#buried underneath a row of chatter

[kiralamouse]

"I thought that was non-diegetic!" is now my VERY FAVORITE leaning-on-the-fourth-wall line ever.

[gothbusterz]

Intoxicating - Teacher!Sang-Woo x Student!Reader

Sang-Woo can’t help but obsess over his perfect little star student.

Warnings - Jealous Sang-Woo, Smut, age gap (legal), oral (F receiving)

Word count - 3.8k (I may have gotten carried away 👀)

Requested by @14lovez 💚

Click, clack, click, clack.

The sound of heels rushing down the tiled hallway echoed through the classrooms as she passed, papers falling from her arms and her phone clattering on the floor. Cursing loudly, she scooped everything up and kept running. She’d never been late before, let alone for his class.

Mr Cho’s lecture hall was near empty. 9 AM finance lectures didn’t exactly draw in the numbers, but she made it a point to always be there. It made him feel appreciated in a way he’d never admit out loud. In his eyes, she was the perfect student; attentive, clever and beautiful. Although he’d never admit, the last 3 years he’d had her in his class, he’d had the privilege of watching her become her own woman.

Sang-Woo met her as a fresh-out-of-high-school 18 year old - young, naive and curious - and now she was graduating; moving on and leaving him behind. He couldn’t get used to the thought of not seeing her sweep into his class of a morning, fresh faced and ready to drink in every word that left his lips with such focus that sometimes it felt like they were the only two in the room. He wouldn’t hear her quietly giggle anymore, whenever that stupid little boy that sat next to her cracked jokes that only they could hear. He wouldn’t be able to admire her as he had been for so long now, his eyes taking an extended vacation around the curves of her body underneath the figure-accentuating outfits she chose. Her perfume wouldn’t overwhelm his senses anymore, triggering something dark in his brain as his face hovered so close to hers, quietly explaining something she’d so innocently asked for help with.

Deep down, she drove him crazy; but Sang-Woo knew his place and he knew there were lines he should never cross, so instead he buried the impure thoughts he had about her. Part of him wanted to say something to her, but where would he even begin? The last thing he wanted to do was make her uncomfortable. He felt so sleazy. It’s not as if he’d intended this, but something about her was so… alluring. He couldn’t get her out of his head. She overwhelmed his thoughts even when she wasn’t there with him, and it made him feel an intense guilt. She was barely 21. Barely over the age of consent, and here he was, a grown man fantasising about the youngest possible woman without it being immoral. He hated himself for it, but no matter how hard he tried to ignore her, he simply couldn’t.

The students sitting before him chattered excitedly, paying no mind to the man sitting at his desk, chatting and giggling about the futures that they were about to embark on. The clock finally struck 9, and yet, she was nowhere to be seen. His heart sunk a little; the last lecture of the whole course and she didn’t show up to properly say goodbye. Of course, he’d see her briefly at the graduation ceremony, but after that, he knew he’d never see her again. He cursed himself, reminding his brain that she was off limits anyway. He knew he needed to move on but he was just stuck on a loop. The second he saw her, he knew the walls he built up to separate himself from her would be demolished by his own hand.

Standing up, he greeted his class and congratulated them on making it all the way through their bachelor degrees. Detailing the tasks of his final class, his eyes lingered on the empty seats in the front row - the seats usually home to both his favourite student and the little lap dog that seemed to follow her around, Hwang Jun-Ho. He knew he had no good reason to dislike this boy. He actually was her age, handsome, athletic and he’d already proven he could make her laugh. Jun-Ho was a good student and he’d never done anything to disrespect or cross his professor. It was all pure, untainted jealousy from Sang-Woo.

Neither Y/N or Jun-Ho were present, and Sang-Woo’s mind swam with the possibilities. He couldn’t push through the images in his head of the two of them tangled together, sheets grazing their bare bodies as they actively skipped his lecture to study each other instead. He couldn’t help but envision his hands all over her gentle flesh, his fingers in her hair, her nails digging into his back, her lips wrapped around…

He quickly shook himself out of it, shame flooding through his veins as he noticed all the blood that had rushed south at his musings. The thoughts filled him with rage, even though he knew Jun-Ho would be a better boyfriend than he could ever be. Y/N and Jun-Ho could go out in public and no one would ever bat and eyelid. Her parents would surely be ecstatic for her to bring a young man like him home to them.

Click, clack, click, clack.

The sound drew closer and shook him from his daydreaming, and suddenly his heart fluttered with relief and hope as she barrelled through the doors. She was panting, beads of sweat adorning her forehead as she rasped out an apology for being so late.

She’d really done it today. As soon as he laid eyes in her, he began to salivate. Her blouse was sheer enough to make out the outline of the black bra she wore underneath and her hair hadn’t been brushed before it was thrown into a bun sitting on the top of her head. Her skirt danced against the swell of her ass as she quickly hustled over to her empty seat. He took in the sight in front of him. She was always beautiful, but something about seeing her so disheveled hit him right in the lust he had for her. As she turned her head, exposing a dark purple mark against the skin near her collarbone, white hot rage filled him. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it down and cleared his throat.

“Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence.” His voice was colder and harsh, a far cry from the joking tone he’d meant to express it in. It was real now. Someone else had her and it made his stomach drop. Her expression was one of shock and embarrassment, flecks of disappointment in her eyes at the way her normally caring professor greeted her. She mumbled another apology, sitting down and averting her eyes downwards to the quiz sheet he had laid on each table.

Sitting back in his seat, Sang-Woo let out a frustrated sigh. He felt bad for snapping at her, but he couldn’t help but feel a new emotion towards her - betrayal. In his mind, she was already his. It was hard to remember sometimes that it was just his imagination, and this young woman had done nothing to warrant the attraction he had for her. Sure, she’d drop things at seemingly convenient times, her long legs bending as she bent to pick it up, giving Sang-Woo a show in the process. Sure, she stayed back after almost every lecture, as if she relished the time they had alone together as much as he did. To Sang-Woo, none of this meant anything. He could never be truly sure if she was just really that innocent, or if maybe, just maybe, she felt the same way even just a little bit.

He stood from his seat, observing the other students with their heads either down on their paper or buried in their phone screens. Taking a deep breath to muster the courage, he worked his way across the room and leaned his two large hands on the front of her desk, leaning down so that his lips could whisper in her ear without alerting the other students. “You haven’t seen Jun-Ho by chance have you? He didn’t show up today.”

Her body stiffened involuntarily as she shifted her gaze to meet the intense, dark eyes of her professor. He hadn’t said anything of the sort, but she could only take his question as a roundabout way of saying I know what you did. His expression was hard to read. It was something she’d never seen him wear before - irritation. He was always so gentle with her; complimenting her and helping with every problem, no matter how small. Sometimes she’d even pretend to not understand just so that she could have him close to her. What Sang-Woo didn’t realise was that she felt the same way, maybe even stronger.

He walked back to his desk, sitting back down and lowering his gaze to the finished quizzes in front of him. He felt like an absolute piece of shit knowing how uncomfortable he’d just made her. He’d basically attacked her without even saying anything. His hotheaded attitude blinded him from the reality that he held no claim to her. She was just his student. His beautiful, smart, sexy student. But his student nevertheless.

The time passed on and on, students chatting and sharing their plans for the weekend and the afterparty for the graduation. A sadness set deep into Sang-Woo’s chest as he realised that as soon as that clock struck 12, she was no longer his student. Lifting his eyes to lay them on Y/N, his heart broke as he noticed she hadn’t lifted her head since his harsh words. He’d already regretted what he said as soon as the words left his lips, and now he felt like a monster. You don’t tear down someone you love. Whether they love you back or not, it’s not fair. She had and has every right to sleep with Jun-Ho if that’s what she wants, even though it killed him inside.

The other students started to pack their things up as the time drew nearer and nearer. A few students approached his desk to thank him and he wished them the best of luck with a warm smile. He meant it. He wished nothing for the best for all his students, even that stupid fucking Jun-Ho prick. Eventually everyone had filed out of the lecture hall, leaving only Y/N nervously shifting in her seat as she finally raised her eyes to meet his. Sighing sadly, he pulled himself up from his desk and made his way over to her. The few short steps felt like a marathon as the reality that this was it washed over him. He wasn’t ready to let her go.

“I’m sorry I spoke to you like that. It was out of line.” His voice was a whisper as he finally sat down in the seat that Jun-Ho usually occupied. Her arms crossed and he could tell she was making an effort to hide the bruise that had been sucked into her neck. She was timid, not the bubbly self she normally was. “And it was wrong of me to insinuate that about you and Jun-Ho. It’s none of my business…”

He trailed off, his eyes eventually finding their own way down onto the large bruise she was weakly attempting to hide. It fixated him, and even in this moment, all he could think of was sucking and biting bigger and better marks into her neck. Clenching his jaw, he made eye contact with her once more. Her voice was quiet and low, finally mustering up the courage to speak. “It was a mistake… but you were right about Jun-Ho. You didn’t even have to say it… you just knew.”

He forced a small smile, his heart sinking at the admission. He knew. He always knew. But something about it being out in the open hit him right in the guts. Clearing his throat, he chose his next words very carefully. “The way he looks at you is-“

“The way you look at me, sir?” She cut him off, finally finding her voice. Colour drained from his face.

She knew. She fucking knew. My life is over.

Sang-Woo was speechless, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of anger or disgust. He knew he was in trouble now. He knew she could ruin him. Trying to deny it would be pointless. After all, he’d been staring at her blankly for far too long to dispute it now. Slowly reaching over, she brushed her fingers against his, resting on the smaller desk. A jolt of electricity shot from his finger tip all the way down to his cock and he jumped, snapping out of his stressed daydreaming state. His eyes landed on their hands just barely touching. She looked at him with both curiosity and hesitancy, concerned how he’d react.

Taking a deep breath, his fingers barely moved as he brushed back against her fingers before summoning the courage to gently place his hand on top of hers. She didn’t jolt or pull away like he’d secretly expected, not sure if what he was experiencing was a dream or not. Her fingers slowly closed around his hand and he revelled in the touch he’d been craving for the better part of 3 years.

“You’re a good guy, Sang-Woo. I’ve seen the way you look at me and I’ve seen the way you look at Jun-Ho. You don’t have to be jealous anymore…” standing up, she swung one leg over his thighs and wrapped her arms around his tense shoulders, sitting in his lap, face to face with him. His heart began to race as her scent engulfed him. His hips bucked upwards instinctively and his arms snaked their way around her waist so gently that he barely touched her, fingers brushing her skin. One hand gently rested against his cheek, and he leaned into her hand. His eyes remained transfixed with hers until she slowly dipped her head lower and lower, her breath fanning against his neck, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“You don’t need to worry… I’m not your student anymore.”

She punctuated her whisper with a small, gentle nip at his ear and that was it. Sang-Woo’s hand pushed her chin up so that she was face to face with him and, finally, he smashed his lips against hers. A small surprised moan escaped her lips, and he drank it down. His arms held her tightly, pulling her as close as he humanly could. His hands pawed at the skin covered by material, running the perimeter of her back before untucking her blouse from her skirt to let his hands travel up her back, dancing across the warm skin. It sent shivers down her spine, his short nails gently scraping down her body.

His fingers traced the clasp of her black bra, snapping it against her skin and eliciting a delicious moan from her, making her squirm in his lap and gently pushing against the bulge in his black dress pants. He groaned into her mouth at the friction, biting at her bottom lip and pulling it before trailing gentle but urgent kisses down her neck. He pressed several kisses to the broken capillaries forming the bruise on her soft skin. His mouth moved ever so slowly across the front of her neck, down to the collarbone exposed by her shirt, before drawing the line back up the other side of her neck. Her small moans and mewls only spurred him on more.

In one strong motion, he stood from the chair he was seated in and wrapped her legs around his waist, holding her tightly as he lifted her into the air. He reconnected their lips and her hands tangled into his hair at the back, holding herself up against him. Sang-Woo laid her down on the empty row of desks, his large frame hovering over her small body as their lips danced and melted together. The perfume that once overwhelmed him now intoxicated him as he finally gave in to every desire he’d had for her since they first met.

His fingers nimbly popped each button undone before pushing her blouse back and admiring the beauty before him. His fingers then set to work on her skirt, finding the zipper before pulling it all the way down, the skirt falling open and leaving her in just her black bra and panties. His mouth began to water again as he pressed kisses from her collarbone, down the valley of her breasts, tenderly running kisses down the warm flesh of her stomach until he was sitting on his knees at the end of the table, staring up at the woman he’d obsessed over for years. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening. He couldn’t believe she actually wanted him the same way he wanted her. But sure enough, there she was; spread out against the desks, waiting for him to do whatever he pleased with her.

His fingers hooked into her panties and pulled them down, leaving him face to face with her pussy. He wasted no time, diving tongue first as if she was the most delicious meal to a man who’s ravenous. His strong hands pushed her thighs apart further as his tongue flicked and lapped at her clit, her back arching and perfect moans falling from her lips. Her fingers tangled into his hair, pushing him closer. He didn’t need to be told twice, his right hand moving off her thigh. His fingers crept their way up her body until they brushed her lips, asking to be taken in her mouth. She obliged, parting her lips and gently sucking at his fingers. He gently pulled the wet digits out of her mouth, using them to gently run up and down her folds before pushing one in and curling it upwards. Her body jolted, pulling a smirk onto his lips. He knew he was close. He slowly gently curled his finger, searching for the spot that he knew would send her flying, and when he found it, the cry she released was nothing short of heavenly to him.

He gently slipped the other finger in, massaging the spot he found while his tongue worked away at her clit. Her hands pulled and tugged on his hair enough to hurt, but he didn’t care. Her thighs tried to tense around his head but his other hand held her thigh in place as he continued his assault.

Sang-Woo felt her legs start to shake and he knew she was almost there for him. He added pressure to his fingers and quickened his pace and within seconds, a too-loud cry left her lips as she came crashing down around his fingers. He reacted quickly, withdrawing his fingers from her and slipping then between her lips as he covered her mouth with his hand. She whined at the loss but began to realise where it was they were actually doing this. They hadn’t stopped to think for one second. The University was still filled with people and at some point someone was going to have to use this lecture hall, but even with all that danger, the only thing Sang-Woo and Y/N could focus on was each other. There was no way in hell he was going to stop now, though.

She whined as he pulled away, dazed from the intensity of the orgasm he had allowed her to have. Sang-Woo, still fully dressed, quickly picked her up and carried her over to his desk; one more secluded from the line of sight of the door. One swoop of his arm cleared the surface off, and quickly undid her bra before he he laid her down one more time. His fingers made quick work of his shirt buttons, his shirt hanging open and exposing a toned chest and abdomen. Her finger reached over, gently tracing the lines of his gorgeous body as he speedily rid himself of his belt and pushed his dress pants and boxers down hastily, cock springing upwards.

She pulled herself up and slid off the desk onto her knees, but Sang-Woo was far too impatient at this point. He caught her, flipped her around so she was bent over his desk and pressed his body against her so she couldn’t move. “As much as I would love that, I’ve been waiting for this for way too long.” He growled into her ear from behind before lining himself up and pushing himself slowly inside.

She was so tight and wet that his legs almost gave way and he could have cum right there, but he bit his lip and powered through. His hips snapped back and forth, her hands bracing the wooden desk underneath her. He pushed her further onto the desk, pushing one leg up to rest on the table to hit a delicious new angle. Cries and moans left her lips involuntarily, and his hand took its place over her mouth again as his thrusts became more erratic the longer he held out.

Small pants left his lips as he felt the tension building up. His growls became groans the closer he got, and his hands dragged her body back into him in time with his thrusts. A few more thrusts had him filling her up with his cum without even being able to warn her.

He fell forward, both panting as he laid against her back. His head was spinning from how good it felt and he wasn’t ready to pull out just yet. He held her for a couple of minutes, slowly pulling out as his cock softened. Y/N was absolutely shattered. She knew her legs wouldn’t hold her; all she could do was lean against that desk and feel his cum slowly dripping down her thigh. Sang-Woo pressed gentle kisses to her shoulders as he redressed, buttoning his shirt back up after helping her with her clothes.

Gently helping her stand, he turned her around and pressed a passionate kiss to her lips. “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing. I’ve wanted you for so long - I don’t think I can let go now.” His words were a whisper, a smile forming on her exhausted lips as her arms wrap around his waist and her head rests against his shoulder.

A knock at the door startled the pair, jumping apart before another teacher entered the hall to begin his lecture. As they prepared to go their separate ways, she slipped a small piece of paper into his hand. She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before she hastily departed; god forbid someone were to check the security cameras. Sang-Woo watched her walk away, a dopey smile on his face. Unfolding the little piece of paper she gave him, he found her phone number written neatly with a little heart on the end. He pondered, wondering if she may actually be the one for him. It didn’t matter though. Now they were just two people, free to be in love, and Sang-Woo simply couldn’t wait to start.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

maybe one day i’ll fly next to you

chapter 7/8

read on ao3

start from the beginning

“Thought I’d find you out here.”

The balcony door slides shut behind Maddie, muffling the laughter and chatter coming from her apartment. 

“Just like last time,” Buck says. He smiles as she sits down next to him on the bench, throws an arm around her shoulders as she curls into his side. It’s a cool night, but he’s warm from the apartment and the champagne they’ve been drinking (“no liquor during the season” rule be damned), so it’s nice. Nicer still now that Maddie’s here.

“Yeah, but this time is a lot happier,” she says.

It’s true. Four years ago, they were in this same spot at the opposite end of the emotional spectrum — neither going to the Games, Buck with a busted leg, and Maddie without a partner after Doug placed full blame on her for not making the team and dropped her. They’d stayed out all night talking, saying their worst fears and insecurities — about the offseason, the next Olympic cycle, the rest of their careers — into the night, hoping the breeze would take them away and make them feel better. It didn’t, not once the sun came up, but for a while, they could pretend.

Now they sit in the silence that they so often find themselves in together, washed in the lights hanging around the balcony and the sounds of their friends — their family — celebrating inside. They’re in a bubble of happiness now that neither of them wants to break before they have to.

“It doesn’t feel real yet,” Buck says finally. “It still feels like tomorrow Bobby’s gonna call me into his office and say that there’s been a mistake.”

Maddie shakes her head. “There’s no mistake. You earned that spot. We all did.”

Buck rests his cheek on the top of her head. “I’m really proud of you.” She’s been his inspiration for as long as he can remember, the reason he stumbled into this sport that’s become his everything, and to see her dreams finally come true is in some ways better than his own. She was there for everything, exponentially more than their parents ever were, and he can’t even begin to think of how to repay her.

“I’m really proud of you too,” she says. “For everything, not just making the team.”

He blames the stinging in his eyes on the wind and kisses the top of her head as they fall back into quiet, enjoying the peace of the night for a little while longer before rejoining the party inside.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck basically lives at the rink for the next 15 days, even manages to sleep there a couple nights in a row before Eddie drags him back to his place for actual rest. Every day there’s something new he finds — a jump that needs a cleaner landing, an edge that needs to be deeper, a spin that needs to go faster. Little bits that add up to less than perfect, and they’re putting him more and more on edge as the days tick by. He’s got other responsibilities too — press packages, photoshoots, commercials, interviews — and it’s all a whirlwind, flying past him before he can get a chance to really wrap his head around it all. He’s dreamed of this moment for years, of being able to represent his country and see his face in commercials credited as Olympian, and it’s every bit as gratifying and incredible as he’d hoped, he just wishes everything would slow down for a minute so he can actually enjoy it. 

But it all just keeps moving, so he takes everything as it comes and tries to live in the moments as much as he can, to live in the positives instead of worrying about the negatives that are threatening to crack him if he thinks about them for too long.

The whirlwind turns into a hurricane once they land in Beijing — as soon as they’re through customs, there’s flashbulbs and reporters shouting at them in multiple languages, fans pushing through the crowd for their own photo ops. Eddie’s got that caged animal look in his eyes again as they make their way to the exit, so Buck grabs his hand and squeezes, lets him know he’s still here, they’re here together, and he’ll shove through the crowd to get them out if he has to.

He hopes someone gets a picture of the smile Eddie gives him. He wants it printed and framed and hung on his wall where he can always see it.

The Olympic Village itself is like a luxury apartment complex — 15 high rise buildings with smaller ones around them, housing dorms for every athlete, cafeterias, workout rooms, a general store, even a post office. They have just enough time after the tour to drop their bags in their rooms before they’re whisked off to the Olympic Park to get their credentials and a first look at the skating arena. It looks like any other arena on the outside — big, industrial, a looming presence over the rest of the buildings — but it’s what’s going to happen inside, or what might not happen, that makes it feel all the more imposing, like it’s waiting to swallow everyone whole.

They’re all at dinner when he really starts to feel overwhelmed. As much as he wants to talk with the team and mingle with friends and acquaintances he hasn’t seen in years, he feels twitchy and uncomfortable and everything is just the wrong side of loud. He excuses himself, blaming jet lag and an early workout session, and he ignores Eddie’s concerned gaze as he makes his way back to their room. He flops onto the bed, the only light coming from the dim lamp on the nightstand and the view of the city skyline from their balcony, and he tries to get himself to relax, to settle the electricity jumping all over him.

He doesn’t notice Eddie come in the room until he feels the bed shift, sees him crawl up his body until they’re face to face, Eddie’s arms bracketing his head as he gently rests his weight on Buck.

“You okay?” he asks.

Buck shrugs, hands coming up to rest on Eddie’s hips. “None of this felt real before today, and now we’re here and...I don’t know, it’s almost too real. It’s a lot to take in.”

Eddie hums and leans down, places a feather light kiss in between Buck’s eyebrows where he knows he scrunches up when he’s upset. “Do you need anything from me?”

Buck threads a hand through Eddie’s hair, firm so he doesn’t go too far. “You,” he says, because it’s true — Eddie’s the only thing he wants to see or feel or think about until he feels settled in his own skin again. “Just need you.” He pulls Eddie down and kisses him, unhurried, wanting to take his time and get lost in it, will his brain to shut off and just be. Eddie drops down to his elbows, pushing them even closer together, and Buck gasps softly as their cocks brush together, both of them well on their way to hard. Eddie takes the opportunity to lick into Buck’s mouth and Buck melts, sure it’ll only take a few minutes like this for him to come in his pants like a teenager.

But that’s the opposite of what he wants right now, so he flips them both over until he’s straddling Eddie’s hips and starts kissing down his neck, his hands finding the hem of his t-shirt and slowly pulling it up and off. He takes his time, savors the way Eddie’s breath stutters as Buck swirls a tongue around his nipple, chases the blush moving down his chest with open mouth kisses. Eddie tugs at his shirt, and Buck is more than happy to oblige, stripping it as he moves back up to kiss Eddie again, deeply, soundly, relieved that he can feel the crackling anxiety tone itself down, turn into simmering want instead as he tastes more and more of Eddie.

“Lube?” Buck asks, because Eddie’s hot under his hands and his pants are feeling more than tight and he needs to be in Eddie right now or he’s going to lose it.

“In my bag,” Eddie says, kissing down Buck’s jaw and working his pants down.

“And condoms?”

He feels Eddie smirk into his skin. “I think there are some in that welcome basket they gave us.”

Buck thanks whoever’s listening that those rumors were true. He only trips a little bit as he gets up and grabs everything and strips the rest of the way. When he turns back, Eddie’s stripped too, miles and miles of skin laid out on the bed and Buck’s certain he’s glowing and it’s not just his imagination this time and— 

“God you’re gorgeous.” It’s worth it to see Eddie’s blush get impossibly deeper and move further down his chest.

He kisses Eddie again, a little more frantic, slicking up his fingers and swallowing the moan Eddie lets out when he starts rubbing at his entrance. He works his way in slowly, with every intention of still taking his time, but Eddie’s sighing into his mouth, an unconscious string of “please please please” tumbling out with it, and Buck doesn’t want to deny Eddie anything, ever, as long as he can help it. He moves faster, working in a second finger, then a third, scissoring Eddie open until he’s shaking and panting underneath him.

“Come on, Buck, please—” Buck cuts him off with a searing kiss, pulling away long enough to tear the condom open and roll it on, and then he’s kissing Eddie again and pushing into him, and he’s hot and tight and perfect, and Buck almost blacks out. He picks up a rhythm, steady but not teasing, and tastes every part of Eddie he can reach — his jaw, his neck, his chest, his shoulders and back again. Eddie’s everywhere, completely surrounding him, and he chases his orgasm as it builds in his gut, finesse and any attempt at taking his time quickly forgotten. He can tell Eddie’s close too, feels him clenching down around him, and Buck gets a hand on Eddie’s cock between them, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Eddie bites down on Buck’s shoulder as he comes, spilling hot onto Buck’s hands and on their stomachs, and it only takes a few more thrusts for Buck to follow, the edges of his vision whiting out with the force of it. 

He drops down just enough to bury his face in the crook of Eddie’s neck as they both come down, still wanting — needing — to be surrounded by him. When he can finally breathe again, he pulls out and makes his way to the bathroom, throwing out the condom before finding a washcloth in a cabinet. Eddie’s half asleep when he gets back, but perks up as Buck cleans them both up and manhandles him until they're both under the covers. The bed is on the smaller side to fit two full grown men, but it’s all the more excuse for Buck to plaster himself to Eddie, an arm thrown firmly over his chest and their legs tangled together. 

They lay in the quiet, the only sounds coming from the city below, and Buck finally feels calm, or at least calm enough that his mind’s not racing. His eyes get heavier and heavier, lulled by Eddie’s breathing underneath him and the random shapes he can feel him trace on his back.

“Still okay?” Eddie whispers, stopping his drawing and wrapping his arm around Buck fully.

Buck nods and closes his eyes. “Still just need you.”

Eddie kisses his forehead and whispers, “I’m not going anywhere.” Buck falls asleep with a smile on his face and I love you echoing in his head.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Team USA, get ready, you’re up next!”

Everyone around Buck starts jumping and cheering, hustling toward the exit to get ready for their march in the Parade of Nations. It was almost easy to forget that’s why they’ve been waiting in the bowels of the stadium for two hours in the first place — watching the performances on TV screens placed around the room didn’t quite translate to the fact that they too would be out there soon enough, decked out in full red, white, and blue, waving at the fans and supporters that have traveled from all over the world to watch them compete. It’s how Buck’s watched the opening ceremony ever since he was a kid anyway — glued to the TV, trying to pick out his favorite skaters from other countries as they marched through, picturing himself there so clearly he could practically feel the wind on his face, hear the roar of the crowd so loudly it was like the were in his living room.

It was a fantasy then, but it’s reality now, and Buck wishes he could go back and tell his six year old self that he will get here, and it will feel every bit as amazing as he imagined it would.

By the time they make it to their seats, Buck’s arms feel heavy from waving for five straight minutes, his cheeks hurt from smiling in a million different selfies, and he’s shivering in his designer Team USA uniform.

He wishes he could stay in this moment forever.

There’s some more performances about unity and peace and everything else the Olympics are supposed to represent, until finally, a torchbearer runs into the stadium, carrying the Olympic flame that’s made its way here all the way from Athens. They pass it to the final torchbearer, a decorated Chinese speed skater, who runs it up the short hill to the cauldron, lighting it from below. The flames grow and fireworks go off, people start cheering and dancing around him again, and for all the pinching himself he’s had to do since they announced the team, this is the most real thing he’s felt and may ever feel. The flame in him is blazing too, ready to be set free, and it burns brighter still when he looks to Eddie, his smile wide and his eyes sparkling. In all his wildest dreams, he never imagined being at the Olympics with someone who makes him feel like he’s already won something, but now that he is, that desire to win just keeps growing, fueling the flame more and more.

He kisses Eddie’s cheek and joins in on the celebration. They’ll party tonight and into the morning, but then, it’s back to business.

He’s here for a medal, and whatever the next two weeks try to throw his way, he is not going home empty handed.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m gonna throw up.”

“There’s still four teams before they skate, Buck.”

“Perfect, plenty of time to throw up.”

Eddie just shakes his head and focuses back on the ice as the Russian team hits their final pose. As each team gets their scores and doesn’t monumentally fuck up, Buck gets more and more nervous for Maddie and Chim. It’s not that he doubts them, it’s more like he doubts the entire scoring system — they’re only in first by two tenths of a point after the rhythm dance, and anyone could pull ahead enough to beat them at the last minute.

He knows they’ll be amazing. They’re always amazing. Their win just depends on whether or not the judges agree with him today.

The final group comes out to warm up, and Buck and Eddie are on their feet, flags waving high above their heads and cheering with the rest of the supporters’ section. Maddie and Chim spot them from the ice and wave before quickly schooling themselves back into performance mode. They look incredible — Chim in all black and Maddie sparkling in her gold dress — and Buck’s stomach clenches again in the hope that she’ll have a matching medal when it’s all over. 

He feels Eddie nudge him as they sit back down. “You still with me?”

Buck smiles at him and it’s easy, real, despite the nerves still swimming around in him. “Just thinking about how this reminds me of our first date.”

Eddie scrunches his nose. “Autumn Classic was not our first date.”

“It kind of was,” Buck says, shrugging.

“You barely wanted me there, if I remember correctly. Plus May was there too.”

“Okay, so it wasn’t perfect.”

“No,” Eddie says, slipping his hand into Buck’s. “But I think this date makes up for it.”

They fall into an easy running commentary after that, and it’s enough to distract Buck and keep his anxiety at bay. If he tries, he can pretend they are at Autumn Classic again, where the stakes were lower and anything felt possible. It makes him a little less nervous for Maddie and Chim, and a little less nervous for himself, too. The mens’ event starts tomorrow, and it’ll be his turn to get on the ice and prove himself to the judges and most of the world watching from home. If he just keeps pretending it’s the beginning of the season — and not the potentially crushing end — maybe he’ll be able to keep it together.

The announcer introduces Maddie and Chim, and seeing them on the ice, looking confident and excited and ready, settles Buck even more. Their program is classic — classic music, classic costumes — but still fun and technically top notch and undeniably them, and the audience is mesmerized from the very first steps. They hit every line, every pose, every lift, and by the time they transition from the soft tones of “Fever” to the ripping guitar of “Burning Love”, the audience is all in, clapping along to the beat and loudly cheering them on. They hit their final pose, and the whole arena is on their feet, and louder still once they get their final score.

Buck’s not great at math, but he’s pretty sure the last team will need a miracle to beat them.

He holds his breath anyway, right up until the end, until the final team’s score is announced, and Maddie and Chim are officially gold medalists. It’s a blur of celebrating after that, but everything clears enough for Buck to get a perfect view of the medal ceremony and Maddie and Chim’s faces, beaming with joy and slight disbelief, even as the medals are slipped over their heads. 

