He then looked over to you, silently sending another apology in the stead of his dog.

“ You don’t have to go that far, Tae,” you reassured him, “ Besides, Hwan didn’t hurt me. I was just taken by surprise by the abrupt greeting.”

Clapping your hands, you looked over to Hwan and signaled her to come over. While waiting for her to enter your arms, you shot Tae a soothing look, hoping to ease him up. As expected, Taehyung could only helplessly sigh and stop his ranting.

Watching your interaction with Hwan, Taehyung couldn’t help but pout. However, that was dismissed by all of you.

After having your share of exercising with Hwan, you look up and smile at the male who was proudly admiring you and Hwan the entirety of your little playtime.

Picking yourself up from your kneeled position, you walked over to the group with Hwan happily following your steps.

“ How have you been, Hoseok?” You greeted.

Smiling in return, Hoseok replied, “ I have been doing well, you’re majesty.”

Happy that he was doing alright, you threw a stick in the opposite direction, waiting for Hwan to go and retrieve it.

“ That’s good to hear. After all the mishaps within the palace, at least someone is doing well.”

“ I’m hoping that I’m not the only one,” Hoseok chuckled at your response, “ How have you been doing, your majesty?”

“ I—“

“ You definitely aren’t the only one doing well.” Taehyung interrupted, “Besides, I am sure that Y/N is doing quite well.”

Not knowing what to do, you could only shut your mouth, and tried your best to give a natural smile.

Immediately after, the atmosphere became a little too awkward for your liking.

Shooting Taehyung a glare, you silently warned him of his actions. However, not only did Taehyung not look apologetic, he even did a little ‘hmph’ to prove his point.

Lucky for you, with Hwan rushing back to the group, placing the stick in front of you, dispersing the tense atmosphere was much more achievable.

“ I’m doing fine, Hoseok,” directing your gaze to meet Hwan’s, “ Hwan is getting so big.”

As if waiting for the particular comment, Hoseok happily nodded, reaching his hand over to pet Hwan.

“ She indeed is,” Hoseok smiled, “ Though, she seemed to be a little puppy yesterday to me.”

Noticing how fond Hoseok is towards Hwan, you silently coo at how closed they were. However, that was cut short once again by the one and only Royal Consort.

“ That dog’s too big, it might even endanger your majesty’s life with its weight,” Taehyung interjected, “ Yeontan is much better.”

Normally, you would have dismissed the comparison if it was between the two of you. However, with Hoseok being here, you cannot just let him act whatever way he wants to. You knew that Taehyung did not fully intend to insult Hwan, but it was enough to offend Hoseok.

Even after your initial warning, he still decided to disobey your words.

Looks like I spoiled him too much.

Instead of repeating your previous reaction, you decided to ignore the male next to you and instead focus on who's opposite of you.

Seeing how awkward things have been, General Kim decided to intervene in an attempt to lift the tension.

“ May this servant ask the Noble Consort the reason for you being here?”

Previously nervously glancing at the bush nearby, Hoseok perked up at his title and smiled in return.

“ Originally, I did not plan to go out today,” Hoseok explained, “ However, this little rascal hasn't quiet down since last night. As a result, I figured to get some exercise while at it.”

Nodding at his response, an idea suddenly came, whooshing into General Kim’s mind.

“ If you do not mind my suggestion, your majesty,” General Kim looked over to you, “ Since the Royal Consort is training his physical body, if we were to have another person join, he would have a partner to practice with.”

Curious at what he was hinting, you urged him to elaborate.

“ To be more specific, I think that the Noble Consort would be the perfect candidate.”

Looking between the two, you contemplated at the suggestion.

Hoseok was quite agile by just how he carried himself. His moves also seemed quite sharp but with him wearing a hanbok, you can’t really figure out if it was true or not.

While you were busy thinking about the possibility, the mentioned couple were glancing at each other, too shocked to say anything. However, before Taehyung could even think about denying it, you beat him to his own game by fiercely glaring at him. Making direct eye contact with you, Taehyung couldn’t help but cowered slightly, unable to utter a witty comment. Looks like your little tiger has lost once again.

Smiling in triumph, you couldn’t help but puff your shoulders slightly, proud of winning your guys’ little game.

“ Hoseok, what do you think?,” you asked, “ Would you mind being Taehyung’s partner?”

Looking at Hoseok, you can immediately sense his nervousness and hesitation at your offer.

If you were being truthful, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have Hoseok accompany Taehyung. However, you weren’t a pushover, you wouldn’t force Hoseok to so something he doesn’t want to. Though, you still hope he accepts your offer.

“... I would be more than happy to do so,” Hoseok said, “ However, would the Royal Consort not mind my presence?”

“ Of co—“

Before Taehyung could reject the idea, you interrupted, “ No, Taehyung definitely would not mine. Am I correct, Taehyung?”

Shivering at your tone, Taehyung immediately nodded.

Satisfied with his response, you happily entrust Taehyung’s training to General Kim and Hoseok.

“ Then I’ll entrust Taehyung to the both of you,” you said.

“ Of course, your majesty.”

“ … Yes, your majesty.”

At the tone of Hoseok’s tone, you were reminded of a certain etiquette used specifically within the palace.

Pretending to be oblivious to his tone, you looked at him, confused.

“ Do… you perhaps need anything, Hoseok?”

Hoseok, realizing that he got caught red-headed, could only sheepishly nod his head.

As expected, you had to fulfill a request of his for the time he would spend with Taehyung.

Although the palace could sometimes be considered to be quite mysterious, whenever it comes to favour, there is no grey space, only black and white. If you have asked a person for a favour, expect that person to do exactly the same to you when they need it. That’s the basic rules that all need to understand when entering the palace.

If not, it’s easier to die than to live within the palace walls.

Knowing this, you had to grant Hoseok one of his requests. Though, until now, you could tell that he is not a malicious person, but it’s better to be extra cautious now that you are always the center of attention.