Buck’s proud, unbelievably so, and happy beyond belief for his sister, but the nerves are churning in him even faster, because now it feels like there’s a precedent, an expectation that he and the rest of Bobby’s skaters will do as well as their teammates. He’s always aiming for gold, but now it feels like it’s necessary, like anything less will be devastating instead of just disappointing. And then what about Eddie? He wants to win just as much as Buck, and Buck wants him to do well, but they can’t have a tie, one of them is going to do better than the other. And won’t that make it all the more heartbreaking when it’s not Buck that comes out on top?

He shoves all that away for now as he and Eddie fight their way through the crowd and down to the green room, because it’s too much and it doesn’t matter, at least not today. What matters is that Maddie is running into his arms, still happy crying, and he lets himself be completely wrapped up in her joy.

He’s proud of her. That’s one thing he knows for sure. That’s what he focuses on and hopes it’s enough to keep the voices quiet until tomorrow.

[god-fucking-dammit-mizutani]

Just This Once - Chapter 3

Word count: ~3900 | Chapter Title: Saturday Afternoon Part: 3/? Chapter Summary: Taichi's day, somehow, gets worse.

Read on Ao3

If it were possible, Taichi would have the sun put on trial for false advertisement.

If it were possible, Taichi would have the sun put on trial for false advertisement.

All morning it had been gliding along the short waves, glinting right back into his eyes and goading him into a swim. By noon Taichi had been sold, trading in his clothes for a pair of swim trunks, ready to escape the all encompassing humidity that had risen along with the sun. Heat had even sunk into the wooden planks along the dock, nipping at Taichi’s heels as he took a running dive straight—

Into ice water.

From his vantage point still up on the dock, Kousuke barks out a laugh just as Taichi breaches the surface, shaking water from his hair. He doesn’t remember there being a breeze before he’d taken the clandestine leap, but it cuts past his cheeks now, burning from the new found cold and—less admittedly—embarrassment.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Taichi grouses. His glare is undermined by the chattering of his teeth.

Kousuke sways at the end of the dock, the edges of his lips tilting upward. “This is your warning to move,” he gives to Taichi before walking several paces back. Taichi barely has any time to flounder out of the way before Kousuke takes off sprinting towards the edge of the dock, tucking his legs up into a cannonball mid-jump. Water splashes up all around him from the impact and right into Taichi’s eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Kousuke planned it.

Taichi isn't completely ruling it out, though.

“Not what I meant.”

Kousuke grins. “Bet you can’t make a bigger splash.”

“You’re on.”

Taichi calls mercy just a little after the sun has begun to dip towards the cabin behind them, taking the temperature down along with it. Under the water feels more like a bath now that his body has adjusted, and Taichi thinks that’s reason enough to never, ever leave it again.

Well, other than his splendid swan dive transforming into a surprise belly flop. He’s certain Kousuke must still be cackling over it somewhere down below the surface and Taichi isn’t above hoping he swallows just enough lake water to be unpleasant.

On the shore, Taichi catches Keiko waving at him where she’s since pulled up a beach chair. A novel lays abandoned in the sand beside her. Taichi does his best to return the wave while staying afloat.

Up on the deck Kae and Masami have come out to keep Grandma company. Over their heads the umbrella in the center of the table has been opened. Koushirou, he realizes, must have snuck back inside at some point during their diving contest. Taichi tries not to feel disappointed about it. Koushirou’s already been privy to most of his Worst Moments and Greatest Disasters over the tenure of their friendship. It’s not exactly a list he’s particularly eager to build on any further. So, really, it’s a good thing.

Taichi scrunches his face as he counts every head again. If he counts himself and Kousuke then— “Isn’t there someone missing?”

Kousuke breaches the surface a few feet on, gasping from holding his breath for so long.

“Where’s your, uhm—” Taichi starts as soon as Kousuke swims in his general direction. He hesitates, trying to recall something he might have missed. Koushirou hadn’t been particularly forthcoming with the pronouns, and Taichi isn’t quite sure if that was calculative or not. He settles on, “Partner?”

Kousuke’s face falls immediately, his expression souring. Taichi’s surprised that he can even tell. He lets out a long huff, dropping his head just low enough beneath the surface that Taichi has to ask him to repeat. “Something came up with work,” Kousuke grumbles a little more clearly.

Taichi snorts. He makes it sound like a choice, rather than a responsibility. Oh, youth.

“Aren’t you in high school?”

“We are,” Kousuke says, averting his eyes from Taichi towards the shore. “Just— family stuff.”

“I see.” He doesn’t. Not really. But one thing Taichi’s learned over the years is when to let a subject go. Or, well, he’s trying. Sora would probably say that’s what really matters. “Sounds, uh, tough.”

“Yeah.” For a second they just tread water in silence before Kousuke adds, “I guess you of all people probably get it.” He swishes his mouth about into a wry, half-smile, eyes still locked in the general direction of the cabin. “But at least he meets you halfway.”

Taichi got lost somewhere. “Who?”

But he doesn’t get his answer as Kousuke dives back under the surface, kicking some of the water back in Taichi’s general direction on his way. He’s pretty sure that it’s extra probably on purpose this time. Little shit. Taichi just barely shields his face with his forearm in time.

“Don’t go past the buoys!” Keiko calls out as Kousuke emerges just on the other side of them, tsk ing as he lifts the rope up and over his head until he's technically back on the right side. Taichi turns back to see Keiko sinking contentedly into her chair.

She isn’t the only one on the beach anymore, Taichi notices. His stomach still stings where it had made contact with the water barely half an hour ago, but there’s a pleasant fluttering as well as he spots the little tuft of red hair poking over the top of a laptop. Koushirou has made camp at the single picnic bench, just between the lawn and the lip of the beach. He hasn’t noticed Taichi, at least not since he’s noticed, and he really, really hates that his first instinct is to get out and sit with him.

Instead Taichi sucks in a long breath and plunges back under the surface. Underneath is murky; any bit of sunlight penetrating through is just enough to illuminate specks of sand and dust skittering all around. Some of it glitters. Maybe if Taichi were in a better place, he might think it was pretty. Or poetic. Or something.

His chest just feels tight.

"Working?"

Koushirou starts at the sound of his voice, eyes slowly peeling off the laptop screen to look over at Taichi instead.

Taichi keeps to a respectful distance, toweling off his hair to aid the sun in drying it faster.

"No," Koushirou answers after a minute. His gaze darts back towards the screen, as if double checking himself. "Just emailing."

Taichi feels half of his mouth pull back. "What? Like for fun?"

Koushirou hums, his attention back on the letter now.

He can probably guess the recipient but Taichi still asks, "Who?"

"My American friend," is exactly who he expected.

"Right." Taichi wiggles his toes in the grass. It feels oddly like plastic, grating against the sand still clinging to his feet. He doesn't find it very pleasant. "What's he on now? Like his fifth doctorate?"

"Be nice."

"So, his sixth?"

Koushirou snorts. "Still only the three."

"Only the three," Taichi parrots. It sounds like they should be talking about how many pets he's got around the house, or parking tickets under his belt. Not advanced degrees.

Feeling sufficiently dry, Taichi slides onto the bench beside Koushirou. Without looking at him the other wonders, "Did you enjoy your swim?"

"Yeah. Most of it." His stomach stings at the reminder of his final dive into the lake. He doesn't elaborate even as Koushirou furrows his brows at the screen. Taichi watches him for a moment. "Tell him I said hi."

Koushirou's fingers hesitate on the keys. "Will do."

Taichi doesn't push it. He has no idea if Koushirou's ever mentioned him to his long distance penpal, even in all of the years Taichi's known of him. He must have. Maybe. In vague passing at the very least. They're best friends after all. Nearly inseparable at times. There must have been one instance of, "Listen to this dumb thing my friend did."

He folds the towel around his arms and uses it to cushion his chin as he leans over the tabletop. Sunlight dips between the miniscule waves born from the several boats treading their way back home in the distance. Even with Kousuke still splashing around, it all looks very peaceful. Taichi wishes his mood could match the atmosphere.

Taichi buries his head into the fabric, swallowing back a groan. It’s not that he thinks Koushriou would snub him— not on purpose, anyway. Mostly, Taichi just lacks confidence. Sure, he’s maybe helped save the world half a dozen times, but he doesn’t think Koushirou would find that very impressive since he’d been there, too, with a front row seat to most of Taichi’s tribulations.

He rolls his head over to stare up at Koushirou, still focused on his virtual conversation. Under the attention of the sun, his hair looks all the more vibrant and Taichi wonders what he’s done to keep someone like Koushirou around for so long.

"Don’t drip on the carpet!"

Taichi turns at the sound of Keiko's voice from the other end of the small beach.

"Yeah, yeah," Kousuke calls back to his mom, trudging up the lawn toward the cabin. He catches Taichi's gaze just as he’s about to pass by their table, his lips pulling back into a grin. "Need an ice pack?"

"Are you feeling sick?" Koushirou asks softly. Taichi frowns.

"No?"

Kousuke shrugs. "Just figured you might still be hurting from that glorious belly flop."

Color drains from his face as Kousuke rushes up the steps and right into the cabin, the screen door snapping shut on his heels. On the porch Kae startles at the unexpected sound.

Taichi makes a face. He's probably dripping all over the carpet.

"Does your stomach hurt?" Taichi turns to catch Koushirou's concerned stare. What color he had lost just a moment ago returns to his cheeks vigorously.

Instead of answering, Taichi lets out a short laugh. "Kids these days, huh?"

Koushirou wrinkles his brows. "You aren't particularly advanced in age."

“I’m getting up there,” Taichi hums. He leans forward again onto the pillow he fashioned from his towel. Overhead the sun bares down on his neck, heavy and hot. As the thought comes to him, Taichi presses his grin into the fabric. “But on the bright side maybe I’ll finally have a chance with Grandma.”

Koushirou chokes. On air, Taichi presumes. "Are you insinuating my grandmother is your type?"

"Oh, I think I more than just insinuated it." Taichi turns his grin up at him then, long and toothy and Koushirou can’t seem to tame his own.

"I'll inform you if she expresses the desire to remarry."

"Yeah, do that."

Taichi can faintly hear Masami's firm and distinctive voice somewhere over his shoulder. Loons cry and birds chirp somewhere out along the distance, and beside him the ever faithful click click clacking of Koushirou’s fingers against his keyboard fills in the quiet. It's almost like a lullaby. On their own accord, Taichi’s eyes droop close.

"You're probably the only people in the whole world who still email for fun," he murmurs.

He feels as much as he hears Koushirou halt. Taichi can easily imagine the perplexed frown hanging on his lips. "That's wholly untrue."

"I don't know," Taichi lilts. A soft breeze passes over them, fluttering through his bangs.

"We've sent emails before."

"Yeah," Taichi snorts, "like ages ago. You might actually be the last person I ever wrote an email to. Outside of a professor." Koushirou hums distantly. When he doesn’t say anything further Taichi wonders, "What are you doing?"

"Looking for an email."

"A non-work email?” Koushirou makes another distracted sound, letting Taichi know he’s heard him but isn’t quite listening anymore. “It has to be for fun,” Taichi adds anyway. “And if you go back to 2010 that’s cheating.”

“Mimi,” is the absolute last name Taichi expects to hear.

He blinks his eyes open and squints suspiciously at his best friend. "When did you start telling such blatant lies, Izumi."

"It's not a lie," Koushirou huffs, looking back down at him. He presses a finger to the screen Taichi can't even see with the most absolute confidence. "It's right here."

Taichi already believes him, but he still asks, "From this century?"

"Yes."

Taichi pops up to get his own look at the email. Koushirou scoots over minutely to accommodate him closer, but Taichi still needs to rest a hand on his shoulder to get a more comfortable look as he leans over, using his free hand to rub at his eyes. When they finally adjust to the brightness of the screen, Taichi scans the message, mouthing along as he reads all the colorful fonts. There’s an unhealthy array of emojis breaking up every other word that makes his head hurt.

"A chain letter," he scoffs. "She sent you a chain letter."

"Yes," Koushirou agrees, “which she sent for fun." He scrolls back up to the top and taps the section where the sent date is displayed. "Less than a year ago."

"Well," Taichi smacks his lips. “Now that you opened you gotta send it on to ten people or else you’re cursed.” He can’t contain the jocular grin pulling up his lips as he adds, “Hope you got ten email buddies.”

"I'll manage," Koushirou tells him. His wry smile when he rounds it on Taichi is so very, very cute. And so very, very close. Like too close. Koushirou’s eyes look bright where they catch the sun and for a very long moment Taichi honestly can’t remember what it’s like to breathe.

An elbow to the side of his stomach cures Taichi of that rather swiftly, aided only by a sharp dig into his shoulder. When he snaps, "Hey!" it’s more out of surprise than actual affront.

Koushirou has managed a small distance between them while still seated on the bench, his jaw slack and eyes larger than Taichi’s ever known them.

Taichi stares back. Both his side and shoulder ache and he can’t seem to make up his mind on which is worth nursing first, so he just leaves the hand that had been perched on Koushirou’s shoulder hanging in the air. Slowly Taichi offers an habitual, “I’m sorry?” even though he’s not entirely sure he did anything wrong this time.

"You boys alright?" Keiko calls out to them from across the beach. Taichi doesn't know what to say. Even if he did, he's not sure he can get his mouth to work any more than it already has. A first.

"I—" Koushirou starts. His eyes dart from Taichi, to somewhere over his shoulder, then back again. Finally he manages a rather composed sounding, "Yes," but Taichi knows this time it’s a lie. He also knows it's not meant for him.

Keiko doesn't ask any further. At least not that Taichi hears. Blood rushes about between his ears and all he can do is stare as Koushirou frantically snaps his laptop closed and shoves it into a bag on the table.

"I'm sorry," Koushirou offers to him, head down. "You were just—" he zips up the bag and throws it over his shoulder, mouth pressed into a thin line. He finally decides on, "Cold."

Another lie, Taichi thinks. He certainly doesn’t feel cold anymore. Not on the outside. Still he mutters, “Sorry.”

Koushirou sends him a wobbly smile. "Don't be. It's not— you're fine."

And then he’s gone.

Taichi controls his gaze onto the table top. The paint is so weathered it’s barely even there anymore, just scratches of green still clinging to the ashened wood. He stays there for a while, just waiting for his head to stop spinning.

"Everything alright?" Keiko asks him, lifting her sunglasses up high enough to look directly at Taichi as he hobbles down towards the shore with his towel tucked under his arm a short while later. She motions for him to come closer and Taichi meets her halfway.

"Uh, yeah," he lies.

Taichi snaps his towel outwards and quickly lowers it down to the sand. The farther corners fold up and crinkle, inviting little grains to decorate the end of the fabric. He frowns but only bothers to pull the edges down flat. What's more dirt?

"It was just—" Taichi looks over to her when he finishes smoothing out the towel, almost like she might have an answer. Keiko just stares at him, still waiting for one herself. Under the shade of her giant beach umbrella, her blue eyes look only brighter. Taichi plops down onto the center of his towel. He doesn't really know what to say when he still isn't really sure what happened. He looks out to the far end of the lake. "Got him wet," he settles on. "Near his computer. You know."

Keiko clicks her tongue. "Oh, yes. I know."

Satisfied, she reaches over the arm of her chair and plucks up the novel she had left abandoned most of the afternoon. Her glasses slide easily back over her eyes and Taichi wonders if she can read anything like that. He flops onto his back and flings one of his arms over his eyes to keep the sun out of them. He should really start remembering to keep his own sunglasses on hand. He can’t remember if he even packed a pair. Maybe they're in his glove compartment. He’ll have to check later. And then probably get the keys from Koushirou, so he can finally lock his car.

If he musters up the courage to talk to him again at all this week, of course.

Taichi smacks both of his hands over his eyes, frustrated. He hates not knowing what he did wrong. Worse, he hates not knowing what it is with Koushirou. It feels unnatural. All his mind supplies is that he was touching his shoulder and Taichi’s almost absolutely certain he’s done that more than a few thousand times— so why?

Shame feels a lot heavier than fatigue. Taichi tries to let his muscles relax with a few long breaths in and out of his mouth, the way he’d learned sitting in on Hikari practicing yoga in the living room a few times. It just barely loosens the anxiety clamoring about in his chest, but the familiar touch of the sun sinks into his skin and it almost feels like enough. He tries not to think about it anymore.

It doesn't work.

But somewhere along the line, Taichi falls asleep. He only knows it when he wakes up to the distinctive sound of metal digging into the sand, and Grandma's soft voice melting in with the waves as they lap at the shore. At some point he comes to again, this time upon hearing his own name as Masami wonders if they should wake him. Taichi thinks to tell him then that he is awake, but his arm is heavy over his eyes and the sun is finally playing nice, so with very little effort at all Taichi falls right back into his late afternoon doze. He thinks Kousuke yells something from the deck, his only sign the slamming of the screen door again, and Keiko calling something back to him, but it fades somewhere into a blurry dream he doesn't quite remember.

When he does finally feel himself actually waking up with no chance of drifting back under, there is only silence on the beach. He flings his arms over and drops it over the sand just outside of the towel. Even though the sun's glare has significantly lessened, Taichi still feels the light burning his now sensitive eyes. He squints where he had last seen Keiko and sure enough the only sign any one had ever been there is the same beach chair, now joined with a matching pair, and a tightly closed umbrella still harpooned into the ground. There's no novel or sunglasses left behind.

A second towel he doesn't remember owning slips down into his lap as Taichi crunches into a sitting position.

"Grandma wanted to make certain you didn’t burn," a familiar voice informs him. Taichi looks up the other way just as Koushirou plods through the sand and plops down a short distance from his towel. He reaches through the space between them, proffering up a water bottle. Condensation drips off the plastic and leaves dark stains along the sand. "I brought you water."

Taichi has to lean a little bit over in order to grab the other end. He wastes no time in uncapping it and gulping down as much as possible while still managing to—just barely—breathe. Under his fingers the plastic crumples and pop. When he drops it onto the towel, it's entirely misshapen and practically empty. Taichi remembers to say in between a gasp of air, "Thanks."

Koushirou's eyes are on the farshore and Taichi wonders if the distance between them might be on purpose. He frowns. Hopefully it isn't anything permanent. He focuses his own eyesight onto the curl of red hair by Koushirou's ear. In the distance he can still make out the hue of orange catching on the clouds that dip below the treelines.

Taichi wishes he knew what Koushirou was thinking. Sometimes, he thinks he knows his best friend better than Taichi knows himself. Times like now, he isn't quite as sure. Maybe he knows nothing. Taichi clutches his arm around his stomach as it churns with a now all too familiar sense of queasiness.

"Oh," Koushirou begins, turning to tell him, "Mom says dinner will be ready soon."  Immediately his eyes flicker down towards Taichi’s midsection before swiftly averting back towards the lake. Taichi can't tell if it's the shadow of the sun setting, or if his ears have flushed red. "Do you need," he stumbles for a moment and finally manages in a small voice, "an ice pack?"

Taichi thinks about it for a second, lowering his own gaze down to his arm. Any pain in his shoulder has since subsided with his nap. His stomach still hurts, but he suspects most of the pain is from nerves rather than the multiple wallops it’s sustained over the course of the afternoon. Taichi doesn’t think they make ice packs that can help with a bruised ego so he finally declines.

Koushirou hums. Taichi watches his fingers dig into the beach at his side. "At least stay hydrated tonight."

"Okay, mom," Taichi snorts. After a lifetime of soccer and spontaneous adventures, he absolutely does not need the reminder. But he reaches for the abandoned water bottle anyway and finishes what little he had left in a single gulp. Sand has somehow crawled it's way up the edges when Taichi hadn't been watching and it leaves his hands feeling grainy.

It's almost enough of a salve when Koushirou turns back to him with a soft smile, the sort he's always offered Taichi before. It eases something inside his chest. Maybe, he thinks, they'll be just fine, actually. Taichi returns the smile.

"We should go in," Koushirou presses, softly.

"Yeah, yeah. Right." Any bit of relief he had found drains out of his system completely. Taichi feels grimy, caked in lake water and sand. Sitting at the center of attention around a table of half-strangers while feeling his worst both inside and out sounds like a recipe for an absolutely terrible time. "Do you think I have time to hop in the shower first?"

"Only if you're expeditious." Koushirou's lips curl up further as he tacks on, "Grandpa."

Taichi kicks sand into his lap.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Poe Dameron / Reward

Prompts: “I still do the talking here” + “I know what I want”

Summary: First Order General Poe Dameron had been ignoring you after your rendezvous outside the catina. But then he calls to his office, where it first began, and where it would end. 

Word Count: 3.924

Warnings: NC-17, i think, office sex, dirty talk, thigh riding, oral (m receiving), possibly other warnings i may not remember, 

Punishment (can be read separately) 

"Soldier, I need to speak to you in my office," General Poe Dameron's deep rumble sent shivers down your spine, for more than one reason. The soldiers around you tensed, others relaxed — if another was punished, it meant they were likely to be spared. But didn't they already know they would be spared? Your very presence ensured that, didn't it? It didn't take long for rumors to have spread about you and the General — not by the looks you got the next morning. 

You looked to his slicked back curls, caressing the back of his neck. His uniform was crisp, the collar of his uniform peeked through. But you couldn't find the need to care about others — there was only one gaze you cared about. 

But did he? 

He held your heart in his hands, but you knew nothing of his. It had been weeks since your "punishment." Weeks since he claimed you as his own. His blue-black markings had faded from your body. But even now, you could feel his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, the taste of his lips on yours, and the drag of his teeth across his neck. But more than that, you craved his words of possession, his body pressed against yours between silky sheets and soft pillows — you wanted to hear your name fall from his lips, not only as a moan, but whispered against the shell of your ear. 

But did he? 

He hadn't looked at you since you had left. Was he ashamed? He knew the consequences of exposing your relationship — perhaps he had thought he was above them. Maybe he had been reprimanded. Or, you suppress a shudder, now he was making you an example. You were only a soldier — easily missed and easily replaceable. He was a general — those were not so easily replaced. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, following behind him with quiet footsteps, still echoing against the floor. The still silence of the winding halls did nothing to soothe your leaping pulse and twisted stomach. But that paled in comparison to your mind. 

What was wrong? The thought spiraled in your mind over and over again — until the words lost all meaning. Usually, his hand would be pressed to your back as he guided you through the halls. Not one would dare to stare or gawk — not if they valued their life. The touch was subtle, but sent a message — you were his, and you were not to be harmed. Or spoken to apparently. Even the few acquaintances you had gathered over the years, carefully cultivated to know they wouldn’t backstab you for praise or a promotion at even the slightest hint of dissatisfaction with your superiors, had disappeared from your sides. 

You couldn’t blame them. You knew what you were going to lose when this began. Your gaze fell to him again. 

How was it that this first began again? 

You had felt him that morning, his presence. He stilled the quiet chatter of the officers, and you knew he had returned. The soldiers slowly lined up in neat rows, yourself on nearly at the very far end of the line, tucked between two soldiers. Your shoulders nearly knocked against theirs as you stepped into place, licking your incredibly dry lips. His boots echoed against the floor, sucking the air from the lungs of each soldier he passed. And his gaze when he met yours, he had stolen your very heart. 

Not in that moment. No. That would be too easy, too simple, too clean. And everything you two was all too complicated and all too messy, even from the start. This was no surgery — there were no precise cuts and quick stitches. No. Instead, his fingers had already cracked your chest open, ripping your still beating heart from between your ribs. And now it was his — and he held it. Just he held your gaze and your very life in his hand. 

It was just supposed to be a simple spot check. Nothing more, nothing less. But it was not. But then again, nothing was simple. 

No, otherwise you wouldn’t have been pulled out of line, trailing behind him, as you did now, to his office. You wouldn’t have noticed the dark glint in his eyes nor the flash of his sharp teeth against his bottom lip. You wouldn’t have leaned into his touch when he showed exactly what was wrong with your uniform — that you were wearing it at all. Instead, you were going to wear his bruises — black and blue against your skin — from the marks sucked on your neck, from his thick fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, from the lip of the desk as he fucked you against it. His lips brushing your ear, hot mouth sucking your earlobe as he told you just how tight and warm you were around his cock. 

No, nothing was ever simple. 

And neither was this. As his head snapped around, tugging you into his office once again with a tight grip around your wrist. You stumble, barely catching yourself as you hear the door seal shut behind you, locked. You open your mouth to speak, but it turns to a small squeak as he strides towards you, eyes lidded as his hand clamps your mouth shut. 

“I need you to listen and to listen carefully,” he breaths, his low voice below a whisper, “I’m going to fuck you now, nice and slow, and I need you to be loud, vocal for me. I have to tell you some things I don’t want anyone to hear — and anyone who tries has to hear us, has to hear you, got it?” 

You stare at him, eyes wide. And he pauses, fingers tilting your chin, and you realize he’s waiting — waiting for your say-so. The thought sends a hot wave of arousal down your body, nodding eagerly. He wastes no time, a fervent hand unbuckling the belt of your jacket and fingers pulling apart the collar of your jacket. He pays no mind to your wrinkled brow or the lips pursed against his palm. 

The corners of his mouth quirk at your lack of a bra, "That's against regulation, isn't it sweetheart?" his voice sends a shiver down your spine, your freshly pressed jacket crumples on the floor of his office, “but then again so is this.” 

The hand against your mouth leaves you, his hands busy unbuttoning your pants, “General,” goosebumps bloom across your skin, as he tugs them down, forcing you to step out of them. He is unwilling to contend with any questions, any inquiries — lips far too busy at the juncture of your shoulder and neck, smirking as your pulse jumps under his attention. Teasing fingers rubbing against your panties, before he rips them from your body, the sound of tearing fabric making you “please—” 

“I needed an excuse, a reason to get you alone,” his breath is heavy in your ear, and he chooses that moment to plunge two fingers inside you. A gasp into a moan — he does not waste time, pumping hard and fast into your slick heat, pulling more moans from your lips. His thick fingers stretch your walls, a third finger slipping in with ease, “Since our little stunt, Hux has been breathing down my neck about professionalism and decorum, and he hasn’t allowed me even a moment, a second.” his hoarse words are barely audible over the squelch of his fingers, “but this was different — he didn’t want me alone with you because he didn’t want me to tell you.” His fingers are splayed across your hip as he pulls you snug against his hips, his hardness pressing into your ass, “The First Order — things are going sideways. It’s over.” 

“It’s over—” He redoubles his efforts, not bothering to stifle your gasp, lips and teeth baring down on your neck and sucking, as his other hand squeezes your breast. Your hips roll against his fingers unabashedly, questions second, and pleasure first. 

His fingers roll over your clit, murmuring in your ear, “Scream my name for me, baby.” And you do, as he pulls you over the edge, fingers unyielding as he drags your orgasm out, thumb rubbing at your clit. You twitch under his touch, using his body to hold yourself up, your fingernails digging into his shoulder, head buried in the nap of his neck. He finally pulls his fingers from your soaked core, dripping onto the silver floors, lifting them to his mouth, licking your essence from his fingers, his deep groan vibrates against your chest, “so fucking sweet.” 

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, as he carries you over to his desk, sitting in his plush chair, placing you spread across one of his thighs. You moan softly at the friction of the coarse material of his uniform underneath your sensitive core, cheeks burning as you feel yourself soak his pants. You want to move — to get up or get off — only you don’t know which one. So instead you ask: “what do you mean it’s over?” 

His thigh rolls against you, fingers grasping at his shoulders, “I mean it’s over — they’re done for. It’s in the cards.” 

You blink. No. No. It can’t be over. It can’t. You peer at him, his eyes dropped to his lap, and you feel your blood boil, lava flooding your veins, “And what? You brought me here to tell me this and have one good last fuck—” he grabs your face, bringing it to his own.

“I still do the talking here, sweetheart,” his fingers squeeze your jaw, eyes solid black, “I am still your commanding officer, especially you’re fucking spread across my lap, dripping for me. Or is this not for me?” he moves his thigh again, and you hiss, “are you, “did you not come to my office for me to fuck you?” 

“Fuck you,” you whimper as his fingers ghost your spread inner thighs. 

“That’s what I’m going to do, sweetness, after you earn it,” his last words have a hard edge to them, "you want to fuck me? Fuck yourself against my thigh, and that's an order." you grit your teeth, but you cannot stifle the moan that leaves your lips, "now are you going to follow orders?" 

Your breath catches in your chest, gritting your teeth as desperation begins to thrum through your body. You don't care about your anger, you don't care about your confusion — you only care about getting off. 

You ride him, feeling the hard muscle under your burning pussy, as his eyes flitted from where your cunt met his thigh to your breasts. His mouth closes around your nipple, sucking and licking before his teeth graze it. It's too much. 

“We have to leave," his hot breath fans against your chest, broad fingers squeezing your hips, "we don't have a choice."

"We?" His fingers fist in your hair, pulling your head back, his lidded eyes staring down at you. He grins, tracing your jawline gently, before grasping your chin

"Of course," his fingertips tilt your gaze upwards, "you're mine after all."

“I’m not yours—” his thigh rolls against you again, and he forces you to ride him, hard and fast, bringing you closer to the edge, before he stops, “fuck—”

“Didn’t you let everyone know just how much you are very much mine? Or were you lying?” you whimper, trying to move, but his hands grip you, holding you down, “I’m trying to protect you — just because the First Order falls, doesn’t mean we have to.” 

A terse chuckle, “What about our mission?” 

“Mission,” he repeats, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t think I even know what the fuck our mission was in the first place,” his brow furrows, as he tugs you impossibly closer up his thigh, and he swallows your moan with a kiss — the first one he’s given you since you have gotten here —- soft and insistent, before he parts, “I know what I want,” he breathes, “do you?” 

“And what is it you want?” he smiles as he presses another sweet kiss to you, feeling the curl of his lips against yours. 

“You,” and your lips meet again, this time your hand cupping his cheek, your heart squeezing — he wanted you. His tongue slips into your mouth, tasting you wholly and fully. He wanted you, the thought repeated in your head, over and over and over again. 

Your teeth bite your kiss ruined lips, “And how do you want me?” You slip from his lap, but you don’t wait for his answer, busy unbuckling his belt. 

“Sweetness, fuck,” he lifts his hips, helping you slide the pants down his waist. You eye the erection tented in his boxers, toying with the waistband, as you smiled up at your very much frustrated General, "get on with it." 

You raise an eyebrow, pulling the waistband down to reveal his hardness, the pre-cum nearly dripping now, "Was that an order, General?" His growl falters as you press a kiss to his weeping head. 

Lips parted, his head resting against the chair, he stares down at you with dark eyes, his fingers fist in your hair, “This is an order.” 

Your mouth opens just as he pushes himself in. You savor the weight of his length in your mouth, how his hips jerk at even the slightest twitch of your tongue, and the guttural groans and soft pants that filled your ears. Your tongue teased up and down his length, tracing the large vein. You taste him — the taste that is so uniquely him that it makes your chest ache. And you indulge yourself with the thought that you were one of few who had tasted him like this, one of the few who had gotten to see him — kiss ruined lips parted, head tossed back to reveal his chiseled neck, and the curls of salt and pepper hair utterly debauched. 

"Your mouth is made for me to fuck it, sweetness," he grunts, pleased eyes glued to your depraved position, “you’re so pretty like this, on your knees for me. I wish I could keep you like this, baby, underneath my desk the next time Hux decides to fucking bother me,” your whimper vibrates against him, and he smiles, “too bad we won’t be here long enough to do that.” 

You hum around him in affirmation, and he likes it — judging from the sigh that parts his lips. And you know he’s close, fingers roughly tugging you closer, forcing you to take more of him in your mouth. Voice low and husky, he asks, “You want me to cum in your mouth, sweetheart?” 

That’s when you suck, long and hard around his length, blood no longer runs through your veins, but lava, as he cums. His seed runs warm down your throat, as he holds your head in place, until he slumps against his chair, his fingers untangling themselves from your hair. You slid his length from your mouth, pressing small kisses to his inner thighs, watching you with lidded eyes. His fingers brush your jaw, lifting your gaze to his with gentle fingers. 

“When are we going to leave?” you ask, ignoring the ache between your thighs, the slickness you were sure was a pool of arousal underneath you. 

He pulls you into his lap again, this time your warmth perched over his cock. You jerk, the empty ache of your sex more prominent with his hardness against your thigh. You’re drenched. And you know he notices. You feel his smirk, when he presses a lazy kiss to the hollow of your throat, “Soon. We don’t have much time. It will have to be tonight.” 

“Tonight?” your pulse jumps — and you don’t know if it's from his fingers brushing your hips, turning you around so it’s like you’re sitting in his lap. He lifts you again, allowing the head of his cock to slip into your silky cunt. You keen against him, trembling above him as you sink onto him completely, insistent fingers still digging into your hips. And you realize why with a strained whine — he wasn’t letting you move. 

“Tonight, after dinner,” he mouths the words against your shoulder, “you’re going to come back to my room, where I’ll make it clear that we aren’t to be disturbed. You wait there for me, and I’ll come back for you, baby.” 

“I don’t want you to go alone—” you squeal as he moves you, pushing himself deeper into your tight warmth, “General, it’s not safe—” 

“Are you questioning my authority, officer?” he purrs, rocking his hips against you, and you yelp. He stills again, lips slowly tracing you, “You oughta be sure about doing that. You know I don’t respond well to insubordination. ” 

“No, General,” you note a small shiver that travels down his body and up yours, “But—” 

“I know you could help me,” he breaths, his hands snaking around to your breasts, pinching and teasing, “I know you’re more capable than Hugs, than Ren, than the entire fucking First Order, but—” 

“But I’m not letting you go alone,” you jerk backwards, rewarded with a quiet groan in your ear, his hands darting “punishment or not.” 

He sighs, burying his face in the nape of your neck, beard scratching against your skin, and you shiver, “There’s no changing your mind, is there?” you feel his lips smile against your skin, before pressing a kiss there, “Well I guess we’ve both pulled off crazier stunts than this.” 

“Have we?” and he begins to fuck you in earnest, hips rutting against yours. It’s too much. His pants in your ear, the dizzying smell of sweat and sex, the blood roaring in your ears, the slick noises as he drives deeper into your dripping sex. You arch into his solid chest, as his fingers find your chin, pulling you into a kiss. He swallows your moans eagerly, before his fingers slid down to your clit. 

You can’t stop yourself from jerking against his touch, fingernails brushing against your sensitive walls,  “I should’ve had you like this, perfect pussy sat upon my cock, soaking it like you are right now.” he forces your gaze downward, “Look at how eager your cunt is swallowing me, it’s like you’re made for me,” He nips at the juncture of your neck, sucking a pretty bruise there, “and it is because you are.” You moan, his fingers circle your clit faster, his hips stutter against you. 

“Say my name,” his other hand wraps around your throat, fingers squeezing. 

“General,” you gasp, breath caught in your throat, and his teeth scrape against your burning skin. 

“No, say my name,” 

“Poe,” it falls from your lips in a whisper into the expanse of his office, as your hands try to grip onto the armrests of the chair, fingernails digging into the plush cushions. He grunts, as you fall apart around him, his name a prayer on your lips, again and again and again. His hand gently turns your face so he can watch you. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining as he squeezes it — as if to reaffirm you are still there, you are still with him. Even in this never-ending war where neither of you no longer have a place in, both of you still have a place, and that’s with each other. 

His hips languidly rock against yours one last time before he spills inside you, your name on his lips. And you hear it echo in your ears. Over and over. And you wish you could see his face, see the flush of his cheeks and the ghost of your name on his lips. You wished you could see it forever — hear him say your name whispered like a prayer in this wholly fucked up galaxy — wished it could be emblazoned across your memory. And you realize for a moment — maybe it can. 

You slump against him in his lap, his softening cock still sheathed in you. But he doesn’t push you away. He doesn’t pull away as he did before. Instead, his arm coils around you, tugging you impossibly closer to him, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You shiver at the scratch of his beard dragging over your skin. 

“Where will we go?” you ask. You knew of no place, but the First Order. Not until him. He rests his chin on your shoulder, a quiet hum vibrating against your skin. 

“I have an idea of where, but it may be some time before we can settle there,” he says against the shell of your ear, “after the First Order falls. We can make...a home.” 

“A home?” he sighs, helping you slide out of him, so you could face him. A quiet groan stuck in his chest, as you sat again, eyes wide and pretty.  