“ Tell me.”

Not meeting your gaze, your mind immediately branches out to various possibilities.

Maybe he wants me to get him something? Or maybe to grant Minister Jung an audience with me… Maybe he … wants a divorce.

Somehow, your heart unexpectedly tightens at the thought of Hoseok leaving. With just a few months of knowing him, you have grown quite fond of his bright personality. However, your expression still remains composed as you wait for Hoseok’s reply.

“ I would like to go outside.”

“ Hmm?”

Surprised, no shocked at his utterly humble request, you couldn’t help but let out a confused expression. You understand that this man is not like others but how is he so innocent to ask for such a thing?

Seeing your unresponsive state, Hoseok couldn’t help but be uncertain at his request, thinking that it might be too much. As a consort who serves the monarch, he technically can’t have any public relations outside of the palace so he understood that his request was quite absurd. However, he had seen the Royal Consort leave the palace a few times so he figured that it would be alright, but does have to ask for your permission first.

“ You want to go outside?”

Directing his gaze to the voice’s direction, he nodded, confirming Taehyung’s question.

“ Hoseok… you do know that you could go out whenever you want right?” You asked, “ Or was there any misunderstanding that I have yet to catch on to?”

Immediately shaking his head in response to your question, “ No, you did say that but I figured that it was only … out of politeness... I’m sorry.”

You gently waved your hand, dismissing his apologies, “ No it’s fine. If you want to go outside, then go ahead. I don’t restrict people from those types of things.”

Hoseok happily yet hesitantly nodded and thanked you. Somehow, the way you had phrased that particular sentence sounded quite off to him. However, Hoseok ignored it and thanked you for your kindness.

Nodding at his response, it seemed like the perfect time to end the conversation. And with that you went back to caressing Hwan’s soft fur.

Unfortunately, that memory was cut shorter and more abruptly than you would have liked to admit.

“ Y/N? Are you listening to me?”

Flinching at the mention of your name, you were snapped back to reality with Namjoon yelling your name.

“ I apologized. What were you saying?”

Knowing how your mind tends to drift away whenever you just experienced a dramatic scene, all Namjoon could do was helplessly sigh and restart.

“ It’s alright,” he said, turning back to what he was doing, “ This is a combination of lavender and chamomile which would help relax your nervous and digestive system.”

After he had finished combining the two scents, Namjoon makes his way to the chair nearby, settling down on it. Picking up the book on the little table nearby, he gently flipped through the pages to where he previously was.

On the other hand, you have once again lie down on the mattress, your muscles silently aching at every movement you do. Ignoring the pained feeling, you take a moment to inhale the air within the room, noticing how the fragrance was indeed different from the previous one and slowly relaxes your body.

“ You know what Hoseok asked me today in return for being Taehyung’s partner?”

“ The Noble Consort?” Namjoon questioned.

“ Mhm… he asked me to allow him to go outside.”

In response to your comment, Namjoon hummed in interest while still focused on the content of the book.

“ Hoseok, that child, sometimes reminds me of Taehyung,” you said, “ Although they have similar personalities, each of them still shine in their own way. While Taehyung is bubbly and cheeky, Hoseok is … quite innocent when you get close to him.”

“ Innocent and a child? The Noble Consort is only a year younger than you,” Namjoon replied, “ More than that, he is turning twenty-three this year.”

Rolling your eyes at his sarcastic response, you continued to breathe in the calming scent, continuing to feel your body relaxing.

Now that he mentioned that, most of the people that are within your inner circle are quite similar to you in age, with the exception of a few. Maybe it’s because all of you are so young that you guys have bonded through your high ambitions. However, even if they were to be in your age group, they still have to have similar roots as you.

So how did these people manage to befriend me when it has only been 3 months?

Deciding to dismiss the question and postpone to another day, you answered, “ I understand that Hoseok is the same age as you and is an adult. However, the way he carries himself just reminds me of a curious child, especially whenever we talk in depth about a particular subject.”

No, more like a curious child who has been deprived of the most basic education about the way of life.

Somehow, Namjoon found himself nodding in agreement with your observation.

“ Also, with how often he smiles, and so brightly even, just proves the point of how much innocence he has,” you added.

Sometimes, you envy how positive Hoseok is in any situation. Just having a genuine smile in a tense situation can brighten the entire room up. However, not many can be as positive as that.

“ He might seem innocent to you but why would a noble, who has spent his entire existence bathing in riches would suddenly go out to the dirty streets?”

Thinking about what Namjoon just said, it really truly doesn’t make sense. Hoseok, who can have all the things he wants in the world yet still remains to be so innocent and humble. How unbelievable it sounds.

Is this really the real him?

“ I’ll send someone to investigate him further,” you said, sitting up, “ They found almost nothing suspicious about him during the first round of inspection. Maybe, he is hiding something much deeper…”

“... or is working as a spy for Minister Jung within the harem.”

You nodded, expression sharpened at the possible thought. It was a possibility that you have already thought of but ultimately dismissed it after the initial investigation. However, it seems like you should be diving deeper, much deeper. In any case, preventing the worst possible outcome should always be the top priority.

Though, I hope that my intuition is right about you, Hoseok.

“ Be careful, Y/n.” Namjoon warned, “ You never know what or who is involved.”

Silently thanking him, you make your way out of the comfort of your bed and begin walking towards Namjoon.

“ Jungkook.”

At the mention of his name, Jungkook quickly opened the door and entered.

“ Yes, your majesty.”

“ Go and invite Taehyung to come over,” you ordered, “ Quickly.”

Immediately after, Jungkook then greeted you and ran out the door, feeling the need to hurry and bring the Royal Consort back with how urgent you seem.

Knowing this was not the time to question your words, Jungkook focused fully on bringing back the Royal Consort as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, you settled on the seat positioned around the center table, waiting for Taehyung.