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, “Of course, because you’re mine,” he presses another kiss to your lips, “it’s only fair — after all, I’m yours.” 

~~~

In the quiet woods of Yavin IV, the whir of a TIE fighter could be heard — years after the war was over. It was as predicted — the First Order did fall. The Resistance took their victory, and took the enemies as prisoners as well. Every high ranking officer of the First Order was apprehended — all except one. First Order Defector General Poe Dameron was a wanted man. Except they couldn’t find him. 

But they might. 

“You have to stop flying that thing around,” you cross your arms, sitting with your back to him in the small cabin you called a home, “or are you trying to alert the entire planet to our presence here?” 

You hear the smirk in his voice, his heavy boots thump against the ground, “Relax, sweetness, no one saw me. I was sure of that. I wasn't the best pilot in the First Order for nothing.” 

You roll your eyes, "Don't think that's something you should be bragging about. Now or ever." You knew what you had done — though neither of you had much of a choice. Taken as children. Forced into service. Brainwashed. But was that enough to wash the blood from your hands? The lives you had taken? The ghosts that still dogged every step you took— 

You didn’t know. 

His arms curl around you, the scratch of his beard against your neck, fingers interlaced with yours easily — a perfect fit, “Well it brought me you, didn’t it?” 

You smile, turning to face him, pressing a kiss to his lips, “It did.” 

He fingers the hem of your shirt, eyes flickering from your face to your chest and back, “Is that my shirt?” 

All you did know is that you had your chance at happiness, he was right in front of you — his curls more salt than pepper now, smile lines etched into his face, and he was made of blood and bone and life — and you were never going to let him go. 

Your fingers grip the front of his shirt, tugging him closer, “Yes, it is,” you press your forehead to his, “and what are you going to do about it?” 

[wangxiangiftexchange]

Lunar New Year Gift for muckkles!

For @muckkles, I hope you enjoy this!

*****

Pearls Dissolved in Vinegar 

It isn't Wei Ying's fault. Lan Wangji was very firm on this matter.  

When they were young, Wei Ying's habit of flirting with everyone in range had driven Lan Wangji off the wall. When he was gone, Lan Wangji had occasionally thought that he would happily watch Wei Ying flirt with every woman in a hundred li if it meant he were alive.  

When Wei Ying did, in fact, somehow, miraculously, return to him, Wangji didn't doubt for a second that it was a trade well worth making. Which did not stop watching his beloved charm strange women from being extremely irritating.  

Since the Guanyin Temple--since everything had come out in the open--since Wei Ying had become his, his, his--Wei Ying's flirtatious behavior with others had diminished. Not...ended. Not completely.  

Wei Ying was just so friendly. And absurdly trusting of others' intentions, for someone who had been through everything he had, although possibly that was just his self-esteem issues surfacing again, leaving him unsuspecting that his brilliant smile was enough to inspire intent upon his virtue. Whatever shreds of it remained after Lan Wangji's very thorough and very much appreciated campaign to remove it, in any case. Regardless of the reason for his husband's obliviousness, Lan Wangji found that having his beloved did very little to quell the prickles of his jealousy.  

Admittedly, it hurt less. Knowing that Wei Ying was his and any encouragement of others' attention was obliviousness and not intent, the fire that roared within him when anyone else dared to lay appreciative eyes on him was warm and free to be acted upon, not cold and futile and needing to be suppressed with all the Lan self-discipline in his possession.  

Wei Ying yelped as Lan Wangji lifted him bodily from where he was chattering with a fruit-seller--dispensing loquats of all things, which certainly didn't help even if the connection couldn't reasonably be said to be the fruit-seller's fault. He threw his husband over his shoulder and stalked off towards the inn where they were staying for the particular night-hunt they had just completed.  

People gave the two of them askance looks as they passed by, Lan Wangji carrying his husband over his shoulder as though that was a thing people just did, face unreadable to these strangers, Wei Ying keeping up a light chatter of insincere protests and (decidedly not obliviously) flirtatious complaints. No one, however, dared to do anything, perhaps due to their collective or individual reputations, perhaps due to the fact that Wei Ying was really very bad at pretending he wasn't delighted by his husband's outrageous behavior.  

The innkeeper looked for a moment like he might be about to do or say something, but then he hesitated, and when Lan Wangji swept past with Wei Ying, the two of them were not followed.  

Lan Wangji threw Wei Ying down onto the bed as soon as they reached their room, pausing only to close and lock the door behind him.  

"Oof," Wei Ying said as he hit the bed, then pouted in a way that made Lan Wangji want to take his lower lip between his own teeth immediately. "Lan Zhan, what was that? Do you think that just because you're so strong you can manhandle this poor husband as you please? Have you no--mmf!" His disingenuous protests were cut off as Wangji followed his earlier impulse with a kiss that started out as a savage bite before turning softer and more probing, relishing in the wet heat of Wei Ying's mouth and the warm line of his body under him.  

"I can't believe people think I'm the one who's shameless," Wei Ying gasped when Lan Wangji let him breathe again, in what Lan Wangji supposed was the most genuine complaint he had issued since he had physically removed him from the produce stall at the market.  

"Mn," Lan Wangji said noncommittally, nosing his way down Wei Ying's jaw and neck. Wei Ying giggled and gasped, and something in Lan Wangji's chest purred smugly at his ability to draw these sounds from his husband.  

"You scoundrel," Wei Ying said fondly as Lan Wangji temporarily stopped mouthing lasciviously at his collarbones in order to redirect his attention to the ties holding Wei Ying's robes shut. Wei Ying actually disliked it when Lan Wangji destroyed his clothes too often when they were on the road, so Lan Wangji nobly refrained, even when he really wanted to, so that he would have the leeway to do so when he really really wanted to. Ideally, any night passionate enough to result in serious sartorial damage would also be passionate enough that it wouldn't occur to Wei Ying to consider the state of his clothing until the following morning. 

Lan Wangji was not yet ready to rule out that kind of night, but for the moment he was just barely patient enough to manage to get his husband's top off the long way. Fortunately, Wei Ying wore very few layers when the weather meant he could get away with it.  

As soon as Wei Ying's chest was exposed enough, Lan Wangji latched onto his nipple with more teeth than lips, drawing an approving hiss out of his husband as he arched up into it. His other nipple barely had time to feel neglected before Lan Wangji's hand came up to pinch it, twisting viciously.  

"Mean," Wei Ying panted. "My husband is so mean to me!"  

"Mm," Lan Wangji hummed contentedly.  

"So mean," Wei Ying said with a pout that showed off his swollen lip, a sight that set the smug and purring thing in Lan Wangji's chest off all over again. "My husband kidnaps me off the middle of the street and brings me back to his lair to ravish me in the middle of the day!" 

"Mn," Lan Wangji agreed.  

Wei Ying tipped his head back. "Ahh...there's no way for me to get free...I'm completely helpless, my husband is too strong..."  Wei Ying could absolutely have gotten free if he really wanted to. It never failed to give Lan Wangji a thrill that he did not.  

Lan Wangji pulled the ribbon from his head, surging upwards to capture Wei Ying's hands above his head, tying the ribbon around them and to the bed beneath. Wei Ying moved cooperatively underneath him. Lan Wangji kissed him again, harsh and sweet and full of so much love.  

Wangji pulled away for a moment, over Wei Ying's nonverbal protest, to yank Wei Ying's trousers off. He fell back upon his husband immediately, kissing him greedily and groping him enthusiastically.  

"Ahhh, no," Wei Ying sighed huskily, pushing his ass back into Lan Wangji's hand. "No...ah, I'm completely overwhelmed...there's no way I could stand up to the great Hanguang-jun." 

Lan Wangji gave his ass an extra squeeze before releasing the handful of cheek he had captured and bringing his hand center-wards, sinking one finger into Wei Ying's hole as Wei Ying pressed back eagerly into his hand.  

"Ah, ah, my husband is so cruel, he's going to do me without any kind of oil," he said. Lan Wangji wasn't sure whether he intended this as prediction or command, but either way he sounded plenty enthusiastic about it. Wangji obligingly added a second finger, gaining a number of delighted protests of "Mean!" 

Lan Wangji moved on fairly quickly from two fingers to three, and then he was lining himself up and sinking inside in one stroke.  

"Aa-ah!" Wei Ying cried, head thrown back, exposing the elegant line of his throat. Lan Wangji bent down to bite it, teeth sinking in around the protrusive Adam's apple. Wei Ying moaned in pleasure as Lan Wangji thrust roughly inside him. Part of Wangji wanted to nail Wei Ying to the mattress with full force and speed immediately, but he held back for the moment in order to make it last.  

"Lan Zhan, please...ah, ah, so mean," Wei Ying pleaded.  

Lan Wangji sped up a little, his thrusts rocking Wei Ying's body as he once again abandoned his pursuit of covering the entirety of Wei Ying's body with teeth-shaped bruises to grab his face for a frenetic, fantastic kiss.  

If Lan Wangji were truly trying to do so, he could have held out for hours. But right now he had other concerns, such as staking his claim on Wei Ying's body in every way possible, including a few that were slightly implausible. When he finally came, after fucking his husband to orgasm three times in a row, he simply lay there, head on Wei Ying, reveling in the feeling and the smell and the sheer ecstatic knowledge of him.  

"Not that I'm complaining," Wei Ying said, serious this time, "but what was the reason behind this little interlude?" Lan Wangji buried his face in one of Wei Ying's shoulders, savoring the cozy connection and marshalling his words. 

"The fruit seller," he said.  

"The one I was talking to when you grabbed me? What about her?" 

"She was flirting with you."  

Wei Ying broke into peals of laughter. Lan Wangji would have been more concerned by the possibility that Wei Ying was laughing at him if it wasn't such an incredibly beautiful sound.  

"Ah, Lan Zhan, I'm a handsome man," Wei Ying teased. "I can't help it if I attract a few admirers."  Objectively true. And yet.  

"Mine," Lan Wangji said firmly.  

"All yours," Wei Ying agreed softly, and the two settled in for a good long snuggle.  

[saladejin]

Broken | Seokjin (M)

Seokjin x Reader | idolverse au, established boyfriend!Seokjin | Pining, rough smut, fluffy undertones 

Summary:  Free time is hard to come by for the two of you, but soon another problem arises in the form of his beloved bandmates.

Warnings: Rough sex, swearing, mature and explicit themes, wet dreams 

Word Count: 4.9k

<< masterlist

* Request from my Ao3 series ‘Movie Night’.

~

Skin tingling with excitement and breaths coming out in short gasps, your hands found purchase buried deep within his thick strands of hair.

His lips melded themselves to your own while his fingers roamed your figure expertly. He knew exactly where to touch to turn you into a whimpering mess, and he would never stop learning. It was like your body was a panel of buttons, and he the curious child wanting nothing more than to find out what each and every one did. 

“Baby…”

The man slowly grinding his hips into your clothed core didn’t respond to your plead. You wondered if his brain was too occupied, because you knew yours was surely gone. Your fingers traced the firm outlines of his abdominal muscles and travelled upwards to use his wide shoulders for leverage. You could hear his hurried and shallow breathing the more you swivelled your hips to create the desired friction.

Another moan tore from you when you felt his hands moving everywhere at once. Their familiar warmth cupping your aching sex attentively. You arched at the memory of his fingers trailing the sensitive outlines and openings. 

“Seokjin, I need you,” You gasped, looking upwards but feeling frustrated that the shadows masked the face of your lover.

You reached forwards for him, eager to have him in any way you possibly could…

~  

Oh to hell with it all!

Reality was fucking harsh. You awoke with groan of disapproval and shifted your sweaty body around in the sheets hesitantly. Just as expected, you felt a certain slickness coating the insides of your thighs again.

This was literally the third sex dream you had conjured up in the past week or so. Each time you snapped open your eyes to find yourself cold and alone in your bed, you felt the wave of disappointment washing over you growing stronger. God, you missed him.

I just want him back in my arms. I just want him.

You sighed as you imagined the smiling face of your long-term boyfriend, the one and only Kim Seokjin of BTS. Life was pretty hectic considering you both worked taxing jobs, with him being a world famous idol and you being a full-time teacher at a private academy a fair drive away. Time had become very difficult for you both to find, but lately Seokjin’s had completely cancelled out when the band began promoting their new album overseas. After that, the bucket-loads of fame brought on caused even more difficulty and restriction on you both.

If it wasn’t for the strong bond and resilience you both upheld, the relationship would have broken to pieces a long time ago.

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand and got up to start the day, trying to ignore the sexual frustration tearing at your insides. A tiny light winked at you from the screen’s surface.

“Good morning my love, I hope you slept well x”

You felt the fluffy warmth spread through you as you reread his text again, but rolled your eyes when you thought about how you actually slept.

Should I let him know? It would probably cause problems.

You shrugged because caution had never been a part of your relationship in the first place. Direct teasing was what created so much of the chemistry between the both of you, and it was almost always much to the disapproval of the other members.

“Good morning! It would have been better if I was getting fucked by the real you and not a dream.”

You watched with an evil cackle as the three little dots appeared and disappeared several times.

“I’ll have to tell my dream-self to do a little better. It’ll only be a few more days until I’m the one breaking the bed again, sweetheart.”

You felt so pathetic for getting turned on by his simple cheesy text, but you were so starved at this point you couldn’t really blame your brain for weakening. He was due to come back to Korea in the next few days, so you really wouldn’t have to long to wait.

“Sounds promising, I’ll order a new one tonight.”

You left the room chuckling quietly to yourself. The weight of his words usually proved fruitful, and the fact that you had both freed up a single weekend was exciting enough. This rarely ever happened so you knew you were both super keen to spend time together for two whole days in a row.

It’s sad to think how even that has become special.

You settled down with your breakfast, already falling into the usual routine of your daily texting with Seokjin. He usually sent you all kinds of funny pictures with the other members, as well as beautiful photos of any places they went. You found yourself having your own private tour each and every day, and you always thought about how caring he was to take all that time out for you.

Not for long. Soon, (Y/n), soon you won’t need to see anything but the bedroom.

You really needed to clear your sex-driven mind.

~

The door swung open and you threw yourself into Seokjin’s arms without hesitation. He had arrived back late in the night and had already slept off most of the jet-lag before texting you to let you know he was on his way to your house. You had almost certainly jumped out of your skin in surprise, because even though you knew you were both longing for each other, you still hadn’t been prepared at all.

“Sorry babe, I tried to stop them but they wouldn’t listen,” Seokjin grunted lowly into your ear, and you tried your best to stifle a shiver at the sound to think about the words.

“Noona! It’s great to see you!” A voice boomed, and you leaned back from the broad chest of your boyfriend to see Taehyung, Jimin and Hoseok filtering in behind him.

“Guys, oh! How have you been?”

You moved to give them all friendly hugs, hoping to mask your utter shock. You glanced behind to see Seokjin gritting his teeth in cleverly hidden annoyance, but you knew him too well for it to be completely invisible. There were slight bags underneath his beautiful brown eyes.

He probably didn’t even tell the boys no, knowing how much they’ve wanted to visit lately.

You invited everyone inside and offered drinks immediately. The fun chatter built up and you left the bustling boys to themselves to go and get some water for them. If you had known they were coming and staying for a while, maybe you wouldn’t have been so quick to throw on the horribly risky lingerie set you’d bought a few weeks ago.

Soft footsteps sounded behind you and suddenly your body was being turned around to press backwards into the kitchen bench. You ran your arms up to loop around Seokjin’s neck, grateful that the kitchen was walled off from the other guys and their watchful eyes.

“I wanted to come here alone,” Seokjin exhaled, seemingly in a daze as he moved one of his hands down to grasp loosely at your waist. You ignored the fire spreading from his subtle touch and craned forward to press a loving kiss to his plump lips.

“I missed you so much, I wouldn’t care if you brought your whole fanbase with you.” You blinked pointedly.

He cracked a smile and pressed another tender kiss to your lips, the wet sound echoing through your mind jarringly. You knew if you focused your attention on his uneven breathing you would lose what little control you had left. It was bad enough that he had started to push his body further into yours as the seconds drew onwards.

“I haven’t had you in so long,” he sighed and sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to lean in and close any distance you might have had. You felt the heat pooling in your lower regions like some kind of dam had broken. His needy and darkened gaze called for your touch and attention loudly.

“(Y/n)-noona? We brought you a gift from America, do you want to open it now?” Jimin’s voice called from the living room. You realised with a jolt how filthy the current scene would seem, as Seokjin almost had you sprawled out on the surface of the bench. You probably would’ve let him take you right then and there too.

You looked at your beloved boyfriend knowingly before squeezing his biceps in reassurance and pushing off the edge of the counter. His loud disappointed sigh basically summed up your entire mood, but you knew you still had the whole upcoming weekend to yourselves.

“Coming!” You smiled tightly, preparing to walk out with the glasses of water in hand.

“Well fuck, you could be,” came Seokjin’s irritated mumble.

You tried your best to fight down the sparks of arousal at hearing his angry rasp behind you, but it was all pointless in the end. Your level-headed boyfriend bickered with others quite often, but when he was actually angry, boy that was another story.

Last time you had seen him that worked up, it had been over how he couldn’t get a certain dance move right even after hours upon hours of practice. He had come over with all his muscles tensed up from the building fury, and when you had offered to relieve his tension, he hadn’t hesitated on fucking you hard into the early hours of the next morning.

That’s a memory I should not be thinking of right now. Next thing I’ll be dropping to my knees right in front of the boys!

You shook your head, trying to concentrate on the words Jimin and Taehyung were speaking as they described each perfume they had discovered and brought back. You were so grateful for their thoughtfulness and thanked them so many times for the presents, but your eyes kept wandering to where Seokjin was sitting with his legs crossed conveniently; his eyes averted and fingers tapping to a random rhythm against the arm of the couch.

It had been way too long. It was almost too much for you to stand being in the same proximity as him, and even if he felt the same there was nothing either of you could really do except wait it out.

~

Your panties were soaking as you smashed in the code for Bangtan’s dorm. Seokjin had been constantly riling you up for the past hour over text, and now that you had finally managed to make your way over things were very heated for you. Your fingers trembled with adrenaline and you cursed when you accidentally punched in the wrong number more than once.

He had managed to score the whole dorm to himself for a small amount of time. This was an absolute triumph, because even though you had both freed up the weekend, escaping the members was truly another task in itself.

“Jin I-”

“Baby I’m so glad you’re here!” Seokjin’s noticeably forced shout caused you to stop in your tracks. The shock tightened its grip as you realised you definitely weren’t alone.

Your boyfriend sat on the couch surrounded by his smiling bandmates who were joking amongst themselves, but you knew by his painfully apologetic eyes and conspicuously placed couch cushion that this hadn’t been planned at all.

“Hey noona, we finished practice early so we could have a movie night!” Jungkook greeted as he jumped up to hug you warmly. You just couldn’t let the disappointment hang around for long when this bunny made an appearance.

“Hey Kook-ah.” You smiled sharply, trying to edge away from him so he wouldn’t accidentally feel what you were wearing underneath.

Fuck, Seokjin knows what it looks like too…

You locked eyes with your boyfriend and you both silently conveyed a sorrowful message.

Yes, you would need to do some more waiting apparently. Children were high maintenance, but you knew if this would’ve gone completely your way you would have dragged him into the nearest bedroom and ridden him like your life depended on it.

Sometimes he was just so caring it hurt; quite literally in your case if your weeping pussy had anything to say about it.

“Um, so what are we watching?” you asked through clenched teeth, smoothing down your skirt in hopes of hiding any ‘evidence’. You looked up again to see Yoongi slouched deep in his armchair and felt your heart thump when his piercing eyes flickered from you to Seokjin knowingly.

Shit, I forgot how perceptive this guy was.

You could see the hints of a half-amused smirk tugging at the rapper’s lips, and the fact that Seokjin’s cheeks were reddening gave away that he had noticed too. You had no time to feel the mortification creep up on you since the younger ones were already dragging you towards the couch.

“We picked a great action one, you’ll love it,” Taehyung rushed excitedly and barely even gave you time to comprehend what he was saying.

“Sorry we haven’t got enough room on the couch,” Jimin clicked his tongue, eyes scanning the room intently for a spare spot. You smiled and opened your mouth to say you were fine on the floor, but someone slipped in before you could speak.

“It’s fine, she can just sit on Seokjin’s lap like she always does. They’re together after all,” Yoongi suggested while craftily masking his intentions under a smile. You saw the way the smirk still poked through his guise all the same.

This sneaky bastard.

But you would admit, this had created the perfect opportunity to tease your boyfriend a little. Usually you wouldn’t hesitate at the chance, but this time you knew you would probably suffer just as badly. Seokjin met your eyes and gave the tiniest shake of his head in warning, there was no way he would be able to handle himself if your ass was pressing itself against his rock hard cock.

“Guess there’s nothing wrong with that.” You shrugged and watched as Jin’s expression crumbled into one of darkness and defeat. You knew exactly what was in store for you, and you loved it.

Yoongi covered the bottom of his face with one hand to muffle the chuckle threatening to break past. You smiled towards Hoseok and Namjoon on the other couch before strolling over and glancing down at your boyfriend with lidded eyes. He opened his arms for you, just as usual, but you felt the vital difference as soon as you sat down onto his muscled thighs.

A deep exhale brushed past your ear as he shifted underneath you, and every inch of your skin tingled with heat as you felt the prominent outline twitch suddenly. He was so aroused it was almost too much for even you to bear.

“Please try to stop moving, please (Y/n),” he blew into your ear almost silently. You couldn’t suppress the shiver that racked your form at the sensation of his breath, but this only caused a tiny grunt to fall from his lips. Damn, you were both way too sensitive to each other tonight, and Yoongi knew it too. The sly fox only sat there watching you two with the biggest shit-eating grin you had ever seen.

“Okay it’s getting good, everyone be quiet from now on.” Jungkook brought a finger to his lips, bunny eyes gleaming with enthusiasm as he grabbed Taehyung’s arm and ran to sit back down on the floor. Seokjin had his head bent forward to rest against your back as his whole body tensed up. You knew he was struggling to keep himself together.

“(Y/n) I’m about to lose it, stop fucking moving.” He shuddered as you unintentionally moved to get more comfortable. You just knew he was about to reach the breaking point, but he would regret everything if he exposed you both so quickly, so you reached to squeeze his hand in reassurance.

“Not here. Come over after the movie and we’ll make it real good,” you leaned down to whisper almost silently into his ear so nobody else could overhear. His lip was bitten as he registered the words, the tension from the implied promise hanging thickly in the air. If he had really wanted to calm himself down he would’ve sat on the floor himself not even minutes in.

You almost squeaked when he rolled his hips slowly upwards just once. Just small enough so you could feel what was waiting for you, but not noticeable to anyone else in the room. Even Yoongi had shifted his attention to the movie and had forgotten about the two horny beings sitting on the couch barely two metres away.  

Minutes flew by as you struggled to keep your attention anywhere else, but you kept failing time and time again.

“Hey Jin-hyung?”

Your heart skipped a beat as Seokjin’s minuscule grinding came to a halt, a large breath trying to casually leave his lungs.

“Yeah?” His low voice crackled slightly.

“Now that it’s over can you help me with that hour-long vocal training thing you were talking about?” Jimin asked as he got to his feet and dusted off his shirt from the popcorn pieces.

Wait it’s over?

You were aghast as you looked over to see the credits of the movie scrolling down the screen. You had literally been focusing on the hard outlines pressing into your clothed heat the entire time. Now the cold dread and disappointment lodged itself deeply into your chest as you looked back to gauge Seokjin’s response. Your underwear was nothing but a scrap of wet cloth at this point.

“Argh! Fuck this!”

To your utter surprise, you felt two large hands swooping down to pick you up somewhat roughly. Everyone else gaped as Seokjin yanked you into his chest and marched furiously towards the hallway where his bedroom was. You were left to helplessly cling onto his neck as he abducted you away from everyone else.

“What was that about?” Hoseok was quick to pipe up, wondering why his eldest bandmate had gotten so agitated. Jimin quickly held up his hands to show his innocence, but Yoongi and Namjoon exchanged amused glances.

“If I were you, I'd go plug in your headphones.”

~

You were breathing heavily as Seokjin kicked open his already ajar door, not even caring if he made enough noise to alert the whole building.

“Are you okay babe?” you huffed, watching in amazement as he proceeded to close the door by knocking it with his hip sharply. He didn’t utter a word and only growled before throwing you onto the bed.

Excitement crawled up your body as you were suddenly being pressed into the mattress, his lips were on you in an instant, hungry and desperate. Nothing could be heard but your occasional gasps for air as the primal urges took over.

He needed to have you, and you needed to have him inside you as soon as possible. You positively ached for it.

“Sorry, I just can’t waste time right now,” Seokjin grunted, eyebrows still furrowed from the irritation lingering in his mind. You knew this look. This was the look, the one that had gotten you mercilessly drilled for hours on end. Your heart almost stopped at the strong surge of arousal licking at your abdomen.

“No foreplay needed, I’m flooding myself right now.”

He locked eyes with you for one electrifying moment before licking his lips and pulling you close to his heated body. Without warning, he plunged one hand underneath the edge of your skirt to search for proof of your words, and your lusty whimper mingled with his pleased moan as he ran his fingers along the dripping entrance he found there.

“Fuck, I could slip in so easily.”

You eyed the prominent bulge growing even larger in his pants, but couldn’t act because you were now both too busy undressing yourselves. He was as ravenous as a starved dog, and there was barely a moment where he wasn’t marking your skin or leaving wet kisses in his wake. You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself either, and the sinful noises falling from him only drove you onward.

You let out a breathy moan as he flipped you onto your stomach roughly. You caught sight of his tensed muscles briefly, and you knew he was so worked up it was insane, yet exhilarating at the same time.

“How will you take me?” You moved one arm to sweep your hair over your shoulder, letting him see the entire expanse of your arched back and rounded ass on full view.

“Wow, just like this. I can’t make it slow tonight, I want to fuck your brains out (Y/n),” he almost whispered, voice low and raspy with desire. You didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were filled with a familiar fire, but the thought caused a fresh wave of need to hit you full-force, and suddenly a trail of your own hot wetness slid down your thigh.

“My God, are you trying to kill me?” He groaned and you heard the breath leaving his lungs harshly. The ripping of the condom packet made you jump in anticipation. You arched your back further and sighed, completely ready for this bundling ball of pent up frustration to unleash his wrath onto you and your pussy.

His hand smoothed down your back and you felt the tiny hairs rising at the sensation. This upped sensitivity was going to be the death of you both, and you knew he could also tell by the way your thighs trembled with longing.

“Head down, my love.”

With that he thrust forward and made sure to follow through with a smooth grind of his hips. You cried out in pure pleasure as his length eased past your soaking folds with little resistance. You shifted backwards to meet him, but still winced at the somewhat tight fit. It had been a while, but at least you had plenty of time to get accustomed.

“O-oh, oh that’s good,” He moaned painfully above you, but you knew the serenity wouldn’t last. He was too frenzied to stop at any moment. His hands were already gripping firmly at the tops of your thighs to spread your bent legs further apart.

A plethora of bruises later, but I’m not complaining now…

You sunk your teeth into the nearest pillow as he began setting a punishing pace. Your walls were being battered by his cock, and he was hitting that sweet spot so rapidly you were already coming undone beneath him. You angled your body higher and couldn’t help but moan wantonly at how he hit you in even deeper places.

“This is for all the time we could’ve been fucking,” Seokjin growled through gritted teeth. “A whole weekend, this is a whole weekend in one.”

You widened your eyes at his words, feeling tears prick at the corners from the pure amount of pleasure building up in your core. He twisted you so you rotated on his cock to lay on your back again, and only groaned in approval when your head and shoulders were met by his headboard with a dull ‘thud’.

“Don’t hide anything, I don’t care if they hear everything,” he breathed into your ear as he spread your thighs open once more, the surface of your skin visibly glistening with your fluids. He took in the sight eagerly before looking up with darkened eyes. You knew how completely messed up you were, but he looked pretty fucked too with his flushed complexion and shuddering breaths.

You opened your mouth to reply, but he shoved his thick cock back into your heat unexpectedly, and your words came out in a garbled scream. This new missionary angle felt even more deliciously sensitive and deeper.

“That’s it,” he grunted, brows creasing in concentration as he watched every little contortion of your expression.

He fucked hard and fast, not leaving any room for thinking as you climaxed shockingly. Your thighs shook and your whole abdomen clenched as the orgasm racked your form. Your cry of relief could probably be heard by the whole dorm, but you couldn’t let your mind wander to that when Seokjin picked up the pace again.

The feeling of your walls spasming around his length caused his common sense to fly out the window. He lowered his body onto yours so he could enter you quickly and easily, your beautiful and breathy noises edging him further to the edge he so desperately sought.

Your shoulders and back continuously edged further up the headboard as he pounded into you. You could vaguely hear the banging of the wood against the snowy white wall behind, but your attention was ripped away as another orgasm abruptly bloomed and jerked your entire body into uncontrollability.

Seokjin reached up to still your shoulders, throwing his head back in complete ecstasy as he allowed the slow rhythmic rolling of your muscles to send him over. He groaned loudly as he came, abdominal muscles tensing as he breathed deeply and gently moved his hips to ride out the finish. You were a sight to behold below him, eyes closed and swollen lips hanging open in blissful shock. He watched in admiration as your clammy body continued to jolt occasionally from the aftershocks.

No words were spoken, but you felt his lips against your skin through the haze clouding your mind. He tenderly trailed the outlines of your neck and jawline as if saying ‘thank you, I’m sorry’. You only gasped as another wave of sensitivity coursed through you from head to curled toes. You could still feel the heavy weight of him nestled inside you, but you didn’t want him to leave.

“You’re always so good to me baby. I needed that.” He sighed and almost reluctantly pulled out of your soaking folds slowly. You whined as the sharp feeling almost brought you closer to the edge again, but the stimulation was just too much. He inhaled sharply in stunned disbelief and moved to calm you down with soft words of encouragement.

“I-I think that’s the best sex we’ve had. You were amazing and fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced,” You breathed out, eyes still closed and one hand resting over your eyes as you tried to see anything other than stars. His deep chuckle sounded from somewhere beside you as he got up to dispose of the condom. You sighed before also getting up to use the toilet and clean up a little.

“If only we could go at it for two days…We waited for so long,” he murmured as you returned from the bathroom to see him pulling on some loose pants. You looked around and found one of his large shirts to throw on before climbing back into bed with him.

“Well considering how rough you were when you were angry, I wouldn’t mind getting you like that more often.” You smirked as you cuddled into his chest, trying your best to ignore the dull ache flaming from your lower regions.

“What? (Y/n) if you wanted me to be rougher all you had to do was ask.” He snorted, reaching down to smooth away some of your hair and pull you further into his arms. You hummed as he pecked tiny kisses down your bare arm.

“Well, I guess I just found out.”

~

The next morning you woke a little earlier than usual. Seokjin still slept soundly as you smiled at the sight of his slightly parted lips and fluttering eyelashes. He was so adorable when he was like this, but then your mind flashed back to the smouldering heat within his gaze and the rough pumps of his hips last night.

Well everyone has their duality I guess.

You took a deep breath as you swung your legs out of the bed, wanting to prepare your boyfriend an amazing breakfast for making you feel so good the night before. You made it to the door with a little difficulty, but as soon as you tried to walk normally the ache flared from your vagina and you stumbled forwards into the hallway.

Your knees bent at awkward angles as you tried to shuffle down the passageway, wincing while keeping one hand clenched at your pelvis almost as a reassurance. Damn, he had seriously taken away your ability to walk this time.

You grunted in exasperation, yet somehow didn’t completely hate the sore feeling. You looked up in determination to get to the kitchen but felt your breath hitch when you saw Yoongi and Namjoon sitting at the bench eyeing you in shock.  

Shit, they just watched me amble down the hall like a newborn deer.

“Uh, maybe you should get some rest (Y/n),” Namjoon suggested with a kind smile tugging at his lips. He had a half-eaten slice of toast in front of him, and you felt hunger bubble up in your stomach at the combination of smells.

“God knows you didn’t get any last night…” Yoongi mumbled and you stifled a surprised chuckle as Namjoon wacked his fellow rapper’s shoulder, utterly horrified. You leaned against the wall as they looked to you for a response.

“Well,” you began with a smug raise of your eyebrows. “I’d be lying if I said you were wrong.”

                    Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved.  

[noir0neko]

Crime and Creation | m

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 15.5k

Summary: The Crow Club. One of the University of Ketterdam’s secret societies aimed at recruiting the finest students who want a taste of more than just lectures. Meet Kaz, the founder and president, whose self-made millions come from his dealings on Wall Street. Nina, a girl who is aching for more than the fortune and husband her family has laid out for her. Inej, whose observant nature and ability to be invisible makes her the perfect spy. Jesper, a childhood friend of Kaz’s who can’t resist getting into a little trouble joined by his boyfriend, Wylan, son of the University dean. And Cataleya, an Upper West side journalism major who has a special way with words. When Kaz finds out the Crow Club’s dealings have been infiltrated by an unknown rival, his crew enlists the help of outsiders to ruin reputations, throw lavish parties, and do what the New York City Crows do best: heist. Until something goes very wrong. 

Characters: Cataleya (OC), Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, Nina Zenik, Alina Starkov, Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov, Aleksander Morosova and honorable Leoni mention.

Warnings: Death. Highly detailed emotion and inner thoughts that have memories of parental abuse and self harm, nothing very detailed. Mentions of murder, drugs, and illegal activity. General debauchery and scheming. Some romance, mostly implied, light kissing, fondling, and the use of expletives.

A/N: You do not need to have read any of the books in this world to understand this fic! I spent so much time and poured my heart and soul into this story and the development of my original character and building these characters into a new, modern world. Please read it and give me your thoughts! This piece was written for the @grishaversebigbang. Also, check out the art work made for my fic by these amazing artists: @corpsecro, @nantosuelta-art, @discountscoobygang, @lady-ekatherina-de-mika and @mikanviola! It is such an honor to be a part of something like this and I had so much fun! I encourage anyone and everyone to read the Six of Crows/Shadow and Bone series by Leigh Bardugo! It’ll be on Netflix soon!

I used to love cats. 

Until one showed up dead on my window sill. 

I’m still not sure how it got there. Perhaps it climbed the fire escape and lept from the metal railing onto the ledge. But once the animal had the orange pollen and poisonous petals of the lilies sticking out of my window in its mouth, it was only a matter of time before it died. I had the good sense to keep my crying quiet, at eleven years old, so that my father would not stumble in to yell or push the cat hundreds of feet to the street below. I did not know he was already gone. That I was alone.

I hid the orange tabby in my backpack and went to bury her in the backyard garden the next chance I got. 

But when I used my small children’s shovel to dig into the earth, soft from the recent rain, it wasn’t what I went to bury that changed my life. But what was already buried there. And right then, with my cheeks stained with tears and hands shaking with anger, I swore to never stop hunting. To never stop chasing the people who ruined me. 

That was one promise I kept. 

I haven’t kept many others. 

Sitting in the foyer with the rest of the Crows, wind coming in from the autumn afternoon and the scent of freshly made waffles mixing with dusty books, I don’t know if I can keep this one either. Kaz looks at me pointedly, waiting for me to answer. I glance at all of them, Nina, Inej, Jesper, and Wylan. It is rare that anyone outright refuses Kaz on anything, especially not with his position or to risk the weight of his disapproval. Nina once told Kaz to go to Hell and she paid for it with two weeks of silence and banishment from the Crow Library until she relented to do her assignment. 

Jesper clears his throat, trying to relieve the awkward vibe getting thicker with each passing moment of silence. I can’t help but allow a small smile to reach my lips, grateful for him trying to save me from the tension that I could slice with a knife. Swallowing and meeting Kaz’s dark eyes, I sigh. 

“Fine,” I relent. “I’m in.” 

The strain dissolves from the space and the other Crows break into smiles and start to chatter. Relaxing back in my chair, I watch Inej spring up and take her place next to Kaz, her lithe frame complimenting his perfectly. Kaz moves around his large oak desk, gaze fixated on something in the distance. Definitely scheming face. Best to wait it out until he speaks first.

The Crow Library is lit with the afternoon sunlight, warming the leather of our chairs and illuminating the dust gathering along the rows of books. Shelves line the walls beneath the window, behind Kaz’s study area, and underneath the stairwell, which leads to an upstairs reading room and parlor area. Nobody has bothered to read any of the books, weathered and dusted with age, but they lend the room an air of sophistication and a homey comforting smell. Kaz’s desk is littered with papers, the dark wood barely visible beneath the jumble of stock investment deals, new heists, and class assignments waiting to be done. On the front face of the desk, a large crow is carved into the surface, black and red paint covering the indentations in the wood. 

Inej puts a tender hand on Kaz’s forearm, her lips moving quickly and silently, as if whispering to him. Inej has her hair down today, an unusual occurrence from her braided coil, and the dark strands spill like silky oil over her shoulders and her waist. She must have come from the studio, sweat still gleaming on her brow and black leotard disappearing beneath dark navy leggings. Her lithe frame seems to be floating, always so modest and reserved, yet her brown eyes are intuitive and unrelenting as she studies Kaz. She has been with him since the founding of the Crow Club, never missing a beat between helping him, chastising him, watching out for him, and caring for herself all the same. It’s no wonder she’s been able to double major in both Global History and Ballet, two completely different worlds, but complimenting each other perfectly for Inej. 

And Kaz. What an interesting man he’s proven to be. 

Business major. Self made millionaire. First student to be admitted into the University of Ketterdam - UOK for short, without a full high school education. A man full of mysteries. 

Jesper moves to perch himself on the arm of Wylan’s chair and adjusts his Queen shirt, the old black leather groaning under his weight. Jesper says something quietly to his boyfriend before running a hand through Wylan’s curly red hair and kissing his pale pert nose. Jesper has his hair buzzed short to his scalp, dark arms lean with muscle and legs long, his jeans riding up at the ankles to reveal bright yellow socks and black high tops. Wylan releases a wide smile, looking up at Jesper with untamed admiration. Wylan has on a pair of pressed dark wash jeans, his collared shirt maroon red with small white dots, accentuating his bright hair and pale skin. 

It just reminds me of blood. 

They are quite a pair. Wylan, being the son of the University dean and Jesper, one of the most intelligent and talented students in the Economics department. He is studying Game Theory, an extremely intense and complicated subject full of strategy, confidence, and risk: coincidentally Jesper’s three favorite words. 

Wylan, much to his father’s chagrin, is an Art History student with a hidden passion for chemistry and physics. I often find him gazing at the long since forgotten portraits on the walls of the Crow Library upstairs, reminiscing of a different time, of discovery and excitement. Of different people with different secrets. Wylan usually seems lost in thought, often internally reflecting rather than being outwardly vocal like the rest of the Crows. He is another mystery, especially because of the tenuous relationship he has with his father. 

Jesper’s brown skin glimmers in the sun, inclining his eyebrows in mischief before taking a toffee from the bowl next to him and flinging it across Wylan’s chair to Nina. 

Her tongue flicks out as it hits her arm, thick lips smirking before unwrapping the plastic wrapper and popping the candy in her mouth. Nina is one of the only Crows who was forced into attending the University of Ketterdam. Her parents, with her father being an extremely rich and powerful Russian politician and her mother, an aristocratic woman supposedly descending from ancient Russian royalty, had been raising Nina to marry a high ranking Scandinavian commander since she was eleven. The marriage was supposed to secure better relations between the two nations, as well as provide Nina with a life of security, wealth, and status for her and her children. All her parents want for her. 

In true Nina fashion, this is unacceptable. 

Her family said the marriage could wait if she wanted to go to school and get a degree, which may better serve her husband and their families prestige in the future. Seeing no other viable option, especially because she did not want to marry a “white haired barbarian” as she called her husband-to-be, she enrolled in a prestigious university as far away from Russia as she could get. Despite her parents beliefs that she is a culinary student - “because a good wife knows how to cook”, according to her parents, Nina has been studying Performing Arts and Theatre. A perfect major to fit her personality and her beauty, with her tall, curvy frame and piercing green eyes. Today, she is wearing an olive bodysuit, the neck low cutting and her legs hugged by a pair of black flare jeans. Casual and entrancing. Her style seems to change depending on her mood, from modest foreigner to vivacious party girl to preppy student. New each day. 

“We will need others,” Kaz mumbles to Inej, furrowing his dark eyebrows in thought. 

I have only been with the Crows for a few months, but I already know how unusual that is. Kaz rarely asks for help, especially from those outside of the Crow Club. But whatever he has planned seems to be a lot more serious than the other jobs, more personal than merely ousting insider trading, or infiltrating various museums and mansions, or spying on the Upper East and West Side elite to gain intel and use it to our advantage. 

Each of us has a unique purpose to Kaz. His investments. And while it has been easier to see where the others’ talents fit in, I am still baffled by my own. I adjust the sleeves of my lavender shirt, the ruffled material smooth on my shoulders. 

I had known the Crow Club existed before I set foot on campus. As a journalism major, secrets have always intrigued me. Not just the secrets. The challenge of uncovering them, of working from the inside to reveal some of the deepest and darkest parts of humanity. I had always heard whispers of the club amongst the Upper West side elite, whispers about Kaz Brekker and his Crows. Always watching. Always ready to catch you red-handed. But I didn’t even need to go out of my way to find the Crow Club.

Kaz found me first. Called me an asset. He and Inej invited me to join starting the summer before my second term. I have surprised myself by warming up to the rest of the Crows so quickly, even the ones who aren’t active members and are just extra recruits for Kaz to call if he needs them. We all mean something here, we all have a purpose, more than what the world is trying to force upon us.  

A family. Especially since most of ours are broken or nonexistent. 

After a few minutes of waiting, Kaz snaps to attention and we follow suit, like trained soldiers, eager for him to share whatever small slice of his plan that he decides to. His crisp suit is pure black, a small crow brooch pinned to his lapel. The shaved hair on the side of his head is beginning to grow out, the top slicked back with a deep, oaky smelling gel. He always looks like he is dressed for a business meeting, even when it’s just us. Inej always muses that there is an irony to it, but how, I don’t know. I suppose everything is business to Kaz. 

“Okay,” he begins, voice gruff and deep. “This is what we’ll do.” 

----

Nina and I weave our way through the busy streets, blessing the cool wind as it kisses our faces in the dying summer heat. Her hair is down, the sun illuminating the many shades of brown running through the waves and her dress is high on her thighs, the red cotton fabric hugging the curves of her waist. Being in America has done wonders for Nina, brightened her complexion, improved her spirit, and turned her from a wafer-thin girl to a full-bodied, thick thighed woman. Everywhere she goes, people stare. She is otherworldly, like a saint on Earth. 

“Where did Kaz send us this time?” Nina complains, sucking the dripping strawberry ice cream from her fingers before chucking the cone into a nearby trash. 

“He didn’t,” I grin, dodging a guy with suspicious looking flyers on the sidewalk. “He gave us his card and very vague instructions to find a wardrobe for the event.” 

Nina’s eyes sparkle, cleaning off the rest of her fingers before she entwines her elbow in mine. New York City seems to breathe with our every step, the wind moving, the heat unfurling, and the trees swaying. Taxis and cars whiz by on the avenue, the honking of horns and the laughter of tourists crossing into Central Park filling the air. Everything about New York is alive, even the concrete holds stories it’s waiting to tell. 

“Then let’s go down Fifth,” Nina begins, mischief in her tone. “I know a few places.” 

“I bet you do,” I flash her a smile, crossing the street so we walk parallel to the park. 

We trek down the street, stopping into a macaron shop in the Plaza Hotel to get a bright blue bag full of sweets for us to eat on our journey. Nina and I are bouncing on our heels, excited to have a day to ourselves, away from the Crow Club and the University and being responsible for buying dresses for not only ourselves, but for Inej, Alina, and Zoya, as well. 

Kaz had three extra students brought in for this assignment, all a part of the secret network of Crows that don’t sit in regular meetings. First is Alina, who has an international reputation for rebuilding schools and orphanages across the world since she was thirteen, and who has been a Crow since her first step onto campus. She transferred here as a graduate student from some extremely prestigious school in California to complete her PhD and teaching credentials. Every time I have seen Alina, she has been so kind and so helpful, always eager to teach, serve, and build in any way she can. It’s beyond me why she wants to be a part of these operations. Maybe every good girl has a naughty streak. 

Zoya, on the other hand, seems like the opposite of Alina. A close friend, confidant, and suspected girlfriend, of another one of Kaz’s network of Crows, Zoya is an overly intelligent, intimidating, and obscenely beautiful law student. Her hair is always smooth, a jet black slate against her back and her eyes are always piercing, judging and observing in their ice blue. Her skin always looks perfectly tanned, a deep brown that makes the pink of her lips more enticing. Her grades are pristine, her ability to argue is unparalleled, and if there were ever a force to be reckoned with, it is her. It’s a lot more obvious to understand why she agreed to join the Crows, for the prestige, the knowledge, the power. But truly puzzling, is her relationship with Nikolai. 

Nikolai, or Nik, as I like to call him, is one of the best - and funniest, Crows. Clever, self-deprecating, friendly, handsome, the list goes on. His blonde hair is a shaggy mop of artsy goodness, his skin is creamy, his style completely unmatched and his wealth bottomless. Nik and Kaz are always butting heads; most of the time it’s the only comedic relief the Crow Club has when they’re together. Nik met Zoya during undergrad, in a political science course, where apparently their discussions were lively enough to earn them A’s and lengthy enough to last entire class sessions. Nik has one of those family names that are revered in every elite social circle, making him an obvious addition for Kaz’s team and from what I have gleaned from Nik, he decided to join the Crows to give him something interesting to do besides follow in his father’s footsteps. I wish I wanted to be a Crow out of boredom. 

“God,” Nina groans, shoving her phone back into her five thousand dollar purse. “If I get one more message from my parents asking if I’ve heard from that white-haired, rule-following, stick-up-his-ass, Scandinavian inbred, I am going to drown my phone in the Hudson River.” 

“Wow,” I clap for her, avoiding the incredulous gapes of tourists at her language. “So many adjectives and I don’t even think you’ve ever said his name.”

A man opens up the glass doors to Bergdorf Goodman’s, where cool air and white marble greet us. Immediately, we drift to the dress racks, combing through all of the latest trends.

“Matthias,” she almost growls. “His letters are so proper, telling me that he has heard of my exemplary womanly skills from my parents. That he would delight to see my drawings and sewing and hear me play the piano. It’s ridiculous. I don’t do any of those things by choice.” 

I stifle a laugh. “He seems very… traditional.” 

“Seems?” She throws her hands up, shoving a silk dress back onto the rack with too much force. “He is the definition of the word! And worst of all, he’s attractive! He has snow white hair and is built like one of those huge wrestler guys that people watch on TV.” 

“Why is that a problem?” 

“Because his complete lack of competence makes him a barbarian! A man who thinks the perfect wife is silent and docile. He’s going to have another thing coming when I show up.” 

“He comes from old money in an old country,” I begin, wondering whether I need to tread lightly. “Don’t you think he’s just taught to think that way?” 

She sighs, holding up a stunning evergreen gown against her figure. “I know he is. That’s what’s even worse. I know that everyone where he is from has been taught those values. So even if he came to love me, to understand me, no one on the outside would. His station, his reputation, his fortune, all of it is dependent on how I perform. How I reflect him.” 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” I muse, holding out another red silk dress for her. 

“Money isn’t fair.” 

I blink, surprised at her words. Money is just an object. It has no preference, no deference, no opinions. But I guess the idea of money is more important and tangible than the paper itself. Money has value and expectations beyond the faces staring back at you from the press. It expects manners, it breeds tradition and hierarchy and perfect wives who aren’t allowed to make any. I wonder if Nina will end up bending to those wills, to the one’s she has been raised to. America is such a different place, but I guess money everywhere is the same. It controls you. 

“This.” 

I turn around, face breaking out into a huge smile at the dress Nina is holding. It is a deep purple, with sheer shoulder sleeves and a deep plunging neckline covered in diamond flowers. The waist is cinched, belted by more glittering gems, before it falls and flows in layers of purple silk and satin to the floor, flowers and vines curling around the skirt. Nina’s hair and eyes and skin would look angelic in the dress. I nod fervently, unable to cap my smile as she waves over an employee to open the dressing room. 

While in the dressing rooms, Nina and I talk through the divider. 

“Where was Wylan off to earlier?” I ask, taking off my clothes and folding them neatly on the small leather bench. “He never really seems to be around these days.” 

“Yeah,” Nina says, with a grunt. “He’s been trying to rekindle his relationship with his father, studying a lot. You know, the usual dysfunctional family stuff.” 

I laugh. “My family wasn’t dysfunctional in that way.” 

“I would say you were lucky,” Nina begins and I can hear her zipper up as mine does. “But I know you weren’t.” 

At the same time, we step out of the dressing room, identical smiles breaking open our faces before we clasp our hands together and squeal with happiness. The dresses look perfect, we look perfect, everything looks perfect. 

And now we just have to find dresses for Alina and Zoya. 

With these price tags, Kaz is going to regret lending us his credit card. 

----

“Something Kaz Brekker doesn’t know how to do,” I tease a few days later,“drive.” 

He shoots me a healthy side glare, uncurling his fingers from around the steering wheel. The sun is shining through the left side of the car, illuminating his high cheeks and arched brow bones with dazzling light. If Kaz weren’t so… him, I’m confident he would have made an amazing Calvin Klein model. Especially because his lips are always relaxed in a bit of a natural pout and his resting stance is so relaxed, yet also confident. He is striking. 

And he doesn’t belong to me. Nor do I think he ever will. 

Despite their claims and attempts to put distance between their relationship, it has become common knowledge in the Crow Club that Kaz and Inej are a package deal. And it doesn’t take a trained Journalism major to read between those lines. It is blindingly obvious in the subtle ways she touches him, the way his gaze softens when he looks at her. She is the ice to his fire, and when needed, he is the same for her. A complimentary pair in every way, even if it seems unlikely on the surface. 

“Okay,” I begin, gesturing to the automatic gears between us. I explain what each of the letters stand for, instructing him to move the clutch into reverse and slowly ease up on the brake. With a bit of a jerk, Kaz obeys, turning the wheel to back us out of the spot in the empty parking lot. It had taken a bit of a road trip to find this place outside of the city. I had driven Kaz and myself into New Jersey, where the early morning dawn had just begun to crest, giving our driving lessons an advantage. Kaz had immediately, and somewhat reluctantly, urged me to teach him, claiming we would need it for this assignment. Inej had pushed him along with the conversation, rolling her eyes at how his own pride blocked up his request. 

“Now go back into drive,” I say, lurching forward when he does and pushes his foot down too forcefully on the gas pedal. He turns in circles around the empty lot, taking care to avoid the lamp posts. On every straight away, Kaz seems to hit the gas with a little more force, graceful turns giving way to concussion-inducing races. It seems he has the turning part down, but the lurching and jerking of the car would get him pulled over quickly. 

And although Kaz will no doubt be having a new fake I.D. made by one of our extra Crows, the risk of involving a police officer is not one any of us want to take. 

“Slow down there, Nascar.” I laugh.

He eases up, taking his time to get used to the ebb and flow of the vehicle. Where he got the car is beyond me, but I am also beyond questioning Kaz’s ability to secure random and often, complicated, objects for our heists. He has become my biggest puzzle, my biggest mystery to solve. And if it hasn’t been one hell of an adventure trying to figure him out. Observing him and listening and learning his subtle tells when he is angry or pleased or scheming. Lately, though, it feels as if the obsession for uncovering his truths have blossomed into something else, something that makes my heart race a little faster and my palms sweat. Something I haven’t been able to control. And how I hate not being in control. 

“Turn out onto the street,” I instruct, forcing myself to speak and get out of my own head. 

He obliges, the car absorbing the bumps in the curb as Kaz makes a graceful right turn. His black gloves glide smoothly along the steering wheel, the sleeve of his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his pale wrist. My mind begins to wander again, to whether or not Inej has touched them, if she has held his wrists down as she gracefully slid on top of him. I wonder if she has kissed him, if he whispers her secrets to her like some sort of sexy spy pillow talk. 

“Cataleya,” Kaz is saying, the four syllables of my name like chimes from his mouth. 

“Sorry,” I shake my head, swallowing and casting him a glance. “What?” 

“Where are we going?” He repeats, monotone and bored. 

His driving has already gotten smoother, his feet steady on the brake and gas as I tell him to pull onto the dirt on the side of the two-lane road and turn around. There are still no cars out here at this hour, an Amtrak just beginning its morning route on a station in the distance. I can see the outline of the city beyond the valley, half blocked by trees and tall grass. The skyscrapers are haloed by the rising sun, like a safe haven calling me back home. 

“Who taught you to drive?” Kaz says, his raspy voice surprisingly light. 

“A friend I had growing up,” I reply, surprised.

“That’s a nice friend,” he comments, voice taking on an edge I don’t understand. 

I snort. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have any family to do it.”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel ever so slightly and if I weren’t observant I probably would have missed it. The way he tenses up. The way his jaw clenches and the car begins to move a bit faster as his foot locks onto the gas. “Me either.” 

“I found my mother dead.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize it. Kaz’s gaze shifts a bit, but he keeps his focus on the road as I continue. “I went to bury a dead cat in my mother’s old garden. We never touched it, my father never tended to it, or let me, after he said she left us. But when I went out to the garden and began to dig, I lost track of time, I dug far deeper than I intended. My father wasn’t home, I wanted to be there, in that garden, and away from him if he came home, for as long as possible. I didn’t realize how far I had dug until,” I swallow, inhaling and turning to Kaz. “Until a hand began to form beneath the dirt, and then an arm, and I saw the wedding ring, the bruises, the blue of her dress…” 

Kaz’s lips part, the only admission of emotion he gives. 

“The coroner said she had been dead for four months. Four months,” my voice broke, splintered on the fragments of my memories. “That she had been beaten and buried there. They couldn’t… couldn’t prove it was my father. He had money, lots of it. And he paid a lot of people to keep quiet.” 

“Is that why you love journalism?” Kaz asks, slowing the car to ready his turn back into the empty lot. “Exposing them? Making them pay with more than their blood money and with plain blood?”

I inhale, lips curling back in more of a snarl than a smile. “Everyone I knew. Everyone I knew who was involved. I have made them pay. In some form.” I throw Kaz a true smile, a devilish gleam in my eyes. “Although I suppose you already know that. It’s why Inej noticed me in the first place.” 

“One of the many reasons,” Kaz replies, words back to being clipped, tight. 

With a smooth arc of the steering wheel, Kaz turns the car into the same spot as before, hitting a little too hard on the brake before coming to a stop. My hair moves in front of my face at the jolt, a blessed curtain separating me from him. I can feel him thinking, churning over my words, assessing me. 

Kaz hardly seems fazed as I peek at him around my hair. His dark eyes are far away, his gloved hands slack on the wheel. I still myself, hearing the purr of the car engine, hearing Kaz’s breathing, shallow and uneven, as he goes into the place he so rarely dives. His eyes are almost glazed, like he’s been drinking, completely lost in his own thoughts. I know some of his story already. From Nina. From Jesper. From my research. 

“Your brother,” I murmur, soft and low. 

His hands tighten on the wheel until they are bone white, staring straight ahead at the tree lined landscape. “Jordie,” he pushes through his teeth. “His name was Jordie.” 

My spine straightens. Kaz has never said anything about his brother, and has never allowed any of the Crows besides Inej into his life in this way. And I wonder how far he has even let her in. I swallow, questioning if I should press or let it be. I am just about to get out and switch places with him to take us back into the city, when he opens his mouth and to my bewilderment, continues to speak. 

“My parents were mixed up in some bad stuff before we came here. We lived in the countryside, with a bit of land and no one around us for miles. My brother was older than me, only by four years, but enough to know how to keep me from looking where I shouldn’t. From keeping me happy and sheltered.” A muscle flickers in Kaz’s jaw, his pale skin going ashier with each word, “I didn’t know what was happening when they came. The thugs my parents had been hopping between towns, cities, and states to avoid for over a decade. Jordie took me, the remaining cash from the safe, that my father had stolen, and fled to New York City. He hoped we would be invisible among so many people.” 

I don’t know I am holding my breath until I release it, low and shaky. Kaz is silent again, staring off, flexing and unflexing his fingers against the steering wheel, like a silent reminder that he is here. 

“Are they alive?” I ask, voice so silent it’s almost nothing. 

“I don’t know,” Kaz admits. “But we never heard from them. I’ve never heard. So I can only assume not. And I don’t think I would want to see them if they were.”  

“And Jordie…?” I venture, terrified to hear more, but also terrified he’ll clam up. I am desperate for more. Desperate to know him. 

“We weren’t safe here. They found us. Or, found Jordie. While I was gone.” Every single syllable from his lips are forced and painful, laced with self loathing and regret. Survivor's guilt. “I was supposed to be there, but Jordie had sent me away. On an errand down in Brooklyn. He knew we were trapped, and wanted me to live, if he couldn’t. If Jordie could convince them he was alone and I had been shipped somewhere else... ” He breathes in and out, slowly and deeply, focusing on some point in the distance. “They ruled it as a suicide. He had cut his own throat, only his DNA on the knife, only his blood… I don’t know if he did it before they came. Or if they staged it. The not knowing. The guessing. That’s what makes it worse.” 

“So you look for control in other places.” I say. “In the market. In investment. In the Crows. I do the same thing.” 

“The Crows stand for the same thing you do, Cataleya.” Kaz says, looking at me with an intense stare. “Exposure. We want things to be different. We want people to pay, truly pay, for what they have done. Instead of buying silence. Buying lies. We want the truth. Only the truth.” 

His words pierce me, his black hair stark against his forehead, shaved sides longer than he normally keeps them. His eyebrows are set in a hard determined line, lips closed, and jaw locked in determination. I know he made those people pay, the ones who took his brother from him. I can see it on his face. 

“How did you survive?” I begin, “without him?”

Kaz licked his lips and let out a low chuckle. “Our money was gone. But we knew some people. Kids we met on the street. They made me a fake to get into bars with; I was barely sixteen by that time, but I looked older. Rougher. I had a skill for counting cards and made a small fortune quickly by playing in run down joints and eventually, working my way into larger, more expensive establishments. It was hard, I lived and breathed revenge, for Jordie. I wanted to have him back. To have something that was mine. I built up a small fortune, studied the market, and began investing. By the time I applied to the University of Ketterdam it didn’t matter that I only had my GED and no family, my self-made fortune was enough.” 

“But why here?” I ask, furrowing my brows in confusion. “Why school at all?” 

Kaz continues to look at me, eyes blazing. “Because we had a dream. Jordie and I. We had a dream that we would never forget what happened. That we had to run. And that when we were older, more settled, we would build something here. In New York City, something that would last. Something with a legacy. Like Crows, Jordie had said, symbolizing death but themselves being alive. We were dealt bad luck and would bestow it on others who deserve it.” 

“Thus, The Crow Club,” I finish his sentence, gaze roaming his face. “A secret society at one of the world’s best universities that would have a legacy. Have prestige. Have a family.” 

“Something that is mine,” Kaz’s lips part, wet from his tongue. 

“Yes, yours.” I echo. 

We are both silent for a few moments. Weighing our words. Our truths. Even the trees outside seem to stop in the wind, leaves quiet and branches unwavering. Kaz has opened up in a way I have never seen before. Never expected. He has been through so much. So much like me. Dealt with death. Loss. Life. We aren’t so different. None of the Crows are. 

“What about the others?” 

“Those aren’t my stories to tell,” Kaz responds, voice returning to its detached state.

I nod, once, accepting. I know a few of them already. Nina. Wylan. The new recruits. But Inej and Jesper are mysteries. Complete and whole geniuses shrouded in questions. I don’t like questions. Especially ones I can’t answer. 

“How did you survive? With him?” Kaz’s voice rings again, reflecting my earlier question. His words are too big for the small car, inhaling deeply through my nose as a small smile graces my lips. His long fingers move the shift into reverse to back out of the spot to drive us back to the city himself. The true test of his skill on the Manhattan streets.  

“That friend. The one who taught me how to drive,” I reply, a bit of wistful nostalgia filling my tone. “He helped me. Took care of me. Looked after me.” 

“Past tense?” He inquires, feet smooth as he presses on the gas pedal. 

“We are still friends,” I say. “I think. Things are just… different.” 

“Different. That’s an understatement.” He replies, voice drenched with irony. “Everything is different, isn’t it, depending on how you look at it.”

I nod and laugh, giving him a compliment on how swiftly he picked up driving before we settle into a comfortable silence. Crows. Allies. Friends. If we can call ourselves that. 

I hope we can. 

----

Today, I am supposed to meet the enemy. 

Kaz told me yesterday he set up a rendezvous at one of the campus coffee spots and that there would be someone waiting for me there. Someone he wouldn’t name. Someone that I am supposed to gather information from. Someone who thinks we are on a date. 

I had almost hit him when he pulled up his phone to show me the fake dating profile that was made for me. Pictures of me smiling, laughing, most of them pictures I didn’t even remember taking, all glowed brightly at me, accentuated by a bio that said I liked my men tall, dark, and tortured. 

How cliche. 

“Nina made it,” Kaz had shrugged then returned his phone back to his pocket. 

“And you would be surprised by how many matches you made,” Inej’s voice was laced with humor, lilting into the room without a trace. 

“She’ll walk you over,” Kaz said, gesturing around the room to her unknown location. “Like any dutiful girl would for her best friend about to go on a date from an app. Then, you’ll just need to proceed as normal. Ask him about his life, his job, his degree, his connection to UOK. All the basics. The main concern is reading him out for a vibe, his family has had a lot of influence in some shady shit and he’s from another society here.”

So that’s what this was about? Some sour deals that probably put Kaz out of some easy money and a rival society that was challenging Kaz’s position in the control of campus secrets and his standing legacy? I don’t feel like that is the whole story, but that’s all that Kaz was willing to give me at the time. 

And he hadn’t said anything this afternoon when I had gone into the Crow Library to meet Inej. He acted like nothing ever happened, like he hadn’t revealed some of his darkest secrets to me. Like we hadn’t shared a moment of… something. He barely looked at me from his desk, hair rumpled and face flushed from stress, in my tight long sleeve dress and tights, combat boots laced up around my ankles in case this random guy got the wrong idea. 

The air outside had turned to autumn, giving us an unusually cold and windy day. I was puttering around and trying to think of something to say to Kaz, when Inej came down the staircase with silent feet, dressed in a pair of black leggings and a cream knit sweater. Her hair had been mused in the back and her face also looked a bit red. I had almost laughed, looking between her flushed state and Kaz’s slightly red cheeks, before giving Inej a knowing quirk of my eyebrows. 

And now, outside of the library and alone, walking across the cobblestoned campus paths with autumn leaves falling around us, I turn to her. “Do I even want to know?” 

“It’s college,” she replies, so quiet it’s almost to herself. “Things happen.” 

“Things don’t just happen with Kaz Brekker.” 

She looks at me, face breaking out into a blinding smile that splits her beautifully baked face. “They do when he’s in a rather… compromising position.” 

“Inej!” I release the laugh I’ve been holding, the now pulled back coil of her hair showing off the reddened tips of her ears. Since I have known of Inej, she has always been rather modest. Sure of herself in a quiet way. The kind of confidence that doesn’t need reassurance or shields. Inej herself is a shield, a force of silent secrets she keeps hidden beneath the unsuspecting lithe of her dancer’s frame. 

We take a right turn down one of the main campus paths, small walkways opening up into a large courtyard. Students mill about, sitting on statues, kissing underneath the garden archways, reading books on their way into classes. The University of Ketterdam has always been such an eclectic place, not only because of its location in New York City, but because of its campus. Lush, green, beautiful. An ode to history and architecture and modernity all the same. The programs here are some of the best in the world and while tuition isn’t cheap, the value of a Ketterdam degree is worth it. 

“Is it bad that I kind of do want to know though?” I begin, not even sure what I’m saying. 

“No,” Inej says, voice thoughtful and not defensive in any way. This is why I love Inej. So honest and unafraid. “I think everyone wants to know about Kaz. Everyone wants to be the hero that solves the mystery or the lover that turns a prince from darkness.” She pauses, looking around at the students, seeming lost in thought. Her dark eyebrows crease together, as if in thought or sadness. “Some people just can’t be saved.” 

I can tell she’s referring to Kaz. But I’m not sure if I agree. I think everyone can be saved. I think darkness lives in everyone and all a person needs is a bit of light to show them through. People weren’t born into darkness, or evil, they were made that way. Through that, they could be unmade. And Inej has enough light and strength in one of her hands to see any person through the blackest of tunnels. I think of what Kaz had said to me, in the car, about his story, about his desire for revenge. For retribution. Maybe I want to believe we can be saved from the darkness because I want to be saved. Because like calls to like. And there is a deep chasm within Kaz that sings to me. 

Inej moves her head to look at me, a full and unabashed gaze that somehow makes me uncomfortable. Like she can see straight to my soul. Like she can see every lie I have told or every promise I have broken or every secret I have kept. Like she can see my desires and my shame and my longing for things I can’t have.

“But we love them anyway, don’t we?” She finishes, giving me a contemplative look. 

I think of the people I love, the people I did love, when there were still people in my life that were capable of receiving such a thing; people who were dark and painful and I still loved them anyway. Love can be such a blinding thing. Blinding and binding. 

“Yeah,” I echo, her reflective tone rubbing off onto my voice. “We do.” 

The both of us descend into silence as we continue to walk across the quad. I begin to feel my stomach turn, my palms sweat. No matter how many times I have done this, not dates, but encounter new people, this feeling returns. Every time I have to meet someone new, report on something, present something for a class, I would feel anxiety grip my insides and twist. When I was younger, that anxiety was terrifying, it made me cower, it made me scared. But as I got older, I began to use it and cling to it. I began to form it into an entity that gave me courage instead of taking it, something that would ground me to myself and propel me into my fears. 

Inej begins, “Kaz texted and said he’s outside. Reading. Good luck.” Then she’s gone.

Steadying my breath, the smell of coffee hits my nostrils as I round the library steps to the small path beside it. The coffee shop is nestled into the side of the huge, brick building, almost like a tumor sprouting from the side. Inej has completely disappeared, only leaving the familiar scent of herbs in her wake. She is supposed to be going up the library steps to find a good vantage point from one of the many windows facing the coffee shop on the building’s side. Students move around through the cafe windows, in and out of the doors, little bell ringing to signal both arrival and departure. 

But I am not paying attention to any of them. 

Because there is a boy. A man. Sitting at one of the tables outside, his long legs stretched underneath the opposite chair, wearing a pair of leather sneakers. His long fingers are thumbing through a novel, covers worn and pages yellow with age. He can feel someone there, looking, sitting up and turning in that little metal chair to see who. To see me. 

It’s Alek. 

I blanch, mouth going dry and jaw slackening. I know him. I more than know him. I- 

“Cataleya,” his voice is pure night, laced and dripping with stars. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, not even phased. Not that I have ever seen him look surprised. I flash back to that day in the garden, to his hands on my face, wiping my tears, to his arms around me, murmuring condolences, to the face that I could see through my blurred tears. Dark hair, pale skin, beautifully big gray eyes. I had barely known him, barely seen him despite our houses being right next door, despite our windows being on opposite sides of the alley and me being able to spy on him when his curtains were parted at night. 

“Aleksander?” I stand a little straighter, gathering my shock and shoving it deep down. 

He smiles, standing up from the chair on the patio of the coffee shop. He is so tall, taller than I remember. His dark jeans are fitted against his legs and the black long sleeve button down he is wearing shows off a large portion of his impeccable chest. I don’t remember when the last time I saw him was, but I definitely don’t recall feeling the pulsing and intense heat that flashes through my body when I look at him. I suddenly feel naked. And stupid. 

Is Kaz trying to kill me?

Swallowing thickly, I scan the windows on the side of the library for Inej, wondering if she has already found a perch to play spy. The sun reflects off of each glass surface in the afternoon light, making it impossible to see through any of them. Blowing a breath through my lips, I attempt to quell the storm brewing and churning in my stomach. 

“What a wonderful surprise this is,” Alek starts. 

I catch the edge in his voice, the way the tone lilts at the end. A tell of how much this encounter is not a surprise. For him anyway. But I smile, I nod and I watch as he fluidly closes the distance between us and takes me in his arms. 

I hate how I exhale. 

How my whole body relaxes. 

I hate how good it feels. 

Like coming home. 

He smells like winter and barren tree branches, like snow and absence of light. Like a dark night wrapping me in its embrace and taking away the pain that days bring. Peaceful and mysterious all the same. Just as I remember it. Just as I remember him. 

“Since when did you start wearing all black?” I joke as he pulls away, gesturing to his outfit. “Are you some kind of darkling now?” 

He gives me a blinding grin, chuckling under his breath. 

“Something like that.” 

He gestures us back over to the table and I sit across from him, back rigid and legs crossed. I feel like a mannequin, still and stoic, despite the intense pounding of my heart and rush of blood through my veins. 

“How have you been?” He asks, leaning back in his chair with an amused look on his face. “I must say I was very surprised when your profile popped up Tinder.” 

I clench my jaw, working my teeth against each other. “Yeah, so was I.” 

Tilting his head to the side, Alek studies me, eyes unabashedly roaming from my face to my chest to my waist, to my legs visible on the side of the table. I swallow, trying to clear the unfamiliar lump in my throat before I speak. 

“But I’m good. Great, even. But I didn’t even know you are here. That you went here in the first place.” 

“It’s a temporary thing,” Alek responds. 

“Temporary?” I push. 

“I’m just getting a business credential for the semester,” he says, airy and dismissive. 

I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he can feel the suspicion and annoyance radiating from my look. He drums his fingers on the table, weighing my stare with a measured, even gaze that infuriates me further. I always hated when he did this when we were kids. Always challenging me. Always trying to get me to back down. Luckily, our time apart has sharpened my detective skills and my comfort with confrontation. 

Alek sighs, blinking slowly. “Fine. I’m here because of you.” 

My jaw slackens. 

Because of me? 

“I missed you,” he whispers, in a rare display of vulnerability and affection, before reaching across the table to take my hand. 

Fire lashes up my wrist and arm, chills spreading in its wake. His touch is electrifying me, his skin like a hot branding iron pushing into me with delicious pain. Alek’s jaw is set, the hard lines on his chin lined with stubble. I want to take his face in my hands and kiss him. I want to feel him against me and get lost in the impossibly deep gray ocean of his eyes. 

“Where were you then?” I venture, pushing down the pressing anxiety. 