After what seemed like quarter of an hour, your chamber doors finally opened.

Normally, you would have waited for Taehyung to even out his breath, but with the possibility of a rat within the harem, there was no time for that.

People might say that you are being too abrupt but with personal experience, how could you repeat the same mistake?

Waving your hand to dismiss Jungkook, “ You can leave, Jungkook. We’ll be fine.”

Nodding at your words, Jungkook then exited the room, knowing to leave your courtyard fully.

You gestured for Taehyung to settle on your right side while Namjoon took the seat left of you.

“ Taehyung, I apologized for suddenly calling y—”

Feeling a light gust of wind entering the closed space, you stopped yourself from saying anything further, “ Looks like we have another guest.”

Quickly standing up from your spot, you quietly make your way towards the shelve on the left side of the room, and grab your sword, that was proudly displayed on the main compartment.

Blazefury, a bonguk geom made especially for you by one of the most skilled blacksmith in the nation, maybe even wider than that.

The single-edge sword was quite long, making it much easier to injure the enemy at a greater distance. Like any other sword, the blade itself is quite sharp. With how much time you put into taking care of your sword, the blade still reflects whatever is put in front of it. The handle of the sword is a deep red, while a scarlet tassel is attached at the hilt, contrasting with the silver metal of the blade.

To say the absolute least, you couldn’t be any more honoured to have this sword within your possession. After all, the sword is a masterpiece on its own, even without having to say who brought this sword to life.

Unsheathing the sword from its leather scabbard, you pointed it towards the window opposite of you.

Smilingly, you slowly close the space between you and whoever was behind the thin windows.

Though, you do find it weird that the person is not moving even after finding out that they have been caught.

How could they be so careless to hide behind a window composed of mostly paper? To spy on me? No, there are other ways. Maybe they just want to finish me?

When you are finally in front of the window, placing your left hand against the window, feeling the rough paper on your fingertips. Gently tracing the outline of the frames, you wickedly lengthen the moment much to other’s displeasure.

To you, however, it truly doesn’t matter if you were to open the window now or later. After all, even if they want to escape, it would be too late to even move a meter.

The only thing that would make you hesitate is if the person would call for backup. You would be able to handle them all, but with Taehyung and Namjoon here, both yet to master any type of martial arts except for the most basic defence exercises. Looks like you have to prepare for the absolute worst.

Finally gathering force to your left hand, you forcefully open the window, purposely creating a large bang.

However, before you could even register what was about to come, the person in front of you dropped their weapon, silently surrendering.

While you on the other hand felt your smile getting wider, eyes sparkling in interest.

“ What are you doing here, Panther?”

Definition:

Bonguk geom - a type of sword or sword skill. It is said that the phrase ‘bonguk geom’ originated from the Hwarang of the Silla dynasty. As a result, it could even be called as Silla Sword or Singeom. Bonguk geom literally means ‘national sword.’ The appearance of it is quite similar to a katana ( I believe it is the sword used in Yoongi’s track, Daechwita but please correct me if I am wrong).

Copyright © 2021 MintVender

All rights reserved.

[omniswords]

lukanette for kiss #1

1.  Small kisses littered across the other’s face.

leave me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a kiss! [CLOSED FOR NOW]

i think we can all agree that we could do with some good old-fashioned luka(nette) sugar right about now, yeah? enjoy!! <3

“Okay,” Luka says. “Talk to me.”

He must really mean it, because he’s actually stopped playing to listen to Marinette, even though she hasn’t said anything. He’s patient with her, has been in all three years they’ve been dating. (Three and a half, she reminds herself.) If there’s something she needs to say, he’ll spend all the time in the world waiting for it—even waiting for her to realize she needs to say something at all. “What do you mean?” she asks, hardly looking up from her work.

“You’ve got the wrinkle,” is all he says.

Marinette rolls her eyes. “I do not.”

“I can see your face right now, babe.” Luka sets his guitar aside, moving from the couch—their couch— in favor of the spare swivel chair at her desk. “You only get that look when you’re unhappy about something and think it’s better to bottle it up instead.”

Marinette scrunches up her lips, pretending to look more focused than she actually is. “How do you know I’m not just unhappy about how this dress is coming out?”

She can practically feel how his gaze flickers to the dress form in front of her. The wide-brim straw hat, decorated with a plain white ribbon, that’s supposed to bring this whole summer ensemble together. “Because you’re never really unhappy with your work,” he says, rolling his chair closer to her stool. “Even if you think it sucks, you’re always sort of happy that you made it anyway.”

“That’s just being an artist,” Marinette argues weakly around the stick pins in her mouth. “You get the same way about your music.”

“What are you thinking about?”

It’s hard to say anything to that besides what she’s actually thinking, especially when he starts to rub her shoulders in an attempt to coax her away from her work. She knows she’s done for when he thumbs at the baby hairs at the back of her neck, kisses the top of her head, eases the pins out of her mouth one by one. “Do you think I’m boring?” she blurts out.

Luka’s in the middle of taking down her hair from its messy I’m-on-a-deadline bun by then, but he stops. His fingers still thread through the locks like they're looking for something to do while he mulls over what he wants to say next. She’s always appreciated that about him, the fact that he always thinks before he speaks, but now the silence is anxiety-inducing. Maybe almost as much as it is when he calmly says, “Did… I do something to make you feel that way?”

“No! No, I just… I guess I was just… thinking. About it.” She slumps forward in her seat a bit, and Luka’s hands are back on her instantly, soothing the words out with every knot he works. “Just how it feels like… you know when you go out and you see new couples being all… couple-y?”

She can almost hear the smile in Luka’s voice. “I’m familiar with it, yeah.”

“Were…” Marinette trails off, holding her breath and pushing it out through her teeth while he targets a finicky crick in her neck. Maybe she’s been more of a workaholic than she thought. “Were we ever… like that, when we started dating? Showing each other off and being so public about it? It just… it feels like so long ago.”