“I had a lot to deal with after my dad died,” he responds, voice detached and noncommittal. “I’m really sorry I let our relationship fall away, but I didn’t want to drag you down into my grief. You’ve always had enough on your plate.” 

“You helped me through grief.” My tone steadies. “I wanted to help you.” 

He huffs, “I didn’t want your help.” 

The words are like a slap in the face, pulling my hand from his with a start. His dad’s death had been very abrupt and unexpected, launching Alek into a world of unknown wealth and property and an accumulation of other assets he wasn’t even aware his father had. His death was ruled under suspicious circumstances, but no leads were ever found for a murderer or any other sort of foul play. And with Alek’s mother long gone to cancer, he found himself newly eighteen and alone in the world. Except he wasn’t alone. He always had me. 

Alek releases a breath, eyes softening as he leans back in his chair, aware of the mistake in his harsh words. He pushes a hand through his hair, the dark waves parting for his hand like a saint in the sea. 

“I don’t mean it like that. I wanted you to be there, Cataleya. But some things you have to do on your own, you know? I had so much to figure out and sort through and… it was overwhelming.” 

I nod, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Alek was never the kind of guy to ask for help, especially not from people he is close to. He always did things alone, always felt weak for not building his own empire, his own legacy, his own destiny, without anyone else. But two years, I haven’t heard from him in two years and now here he is. In front of me. Asking for some sort of forgiveness. Is there anything to forgive? The pit in my stomach says yes. But my throbbing heart and other throbbing parts of me say no. 

“I missed you, too.” 

A small smile blossoms across his face, the sight beautiful and stupefying. 

“I can’t help but notice you walked here with Inej Ghafa,” he starts and my alert senses begin to tingle. “Isn’t she a part of Kaz Brekker’s Crow Club?” 

“How do you know about that?” I ask before I can help myself.

“Anyone who is anyone knows about Kaz,” he responds, almost spitting his name. 

���Okay…” I begin, unease settling into my stomach like a stone. “But why do you?” 

“He has something I need.” 

The stone becomes a boulder. 

“Are you-” I stop, then start again. “You’re the one that this is for.” 

“If by “this”, you mean whatever scheme he is planning to trap me in, then yes.”

“But why? How do you even know him? Don’t you know who he is and what he does? What are you thinking going against Kaz?” I ask urgently, struggling to keep my voice low. 

He pins me to the chair with a dead look. “He has debts he needs to pay.” 

“You’re going vague again?” I shake my head, irritated with his bipolar intensity then flippancy. “You need to back down. Or you’re going to end up hurt.” 

A smirk tugs at his full lips, “Your lack of faith in me is really inspiring, Cataleya.” 

“It’s not that,” I retort, exasperated, crossing my arms. “Kaz is really powerful. With more networks and connections than you know. If you don’t stop whatever crusade you have on him, you’re the one that’s going to end up indebted.” 

He laughs this time, a full and deep laugh that surprises me. “Has he really dug his talons that deep in you? That you’ve forgotten how wide my own connections spread? How cunning I can be?” 

“We haven’t spoken in two years,” I respond, pettily. “I don’t know you at all anymore.” 

He leans forward, eyes incredibly dark and face serious. “You know that’s not true.”

I hold his stare, raising my eyebrows, feeling satisfied that I made my point. Alek reaches across the table and places his palm up on it in invitation. I can see the veins of his inner wrist, with dark ink snaking across the blue and disappearing under his shirt sleeve. He didn’t have any tattoos when I last talked to him. My fingers itch to push back the fabric and see them. His secrets. Like Kaz’s, they are so plain on his skin yet hidden through metaphors and signs. 

Licking my lips, I push out a breath and put my hand atop his, feeling his eyes follow mine to where the ink is displayed. Without saying anything, he pushes the sleeve of his shirt up his forearm, stopping at the inner crook of his elbow. 

Inhaling and holding, I blink at the constellation on the inside of his forearm. A night sky, swirling with black and dead space, with creatures in between zombies and ghosts with huge demon wings flying through it. There is a ship at the base of his wrist, a small stern gliding through dark sand, a tiny speck compared to the massive size of the creatures flying above it. It is dark and torturing and incredibly impassioned. I let the pads of my fingers drift softly up Alek’s arm, watching goosebumps form on his skin. 

“What are they?” I ask. 

“They’re called volcra,” Alek says. “Beings that live in darkness and are afraid of light. They feed on those who come into their path, who are unable to see or defend themselves in the black sea of sand.” 

“It’s so… intense.” I search for the right word to describe it, coming up short. 

“I want to remind myself to not be afraid of light. Of happiness. That the things that I may think make me weak, really make me strong. I need to find more light, to find my light. I have been full of darkness for a long time, Cataelya. I’ve lived in a thousand moments of it.” 

I tilt my head, fingers pressed into the inside of his elbow and looking up at him through my lashes. His eyes are trained to the spot where our skin is meeting, his lips parted and eyebrows furrowed a bit in the middle. I resist the urge to flatten it with my thumb, letting the wind and the sound of other students fill the silence between us. 

“You were the only light in my life for a long time,” I say to him, tracing the volcra’s deformed bodies with my index finger. “I had nothing. I had no one. You pulled me from that nothingness. From the darkness. And held me in your arms. Brought me up to somewhere better. Where I can hope. Where I can not only see light, but make my own. That is invaluable to me.” 

He catches my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to my palm. “Can you help me, then? Can you bring me back my light, too?” 

My breathing stalls. I know what he’s asking from me. I know it’s more than just offering a flashlight through the tunnel. I know it’s more complicated than I can currently imagine. Alek stands up, coming around the table to kneel in front of my chair. Some students stare, wondering if they’re about to witness a proposal. I ignore them, keeping my eyes trained on Alek’s imploring gaze. I know in this moment, I will give him the world, the moon, and all of its stars. I will give him all of my sun and then some, I will summon everything I have to fill the darkest parts of him. 

He takes my face in his hands, palms impossibly soft on my cheeks. Subtly, slowly, I nod, watching his face break a part into a smile. Without pausing, Alek leans forward and kisses me. His lips are smooth and plush, completely stunning me into inaction as he runs his fingers along the sides of my throat. I sigh into his mouth, body realizing what is happening just as he is pulling away. Parting my lips, I stupidly sit in my chair as he gets up in one flowing movement.

Alek looks down at me with a smile. “I hope to see you soon then, Cataleya.” 

Just like that, he scoops up his book and walks away. Gone as quickly as he appeared. 

----

The room is completely aglow with light, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and candles lit around the room. Everything has a soft, burnt hue, like the room is on fire from below and the blaze is lighting the space. It must be the size of the University of Ketterdam quad, with hundreds of people talking, dancing, eating, and drinking. I recognize some students and faculty, but most are a blur of unfamiliar gowns and tuxedos. 

“They know how to throw a party,” Nik says appreciatively. 

“If they didn’t, no one would take them seriously.” Zoya retorts, leaving Nik’s side without so much as a glance to drift into the crowd. The smell of honey and sweet drinks spreads through the room, long tables lining either wall stacked with a massive spread. 

“That’s where I’ll be,” whispers Nina. 

I smile at her, gathering my dress in my hands and descending the few flat stairs to the main rooms. The floor is a beautiful tile, mosaics and colors that I can’t decipher flowing from the entry way beneath the mass of bodies. There is something magical about it all, something historic, like stepping into a time machine. The walls are lined with thick tapestries, with small halls leading into different areas of grandeur. I shouldn’t be surprised that wealth like this still exists, but every time I see it, I am. 

Scanning the space, I see Alek from across the ballroom, near one of the food tables, his gaze drifting across my body before a smile forms on his lips. He is wearing an all black suit, lapels crisp and smooth, with a single blood rose pinned above his heart. It mimics the read of my dress, the stain of my lips, the seduction in his eyes. He cocks his head slightly, dark hair falling over one of his beautifully arched eyebrows. 

I hold his stare, letting the bubbling pit of fire burn deeply in my stomach. The pit that forms when he looks at me, seated low and hot. The pit that would cackle and seethe if he would touch me, if his pale hands would settle on my hips and his lips would touch the shell of my ear, whispering sweet nothings and dirty everythings into my ear. Snaking my tongue between my lips, I watch as Aleksander tracks the motion, his posture straightening ever so slightly. 

And then Kaz is there. In my line of vision. 

The fire sputters out, replaced by something else. Something that grips my lungs and forces my heart to beat faster. His suit is a deep navy, bringing out the smooth pearl of his skin and accenting the night of his hair. He looks like a shooting star, dark and light at the same time. I wonder who picked it out for him, or if he selected it himself. I can’t imagine Kaz in a tailor’s shop, trying on suits and drinking bourbon with the upper elites with him. 

But then again, maybe I can. He is a business man after all. And great at faking it. 

Kaz catches my stare, tipping his head up in greeting before disappearing into the crowd. Nina and Nik dissolve from my side as well, going to observe and mingle before the drama begins. Alina is the only one left next to me, her golden dress sparkling in the chandelier light. She turns to me and sets her hand on my arm gingerly, sun earrings dangling from her ears. 

“Be careful,” she whispers. “He’s not who you think he is.” 

I open my mouth, about to ask her what she means before her hand is gone, and so is she. I watch her move into a group of people, hugging a man in a dark gray tuxedo from behind before giving him a kiss. Must be Mal. I don’t feel right, especially after what Alina said to me. I feel like something is amiss, but I don’t know what. 

I spot Kaz again, whispering something to Inej along the back wall. Her dark eyes drift to me, cementing the feeling in place. 

Alone, I cross the space to Alek. I had seen him twice since our fateful coffee date and both times had been very formal and full of business. Full of me trying to help him get his light back. Through some sort of grand scheme, it seems. One that required me to also recruit Nik, Alina, and Zoya to help Alek while seeming like they are helping Kaz. Sort of like a double agent, except I don’t know which side I want to be standing on at the end. 

“How are you?” Alek asks, tone casual to an untrained ear, but clipped enough for me to hear the true question behind his words. 

“Something’s wrong,” I respond under my breath before I loudly declare my happiness.

He lets his gaze linger on my face for a moment, schooling his features into neutrality. 

“Can you handle it?” 

“I’m not sure,” I admit, dropping my fake smile. “I might need help.” 

Vague enough, but he clearly gets the message, rolling his shoulders before giving me a dazzling grin. Alek reaches a long arm to stop the waiter passing by, grabbing two flutes of sparkling gold champagne and extending one to me. As if this is only our second time meeting. As if we both happened here by incident and he is looking to get lucky.

“I could never refuse such a beautiful woman.” 

I return his smile, throwing back the entire drink for some liquid courage. It tastes sweet and fizzy against my tongue, a faint acidity coating the roof of my mouth. Alek takes a long and thoughtful sip of his own champagne, much more graceful than me and folds my arm into the crook of his elbow. He begins to lead me from the ballroom, towards the Crow’s meeting spot. I look behind my shoulder, searching for their familiar faces. But all I see is Nina, already watching, her eyes focused intently on the joining of my arm with Alek’s while she pretends to listen to Nik, whose lips are moving with passionate fervor. Her mouth parts ever so slightly as she catches my eye. 

“Careful,” Alek mutters, forcing me to turn my head back in front of me. 

Dread and fear coil in my gut. I have never seen Nina look that way. I have never seen her look at me and not see me. I still don’t spot any of the other Crows at their reported positions around the room, where they were supposed to stay until I could get Alek alone and before I could lead Kaz to Alek and they could duel it out and I could decide who to side with then.

 I swallow, mind racing, trying to calm myself by believing that there’s a reason for their absence. 

 Alek seems to sense my trepidation, holding my arm a bit tighter as we meander from the crowded room into a near empty hallway. 

“Something’s wrong,” I repeat, trying to unravel everything quickly. Too quickly. 

Kaz, pushing everyone into this heist with such force. The others, more quiet than usual, less pressing for Kaz to give them details. Kaz, letting me teach him to drive, letting himself be vulnerable for me. Inej, barely talking to me a week into our plan. Nina, completely open and honest and warm until she saw me with Alek. Jesper, less happy than usual, less enthusiastic, more solemn and quiet, often excusing himself when I came into the room. And Wylan, always seeming to be off rekindling his relationship with his father. 

I didn’t need to help them with appearances at all. 

When fear arrives, something is about to happen. 

“It’s a trap,” I breathe, clenching my jaw and letting my stomach pit out inside of me. 

“I know,” Alek replies, cool and distant. 

My blood turns to ice. “What do you mean, “I know”?” 

He doesn’t respond, turning right down the hallway that leads to a back patio exit, and not to the left, to that private seating area where the Crows were supposed to be waiting. Alek increases his pace ever so slightly, giving me a glazed and lusted look when people come out of the rooms to pass us by, too high or drunk or exhausted to care. 

I try to stamp down the panic in my bones. How could I be so stupid? How could I get so caught up playing both sides that I didn’t see what was right in front of me? This is not the part where things are supposed to go wrong. I am supposed to get to choose. I am supposed to see them interact, gauge my feelings, myself, my words, and decide which side I want to be on. If I want to be a Raven or a Crow. If I want to be crime or creation. Of course, Alek is one step ahead. And so is Kaz. 

“We need to be more casual, less uptight,” Alek states as he pushes through the glass doors leading into the large mansion courtyard at the end of the corridor. “If any of them are watching, they’ll hurry things along if they sense we’re onto them.” 

“I think they already know,” I swallow, the night air turning cold and bitter. We hover on the cramped patio for a moment, not descending the small set of stone stairs into the gardens beyond. I can hear voices from inside, music drifting about, people laughing and heavy breathing from behind bushes. I wish I could have gone to this party with no other intentions than for fun. 

Maybe in a different life.  

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Alek shrugs. 

And then I am up against the thin black railing behind me, Alek’s hands settling into the curve of my hips. I can feel his warmth through the satin of my dress, bleeding fire into my skin, my heart, my core. He licks his lips and pushes me tighter against him. Our bodies are flush in all of the right places; hard and soft in all of the right places. 

“Kiss me, Cataleya,” he baits me, voice low and raspy. 

He doesn’t have to say it twice. 

I surge forward, his lips plush and velvet against mine. He smells like winter, like snow and frosty tree branches and endless starry nights. I grew up with this smell, revelled in it, fell in love with it. His dark hair brushes against my forehead, the strands so soft and gentle in a way I had never known Alek to be. He is always pushing, moving, plotting. 

He reminds me of Kaz in that way. 

Kaz. 

Alek’s tongue slips along mine, sparks flying and thundering in my ears. Haven’t I wanted him like this for so long? Haven’t I imagined what this would feel like since our first kiss, being barely a peck? Haven’t I dreamed that he would want me? That he would have me in the way I desired? 

So why is this falling so flat now? 

Kaz. 

The voice reverberates through me, like a Crow picking from a dead body, peeling flesh from bone until I am stripped bare. My head begins to pound, a dull ache in the base of my skull. Alek runs his fingers up my bare arms, drawing goosebumps in his wake until I am shivering beneath him. 

“Cataleya,” he murmurs, deep and throaty. 

The old feeling returns, the burning desire, the expectant eyes. The little girl waiting for her master to approve. The little girl waiting for someone bigger, someone better, to grab her hand and drag her from the dirt. I feel ridiculous for not being able to squash it down, to tamper it. I don’t know if that feeling would ever die. The feeling of dependence. Of unworthiness. 

Alek seems as if he’s about to say something, but his head whips to the side. I follow the movement, the stone of dread in my stomach sinking deeper when I realize the courtyard has gone quiet around us. Not a single sound from behind the bushes, not a giggle or a whisper or a moan. Too quiet. The sound of death. 

The headache threatens to split my brain a part, eyes blurring as I watch Alek attempt to stumble down the stairs. He gets one step in before a figure blocks his path. My breathing becomes laborious, squinting through black spots clouding my vision before I can see who it is. 

Wylan. 

His suit is a forest green, dark velvet tailored for his tall lanky frame. The color perfectly offsets the ruddiness of his hair and his shoes are a deep brown leather, squeaky clean and new. Leave it to Kaz to outfit all of the Crows with his endless bank account. 

“I’m sorry,” Wylan says, face truly betraying some measure of regret. 

The pieces click together, like a lock sliding into place. 

He hasn’t been working with his father all these weeks. He has been working on something else entirely. Something that would take lots of time, lots of care, and lots of studying. When Nina said those things I thought she was talking about how he was mending the relationship with his father. She was not. And not just that, but his studies most likely required more than himself for success. Probably Leoni, the incredibly kind and intelligent biochemical engineering major who Kaz sometimes recruited for special missions that required more stealth, less blood. 

Wylan was studying poison. 

And we had ingested it from the champagne. 

----

My head is throbbing when I come to, the sound of a car engine roaring in my ears. I don’t know how I got here. All I remember is Alek, his hands on me, his warmth leaving me to spin me into the arms of someone else. The shaved hair, the deep brown eyes, the palor of his skin, the stability of his grip around my waist. Then Alek again, his lips on mine, my back against the wall.

 I force myself to swallow, trying to see anything through the blindfold at my eyes. I am still in my dress, the silk smooth on my skin, and I can feel the car coming to a stop as I struggle to find the strength to say something. 

My bones feel like liquid, muscles weak and shaking. But Alek had been the only one who offered me a drink, he had been the only one I trusted enough to gulp heartily. Wylan. I remember Wylan. Standing at the ledge of the stairs in the courtyard. Me and Alek. 

Poisoned. 

The car’s back door opens and I feel a rush of the cold night air as two gloved hands drag me by my feet from the vehicle and out onto the street. Dread coils in my stomach and my skin pricks with goosebumps, the cobble stones ripping at my exposed ankles and arms. After being dragged a few hundred feet, hissing at the burn of scapes and tearing on my skin from the uneven street, I am forced onto my knees.  I don’t feel right. Nothing feels right. Where is Kaz? 

As if in answer, the blindfold is yanked down my face from behind, my eyes blurring and struggling to adjust to the dark light of my surroundings. I am in an alley, wedged between two buildings built of collapsing brick. I can hear the faint whiz of cars, but in front of me is only a few hundred paces of the alleyway and then trees. I am not being brought here to talk. It’s too secluded. Too quiet. And the smell, bark and sap and something else… I clench my jaw. 

A shadow fills my periphery and I struggle to stay up on my knees as a figure takes shape in front of me. The navy suit, clean white shirt, the black leather gloves, the hard lines of his jaw and set of his eyes. I know why I am here. I know what this is. His stare is furious, rage and ice and merciless vengeful eyes boring into mine. 

He made the choice for me.

“Kaz,” I rasp, voice cracking and broken. 

He snarls at his name from my mouth, shoving me up into the nearest building. I stumble in my heels, his movements fast and forceful enough to drive my back into the wall with no problem. The rough edges of the brick dig into my back, clawing at my skin. This is nowhere near the last experience I had against a wall, with Alek. Caressing me, kissing me, igniting me. I try to stay calm. I try to think. But all I can see is Kaz’s face in front of me, burning with hatred and disdain as he rams me harder into the unforgiving bricks. 

I try to hold in my scream as a knife plunges into my side from one of the roofs above, deep and intense pain bursting through me. I don’t know who threw it, I don’t know how many of them are up there and how many stayed behind. I don’t know how long they’ve been in on it, I don’t know if Kaz has been aware the entire time. But I do know that now he knows, they all do. And that I won’t be leaving here alive. 

I can’t move enough to take the knife from my side, the hilt small, but the blade curved and lodged deep above the bone of my hip. Blood seeps through my dress, the red becoming impossibly darker, and the drip drip of the liquid pings against the stone street as it runs down my legs. It’s the only sound between us besides my ragged breathing, pained and desperate. 

“This was all a test of loyalty,” he says evenly. “You failed.”

And I would die for it. 

Kaz’s hands close around my throat, gaze steely and intent. I try not to panic, my jaw locking and lungs constricting with the pressure of his grip. The warmth of the blood continues spreading and soaking through my side, red and sticky and filling my nostrils with the scent of copper. I can already barely breathe, trying and failing to make it through the pain. It makes sense how loose Kaz’s lips had been with me, all the questions he had asked to try and taunt me, to reveal my relationship to Alek, how he let me teach him; he thought I would be a dead woman soon. And dead women don’t spill secrets. Or give lessons beyond the grave.

“We knew it was you all along,” Kaz says in my face, tone even as he chokes me. “Funny. You didn’t even know he was here until we flushed him out for you. Until we set up that date and watched you become the person we suspected you were. Until you crawled back to him and pretended he was the only light in the pit of darkness that’s been your life.” Kaz’s gloved fingers are hot against my pulse and his hair is falling down his forehead, sides freshly shaved. I can see every prick of stubble along his chin, see the muscles feathering in his jaw. I’ve never been this close to him before. Not even in the car. A day that felt so long ago. Like a lifetime. 

“Don’t you know why we scouted you in the first place? We knew he would try to ruin us from the inside out and use you to do it, it was only a matter of time. But that game can be played by both sides.” His voice is low, a snarl that roars in my ears, my side throbbing. “Nikolai, Alina, Zoya… you thought that you were bringing in new recruits to then turn against us. We had them first. They were always Crows, not one of Aleksander Morosova’s ravens. They have even more of a reason to want revenge on him than I do. And I’ll bet they’re being even less pleasant with him than I am with you right now.” 

A pit burns inside of me, low and feral, deepening with each of his words. 

“But even before that, I wanted you.” 

And I know, at the tenor of his voice, it’s not the kind of want that I would ever seek. At how his voice drops, so no one else can possibly hear, that I will not like what he is going to say. 

“I wanted you the moment I saw you and your father’s face in the news. When I heard what he did to your mother even though no one would believe he could have done it. I knew he did.” He is seething, spitting on me as he goes on. “I knew that he was capable of ordering violence. Of committing it and buying people’s silence. I could see it in his eyes, I could see it in the way he held you against him. Possessive and consuming.”

I have gone completely still, the very blood in my veins seeming to stop, the pulsing at my side ebbing into a dull ache. His words are in a bubble, trapped between our lips. Each syllable pops and rebuilds it, over and over. Trapping me, over and over. 

“I didn’t leave the day they came to kill Jordie.” He continues, “I thought something was wrong, for him to force me out the way he did. I hid on the roof of our building and climbed down the stairs of the fire escape a few hours later. Then I saw him. Your father. Positioning my brother’s body on our couch, I saw him take the bloodied knife and place it on the floor, beneath Jordie’s fingers. I watched as he cleaned off any fingerprints, stole away any evidence. He had no blood on him and by the two men that stumbled onto the street and disappeared down an alley, I knew he hadn’t done the actual act...

“But what’s worse? Following an order for murder or sanctioning it?” 

I feel tears slipping down my cheeks, dropping like flies on Kaz’s gloves. 

“I followed him. Learned everything I could. I learned that he had been involved with an underground drug operation for decades. That my parents had been in debt with them due to some bad decisions in my dad’s twenties. And that your father had been sent to collect or kill. To send a message to the other debtors. Little did your father know that the victims had two children, that they escaped. And that they would be coming for him.” 

The air around me turns infinitely colder, everything still and quiet except Kaz’s voice. 

“I watched you too.” He continues, fingers losing their grip a bit on my throat. “I watched to see who you would be. If we would indeed become enemies, as our parents were. I observed you grow with Morosova, how he controlled you, how he led you away all those years, how he kept you quiet and kept you in the dark so you would never find out the truth and be killed, like your mother was.” 

His words stab me deeper than the knife, my heart in ribbons. Hearing him confirm my darkest fears unleashes the worst parts of me, the parts I tried so hard to keep hidden. Terrified. Insecure. Silent. Obedient. The little girl with an abusive father and dead mother. I hadn’t been her in so long, but Kaz is stripping me down. Shredding me. 

 Kaz’s voice drops lower, as if he’s telling me a horrible secret. “He knew about it, Cataleya. Aleksander,” he purrs the name like a curse, “he knew everything. His father was one of the men your father ordered to kill Jordie. Who was a part of the team dispatched to eradicate those who didn’t pay, eradicate my parents. Your parents were working together, how fitting that you and Aleksander would, as well. Fate is funny that way.” 

The world shatters around me, broken and splintering into a million pieces. Alek knew. He sat there and listened to me while I cried about my mother, how I had desperately wanted his help to look into what happened. He had warned me to want anything was to give myself up. That the only way for me to find peace was to move forward and never look back. That if I continued to want for closure, I would never find it.

 “The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak.” He had said, over and over. 

How ironically true that had become. 

Kaz isn’t done. He continues to pick at me, the Crow in him unable to stop, his dark eyes burning with hate. “Where your own father failed, Aleksander’s father succeeded. He remembered seeing pictures in my house, of me and of Jordie. He remembered that there were two boys. And when I killed him by placing a bomb under his car to be rigged as an oil problem, his son stepped into the role to finish what his father started. To silence me too. But he didn’t and for me, for Jordie, I swore I would destroy them, brick by brick.” 

My breathing is coming out in short rasps, eyes blurred with tears of anger and embarrassment and white hot pain. I have been played. So horribly. By everyone in my life. Lied to. By every single person I had known. Even Alek. Alek, who had been the one person I thought would save me. Would be the one in the end to stand by me, to see me, to understand me. But he didn’t. He never did. He used me. Just like my father did. To be a sweet, obedient girl. 

In the few months I had known Kaz, he has seen more of me than Alek ever did. 

All we ever wanted, me and Alek and Kaz, was to feel safe and be loved. But we never trusted anyone enough to be either. So we fought and resisted and pushed. Into darkness. 

A whistle sounds from above, quick and melodic. Inej. Signaling Kaz that he needs to hurry. That enough is enough. But I can see it in his eyes. The hardness. The black pits of revenge and hatred and loathing he feels when he looks at me. It would never be enough. This retribution that he savored for years will never last as long as he wishes it to. I want to wither away into nothing under his stare. Not enough. Not his. Never his. Never a Crow.

“I know you love him,” he whispers so none of the others lurking can hear. “I know he’s the one who saved you. But he used you, Cataleya. He controlled you. You could’ve been so much better, so much bigger. It’s a shame the apple never falls far from the tree.”

I wish it had been you to save me instead. I think, shoving the words down my constricted throat. Maybe if it were Kaz, all those years ago, then things wouldn’t have gotten so messed up. Then maybe I would have been more like Inej, graceful, strong, full of more purpose than what Alek gave me. Maybe I could have meant something. To someone. To the Crows. 

But Kaz didn’t find me. Alek did. Alek led me from the garden and held my hand. Alek stroked my hair and told me it would be okay. That I would be okay. Alek raised me to be unforgiving, to scheme and stab people in the back to fill the empty hole in my life. Control. Kaz had said. How he controlled me. How he deceived me. With love. Love. Fake. Love. Fake love. I want to cry or scream at all of them, shaking with rage. I have been a pawn this whole time. 

“We are all controlled by something.” I push out, my voice weak. 

I try to swallow and fail at the reapplied pressure of Kaz’s palms, drool and spit bubbling from my lips. The alley wall is hard against my back, the night sky black and endless above me. The smog cover is so thick I can’t see the stars, despite the bright spots beginning to dance in my vision. I feel something prick at my spine with the pressure of my position like a silent reminder, mind sharpening and resolve strengthening. Love or no love. I have to finish what I started. I have to complete my assignment. Even if it isn’t one from Kaz. 

Even if it is from a liar. 

Lies are all I have known. 

All I have to hold on to. 

I can’t be saved. From darkness. My own or from others. I have waded too deep, gone too far. I may not be a true Raven, but I am definitely not a Crow. No matter how much I wish I could be. No matter how much I came to appreciate them, to care for them, to trust them. 

Trust is the most dangerous weapon of all. 

Slipping my hands behind my back as if I am trying to scramble against the wall, I reach for the cool metal of the blade attached along the zipper of my dress, letting out a choking cry to cover the unsheathing of my knife. The movement burns my side, ripping open my wound further to pour more blood. It runs over Kaz’s dress shoes, stains my legs. I am losing it too quickly, too much of it ebbing from me at once. Kaz’s hands press harder to my throat, forcing me, willing me, begging me to die now that his speech is over. I know he doesn’t enjoy this. I know he doesn’t relish in murder. Neither do I. 

But love is love.

Control is control. 

And business is business. 

Kaz would agree on that. 

“If I’m going down, Kaz,” I begin, voice barely a whisper. “You’re coming with me.” 

Without wasting another second, I shove the tip of my knife deep between Kaz’s ribs, watching his face contort in pain and dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise, then furrow in agony. Almost immediately, I hear a scream tear from somewhere on the roofs above and feel a pang of sorrow course through me. Inej just watched me stab the love of her life. Inej, the strong, graceful warrior who had been through more than all of us. She had screamed. Wailed.

I hear her words echo around my brain. The autumn leaves. Her cream sweater. The weight of her stare. “Some people just can’t be saved. But we love them anyway.”  

My sight falters.

 Kaz’s grip on my neck loosens, then completely disappears as he stumbles back and I fall towards the concrete without him holding me in place. An arrow pierces my shoulder from above, Jesper no doubt. With that incredible skill for landing true. The impact pushes me forward into Kaz’s already falling body, his white tux shirt now stained with blood. 

The world spins, my head making hard contact with the street. 

“This action will have no echo.” The rough words leak from Kaz’s lips, voice faint and faraway. If I could cry now I would, remembering the meaning of those words that Inej had told me just days ago. We would repeat nothing now. No more harm. To ourselves or others. This is our repentance. Our forgiveness.

Kaz is close to me, for I can feel the warmth of his body and the slick of his blood as it mixes with mine and stains the concrete.

If someone told me nine years ago, when I buried that cat and found my mother buried instead, that this is where I would end up, I wonder how differently my life would have been. I wonder if I would have chosen a different path. One full of forgiveness and happiness. The one of creation instead of crime. Instead of revenge and retribution. The weight of those decisions hang over me like a cloak, protecting and exposing me at the same time. Using the last bits of my strength, I turn my head to the side to look at him. 

Kaz is on his back beside me, so close that I can reach out and touch him. Touch his hand that is limp with resignation, his side that is red with blood, his lips that are white with death. He is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Even as a small line of blood trickles from the corner of his lips and pings onto the stones. I let my eyes close, pretending the stars behind my eyelids belong to the sky and not to the Grim Reaper. Pretending the stars are his eyes.

We’ve all had hard lives. We’ve all taken on assignments that were too big for us. We’ve all done things we regretted and we all leaned on each other too much for our own good while leaning on no one at all. We all let the ghosts of our pasts haunt us into our future. Especially Kaz. And that’s the problem with trusting ghosts, in the end you become one. 

You become transparent, empty, without an echo. 

“No mourners.” I manage to mumble into the night. 

“No funerals.” A disembodied voice murmurs back, but I’m not sure who it belongs to. 

And then there is nothing but darkness. 

---

~Admin Eggplant

[aprils-arcadia]

Your Warmth

Pairing: Sunjin x Reader Genre: Fluff Word Count: 1,7k Summary: Sungjin goes to a concert he doesn't even enjoy only to have his evening go for the better by meeting you

Who would have thought that the simple choice of seat would change his evening so dramatically. Sungjin certainly didn't. He was invited the third time in a row and the last two times hadn't been particularly enjoyable to say the least. It had rained and the cold October air had chilled him to the bones. He didn't even know why he still gave this concert a chance. Third time's a charm apparently. 

He made his way through the rows of old garden chairs and picnic blankets and eyed the crowd. Most of them must have been twice his age with only a few 30-year-olds scattered across the open field. With this age range no one here should be able to recognize him or even have heard of him for that matter. This evening would have just been like the last of them.

Cold,rainy and overall not his cup of tea. 

Until he found the bright speck of colour that had been you. You were sitting cross-legged on an old bench, your yellow raincoat practically blinding the people around you. You must have been around his age and the seat next to you had still been empty. Sitting on a bench was much likely a lot more comfortable than spending the evening in an old worn-down plastic garden chair that threatens to collapse in itself the moment you eyed it for longer than a few seconds. It probably didn’t want to be here as much as he did.

"May I sit here?" 

You looked up at him with wide eyes and scooted over a few centimeters leaving more than enough space on the old park bench gesturing him to sit down. 

"Sure".

“Thanks” he said, pulling out his phone as soon as he sat down. He might as well check a few things instead of just sitting and waiting like he had nothing else to do. And he didn’t want to come off as a complete creep and just randomly start chatting up the stranger next to him - you. He didn’t need to ruin the evening for someone else as well.

Suddenly he felt a low rumble forming in his stomach. He really should have eaten something beforehand but he didn't have the time to organize something decent to eat after rehearsal. Sungjin looked around and the longing for food grew. All these people were happily eating and japping away like there was no tomorrow. Some even brought real plates instead of the simple cardboard throw-away ones. And the food looked delicious. From appetizers to salads, from snacks to full grown meals - everything he couldn't have right now. The grumbling grew louder and he tried his best to hide it. At least the constant chatter created an underlying hum so that his stomach was not that easily heard. He was seriously considering just leaving. To grab a pizza on his way home, shut himself in his dorm room and just watch a movie. It would be a lot more enjoyable than sitting outside right now. Who thought it would be a brilliant idea to hold an open-air concert in autumn. This was just poor planning to begin will and he was stupid enough to fall for it again. But he thought that this time may be different. This time he didn’t have an annoying Jae with him that couldn’t shut up and attracted the disapproving looks of the people around them. This time he didn’t have a freezing Wonpil with him that couldn’t stop complaining about the weather. This time he was alone.   

His thoughts were interrupted by a plastic box of sandwiches that suddenly appeared in front of his chest. They were all neatly arranged and even without hunger clouding his judgement he would have thought them to look delicious. "Just take one. I promise they aren't poisonous". That you were willing to share your food with him so easily took him by surprise.

Last time Wonpil had eaten all his food within the first five minutes. And he just got lucky that he found a granola bar lying in the depth of his bag. Therefore he was eternally grateful for that small act of kindness. 

The orchestra started playing and he took a sandwich out of the box mouthing a quick thank you before shifting his gaze to the stage. The music was much better this time around. And the sandwich was as delicious as it looked. Maybe this evening would not turn out so bad after all.  

The sun was slowly setting and bathing the glade in an orangey shade. He stole a glance at you. You were still sitting there like he had found you. Cross-legged with that oversized rain coat covering part of your legs as well. Half of your face had been buried in a huge wooly scarf but he could clearly see the smile in your forest green eyes. He noticed the small birthmark underneath your left eye, the slight freckles adoring your nose and the gentle arch of your cheekbones. The dying sunlight gave your hair a reddish shade and the cold wind had coloured your cheeks in a faint rosy glow. He had been captivated by you. How you sat there with your thermos in hand occasionally sipping the still steaming tea that filled the air with the sweet smell of apples and cinnamon. How you mindlessley tucked a stray strand of hair back behind your ear every so often. 

But most of all by how happy you seemed to be. 

It looked like you thoroughly enjoyed being here and that this was a night you had been looking forward to with anticipation and not with indifference or even dread like he did. He noticed the small shiver that seemed to run through your body and couldn't help but realize how cold it suddenly got as soon as the sun vanished behind the tree line. He probably should have taken a warmer jacket with him or at least wore a thicker pair of socks. He slipped his sneakers back on properly for the first time today warming his achilles heel a bit more. 

Unfortunately that wasn't enough and it became quite apparent that he would freeze for the rest of the night. He started to rub his arms in order to stay warm wondering how the musicians on stage were still able to play properly as they most likely lost feeling in their fingers a long time ago.