She’s still got her thimble on—porcelain with a polka dot design she painted herself—and she toys with it like she needs something to do, too, while Luka takes care of her and pieces together just what it is she’s trying to say. “Nah,” he murmurs, not rejecting or judgmental, just matter-of-fact. “I don’t think we were ever like that. But I also don’t think we ever really needed to be like that.” He pauses. “Unless you wanted to be, and I just totally whiffed on that the whole time—”

Quickly, Marinette shakes her head. “No, no, I was just thinking about it recently.” Her body seems to relax almost entirely in his grip, and for a moment she nearly forgets just what she has to do to make this dress work. “I guess I… was thinking about how I used to think about love. How I felt like I always had to be nervous all the time around whoever I liked because that meant I really felt something. Or like whatever relationship I was in had to be exciting, and emotional, like a rollercoaster all the time, because I thought… life was always better if it kept you on your toes.”

Luka hums in thought. “How’d that work out for you?”

She laughs, quiet, sheepish. “I guess it didn’t. Except for the part where it led me to you.”

“Yeah, I kinda like that part.” He kisses the top of her head again, thumbs finding a home at her shoulder blades. “Do you want me to tell you what I think? Or do you have more to say?”

Marinette closes her eyes. “Go ahead.”

Sometimes she feels as though, when Luka touches her, cares for her with those hands of his, he’s playing her the way he might play his guitar. As though, when he speaks to her, he’s singing. He’s told her before, that music somehow makes its way into just about everything he does—especially when it comes to her. It happens even now, as he pauses only to press his lips to her hand.

“I think,” he says, “that we’ve always been kinda comfortable with each other, and that maybe that’s a good thing. Being comfortable… well, it makes for a good relationship in the long run.” There he goes again, playing the strings in her shoulders, the chimes in her hair. “But I also don’t think it’s so bad to want a little extra excitement every so often. Life’s gonna keep us on our toes anyway, so why not make it for the better? Maybe we deserve that.” He rests his chin atop her head. “Maybe we deserve to fall in love with each other all over again.”

Marinette will never understand why he thinks he’s not so good with words when he can so easily take her own and make such sense of them. She swivels around in her seat, unable to help the smile that erupts across her face. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Luka grins right back. “You’ve told me,” he teases. “But I won’t complain about hearing it some more.’’ He cradles her face then, littering soft kisses all over her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, as though he’s dead-set on doing it until he makes her giggle. And once he does, and chuckles along with her, he leaves one last lingering one on her lips, pulling away far too soon for her liking. “C’mon. Let’s get ready.”

“Mm?” She blinks slowly, coming back to herself. “For what?”

“Date night.” His fingers trace her hairline, catch delicately on the curve of her jaw. “We haven’t had one in a while, huh?”

Her brow furrows. “We didn’t plan a date night.”

Luka’s still smiling. “I know.”

Within seconds, that dopey grin of hers is back with a vengeance, and she doesn’t even try to fight the warmth or the onslaught of butterflies that fills her stomach. She doesn’t want to. She wants Luka to see what he still does to her.

“That’s my girl,” he tells her with one more kiss. “Let’s go fall in love all over again, huh?”

Marinette already misses the feeling of those comfortable, musical hands on her face once he gets to his feet. And she might be hallucinating from the leftover dregs of stress, but she thinks she might see the outline of a little box in the back pocket of his jeans.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @sassy-sara @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane @odi-et-amo85 @watermelonlover-123

~^~

Tuesday, 18:04

Song: Wingtip - Strangers

“Okay, fuck,” Jayden laughs, shoving Kes aside. “Enough bullshitting about me. Time to listen to Lucas.”

Lucas sighs wistfully. “I miss your bullshit though.”

“Do you really though?” Kes questions.

Jayden shoves him again in protest and Lucas laughs, even though his chest is aching because he really does miss them. He misses everything about them, and about his other friends, and his home, and his mother. He misses Utrecht in general. It only gets stronger ever time he sees them, or every time they simply text him, or make a post that he isn’t involved in at all.

He also feels like he has been neglecting them, slightly. It has been harder than he expected to keep up with everything at once. He can only deal with so much interaction on certain days. Others, it still manages to exhaust him. He has found himself needing to plan these more lengthy interactions, needing time to gather himself before being presented to his best friends.

He’s just finding it a little hard, to keep lying to them.

“Nah, look at him, he’s right at home. Bet he likes his new buddies Jens and whoever better,” Jayden mock sniffles.

It’s especially hard when they say things like that.

It would be so easy to tell them, right now. To smirk at Jayden and tell him that he’s right, and that he should be glad, because he probably wouldn’t appreciate Lucas liking him quite as much as he likes Jens. He could make a light-hearted joke out of it, then assure them he is in fact serious when they laugh, and it would finally be out. He would finally be out, and he wouldn’t even have to say the words. His best friends would finally know him completely.

Then…what then?

He doesn’t know. He has imagined endless scenarios of how they would react, and none of them are in his favour.

It doesn’t matter how much he tells himself that they are the chillest people he knows. That he has never seen them be anything less than entirely open and accepting. It has never mattered because he has never had to test their acceptance of him.

He also doesn’t want to tell them over video-call, even though the chicken side of him points out the upside.

Video-calling also makes it easier for him to accidentally give himself away.

“I would’ve been okay with like a second’s hesitation but that’s just hella rude, Luc,” Kes pokes his head back in, leaning half-over Jayden as he smiles. It looks mildly concerned.

“No, sorry,” Lucas shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “I told you, they’re not you guys.”

“But they’re treating you good now, right? Didn’t you sort things out with Jens?” Kes prods, and Lucas tries very hard not to blush.

His situation with Jens now is drastically different to that of two weeks ago, when he’d spoken to them last. Lucas still hasn’t come to terms with it himself. If he really were to tell them, he wouldn’t even know where to begin. He’d probably throw up before he could even get the words out, with how quickly anxiety churns his stomach at the mere thought.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“You don’t sound very convinced,” Jayden says dubiously.