"You really are utterly unprepared." A quiet voice next to him said followed by the most adorable little giggle. 

As he turned his head around he saw you offering him a corner of a thick blanket. Where you must have gotten it was beyond his imagination because it could clearly not have fit in that tiny bag of yours. But what was more baffling to him was that you had no inhibitions of sharing it with him - a complete stranger.

"Don't be shy. Can't have you turning into an icicle on my watch, now can I?” You averted your gaze slightly. “If I am not bothering you of course. I mean you don’t even know me.” Maybe it was just the lights but it seemed to Sungjin as if your ears were slightly getting red.“I am just so used to taking care of people that I forgot you might be uncomfortable with it. I’m sorry. I'm Y/N by the way"

 "You’re not bothering me in the slightest. I really appreciate it. I’m Sungjin", he shook your outstretched hand and the warmth of your skin spread through his hand as if he was standing next to an open flame.

"Dude. Your hand is freezing. Didn't you at least bring like a scarf or something. You should have told me sooner." He could clearly hear the scolding undertone in your voice as you started to rummage around in that magical bag of yours. 

“I knew you were in there”. You pulled out a second cup and handed it over to him after you poured some of your tea in it. "Drink up. You'll be warm in no time" "Thank you" he said, for the first time looking straight into your eyes. His face was only inches apart from yours and he could clearly make out the small clouds that appeared in the chill night air as you breathed. The wind was playing around with your hair and a small strand of it landed on your cheek. He wanted to brush it away, to touch you only so slightly. Involuntarily he slowly lifted his hand but let it sink back within seconds. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was sure no one had ever looked at him with such kind eyes and he didn’t want that to change. 

He sighed to himself and quickly took the cup of tea from your hand. “I really appreciate it”, he said hastily, turning around to focus back on the music. By now it had turned completely dark and he could see the lampions and torches guiding the safe passage out of the park. The trees were illuminated by white and orange lights framing the glade in a warm glow. The concert seemed to be nowhere near finished and he never actually made it this far. Last year he stayed for about an hour after Wonpil had left, until he himself was fed up with the constant rain and the strong wind that was mockingly blowing wet leaves into his face every minute or so. 

But today he thoroughly enjoyed himself. He was warm and in good company. He wondered if you had been here last time. How his evening would have turned out if he had spotted you. If you had been wearing this bright coat as well. And if he had had the guts last time if you would have come together this year. He looked over to you slightly opening his mouth to speak but quickly shut it again. He saw you tilting your head towards the sky seemingly lost in your own little world. He wouldn't want to disturb you. Not after all you did for him this evening. He heard you faintly humming along to the melody, the reflection of all the different lights twinkling in your eyes. It seemed as if you never lost your sense of wonder. That spark still clearly visible. He finally understood the magic this night held. And maybe, if he was lucky, he would be sharing this bench with you next year as well.

[sightlined]

@starsassume from [ here ] bc reasons:

Protective action prompts  | @sightlined (Billy Russo) [ INTERCEPT ] : sender takes a bullet(s) meant for the receiver (Frank Castle)

“Russo!” Frank’s voice roars down the narrow corridor as he barrels down behind him, gun pointed at his back. He notes the moment Bill freezes, the tensely drawn line of his shoulders before he slowly turns to face him, hands raised. Frank doesn’t give him a moment to recover, closing the distance between them until they are but a mere breath apart, barrel pointing squarely at Russo’s head. Breath is coming rapidly, matching the rapid beat of a heart flooded with adrenaline. Bill’s lips part, and he knows before it comes that there’s something biting waiting on his tongue, but just at that moment Frank sees the shadow of movement over Russo’s shoulder.

One of Russo’s men, judging by the uniform. Only he wasn’t aiming at Frank, SMG lining up to take a clear shot at Bill’s exposed back. Frank doesn’t think, arm coming up to shove Billy roughly into the wall. He feels the impacts to his vest, the sting of a stray bullet finding flesh before the sound of it catches up to him and he grunts as balance fails, stumbling onto a knee at the same time gun raises to fire off two succinct shots at the attacker. As the man falls a pained sound leaves Frank, struggling to stand and he’s lost his advantage on Bill but the point seems moot now.

Whatever fury had been fuelling his quest for vengeance it had been quieted the moment he saw Billy’s life in danger.

He swears under his breath, arm resting against the wall to keep himself upright and when he finally regains composure and deep brown hues land on Bill’s face there’s something determined resting there.

“See, what I can’t figure. Is when did it start? When did you get into bed with the likes of Schoonover and Rollins? Because I keep hearing this voice in my head.” The hand wrapped solidly around his Baretta gestures weakly. “And it’s you, Bill. Back at Kandahar. And I figure.. there’s just no way Billy Russo would turn his back on one of his own. There’s just no way. So I’m thinking, right. I’m thinking it must be me. It must be something I did. Because you wouldn’t betray me, nah… Not you. Not unless I betrayed you first. So whatever it is, Bill.”

He’s making a statement now, gun tossed with a clattering sound to the floor and he pushes off the wall with one smooth movement. He brings himself upright and he knows without looking that blood coats his shirt, his vest. Slick and glistening in the dim lighting off the corridor. They have minutes, maybe, before Homeland storm this building but right now it’s just the two of ‘em. Frank and Bill. Like old times.

“Whatever it is. I’m here, okay. I’m here. You do what you gotta do.”

It was always going to go down ugly, the end of this - the end of them - but there was still the shock of facing down the literal barrel, that split second of eye contact a rougher impact than Frank’s body crashing into him to shove him out of the way. It was so fucking familiar, he didn’t even pull a knife mid-way, though Billy knew it would have been the saner thing to do. Frank Castle made it clear that he was going to put him down, and when Frank made his mind up, there was no stopping the inevitable.

He was coiled and back on his feet the second the brief exchange of bullets fell silent, his own gun gripped firmly through the tac gloves Frank had half-teased him about, what felt like a lifetime ago. Billy’s eyes tracked the dead man on the ground, and a flicker of hesitation passed over his face before he reeled himself back in to neutral. With the fight out of Frank, he had time.

Didn’t really matter, when his life was numbered in however many moments Castle could tolerate him still standing; and now apparently he’d been marked expendable. Rock and a hard place; fall on the panting knife before you, or let a sniper find your skull in their scope a day, four, ten from now when you were taking a piss. 

Better the death he knew.

The clatter of Frank’s gun hitting the concrete snapped Billy’s head back up, and he followed the tired line of the soldier’s body to his eyes - always honest, always a clear reflection of his intent. In the comms earpiece, Billy heard coded chatter; Rawlins' mop-up crew didn’t seem to realize he had ears on both frequencies.

“You made your choice when you left me behind, Frank.” It was more honest than he’d allowed himself to be to anyone other than the mother he wasn’t done hating. “I would have followed you anywhere, anywhere,” Billy’s finger jabbed the center of Frank’s vest near where the slug was still buried, “and you fucking know it. But you went the one place you knew I couldn’t.”

That bland suburban kitchen, all filtered golden sunlight, middle-class clutter, the perfect fucking snapshot, if you ignored the screaming rows, the plates shattered, the divide between the veneer and what festered underneath.

Billy didn’t know he was lifting the gun until the muzzle was already nestled against Frank’s belly, that sweet spot between his belt and where the vest ended. Frank, unless he had a good reason, always went for the quick, efficient kill; one of the may things that made them different.

“All I wanted was--”

“Hands up!”

The voice behind them wasn’t one Billy recognized, but it didn’t matter; the one thing he wasn’t going to allow was for Rawlins to finish it his way. In one movement he shoved Frank behind him and down, twisting to raise the gun up enough to fire. It was always going to be too slow; flank exposed, position wrong, he was a target only a moron couldn’t hit. The first two shots got him in the midsection: one entering somewhere beneath his ribs, the other catching the edge of his vest. Billy managed to squeeze off a round - wild, useless - before the third bullet hit him in the thigh and his leg crumpled under him. It was enough of an improvement in the angle that the next two shots Billy fired hit home in the agent’s skull. He clutched uselessly at his side, blood pooling quickly between his fingers, and bared his teeth at Frank over his shoulder.

“Get the fuck out of here! Now!”

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

My Little Secret part 5

Summary: After experiencing a turbulent night, you wake up feeling oddly refreshed. You try to go about your day when your mind is clouded by other things.

A murmur of words. A flash of skin. Heated breaths. Swollen lips pressing against one another. A fire that ignited deep within you, a sweet pleasure waiting for its release. Rough hands on your bare torso, a gruff voice whispering in your ear…

Darlin’.

The sun shining through the blinds across your eyes awoke you from a deep, dream-filled slumber. You shifted slightly, only to realize your hand rested underneath your pajama pants. The intense burning had cooled to a dull ache. Did you really just…dream like that? About Arthur?

You sat up slowly, stretching out your stiff muscles. Last night felt surreal, the assault only seeming like a vague nightmare rather than a vivid memory. It certainly didn’t bother you like it did upon coming home last night. The only reminder was the empty mug sitting on your nightstand. Next to it, your clock flashed 9:30 am. It’d been a while since you’d slept in that late. You had to wonder, how long did Arthur stay after you’d passed out? You crossed your arms, fingers idly searching for the scrapes, though in your surprise, found nothing but smooth skin.

You blinked in confusion, staring down at your arms. No evidence of scrapes or scratches, not even scabs or redness to indicate healing. Maybe they weren’t as deep as you’d thought.

Your hand wandered to your temple, expecting to still find the soreness and swelling, only to find that had disappeared too. You frowned, wondering how the hell you healed that quickly. Schooling and simple logic told you it would be impossible.

You shook your head in defeat, knowing that trying to make sense of it would lead to only more questions to which you wouldn’t know the answer to. Unless Arthur somehow brewed an all-healing tea, like some sort of health potion in fantasy worlds, which would be, again, logically impossible.

Emitting a long sigh, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. You grabbed the mug and headed out toward the kitchen.

Friday meant online work; which allowed you to relax in the comfort of your own home or the quiet, serene atmosphere of the library. But you also had work, which reminded you of the daunting task of having to speak to your boss about the night before. You could almost hear the conversation in your head; her demanding you take the matter to the police despite your constant protests.

Deciding to send a text rather than making a physical appearance, you let your boss know what was going on. Naturally, your phone blew up with multiple texts and eventually a call. You answered, albeit reluctantly, to have a thirty minute conversation about the details and trying to convince her you did not want to go to the police station and file a report. You hurriedly ended the conversation after that.

To keep your mind busy, you set yourself to making a nice breakfast. Your efforts proved fruitful; the savory-sweet smell of eggs, bacon and waffles filling your small apartment. You’d say yourself down and dug in, your mouth welcoming such a symphony of flavors that it almost seemed unreal. You’d always made breakfast the same way, yet somehow it seemed more…complex. Every ingredient was the same as you bought it, though you couldn’t quite figure out why it tasted different to you.

You’d left your apartment closer to noon, your backpack full of books and your laptop bag slung around your shoulder. Rather than hitting up the campus grounds, you decided to go to the local town library instead. As you walked along the dusty red paths of Rhodes, the thought of running into Tom again had briefly crossed your mind. Somehow though, you weren’t worried about it. Your mood was unexplainably heightened since waking up, and the last thing you wanted to do was dampen it.

Rhodes Town Library had loomed in the distance amongst the rows of houses and shops. It was a small, older building that was built in the 20’s. It certainly fit the more rustic part of town; buildings that had stood proud since the 1800’s. It only took you another moment to reach it, pushing open the heavy doors. The smell of must and old parchment was nearly overwhelming, though a welcome scent.

You settled at one of the tables close to one of the windows and got to work.

As time passed, you’d managed to make a sizable dent in your work. After about an hour and a half, you stood up to take a small break and stretch your legs. You began to wander aimlessly through the aisles. It wasn’t your first time here, though you weren’t too familiar with it. The college library was much bigger, although this place contained local history, and even had a couple of items and documents on display.

Your eyes wandered, observing the old photos, drawings, and newspaper clippings that decorated the walls. Topographic maps, photos of the mansions owned by rich families of the past, even one of Shady Belle. It was clear that much had happened since the town’s founding, even way before a university was built within it.

Creeping along the walls, everything keeping your interest. You came across an article that seemed almost familiar. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was about the Van der Linde gang. Between the museum in Saint Denis and the ghost stories at Shady Belle, you’ve learned a lot more about this gang in the past few weeks.

The clipping was faded and yellowed with age, though had a picture of the group posed in front of a large wagon. You stepped closer to get a better look; gazing over each and every one.

You paused at one, a man that looked…too familiar. Though with the low quality, it was a little difficult to really see. The name had been listed under the picture in order, and you found it: Arthur Morgan.

Now it hit you, he looked a lot like the Arthur you knew. You tilted your head in thought, observing as many features as the century-old newspaper allowed. Perhaps this was Arthur’s ancestor, or maybe it was some strange coincidence.

Your curiosity got the better of you, and you returned to your laptop. A few minute search rewarded you with a better image of this fellow.

Well, “better” would be a loose term, given how old the photo was. Still, it provided more features than the newspaper did. Arthur Morgan was posing in front of a backdrop, a revolver in hand with a fierce and very familiar expression. You recalled a moment from last night, how angry Arthur had looked when defending you from Tom. The resemblance was uncanny.

You tried to focus on your work once again, yet Arthur and his possible doppelgänger ancestor remained in the back of your mind. Maybe you could ask him next time you ran into him.

Your thoughts began to wander more, idly thinking about the dream you had last night. Admittedly he was a handsome man, though getting in bed with him was the furthest thing on your mind. The way his lips caressed your body sent a flush of heat into your cheeks. You could vaguely recall seeing him shirtless, a broad torso lined with thick muscle. Was that what he looked like in real life?

You reached further into your subconscious, mentally peeling his clothing off layer by layer. You could hear his voice, low and rough, his teeth grazing against your neck.

Despite the air conditioning, your body was hot.

You took a deep breath and shut your laptop, knowing there was nothing much else to be done with yourself in such a state. You’d have to find another activity to keep yourself busy. Silently, you scolded yourself for allowing to even consider such a thing. Arthur was nice, as strange as he seemed when you first met him. A gentleman who gave off an air of old-school polite mannerisms, yet fiercely protective as well. You had to wonder why he didn’t have a significant other, or if he did and just never mentioned it.

Of course he wouldn’t mention it, you’ve only spoken with him a handful of times.

Shit, why were you thinking about him so much?

---

The day wore on rather quickly, after you left the library you’d stopped for a quick lunch before returning home. Even though you kept yourself busy enough, you still could not get the image of those beautiful baby blues from your head. You’d even found yourself doodling them at some point; on the corner of your notebook page.

As the sun was setting, you were beginning to grow restless. With the evening off, your ideal night would be to relax. However, you felt as if you needed to do something else. You’d hadn’t had a Friday night off in a while, so it felt a little strange. You may go out for a walk perhaps, enjoy the outdoors after having your nose buried in research and textbooks for the majority of the day. Walking at night wasn’t something you’d done often, especially in such a humid area. The air had cooled down to a bearable temperature, enough to enjoy nature without feeling suffocated.

You knew most of the people in town as they’ve come into the club at some point or another. Rhodes wasn’t a town known for its crimes; though you had a pocket knife on you just in case. You headed toward the park, the paths illuminated with golden lights. Aside from the heavy ambience of crickets and katydids, it was quite peaceful. You wandered aimlessly, occasionally passing by others who had the same idea. Evening joggers and couples chattering away, or enjoying each other’s company.

It’d been a few years since your last relationship, opting to focus on your studies rather than a significant other. Regardless you missed the companionship and closeness, and a warm body to cuddle with. You imagined a pair of strong arms wrapping around your waist, your skin tingling from the sheer thought of it. God, were you that touch-starved?

You sat down on a nearby bench, facing an elegant fountain. You focused on the running water, the sound of it soothing. Still, the distraction didn’t allow those thoughts to stray. A ghost of a person beside you, keeping you in a loose embrace. Tender lips pressing a light kiss to your cheek, whispering sweet words to you.

The sound of footsteps caught your attention, your gaze turning to see a figure stepping into the light. You’d expected to see another park goer, instead it was someone all too familiar: Arthur.

Your breath hitched, cheeks flushing in slight embarrassment. You’d caught yourself daydreaming about him again, and it was if the universe was teasing you at this point. Perhaps it was a hallucination fueled by your own desires.

He caught your stare. “Hey, Y/N.”

Definitely wasn’t a hallucination.

“A-Arthur, didn’t expect to see you here!” you exclaimed slightly louder than you intended to keep your voice steady.

“Could say the same ‘bout you,” he responded with a slight chuckle. “You doin’ alright?” his tone became more serious, though with a hint of concern.

You nodded, remembering those moments from last night in your home. “Better. I’m not as hurt as I thought I was. I told my boss too, like you said. And took the night off.”

He nodded. “Good,” he stepped closer, gesturing to the empty space on the bench next to you. “Mind if I sit?” when you shook your head, he sat down and you realized he was a little closer than normal.

He was just mere inches from you, your skin tingling once again as if he radiated electricity. Your heart began to race, and you took a slow, deep breath to try and calm yourself. “Thank you,” you managed to say, “Again, for last night.”

He gave you a small smile. “Don’t have to thank me, Y/N.”

“You saved me, Arthur,” you continued. “I don’t know what else would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. You even stayed with me when I asked, even if it was stupid. If I could ever repay you, please let me know.”

He looked at you again, though his expression was hard to read. He sighed and shook his head, “That ain’t needed.”

“Are you sure?” you pressed, sensing his hesitation. “It could be anything…really.”

You caught your own desperation from your response, followed by a stab of shame. You hoped he hadn’t picked up on it. His attention turned to you again, his eyes staring directly into yours. Those blue eyes were beautiful and hypnotizing. You could get lost in them. Quickly, you peered at his lips. They were surprisingly plump and slightly parted, as if he were going to say something. Yet it was silent between the two of you.

Was he leaning in?

You’d never been this close to him before, his defining features stood out even in the darkness. The way his cheekbones were set, sloping a smooth angle to a strong, scarred jaw. The stubble that shadowed his face, you could just imagine it tickling you if you kissed him-

Kissing him.

You were that damn close to his face.

Fuck it.

You closed the space by planting your lips to his. They were unusually cool like the rest of his body, but soft against your skin. When you felt his body stiffen, you pulled back at an instant, afraid that you’d misread him.

He stared at you with a dumbfounded expression. “Y/N-”

“I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, tearing your sight from him. “I’m so sorry, Arthur. I totally misjudged- I didn’t mean- I thought you-”

Your rambling was stopped short when you felt a hand caress your cheek. You peered shyly up at him again, surprised to see a small smile on his face. It absolutely took your breath away to see him stare at you that way.

He guided your face close again until his lips rested on yours. You were even more surprised by this, almost pulling back in your own confusion. But his hand, as gentle as it was, kept you locked in. You melted to his touch, kissing him back with gaining confidence.

It felt like ages when he finally released you, pulling back slowly as his fingers slid from your cheek. The smile remained on his face. You stared him, your mouth slightly hanging open. Did that really just happen?

You’ll catch flies like that, sweetheart.” He chuckled.

You closed your mouth with a little more force than necessary. Your face burned with a blush. “Uh…” was all you could manage to utter.

“You okay?” he asked, the concern immediate on his face.

You blinked and nodded, turning your head away in embarrassment. “God, I-” you took a deep breath to collect your thoughts. “We just kissed.”

“Yeah…we did.” He said nonchalantly. “Ain’t that what you wanted?”

You turned your head slowly to face him, but avoiding his gaze at the same time. You weren’t sure why you felt so shy at the moment. “Of…course,” you said slowly. “I just…I didn’t know you wanted to as well.”

He chuckled again. “Wouldn’t o’ kissed ya otherwise, Y/N.”

Somehow you blushed even harder. You covered your face sheepishly. “Aw jeez…didn’t think I’d be so flustered…”

“Hey…” you felt his cool hand on yours, slowly peeling it away from your face. “You’re alright, darlin’.”

Darlin’, just like in your dream. Was this a dream? His eyes were on yours, exhibiting a softness on his otherwise weathered face. You reached out, cupping his face almost hesitantly. His stubbled skin felt very real to you, your thumb running along his cheekbones. You could observe his features up close for once, from the faint scars that decorated his face and the ridge on his nose, indicating it’d broken at one point. He was very real to you.

“Can…can I kiss you again?” you asked, your voice lower than a whisper.

He nodded silently, allowing you to take the lead this time. You brought yourself closer, eliciting a kiss even better than the last. Your arms wrapped around his neck, the muscles of his shoulders strong underneath your touch. His mouth felt soft against yours, his lips moving in sync with yours. Hands rested against your waist with a light touch, and you scooted closer into his arms. His grip tightened slightly.

Your thoughts roamed back to earlier, awakening a spark that cascaded down your body.

The kiss became more heated, his mouth gently prodding yours to open as his tongue darted across your lips. You chased after it with your own tongue, wanting so desperately to have more of him. Would it go that far tonight?

As if he read your mind, his hands disappeared from your waist only to gently grip your wrists. He pulled your arms from around him, parted the kiss and sat back. You pouted and whined slightly, craving even more.

He gave you an apologetic smile. “Don’t wanna get carried away with ya. Might end up doin’ somethin’ I’ll regret.”

You sighed in disappointment, but you understood. It was too soon for anything else right now, and you still barely knew one another. You ignored how your emotions were driving you wild. Too wild. You’d never experienced anything like this before for someone else. Arthur really had a different effect on you in a way you couldn’t explain.

He brushed his lips against your hands, still trapped within his. He lifted your arm up gently to kiss a line from your palm, down to your wrist. He rested his mouth against your pulse point for a second before releasing your hands. You could have sworn you felt his teeth graze your skin, but it was so slight and quick you weren’t able to tell. “Walk with me, Y/N. Think I oughta get to know ya more.”

You nodded silently, though your legs felt rooted to the bench. He helped you to your feet, sliding his hand into yours with a gentle grip.

You didn’t expect yourself to become a chatterbox after that, but for the next twenty minutes, you walked around the park as you poured your entire life out to him.

“So you’re gonna be a pharmacologist, huh?” Arthur asked after you’d explained why you were here. “That’s a lotta schoolin’ ain’t it?”

“So much, feels like an eternity sometimes,” you sighed. “I think at this point I could list every drug in the world in alphabetical order, along with each effect it has on the human body. The best part is it’ll be part of my job to create new ones.”

“That’s some skill,” Arthur mused. “New drugs to fight sickness n’ all?”

You nodded. “My ambition will be the death of me.” You said with an amused tone.

Arthur peered over at you. “Ah, don’t say that. You’ll be great at it.”

“I’m only joking,” you pointed out with a smile. “But some days I feel like my head will explode from all the studying. I was in the library earlier and-” you stopped your train of thought, remembering what you discovered in the library. “Hey Arthur, are you named after an ancestor? Like a great-great grandfather or something?”

He frowned in confusion. “Why?”

“Well, I came across something interesting. Those outlaws that used to roam this area over a hundred years ago? The library has some information displayed about them. I found a picture of one that looks exactly like you, and has the exact same name.” you explained.

The confusion in his face deepened slightly, and then it was wiped when he gave a slight chuckle. “Yeah. Guess you could say that. Descendant of an outlaw.”

Something about his tone struck you as odd, as if he were nervous about it. Perhaps of being judged by his family’s history?

“It’s gettin’ late, lemme escort ya to your car.” He said, squeezing your hand slightly.

You blinked and glanced at your phone. It was nearly 10 pm. “Oh, shoot, didn’t even realize it was that late.”

He led you back through the park, taking you to the parking lot where your car was. He finally released your hand, and noted how cold it felt despite holding on to it for nearly a half hour now. You turned to face him, smiling up at his handsome face.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” he murmured to you, leaning in for a kiss to which you responded eagerly.

It was quick and sweet. As you broke from him, you said, “Arthur, we walked around the park for twenty minutes and I still haven’t learned much else about you.”

A half smile touched his lips. “Ah, my life is borin’ compared to yours, darlin’. Pretty sure you won’t wanna hear ‘bout it.”

“But I do,” you responded as-a-matter-of-factly, putting your hands on your hips. “Especially if…ya know, we’ll be seeing each other more often. I just gave you my whole life story, so I’d like to hear yours.”

His head shook slightly at your tone, the smile widening with amusement. “I ‘spose that’s fair. Next time, sweetheart. Don’t wanna keep ya out too long.” He reached over and nimbly opened your car door.

How was he such a gentleman? “Okay, how about a date? I have off next Monday.”

“A date.” He repeated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Been a while since I’ve been on one.”

“And all the more reason to do it.” you pointed out with a smile.

He contemplated for a moment, his eyes cast toward the ground. He finally looked at you once again, giving you a nod. “Alright. Monday night.”

“8 pm, we’ll go to that little burger joint by the school. Sound good?”

He didn’t answer for a moment, rubbing his chin in thought and appearing almost…nervous? He finally nodded and answered, “Sure. 8 pm on Monday night.”

“I’ll see you then, Arthur.” You said as your smile widened.

It was then when you said your real farewells. He’d reached out to caress your hair gently, each touch elicited from him would send sparks along your skin. Your body trembled with a slight shudder as he whispered another goodbye to you, smiling at you before stepping away.

You watched as he crossed the parking lot over to a motorcycle partly hidden in the shadows. He mounted the iron horse and the engine roared to life, filling the night air with its growls. Just moments later he skirted across the lot, turning onto the street before speeding off and out of sight. As the noise faded, you stepped into your car and sat down.

Excitement overtook you from head to toe, expressing itself in a squeal of glee. For the first time in years you had a date.

[brashashxao]

The Two Sides Of Kai (PT 1)

🖤 Genre: Smut 

🖤 Rating: M

🖤 Pairing: Kim Jongin aka Kai X Reader

🖤 Synopsis: You get a job teaching English skills to kpop idols at SM entertainment where you meet Kai and everything changes.

🖤 Word Count: 1,958k

🖤 Warnings: this story starts out a bit slow and ends very smutty.

**Writers note: Hey guys! this is my very first post! im thinking of making this into 2 parts. i love all kpop idols and my bias list is insane! i thought i would start out with Kai since i last saw SuperM in concert. I hope you enjoy!!**

“What the fuck was i thinking?” I say to myself as I hold onto the cold stark white bathroom vanity in front of me. My mind has been wondering since i stepped of the plane just a few hours ago. I left my home in America to teach English in Seoul. But I never imagined I would be teaching English to kpop idols at SM entertainment. I splash cold water on my face and wash my hands. “You can do this Y/N” i stare at myself in the mirror and say. i feel a tiny bundle of nerves form in my stomach as I exit the bathroom with shaky hands. 

I stand behind a huge velvet curtain waiting for my cue to step out and introduce myself.

I hear the soft chatter and murmurs from the crowd which could only be the idols themselves.

“Alright everyone calm down” i hear Mr. Lee Soo-Man echo through a microphone. “I bet you are all wondering why you are here?” he says fixing his suit jacket. “We have a new staff member joining us today, she will be working closely with all of you and help sharpen your English comprehension skills” Mr. Lee Soo-Man glances at the curtain, “please welcome her with open arms, Miss Y/N will you please join us on stage?” That’s my cue, I straighten my back and clear my dry throat as I make my way up the polished marble stairs and onto the stage. And that’s when I see him..in the flesh. The very person who I knew I would see but didn't expect to see so soon. 

Kai is sitting front row next to Chanyeol. He has on a simple pair of dark jeans with rips at the knee and a plaid shirt with a white T shirt underneath. His hair is pulled back into a baseball cap, and for a moment I debate whether it's too late to chicken out and run off the stage. His golden skin peaks from under his sleeves as he rolls them up nonchalantly. His lips looked more plump and kissable in person. “Run away stupid” I silently scold myself in my head. “Um hi” I say as I clear my increasingly dry throat. 

“Thank you Mr. Lee Soo-man for this once in a lifetime opportunity” I say as I quickly bow. “Once in a lifetime Y/N” i whisper to myself. “As stated earlier, I will be helping you guys further your English skills” I exclaim clapping my hands together and smiling softly. Just then Kai sits up in his chair and turns his full attention to me, ignoring a whispering Chanyeol in the process. I feel my insides ignite with just a simple look from this man. His chocolate brown eyes stare holes into my face and suddenly i forget how to breathe. I’m reminded i’m on stage in front of the entire company when Kai unfolds a lopsided grin and raises his eyebrows. I clear my voice, “I am very excited to work with you all, and I hope to learn from you as much as you learn from me!” I stand back, and if on signal Mr. Lee Soo-Man returns from the shadows. I can't focus on what he's saying as i try to keep my legs tightly closed while avoiding Kai’s gaze. “This man is going to be the death of me,” I say to myself. 

When the meeting concludes Mr. Lee Soo-Man approaches me with a shy Kai in tow. “Y/N, you can work in groups. We can start with Exo, Kai has generously offered to show you around and help you get situated”. Kai blushes behind Mr. Lee Soo-Man. “I’ll leave you two it” he flashes a grin as he walks away.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I cannot be left alone with this man.”  I think in my head ignoring Kai’s outstretched hand. “Oh i'm sorry” I say. I feel so small next to him. His large hands nearly swallows mine hole. His golden skin glistens even in doors. His silver hair peaks from under his hat, and I lose myself in his smile. His plump lips So warm and kind. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you Kai” I choke out. “Jongin, please call me Jongin” he says smooth as butter. And I realize how much I love his voice, how i want to hear him saying my name over and over as he buries himself inside of me. “What the fuck, get your head in the game y/n, you did not travel this far just to loose your job in the first 30 minutes” i repeat over and over like a sacred mantra in my head. “Let me show you around” he says as he flashed me a smile that could make puppies cry. “Lead the way” i say. 

My god he smelled good, he looked good, but most of all you could tell the passion he had for his job as he led me through the halls of the building, leaving no stone un turned as he showed me every inch of the building. Even the janitors closet. I smirked internally when he mentioned that the janitors closet was vital to the tour. We stopped at one last door down a dimly lit hall. He sighed and turned to me looking unsure, “And this, this is the most important room to me. Its where I practice daily, hourly.” he opens the door and I am greeted with a big room with floor to ceiling mirrors. Leather bean bag chairs and a large dark oak table with chairs surrounding it, Complete with a Dj station off to the side. It smells just like him. Woodsy and manly. The Wood floors were so shiny I could see my reflection, the SM logo is plastered in the middle of the sleek wooden wall. 

“This is beautiful” I murmur as I take in the room, simple yet masculine. I spin to find Jongin looking at me, his brown eyes dark and clouded. He stalks his way over to me and i melt where I stand. I can’t find my voice when he stands in front of me staring at me. He towers over my much smaller frame. He takes his hat off to run his hair through his messy silver strands. I watch as he reaches out to stroke my cheek. He steps closer and I could swear his eyes get even darker. “y/n you’re so beautiful, i’m sorry, i’m not usually a forward person” he says taking a strand of my hair between his fingers before bringing it to his lips. In this moment I can't find my voice and I curse myself for just staring back at him foolishly. Before I can reply his lips are on mine. Soft at first as if testing the waters, then the kiss heats up. He moves his tongue across my lips silently begging for entry. I opened my mouth to feel his soft tongue caressing my tongue and cheeks. Like silk, his touch, his tongue feels like silk.  

I don't even notice when my back hits the wall. I feel him  growing hard under his jeans, as it pokes me in my belly. I entangle my hands in his hair knocking his hat free. I pull him closer to deepen the kiss and a moan escaped his lips. “Fuck you taste so good y/n” now its my turn to moan as he says my name. It feels like ecstasy. He moves his hands over my waist and down my sides until he reaches my ass. “Your body is so perfect, so curvy in all the right places” he says against my lips. He then kisses my cheeks, and the shell of my ear before peppering kisses down my neck. By now i can say goodbye to these panties. He moves his hands expertly over the fabric of my blouse before taking a nipple in his mouth. I moan while tangling my fingers in his hair. He looks up at me between his eyelashes and says “ can i?” confusion spreads through my features. He motions down to my pants. I simply nod and he slowly goes to his knees and slides my pants over my waist, then my ass and to my ankles. 

He slides kisses down my legs and he grasps onto my ass for dear life. I feel shy, im half naked while he is fully clothed. He reaches to kiss my inner thigh as he hitches one of my legs over his shoulders. Moving my panties to the side he inhales. “So sweet, i wonder if you taste as sweet as you smell baby” My mind is hazy. He looks at me with expectant eyes before I nod to him that he can continue. He uses the pad of his thumb and works my clit in circular motions. He then uses his tongue to lick the folds of my most secret spot. “You taste like heaven” he says against my pussy and the vibration makes me moan Louder than I wanted to. he delves his tongue flat in and out of my entrance. All the while rubbing my clit. 

I tug on his hair as I moan his name over and over. He looks up at me with his plush lips coated in my juices. He flashes me a cocky grin before he slides two slender digits inside of me. He watches me writhe and scream his name for a minute before licking my clit as his fingers push in and out of me. A bundle of heat courses through my body when he curves his fingers just right hitting a spot I didn't even know existed. I throw my head back and yell his name before coming all over his fingers and mouth. He continues to lick and fuck me with his fingers and just when i thought i couldn't breathe he brings me to another orgasm, just as mind bending as the one before. I have to catch my breath and hold onto his head for dear life as i get weak. He looks at me and smiles. “You’re so beautiful when you come on my fingers y/n, i want to watch you come for me again” with a shaky sigh i barely breathe out “im to sensitive”. He sees this as a challenge and pumps his fingers faster, so fast I instantly lose my footing and fall backwards on my ass, Jongin chuckles while still pumping his digits in and out of me at an impressive speed. 

When I finally think I can't take anymore i cry out “oh my god Jongin im going to come!” he removes his hand and replaces it with his mouth as my body explodes. My orgasm rips through my body fast and hard leaving me breathless. Breathing heavily, I snapped my eyes open. I didn't even know were closed. Jongin stands up and helps me to my feet. He turns to me and places a tender kiss on my lips before licking them. His big soft lips feel amazing against my burning flesh. “Now if you’ll excuse me y/n i have to take a shower and handle a few things” Jongin says with a sly wink. “I-i can help you” i motion to his hard bulge threatening to rip his pants from his body. “Maybe next time, goodnight y/n” he says and he turns on his heel leaving me in a puddle of self worry and confusion.

“I am SO getting fired” i say aloud while hitting myself in the head with the palm of my hand “so getting fired”

**I hope you guys enjoyed this little scenario! i look forward to finishing this story and creating more!**

-BrashAsh Xao

[pendragonfics]

living with feelings

Paring: Caleb Widogast/Reader

Tags: gender-neutral reader, gender-neutral pronouns, alternate universe - canon divergence, canon-typical violence, Caleb Widogast needs a hug, Caleb Widogast deserves nice things, canon-compliant, spoilers for Critical Role s2 ep1-20, light angst, ambiguous/open ending.

Summary: the reader moves alongside the nein as they journey from Zadash.

Word Count: 2,599

Current Date: 2019-11-01

You knew you didn’t have to stick around, but there was nothing left for you in Zadash, ever since Beau and Fjord walked in on - saved you from your stepfather’s cruel intentions in the back of his store in the Pentamarket. Especially now since the Crowns’ Guards were moving to the border, and the motley crew of The Mighty Nein were making headway to Berleben on business for The Gentleman.