Lucas has to admit that he isn’t.

Kes nods in agreement. “I’m starting to get worried when it’s like this every time we call you, Luc. Are you really okay there?”

“No, I am,” Lucas assures. “At least I always think I am, and then I actually see you guys and I...it just reminds me that I could be there but I’m not. Then I start thinking about why, and what I’m missing, and the fact that I already don’t talk to you guys as much as expected and I haven’t actually seen you at all and it sucks.”

“Hey, Luc,” Kes soothes, “we’re right here. Whenever you can come, we’ll still be here. We’ll always be here. This is our last year of school. When we’re going to uni, you can come home. He can’t say no to getting a flat with us then, right?”

Lucas blows out a sigh. “I guess not. But that’s still a really long time.”

“So get your ass back here,” Jayden insists. “Go talk to your dad. Right now.”

“He’s in the shower…”

“Perfect. He won’t spend a bunch of time arguing when he’s naked.”

Lucas scrunches his nose as Kes makes a sound of protest and shoves Jayden out of the way, drawing the laptop onto his knee. “Okay. Don’t listen to Jayden. Go talk to him as soon as he comes out. You need to be calm, and apologetic, but firm okay? He needs to know you’re taking it seriously. You understand your mistakes, yada yada, you’ll get depressed if you don’t see my face in person soon, blah blah, and you’re on the next train.”

Lucas huffs. “That simple.”

“It’s that simple,” Kes says, suddenly serious. “Just ask. Your new pals can’t begrudge you one weekend and neither can your dad.”

“I don’t know. He wasn’t sure about it the last time.”

“But you were,” Jayden points out, leaning on Kes’s shoulder to bring himself back into the frame. “You were serious about it. Don’t you miss us as much anymore?”

It’s teasing, but instead of joking back, Lucas softens. “More,” he admits.

“Then that should be enough motivation shouldn’t it? What’s holding you back?” Kes asks.

Lucas’s initial thought is Jens, but it isn’t the boy himself that is making Lucas hold back from his friends. It’s Lucas, and how he is with Jens, and the fact that he doesn’t want to lie about it anymore.

But nothing scares him more than telling the truth.

He just wants his friends to always look at him the way they are now. Soft and sure and knowing, familiar in the way that only comes with years of interaction. Patient and understanding and easy.

He doesn’t want that to change, but he can’t be sure that it won’t.

But maybe it needs to.

Just, not quite yet.

“I haven’t spoken to her since I left,” he admits softly, looking down at his lap and picking at the bedsheets, reminding himself to steal that ring again.

Kes and Jayden are quiet for a moment. It’s eventually Kes who tests the waters further. “But that’s natural when she’s been committed, right?”

“They can still use their phones. She sent me a few texts.”

“And you haven’t replied to any?”

“I don’t know what to say to Bible verses.”

They’re quiet again.

“You know you can stay with us,” Jayden says. “You don’t even have to think about it. It’s not even a question.”

Lucas smiles slightly, offering a grateful nod. He hasn’t been planning on using it as an excuse to actually say no, anyway. “Okay. I’m going to ask him. I’ll call you back after.”

“Fuck, now?” Kes leans forward, excited.

“Yep. Wish me luck.”

They call out their good lucks, and Lucas hangs up, shutting his laptop as he runs a hand through his hair. He pulls the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands as he makes his way to the kitchen, sitting himself at the small round table as he waits.

His sleeve has frayed by the time his father joins him, looking surprised to see Lucas waiting. Lucas smiles nervously and his father raises his brows.

“What’s this?”

Lucas shakes his head, licks his lips, realises he should have prepared instead of panicking. “I was just wondering if my curfew is ending anytime soon.”

Hugo purses his lips as he moves to one of the overhead cupboards, taking a mug out as he flicks on the kettle. “Another party or something coming up?”

“No, just...I was actually wondering about going home. For the weekend.”

Hugo turns around to look at him, placing his hands on the counter behind him. He switches his gaze to the ground, scuffing his foot over it. “I haven’t been trying to keep you from your friends.”

“I know.”

“That’s not what your punishment is about.”

“I know.”

“I don’t even know what it’s about, at this stage,” the man admits, rubbing a hand over his face. He looks to Lucas again. “Your mother got out at the weekend.”

Lucas’s shoulders tense naturally. “She did?”

“Yes. I spoke to her on Sunday. She sounds better.”

For now. She’s better for now.

“Okay?”

“So you could stay with her, if you wanted. But I understand if you’d rather stay with your friends.”

Lucas can barely realise the acceptance in the statement, focusing purely on the information regarding his mother and the new offer in place. He could still go and stay with Jayden in the flatshare. Or he could go home. Really home, to the building and the room and the bed he’d stayed in all his life. To his posters and his old paintings and the scratches in the door frame, marking his life out in notches of growth.

To his mother, who he has barely let himself think about, but misses more than he thought possible.

“Really? I can actually do that, this weekend?”

“If that’s what you want,” his father shrugs. The kettle boils, and he turns away again to fill the mug, stirring the tea bag in the warmth before lifting it out. “I’m not trying to keep you from your mother either, Luc. I know she’d be happy to see you. She was always happy to see you.”

She hadn’t been. Not always.

But Lucas is surprised by the sudden realisation that he really, really wants to see her.

“This isn’t a test?” He eyes his dad carefully, prodding just once more as hope fills his chest.

“Come on, buddy, I’m not that bad am I?”

Lucas is out of his chair and wrapping his arms around the older man before he realises it himself. Hugo stands stiff, but eventually turns around to hug him back, squeezing tight where Lucas expects a few awkward pats. It’s surprisingly comfortable, surprisingly easy. His arms fit snugly, overlapping, around his father’s waist and he’s tall enough to tuck his chin over his shoulder and close his eyes for a brief second.

“Thank you,” Lucas murmurs.

Hugo gives him another squeeze. “I’m still not giving you your weed back.”

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

Fortune’s Rule, Part 3

Ok, I thought this was going to be a 3-parter but, once again... it got away from me. So this is the third part and I’m almost entirely sure it’s the second last part. 

Part One Part Two

Pairing: Damian Priest x OFC

Word Count: 3,902

Content advisory: The smut has arrived! 

Indeed, for the rest of the night, you’re lost in your thoughts. ‘Damian’ you repeat in your head, thinking of how well the name seems to suit him but not knowing why. Damian with his long dark hair and tattoos, and that knowing, sinful smile. You haven’t been attracted to anyone since Johnnie and even that had more or less fizzled out by… you try not to think about it but the images come to you anyway. 

It’s the same sort of thing that you dream about, the sensation of being back in the woods, cold and desperate, clinging to the bag of money that still sustains you, shivering at the thought that your boyfriend and best friend might be dying in the water or that they might survive and know that you abandoned them. It’s like you can almost hear them dragging themselves towards you, broken steps from broken bodies. 

“Excuse me?” a sharp voice snaps you back to reality. 

“Yes,” you stammer, “I’m sorry.”

“Two PBR,” the young man says, his voice making it clear that he’s repeating this. 

You nod and turn around to get the chilled bottles out of the fridge but when you stand again, your body freezes and one of the bottles slips right out of your hand and shatters on the floor. For a second, you see Cynthia in the alley across the street, next to Damian’s store, slowly advancing from the shadows in the same terrible state she is in your dreams. 

But then a man emerges from the alley, adjusting his belt to make it clear what he was just doing. He sports a vest covered with badges and short, crimson hair but he is nothing like Cynthia. He jogs to catch up with a small group of punks and they all take off together, which leaves you in shock, standing in a rapidly expanding puddle of beer laced with broken glass. 

You sheepishly take a third beer from the fridge and hand them to the customer, not even bothering to count the money he drops on the bar before grabbing a couple of towels to soak up the mess. It takes that plus an entire roll of paper towels and a thorough mopping to clean up the mess and even then, you’re not certain you got all of it. The scent of cheap beer is in your nostrils for the rest of the night. 

Of course, this would be the night that you have customers lingering until nearly two, stretching out the time before you can take Damian up on his offer. But the sign in his shop stays lit, like a beacon letting you know you can find your way there no matter how late you come. So you let the customers stay and serve them as long as they ask. And when they’re gone you make yourself go through the closing rituals to the last detail. 

When you go to shut down the lights, you feel yourself shiver a little and you could swear that you see a shadow moving somewhere in the back but you turn and rush out of the place, locking the doors and closing the security gate before rushing to find out what your dark stranger has to tell you. 

You’re frightened by the screech of tires, a car Plotinus down the road well above the speed limit, loaded with kids blasting some sort of trap beats and hollering at you for interrupting their ride. You could swear that you looked down the street when you started to cross and saw nothing. Shaken, you instinctively grip your bag to your side and scurry the rest of the way to the shop door, ringing the bell as a handwritten sign instructs. 

There’s a loud buzz and you push open the door, much heavier than it looks, to find yourself in a dimly lit cavern of strange and slightly ominous artefacts, jars of leaves and roots, rough crystals and many, many books in a wide range of languages you’ve never seen before. 

“So you decided to come,” the familiar voice greets you from behind the cash. He’s bent over, arms folded on the counter, sharp eyes fixed on you with that same, inscrutable smile that seems his natural state. 

“I guess I was curious.”

You shuffle forward slowly, surprised that even stooped the way he is, he’s still taller than you. It’s like he’s a human projected on a screen, huge and frightening. 

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he soothes. “Or what I have to offer.”

Your first instinct is to insist that you’re not scared but you know damn well it’s obvious you are. You give him a weak smile. 

“I don’t know if I believe in any of this,” you mumble. 

“It doesn’t need you to believe in it.” He rises and pulls aside a sheer curtain that leads to a back room glowing with crimson light. “Follow me.”

A street-smart person, the sort of person you’d like to think you are, would tell him to go fuck himself and head for the door. Who knows what he’s got waiting back there? Certainly not you, who couldn’t put up a fight against him under any circumstances, with every dollar to your name slung over your shoulder. He could skin you alive and it’s doubtful no one would ever hear your screams. 

Damian raises his eyebrow a little and steps back to allow you to pass. And you do, entering the room so that your back is to him, so that you wouldn’t even see an attack coming. 

He circles around you, eyes fixed on your body the entire time. You grip the strap of your bag involuntarily. If he’s a charlatan peddling hoodoo, there’s no reason to think he would have a problem with direct theft. 

“I’m not going to steal your money,” he tells you. “I told you, this is on the house.”

He takes a seat at a round table at the center of the room and motions for you to take the chair opposite him. You follow his direction as he picks up a deck of cards, running them thoughtfully through his large but surprisingly graceful hands. 

“Take these,” he says, placing the cards in front of you. “I want you to shuffle them and when you’re done, I want you to cut them into three piles from right to left.”

The cards are awkward in your hands, larger than a playing deck, and you feel clumsy as you move them around, trying desperately not to drop any. 

“How long do I shuffle them for?”

“Until it feels like you should stop.”

You’re tempted to roll your eyes at this but you keep shuffling, pleased as you get the hang of it and then, suddenly, your mind just tells you to stop. It’s like you hear a literal voice and your hands stop moving without you even having to think about it. You lay the deck out in thirds and he nods to show you that you’re doing it right before picking them up. 

He pauses, running his palm over the cards before laying them out in an odd pattern. He stops and starts several times, reacting like he’s reading a book, except that the book is you and you can’t tell if he likes what he sees. 

“So I was right about the accident,” he says quietly, his eyes still studying the strange images in front of him. “That’s a bad injury you’re carrying.”

“It hurts sometimes. It’s not so bad.”

He shakes his head and locks his eyes on yours. “You don’t believe that.”

He runs his fingers over one particular triad of cards, nodding as he does. 

“But you did get some money from it.”

“Insurance,” you croak. 

He shakes his head more emphatically. “No, you’re not telling the truth. This didn’t come from any legal means. You did something bad to get it. Maybe that’s why that bag always feels so heavy.”

“It feels heavy because I have everything that’s mine in it.”

“You live alone like a hermit. You work at a job that pays you under the table, I think. You’re cut off from everyone and everything. And what you have you carry with you everywhere.”

“I told you that last part. And the rest is stuff you could have guessed just from watching me.”

“You think I’ve been watching you?”

You stiffen because the truth is that you’ve been watching him, wondering about him, wanting to speak to him with something like the casual confidence he has speaking to you. 

“Well I have,” he adds with a quick wink. 

You feel your whole body flush and look down to hide the excitement that you know is in your eyes. 

“When I say you’re carrying everything with you, I’m not just talking about a bag of money.”

“Are you trying to psychoanalyze me now? Or question me?”

“Psychoanalysis never gets a person as far as I can get. And I don’t have to question you because everything is right here.” He waves his hand over the table. “I just have to put the pieces together. I told you, it’s a gift.”

You purse your lips and he looks down at the cards again. Occasionally, he’ll draw a new one and place it over top of others. 

“If you’re going to get where you need to go, you have to let go of all this.” He looks at your tense face and clarifies, “And, no, I don’t mean your money. The money doesn’t really mean anything.”

“Spoken like someone who’s never been without it.”

“Fair enough. I’ve always been able to get what I need. But you can’t. No matter how careful you are with that bag of loot, you’re not going anywhere until you confront what’s really weighing you down.”

This time, you do roll your eyes because it’s starting to sound like he’s recruiting you to a cult. 

“Those nightmares are going to continue and they’re going to get worse, you know.”

For the first time, you sit bolt upright and let out a little gasp. 

“The cards aren’t telling me what it is, not yet. Which means it’s pretty dark.”

“So how do I deal with it.”

Damian reaches across the table and takes one of your hands in his, turning it upward so that he can see your palm. You assume he’s reading it but instead he strokes along your fingers and between them, his touch like a moth’s wings. He hisses as he feels you tremble at the stimulation. It’s like he’s opening something up in you, delicately brushing aside the stitches that hold you together. He works his fingers up from your hand, over your wrist, never exerting any greater pressure, exhaling in a long, soft sigh as he trails his fingertips up the inside of your arm, coming to rest in the hollow of your elbow. Lifting his hand away, he stares deep into you, and it’s like he’s pushing and pulling the breath into and out of you with his own, at the same languid pace. 

Placing your arm back on the table, he cuts a glance to the side of the room. Following his gaze, you’re surprised to see a couple of sinks with chairs in front of them, hairdressers’ stations. 

He smiles when he sees your confusion. “The place was a hair salon before I bought it.”

“And you decided to leave those here in case the fortune telling business got slow?”

“Maybe,” he laughs. “Actually, I like them. They help.”

“They help you see the future?”

He turns back to you, his expression dead serious. “They help me help others.”

He stands and takes both your hands, guiding you back to your feet.

“In order for people to overcome their obstacles, they need to cleanse themselves and release what’s inside them, or else they’ll never be able to understand what it is.”

“Is that what you think I need?”

He steps close to you so that you can smell his skin, musky with layers of herbs like the ones he sells, wicked, magical scents that make your skin prickle. He doesn’t speak, but touches your head, running his fingers through your head and over your scalp, pressing slightly on certain points as he strokes all the way down to the base of your neck. He repeats the action and as he does, you swear you can feel the circulation increasing. Your forehead throbs but it’s not like before; it’s like there’s something leaking out of you. 

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let it out.”

Your head falls back but he cradles it there, his free hand continuing to trace patterns on your skin. At first, it’s like he’s putting you to sleep but then it starts to feel like he’s waking you up, that you’re becoming more alert than you have been in a long time. The scent of him seems to thicken and grow earthier, greener, wetter, but you realize it’s not him at all. It’s the forest and the river and once again you’re cold and alone. Tears leak from your eyes. All you want is the power to say that one word: Help.

And then you’re back in the red-lit room. Damian is standing flush against you, cupping your face in his hands and regarding you with a knowing expression. 

“Come,” he whispers and leads you to one of the hairdressers’ stations. 

He eases your aching body into one of the chairs and adjusts it so that you’re reclined with your head tipped back into the sink. You feel the water on your skin but it’s the strangest sensation, like it’s the exact same temperature, so perfect and comfortable you feel like you could enjoy it forever. 

Damian runs his hands gently through your hair, separating it and working through the tangles with the precision of a surgeon. He moves your head from side to side, manipulating the knots in your neck and smoothing everything up and out into the water. 

Then you feel something thick and balmy, something that smells like rosemary and lavender and sage, things you remember from your grandmother’s garden, lifetimes ago. He works the substance through your hair, into your scalp, the pressure of his touch slightly heavier now, like he’s coaxing something to the surface. 

He rinses you clean and presses your hair into a towel and finally you open your eyes, only to have him run his hand over your face. 

“No, just relax. Let yourself enjoy it.”

In your whole life, you’ve never had a man wash your hair before. But no man has ever made you feel the things you’re feeling now before. So you close your eyes again as he moves away. 

For a few seconds, you don’t know where he’s gone, but then you feel his hands on your thighs, just above your knees, the heat from them radiating upward. You immediately tense but he presses his hands down a little more firmly. 

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Let me help you”

His hands slide up, lifting your shirt so that your stomach is exposed. You flinch again and then you feel his breath against your abdomen, the light touch of his lips trailing over the skin while he wraps his hands around the small of your back and lifts a little. With his tongue, he draws a line from just below your breastbone all the way down to the low-slung waist of your denim shorts, pausing slightly to press a soft kiss on the edge of your navel that makes you shiver. 

He unbuttons your shorts, kissing the hollow between your hips and flicking his tongue over it. You glance down and his eyes are fixed on yours. He stops moving. 

“Put your head back. Let yourself go.”

You want to tell him that you’d like to be an active part of what’s happening but the look in his eyes makes you think that he has something in mind and you want to know what it is. So you let your head rest and close your eyes, focusing only on the feeling of the man between your legs. 

He slides your shorts and panties down in one smooth movement and runs his palms up your thighs. Then he leans in again, his breath hot against your pussy, and even that has you releasing a few needy sounds and lifting your hips, trying to get him to dive in. 

Instead, he lowers his head a little and kisses all along the folds of flesh, exploring them with his lips and tongue, humming in satisfaction when he feels your body react, or when another sound escapes you. He presses his tongue at the very back of your opening and slowly draws it along, all the way up to your swollen clit, which he captures between his lips and sucks gently for a second before releasing it again. 

It’s like the rest of your body isn’t even there and that the only part of you that’s real is your starving core. Every sensation you can feel is coming from his attention and the rest of you is floating in some sort of suspended animation. He rests his hands on your hips, pressing his thumbs into the depressions next to the bone and even that seems to build your excitement. Then he starts to push his tongue inside you, pressing against every nerve at your entrance firmly and with unerring precision. 

As he does this, you feel like part of you has escaped. It’s like you’re standing over your own body, looking down at the still figure of a woman, throat flushed, gasping for air, crying out feebly for something. 

Damian flattens his tongue and works it around your clit again, soft strokes at first, then swirling it in tight circles and then flicking the engorged bead enough to make you feel like you’re about to explode before he returns hungrily to your dripping folds, massaging the fleshy mound just above your clit with those long fingers. 

He rocks back and forth, shifting between your pulsing labia and clit until your whole body is trembling, something you seem able to see from your vantage point hovering overhead. You’re clutching at the arms of the chair, at the edge of the sink, at anything. Your cries are getting shorter and sharper as the tension increases. 

This time, he doesn’t shift positions. He works on you determinedly until your orgasm erupts and as it does, it’s like the whole of your body opens and some sort of energy flows out, something hot and light and wonderful that continues for ages. And it’s not like you haven’t had lots of orgasms but this is something completely different. It’s like your body has melted against this man’s mouth, like the orgasm isn’t going to stop although, finally, it subsides and your body closes itself up again. 

You’re so weak you can’t even move. When he appears next to you, offering a bottle of water, he has to help you sit up before he tilts the bottle so that you can drink from it. 

“Take it easy,” he murmurs, wrapping one massive arm around your shoulders to keep you steady. “You’ll be ok in a couple of minutes.”

Your head hurts but it’s a different pain, softer and more diffused, like something you could forget once you had something else to focus on. Damian, meanwhile, has pulled up a chair and is watching you, arms resting on his knees. And still there’s that coy smile. 

“I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting…” you stutter. “Thank you?”

His smile broadens and he runs his hand lightly down the side of your neck. “I told you, you need to relax a bit so that whatever you’ve got inside there can escape.”

You shudder. “I’m not sure I want it escaping.”

“I’ll tell you again: it’s the only way you can deal with it.”

“Does that mean you want me to tell you all my dark secrets?”

“Maybe I know them already.”

You straighten up, a little of your wits returning to you. “I don’t know if you’re that good at reading minds.”

He stands and helps you up, resting his hands on your shoulders. As you get back on your feet, you notice an impressive erection in his pants. You step so that you’re pressed against him and run your hands up his chest, sighing in appreciation when he cups your head in his hands, gently removing the towel and allowing his fingers to weave themselves in your still damp hair. 

You mirror the gesture, gripping his dark locks and pulling him down into a kiss. You have to stand on your toes even with him lowering his head, but he steadies you with a hand on your back and gladly returns the kiss, grunting a little when you grind your hips against the bulge in his pants. The intensity builds so that it almost feels like he’s fucking you with his tongue again, like he could make you come like this if he really wanted to, even though it’s physically impossible. 

Finally, you pull away, dizzy again, and grip the waistband of his jeans. 

“Why don’t I help you with that?” You pant. 

He shakes his head and it seems so contradictory to what just happened that it takes you a moment to register that he’s saying no. You dive in for another kiss, which he enthusiastically returns, making you bold enough to rub your hand insistently over his bulge. 

He pulls back, shaking his head once again and lifting your hands off him. 

“I don’t do that on a first date,” he tells you. 

“Are you serious?” He can’t be. You can still taste your pussy on his breath.His hard-on is straining against his pants. 

“Yeah I’m serious. I’ll do what I just did for you but for the other… It’s a rule I have.”

“Do you have a rule against me getting on my knees for you?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “actually I do.”

You roll your eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Some women would think that’s a pretty good arrangement.”

“Well this woman is wondering if she gets a second ‘date.’”

He grins. “You know where to find me sweetheart.”

“Does that mean you want to see me again?”

“I’d love to see you again. But you know that.”

The truth is that you feel like you don’t know anything about this man who seems to know everything about you. He walks you out to the front of the store and bids you goodbye letting his lips trail down your neck and along your collarbone, finishing with a soft, slow kiss to the hollow of your throat. 

“Catch you later,” he whispers. 

The door closes behind you and you make your way down the stairs, once again feeling unsteady. As you reach the sidewalk, the neon sign shuts off. Whatever business he’d planned on doing tonight ended with you. You linger a few moments, hoping that the door will open and he’ll either tell you to come back or walk down to meet you and take you somewhere that he can work more of his witchcraft on you. 

Nothing happens. It stays dark and quiet.