The first day of travel was the hardest; you’d never ridden a horse before, and by the end of the day, you were saddle-sore and sad, aching and somewhat regretful and afraid. What if you’d made the wrong choice, abandoning the city life? It had been horrible, so horrible before, but out here on the road, there was so much that could go wrong.

Before the next uneventful day of travel, you approached Jester for a poultice for your aching thighs. But instead of the remedies of herbs and medicine, you were raised upon, the adorable blue tiefling touched your nose and cast cure wounds. It felt like taking a bath in a once-warm tub of water, except…not.

“Thank you,” your words came out nervously.  

You instinctively go to touch where it doesn’t hurt anymore, but there isn’t any pain. You’re not used to your new clothes, and where you had been hurting is now well-hidden underneath the layers of your pants and pantaloons.

She glowed, poking her tongue playfully your way. “You’re very welcome, ________!” she replied, her thick accent mincing her pronunciation in a lovable way. “If you hurt more tonight, I can fix it again!”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.” You thank her once more and mount Mollymauk’s horse for the second day in a row.

They were peculiar names, but Nott told you that they had lovely meanings that her people valued. While Mollymauk hitched Loo and took the cart, Jester on watch, the rest took to horseback. Fjord took time between walking beside and riding his stead, and Beau scouted ahead. Nott sat at the back of the cart, swinging her legs. However, the one who you were drawn to - Caleb - kept quiet.

It seemed he never spoke more than a few words.

You’d met him before the rest of the Nein; he had wandered into your stepfather’s bakery. In `, he’d asked to purchase a loaf of bread. While your stepmother had admonished him for not speaking Common while in the Empire, you replied in his tongue as soon as she was out of earshot. He hadn’t ever been the most mysterious face you had ever seen, but he sure was the most attractive one. You hadn’t noticed that he had slipped you an extra silver until he had left the store. You held the extra silver in your palm until it grew warm, and as you left the storefront, you held the coin tight, and it bit into your skin, hard.

It was one more silver than anything you’d ever had to yourself.

---

W.C. whinnied as your ankles spurred at his sides. The horse began to trot past the cart. As you were led to the front of the Nein, you watched as Beauregard looked you over, as if her monk-trained eyes could see through you.

“Have you ever left Zadash before?” Beau asked, raising a brow.

You swallowed thickly. While boisterous Jester seemed to get on well with her, you weren’t sure how to approach her, you were raised to be not heard, and not seen, and wished very much to be those things when she seemingly interrogated you.

“I - not that I remember,” you respond anxiously.

“Do you have a shitty memory, ________, or…?” Beau asked.

W.C. continued to trot alongside Crapper as you carded your fingers through his mane. It wasn’t the softest, and your fingers grew more and more caught as you pulled them through, but it soothed your wandering hands.

“My parents were forced to move to the city after our village was overtaken by Gnolls,” you reply. You add, almost an afterthought, “I was a baby.”

You noticed that Caleb had neared, his horse going between Beau and yourself without much instruction from the way he held the reigns. Silently, you thanked the Gods for Loo’s little intervention. There were few things you cared to talk about, and one of them was how you came to the city.

While Caleb smelt better, you noted that there were smears of dirt across his cheeks. You wondered if he did it on purpose, imagining Caleb sitting by the edge of the road with his fingers in the mud, applying it to himself just like nobility and their obsession with cosmetics.

“Why do you care so much for ________’s origins?” He asked, his accent thick. You glanced between the pair of them just in time to see Beau scowl at Caleb - not that her usual facial expressions were too dissimilar to that, anyway.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s just really suspicious that they met us like, twice, and now are -,”

“I’m right here,” you spoke up.

“If you want to establish mutual trust between our new travelling companion, by extension do you wish to share to the group about your own background?” Mollymauk spoke up, the cart catching up to you three.

“Oh, fuck off,” Beau told him. She dug her heels into Crapper and went off to scout further along the path.

Molly shrugged and relaxed the pace of the cart to fall behind once again. You silently thanked the Gods once more, and the purple tiefling himself for his perfect timing. But aloud, you hummed and looked to Caleb.

Before you could add anything, he simply went to follow Beauregard, leaving you between the group like a stone stuck in a shoe. You glanced to Molly, but he wasn’t paying you any mind, instead, he was chatting idly with Jester. One person who did catch your eye was Nott. Her wide yellow eyes met yours and gave you a look that made you wonder if she knew something that would explain why Caleb acted the way he did. But she didn’t say a word.

---

You woke up too late, jostled from consciousness as you heard Caleb cry out in pain. By then, the horses - all tied to the cart for the night - were spooked and fled. It was horrible luck that you slept atop the cart rather than beneath, and as they ran off, you were carried away. But there was just enough time for you to notice that there were goblins - more than you’d ever seen in one place in your life! - and ogres and wolves and it frightened you to your bones.

In amongst the melee, you were stunned, and as the horses kept on going, you clamoured for the reigns, doing your best to try and lead them from harm. On one hand, you knew that the Mighty Nein was a travelling band of sellswords for coin and that they could handle the intrusion to the camp, but you felt a rush of fear thinking of Caleb, wounded.

You don’t know how long it took, there was no moon to see what hour of the night it was, but soon enough you had the horses calmed, and feeding on a saddlebag of oats. You couldn’t see fire the Nein lit at the camp from where you were the horses fled to, and it worried you a small amount. But it was no fear that compared to the fact that you were the lone protector of the horses and cart and the treasures and stores that the Nein had collected over their journeys.

There was a rustling in the bushes. Your blood froze, and without thinking, you picked up one of Nott’s daggers left at the front side of the cart and hid behind a wheel.

It was almost too dark to see, but there was a goblin there, no, two of them. They certainly did not look like Nott; they had broken teeth and one had a carving taken out of its body, smelling of fresh ichor. You kept still in your hiding spot, grasping the blade with two hands even though it only required one.

They chattered between themselves, until you heard more noises, and witnessed light growing nearer. The goblins scampered off, but you could hear, could see that they had a bag stuffed with things that you knew came from the cart.

Despite the fear, you felt a fury come over you, and stealthily, you followed suit. You almost didn’t get out of the way soon enough, dodging a spell cast to the fleeing goblins, as one was hit with magical orbs. As soon as they impacted, the goblin was no more - and it certainly smelled that way. But the one that was holding the bag kept on, and you did to, this time without the element of stealth in your favour.

The goblin turned, seeing you approaching. Its stride was no match for your human legs sprinting after it, and you threw yourself at it before it had a chance to reach for its own weapon. The bag was abandoned as it went to protect itself, but the dagger found itself buried in its chest, and again through its throat.

The Nein found you there sometime later, with bloodied hands and sick down your front. You don’t remember who helped you to your feet, or who sacrificed their canteen to clean you off, but soon you were in the cart once more, the horses and it led back to the fireside.

---

“I didn’t know they had it in them to -,” Fjord spoke, his accent was unmistakable through the haze of shock that shrouded your head. You still had it even though you had slept through to the dawn, and you couldn’t help but feel weak. “Those goblins almost got away with a pretty penny.”

You stirred at pretty, looking to the Nein, searching for one person.

“They’re awake!” Nott cried out.

“Where is Caleb? I heard -,”

Yasha stepped aside. You hadn’t thought of her as so large a woman, but as she did so, she revealed what was hidden behind her. In the light of day, you could see Jester beside Caleb, his face looking your way at the mention of his name.

“He’s going to be okay, don’t worry you guys,” Jester responded, and scowled. But the anger wasn’t becoming on her face. The emotion looked like she was a small child in a petulant mood, rather than being upset that the Nein had nearly been murdered in their sleep. “Did you see, ________? Molly killed a wolf that was sleeping!”

The purple tiefling sighed. “It’s out of its pain now.” He said. Perhaps he wasn’t fond of the attention that he was getting for the deed.  

“________,” Caleb spoke up. There was an element in his tone that you weren’t used to hearing, and it confused you, perhaps more so because of the wooziness you felt. “I heard - is it true? You -,”

You looked to your hands. Even though they were washed from the blood that you had spilled, you could almost feel it on your fingers, sticky and warm and grotesque. Never in your life had you ever killed something, apart from a cockroach or a stray spider from your bedroom. And yet -

“I don’t know what came over me,” you whisper, somewhat aghast. “It took -,”

“It’s all my fault,” Nott spoke up, climbing into the wagon. The words you were going to speak fell dead on your lips, and you listened to her. “I told those goblins to go after the cart. I didn’t know you were with it, and I didn’t think - I’m glad you’re okay - Caleb was poisoned, and I needed to even the odds for us.”

“Oh, Nott, it’s not your fault,” you touched her small green hand, meeting her yellow eyes. “All things considered.”

“Yeah, all things considered, ________ handled themselves pretty fucking well,” Beau interjected.

“You seem to be a warrior in the making,” Yasha spoke up, a small smile ghosting her lips.

You sit back, feeling another wave of dizziness wash over your thoughts. Even though you passed out after the kill, it seems that finally the adrenaline is ebbing away, and you’re left feeling as you usually do. Like a copper in a pot filled with gold and platinum.

---

Another day’s journey brings the next night, and tonight, you can see the storm approaching from the horizon as dusk falls. While the Nein make their preparations for the night, eating rations and storing things that shouldn’t get wet, you find yourself in proximity to Caleb as he murmurs an enchantment on Nott, to make her immune to the rain’s touch. As soon as he’s done, he catches your gaze.

“What is it?” you ask, feeling unsure. “You’re looking at me funny.”

Caleb blinks, “Funny, how?” His Zemnian mother tongue is thick tonight.

You take a deep breath, before elaborating. “I don’t know…it’s like whenever you look at me, you’re pitying me.”

“I don’t pity you,” he says quietly.

From somewhere far off, thunder crackles, and you feel a chill sweep your spine following a breeze. It has only been half a week on the road, travelling with this group, and you’re feeling both alien to their lifestyle, and yet, settling in comfortably.

“Then what, Caleb?” you ask, words soft so that none other can overhear you. “What do you feel when you look at me?”

“I - I wish I was you.” He replies.

For a startling moment, you know that he’s being completely honest. It takes you a second to comprehend; he’s a wizard, powerful in spellcasting and strong in his mind in ways that you can’t help to be. You’re just…a product of your breeding, passed between caretakers until you were no longer in the home of your own blood. And he -

“I have seen, no, I have done horrible things,” he says, “things that are sure to warrant me to never rest. I am not the man you think me to be, and yet, when I look at you, I see so much, I see -,” he catches his breath. “I see a person, so raw, so beautiful! So full of potential.”

You swallow, the lump in your throat refusing to leave. “I’m nothing of those things, I’m just - I’m just - me. ________.”

“You are ________, a warrior in the making. You slew a goblin none of us could, and in doing so, saved my very precious collection of paper and ink,” he reiterates. “You might not think you are a warrior, but -,”

“Is that why you gave me that silver piece?” you ask him.

Caleb chuckles, but it is quiet, almost under his breath. “No, meine liebe,” he says. “I thought you to be beautiful, and in more need of the coin than myself.” There’s a look in his eyes, and you can’t place it. But then you realise that he just called you those things. It all clicks into place, like a rusted metal puzzle toy. “If you don’t reciprocate -,”

“I do, I -,” the words don’t come out right, but it doesn’t mean you feel any less for Caleb. “I feel the same way you do. I’ve never felt this way before, forgive me.”

“I am an unforgivable man,” he replies, the words coming easily to him. “If all I am asked to overlook is your shyness, your hesitance, then I am not to forgive, but to love you even deeper.”

[ao3bronte]

Unseen Scars by @ao3bronte Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug

This is my third prompt for @badthingshappenbingo ! Please reblog and enjoy!

Bedside Vigil (3/8)

Marinette lets her mind drift away from her hands as she sifts flour and salt into the stainless steel mixing bowl, tapping the little sieve with the inside of her index finger. She’s not listening to the chatter of the television in the background or the conversation her parents are having about Mme. Affamé’s catering gig the following Thursday evening. In fact, the only thing she keeps thinking about is Adrien’s face as he collapsed in his seat and began to keel sideways into the stairway between desks during their geography lesson that afternoon. It was only her and Nino that kept him from smashing his head altogether on the hard floors of their classroom; she’d caught him with her arms and softened his fall while Nino had slowed his descent by grabbing his hands. Somehow, the two of them had managed to get him prone before he could hurt himself any further and he was quickly whisked away to the nurse’s room before she could absorb what had happened.

Forming a well in the middle of the dry ingredients, Marinette remembers noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes, bags that reminded her strangely of the ones beneath her own. She looks up and watches herself form the dough in the reflection of the bakery’s windows, her bright blue eyes encircled by bruises of deep purples and browns. The late nights and the physical exertion of crime fighting wasn’t doing her skin any favours but Le Papillon and his akumas didn’t seem particularly concerned with her health and wellbeing. Above all, her duty is to the city of Paris; her moisturisers and concealers would just have to keep pulling double duty.

She pours cold water into the mixing bowl and begins to knead the dough together, rolling, scraping and pounding the pastry between her palms. The work is mindless and it gives her time to think back and analyse Adrien and his behaviours leading up to today. His slumped shoulders, the way he stretched upwards with his arms when he yawned three times in a row, exposing the champagne flesh of his abdomen. His cheekbones buried in his palms, barely supporting the weight of his head as he slumped bonelessly against the wooden desks, his fingers limp and idle when they were usually always spinning a pen or pencil, tossing them up like batons and catching them just as easily.

The signs were obvious. How hadn’t she seen them?

Except it’s not like she could have made a difference anyway. Adrien is Adrien Agreste, a beautiful enigma in the otherwise blasé existence that is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, kind and talented and gorgeous in every way she simply could never attain. 

Ladybug, on the other hand...

She covers her dough with cling film and sets the bowl in the fridge, closing the stainless steel doors behind her. She leans against the heavy frame for a moment and closes her eyes with a sigh, crossing her flour covered forearms over her chest. Should she check up on him and see if he’s okay? Just this once?

She peeks through the doors towards the kitchen and quickly spots her parents in the tiny space. Her father is gently kneading some  pastry and setting aside huge rectangles of dough for her mother to slather with butter and fold repeatedly, a third here, roll, a third there and roll again. It’s surprisingly soothing, watching her parents work in tandem like a well-oiled machine, their separate parts in constant unison.

She clears her throat and steps over the threshold, “Maman, Papa?”

“Oui, ma belle?”

“Is it okay if I turn in for the night? My batch of pastry is in the fridge.”

“Of course Marinette. Don’t forget to update the Facebook page for us, we want all of Paris to know about the green tea mille-feuille tomorrow!”

“I will!”

She scurries up the stairs and closes the trap door behind her, quickly tearing out the claw clip keeping her hair from falling into the pastry. It cascades over her shoulders and she whisks it into her usual style, two identical tails on either side of her scalp. She checks herself in the mirror briefly before sensing Tikki’s persistent stare boring a hole between her shoulder blades.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Marinette?”

The heroine frowns, “I’ve already met him a couple times as Ladybug. Besides, I just want to make sure he’s okay. It’s not like I’m going to go into his room or anything.”

“Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful,” Marinette scoffs, pulling her bedroom’s curtains closed for emphasis, “Tikki, transforme-moi!”

~

Bounding across rooftops and sliding down eaves, the sun’s warmth begins to evaporate behind the horizon. She’s long memorised the Agreste’s home address, having swung by it more than a few times during her solo patrols, not to mention the commotion last Christmas when Adrien had gone missing. It’s a sprawling property surrounded by massive gardens lined with trees not yet in bloom and she analyses it carefully from afar, wary of the security cameras dotting the entrances and pathways around the home. None of them seem to be facing upwards and Ladybug takes advantage of their lack of foresight.

Using her yoyo, Ladybug scales down the side of the mansion’s walls and peeks into several different windows before finally coming across a long stretch of glass that seems to meet the criteria of the teenage boy’s bedroom. Multi-coloured rock climbing holds dot the walls along the upper floors, leading to a skateboarding ramp that plunges steeply to the hardwood floor below. She places her fingertips gently on the glass as she takes in the enormous library, the spiral staircase, the ultra-modern divan in the middle of the floor, the bed—

The bed!

Panic grips her heart as she spots a pair of legs sprawled out from behind the ramp beside the mattress platform and Ladybug quickly leaps into action, searching for a way inside. She swings along the corridor of windows and doesn’t find a single one with an opening latch, digging her fingers into each and every crack. Narrowing her eyes, she glances through to the other side of the room and notices that one of the windows seems to be reflecting the light slightly differently than the others and hauls herself over to the other side of the building, paying no mind as she scrapes her shin against the shingles.

She pries the window open and slithers inside as quietly as she can, booking it across the room as fast as she can manage. Adrien is slumped over on the floor, unconscious and barely moving. His eyelids are a discomforting navy blue and his lips even more so, his skin now as pale as the stark walls of his room. Leaping without looking, Ladybug scoops him in her arms and gently lifts him beneath the shoulders and the bend of his knees, relying on her strength not only as Ladybug but on the way her heart seems to be hammering relentlessly in her chest.  

She sets him on his mattress and immediately begins to fuss, pulling his bedsheets down on one side to try and get him tucked in beneath the duvet. She pauses momentarily to remove his shoes and notices that his feet are as cold as icicles, frozen and leaden beneath her fingers. Panicking, she immediately starts looking around and notices a pair of socks strewn on the ground a few meters away. She dives for them and snatches them off the floor, shoving them onto his feet in the hopes that the extra layer with do something to stave off the horrible chill.

Ladybug’s breathing becomes more and more erratic as she struggles to wriggle the sheets and duvet from underneath Adrien’s prone body. Finally free of his weight, she piles the first and second layers of sheets over top of him and tucks the fabric in beneath the folds of his body like a filet de bœuf en croûte. Satisfied, she pulls the duvet up to his chin and glances around, spotting two additional blankets folded over the backrest of the divan in the middle of the room. She slides over and snatches them from the cushions, bringing them both back to Adrien as quickly as possible. She sets one on the floor as she billows the other over his body, tugging and tucking the fourth layer of fabric up and all around. Finally, she unfolds the last blanket and sets it over where his feet should be to try and warm them further.

She fusses over him for a little longer, single-minded in her determination to make sure that he’s fully enclosed in his cocoon of blankets and bedding. She gently presses the back of her hand against his forehead, emulating what her Maman had done so many times to her as a child, and gasps as the chill of his skin seeps through her suit. She worries her lower lip with her teeth and tries to quell the panic that continues to escalate into a fever pitch in her stomach, her insides tossing and turning with anxiety. 

What if he’s really sick?

Why hasn’t anyone checked up on him?

If she hadn’t come to visit, would he have been laying on the floor until morning?

She’s suddenly filled with a fury she didn’t realise she was capable of, the feeling coursing through her veins and heating her rapidly. How dare they leave Adrien alone to fend for himself when he was so clearly sick?

Ladybug starts to pace, her blood practically boiling. Whenever she comes down with something, her parents are always fussing over her, checking her temperature and making sure she’s properly fed and hydrated. Had anyone even brought him something to eat? Had he not eaten anything substantial since breakfast? She’d watched him pick at his salad not eight hours earlier in the school’s courtyards, eating the odd slice of vegetable here and there.

Ladybug huffs in aggravation and glances around the room in an attempt to find the time. There’s nothing at his bedside so she skips over the coffee table and wriggles the computer’s mouse, finding 23:43 in the right-hand corner. She glances back over at his bedroom door and wrestles with her decision, ultimately choosing to take her chances and find him some medicine.

“Wait!”

Ladybug freezes, her hand already clasping the door’s handle. She turns slowly, pupils blown wide; that was not Adrien’s voice.

“Come back.”

Shaking, Ladybug pivots on her heel, her eyes as wide as saucers. Had she been caught? The voice came from Adrien’s direction but he’s still lying completely still, eyes closed and unresponsive beneath the mountain of bedsheets. Ladybug hesitates and takes a cautious step back towards the bed.

“Hello?”

Her whisper sounds haggard in the otherwise cavernous room and she narrows her eyes, suddenly doubting what she was hearing. She waits a few more seconds before shaking her head and turning back towards the door.

“I s-s-said…”

Ladybug jerks around again and crosses the space between her and Adrien within seconds, towering over his bed. She stares apprehensively, watching what appears to be Adrien’s moving hand suddenly emerge from the side of the mattress.

Thump.

Ladybug’s world suddenly stands still.

Something black and little lands on Adrien’s bed platform with a groan, rolling lethargically in response to the inertia of its fall. She steps backwards in horror, her hands coming up to cover her mouth to stop the scream about to burst from her lips.

And two bright green eyes stare back.

[hispeculiartreasure]

All We’ve Got is Time - Chapter Eight | B.B.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

AU: If They’d Survived/Post-War/Window Washer!Bucky Barnes

Rating: Teen

Word count: 4,000

Chapter 8/24

Warnings: Just a bad word or two. Otherwise, intense amounts of fluff!

AN: This chapter gave me all sorts of fits and is nerve-wracking for me to post. Mostly because I’m putting a ton of pressure on myself. But whatever. Huge shoutout to @lucyyannabel for being a precious human being and beta-ing for me and helping me fill some plot holes. You da bomb.com. I also pulled a ton about cars from this helpful article and this article was referenced for the Harlem Hellfighters. Let me know what you think?

Chapter Seven

‘All We’ve Got is Time’ Masterlist

Bucky checks your distinctive handwriting for what feels like the thousandth time, double checking the address of the garage. When he thinks he’s only got a few blocks to go he picks up his pace. There’s really no need to rush, he’s going to be on time. After seeing you in his dreams and talking about you all day, intentional and not, he really just wanted to be with you.

A freshly-painted white building comes into view, the numbers on your note matching the ones painted in red block letters on the side. There’s several driveways leading into the garage; even with the rolling doors down, he can still see a flurry of activity through their windows. On his way to the front door he passes shiny cars parked out front underneath a sign proudly proclaiming “Durst & Co. Automotive”.

Cautiously he enters the sparse waiting area, unsure where you’d be waiting for him. It’s clean, tidy, with bare-minimum furniture of chairs and a reception desk. Looking out a window leading into the work area he sees a large room filled with popped hoods, tools scattered, and workbenches covered in spare parts. After a minute of awkwardly shifting from foot to foot in the empty room he hears a roar of laughter from a door behind the desk. Checking his surroundings one more time he slides around the desk. Hoping the door leads to the actual garage and not something terrifying or inappropriate, Bucky takes his chances and pushes it open. The chatter and laughter grows louder. He hears your voice and suddenly his feet are moving to follow it.

Seems to be organized chaos, Bucky thinks to himself. Looks were deceiving because the activity inside hinted at a much larger operation than what he had expected. The cars he passes aren’t junkers, they seem to come from a solid, well-paying clientele. Cars are on lifts, some engines have been raised out of the bodies. . . the only thing missing was people.

He rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks. You’re leaning against a car that’s hood is popped, one saddle shoe-clad foot resting against its grill. Your stained shirt matches the bright red bandana wrapped around your head. Hands are in the pockets of your denim overalls, sass painted on your lips. Mechanics in coveralls surround you, attention arrested by your story.

Again, the garage is filled with howls of mirth - a reaction to a witty punchline, he’s sure. He can’t help but admire you from afar. You’re more relaxed than he’s ever seen you yet you still maintain an air of assuredness that holds its own among the group of men. A smile comes easy to your fresh face. All you really need is your sparkling eyes to highlight your naturally stunning self. And then those eyes meet his and the sparkle seems to intensify.

“Oh hey, Bucky!” You wave him over and then he’s encircled by strangers and a wave of uneasiness washes through him. All eyes are on him, obviously sizing him up. Bucky makes a conscious effort not to puff out his chest. “Boys, this is my. . . this is Bucky. Bucky, these are the boys.” He receives a litany of greetings from the large group to which he tries to smile and memorize all the names he can.

“Alright boys, back to work. Sassafras has distracted us long enough.” A gruff voice breaks through and prompts the other mechanics to drift back to their tasks. A man with a head of salt-and-pepper - well, mostly salt - steps forward, Bucky noticing a slight limp to his otherwise confident walk. “So this is the guy I’ve been hearin’ about.” He smiles a big, teeth shining bright white against his dark brown skin. Towering over you, he slings an arm around your shoulder in a familial hug.

“You’ve barely heard a thing, Harve,” you retort, leaning in to his embrace.

“Is that the way you’re supposed to treat an old friend when he’s doing you a favor? No. Your momma taught you better than that.” He turns back to Bucky, eyes wrinkling kindly behind his spectacles. “Harvey Durst.” His hand moves from your shoulder and h offers it to Bucky, who grasps and shakes it.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. Heard you served, right?”

“Was in the 107th for a while, moved into special ops the last few years.”

Harvey tosses a thumb at himself. “Served in the 369th Regiment from ‘17 ‘til ‘19.”

That number, why is that number familiar. “Wait,” Bucky’s brow furrows. “You were a Harlem Hellfighter?” Blatant pride beams from your features as you watch Harvey bob his head reluctantly. “My father’s unit was in France around the same time, he said y’all were tough as nails. Never lost a trench, right?”

“Or a man to capture or a foot of ground to the enemy,” the veteran recites, as if he’s spoken the same information time and time again.

“Colonel Chester Phillips always spoke highly of your regiment. You’re the stuff of legends, sir.”

“The same could be said about you, being Captain America’s right-hand man.”

Your eyes immediately drop to examine the floor while Bucky feels heat in his cheeks. Seems like Harvey had heard a thing or two. Clearing your throat, you step away from Harvey and slightly closer to Bucky.

“Just kept him out of trouble, mostly. Nothin’ special.”

“I hear that. I fought alongside Miss Sassafras’ Grandpappy in the trenches,” Harvey points to you. “Talk about bull-headedness.”

“Sassafras?” Bucky asks, eyes flitting to you as his apprehension gives way to a grin.

“Oh yeah. When she was a youngin’ and I visited to chat with William she was always gathering up sassafras flowers and bringin’ ‘em to me as a gift. Was the cutest thing I’d ever seen. Then she really grew into the “sass” part.”

“I’ll say,” Bucky directs his grin back to you.

With an eyeroll you explain, “My grandfather enlisted right before he would’ve aged out. He’d owned the shop way before the war, my mom practically grew up here. Harvey has been around as long as I can remember.”

“Only out of the kindness of your grandpappy’s heart.” Harvey shifts his focus back to Bucky in explanation. “Once we got shipped home, I was out of work and William offered to teach me his trade. He graciously passed the shop on to me when he retired. Thankfully the neighborhood put a lot of stock in William’s character so I wasn’t totally run out of business when I took over.” Bucky grimaces in sympathy.

“Good thing people had the sense to see a good man who does good work,” you mutter, a bite to your tone.

“Alright ‘Fras, don’t get worked up. It’s not worth it, darling. Almost all the other mechanics here are veterans, so if you ever need anything just ask. We’ve got each others’ backs here too, ya know?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“Now,” Harvey’s voice drops an octave as he peers over his glasses at Bucky. “You keepin’ everything all honorable between the two of you?”

You choke on air before planting your hands to Bucky’s chest, urging him to take several steps back. “Thanks Uncle Harvey, we’ve got work to do, talk to you later!” Several more steps away and you groan. “Sorry about that. He can be a little protective.”

Bucky shakes his head, not sure whether he wants to laugh out loud or have the earth swallow him whole. It was a toss up. “‘Uncle’, huh? So he’s practically family.”

“I’ve known him my whole life. He’s not old enough to be my grandfather’s brother, too old to be my mom’s brother. Uncle just suits him best, ya know?”

“You didn’t tell me I was meeting family today,” Bucky teases, knocking a hip into yours.

“Steady on, he’s not technically family.”

He scoffs. “Technicalities.”

You face Bucky completely, taking him in for the first time that day. “Hi,” you hum.

“Hi,” Bucky practically beams. “Glad to see you again.”

“We were together less than 24 hours ago, huh?” Your lopsided grin whispers bashfulness. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Y’all gonna stand there giving each other googly eyes or are you goin’ to work on my cars?” a shout from Harvey reaches you both from his office.

“Mind your business!” You holler back before burying your face in your hands. Bucky can’t help but chuckle, his own relaxed state puzzling him. Seeing you a little embarrassed was more endearing than he thought it would be. “Anyway,” you perch your hands on your hips. “Let’s get you an apron and get to work. We’ll start with the basics.”

Passing a workbench you snag him an apron as you approach an engine that’s been lifted out of a car by chains. Trailing behind you, Bucky ties the apron strings and stops on one side of the machinery, you rounding the other side.

“How much do you know about engines?” you ask, zero judgment in your voice, only asking a basic question to find a jumping off point.

“Next to none. I know math and science are involved, which I’m okay at. But treat me like an idiot.”

“You aren’t an idiot, Bucky.”

“Never said I was. Just told you to treat me like one.” He winks at you which only earns a narrowing of your eyes.

“Anyway. . .” Your tone turns all business, motioning to the engine. “Cars have internal combustion engines, right? So it takes a fuel source, gas, and combines it with air. It compresses and ignites the mixture. A bunch of little explosions happen that cause these pistons,” you point toward a row of metal cylinders, “to move up and down. The pistons are attached to this crankshaft.” You move your hand to gesture the connection. “That motion makes the crankshaft turn. Then the crankshaft transfers that energy to the transmission, which ultimately powers the wheels to the car. Got it?”

“Got it. I think,” he amends, turning the process over in his mind, pieces falling into place after a few repetitions. “Okay, I got it.”

“Good. Now onto the fun stuff,” you smile a little wolfishly, signalling to Bucky that he was in for a long day of lots of information.

You run through the more technical version, explaining the physics and practicalities as well as the failings of the engine. Next, you explain what a tune-up would look like for a typical 1940s model. Soon you’ve drug him over to another car, making him clumsily replace the spark plug with your smaller hands guiding his. Next you set the mixture on the carburetor, fit new plug wires, and remind him these things should be checked on every 30,000 miles.

Currently he’s watching you struggle with a particularly rusty bolt, arm muscles straining as you finally break it free with your wrench. Your hair is a disaster, to put it kindly. Flying this way and that, becoming more untamable by the moment. But you’re so charming in this role of teacher that it only enhances your allure. Shaking his head, Bucky reminds himself to listen to your well-intentioned stream of information.

“What’s being produced right now are basically 1942s with tiny modifications. As you know, almost all production of civilian vehicles was halted in favor of supporting the war effort. So designers were stuck with getting something “new” on the assembly line as soon as peace was official. They’ve added some new body colors and a fancier bumper. We told them in the factory for years that they needed to seal the ignition so water can’t leak in and they’re just now starting to listen based on that brand new 1946 over there,” you wave vaguely behind you, nose still stuck beneath the hood.

“So what was your training like?” Bucky inquires, handing over a tool you’d asked for, hoping it was the right one.

With a hum you start, “My learning process was accelerated because of the war. It involved a ton of reading and studying, as well as a couple weeks of intensive training at a factory upstate. Usually a mechanic would need to find a shop where they could work at the lowest level doing the most rudimentary of repairs, like replacing the spark plugs like you did earlier. As they’re doing that they keep studying and move up through the system. Some people start at the bottom because they want to own their own shop or become a salesman. But most of the guys here just want to work with their hands and make an honest living doing something they don’t hate. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what it would look like for you to start down this track.”

Leaning back you gratefully accept the rag Bucky offers, rubbing some excess oil off your hands.

“Was this too overwhelming? I know I just threw a ton of information at you. Hope it didn’t scare ya. Here, triple check my work for me.”

Bucky bends to the engine. “Overwhelming, yeah. Scary? Not really. You replaced this belt, right?” At your assent his fingers trail over it, inspecting it’s fastenings. “It’s interesting work. Don’t really know how to move forward with it, if I’m being honest.”

“Don’t forget about the third attachment,” you remind as he starts to back away. “I think someone here mentioned that the V.A. provides job counseling to veterans.”

“I think you may be right. They tell you that stuff when you get discharged but at that point all I was thinking about was Ma’s cooking and hugging my sisters. Worth asking about though.”

A smile graces your lips. “I don’t blame you one bit. All good?”

“All good,” he affirms. With Bucky’s help you set the hood in place, propping your elbows on the surface to take a breather.

“Then that’s all I really had in mind for today. There’s a lot more but you’ll pick it up fairly quickly.” He thinks it’s only been an hour, maybe two at the most. Then he notices the shadows at his feet and realizes the sun is slanting through the garage windows. You must notice Bucky looking outside because you follow his gaze. “It can’t be sunset already. Have we really been here that long?”

“Guess so.”

You wipe the sweat from your forehead, leaving a giant smudge of grease in its stead. Bucky finds it too endearing to tell you anything. After a glance around the garage you say incredulously, “When did everyone leave?”

Bucky doesn’t remember when the garage had emptied either. Neither did he recall the shop becoming so clean - almost spotless. Someone had turned on a radio; the crooning of Louis Armstrong’s trumpet floats toward you from a neighboring table. The sound of Harvey shuffling around his office is the only other sign of life in the building.

“I feel like I’ve done a full day of PT,” Bucky groans as he arches his back. “Who knew leaning over an engine all day could hurt so much?”

“There’s one way to loosen up sore muscles,” you hint cheekily. You hold out a hand, waiting for him to take it. “Dance with me.”

He grips your fingers but resists your tug away from the car. “I dunno, I’m out of practice.”

“C’mon, it’s just a sway to a sweet song.”

Bucky hesitates. His last few attempts at dancing were more akin to a stumble than anything else. He can vividly remember his first night out on the town in a peaceful New York City. He can see the blonde who’d herded him to the dance floor, her grimaces as he crushed the tops of her brand new shoes. She’d been kind enough to his face but had excused herself only a minute into the song. He hadn’t danced since.

He gulps. “I might step on your toes.”

“That’s alright,” you shrug animatedly. “I may step on yours.”

There’s something so genuine, so earnest about you that he can’t help but follow your lead.

Timidly he wraps an arm around your waist, reminding himself to keep a respectful distance. Your other hand grips his bicep lightly as you step into him. This is the closest you’ve ever been to each other. Breathing the same air, sharing space. It should feel awkward. But it only feels right. His hand on your waist snakes further across your back bringing you chest-to-chest. You lean a head to his shoulder, respectful distance be damned.

S’just a dance. He reminds himself.

Taking your suggestion, he simply sways back and forth to the tune. Shifting from foot to foot you follow his feet in a slow circle.

It’s effortless.

No one’s toes gets squished. In fact, Bucky feels like he’s floating on air.

You share a sweet silence. He looks down and notices your eyes are closed. If asked why, he wouldn’t be able to answer why his chest felt so tight.

He sighs your name, prompting your eyes to open. “I feel like I’ve known you a lot longer than a week.” The words slip out almost involuntarily, like an impulse. For a moment his chest tightens even more, afraid you wouldn’t react kindly.

You continue to gaze up at him and say softly, “Technically we’ve known each other longer than that.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. . .” your voice goes even softer, “I really do.”

Fear releases its grip on him prompting him to pull you ever-so-slightly closer.

Neither of you know when the song ended but you are jarred out of your reverie when the radio host’s jabber breaks the spell. Moments later a new, upbeat song starts up. Sounds like Glenn Miller, Bucky thinks, foot already tapping to the bouncing trumpets and steady tap of the bass.

With boldness flowing through him like adrenaline he gives you a cheeky smile. “Let’s see if we have more than a sway in us, huh?” He pulls away from you only to give you a quick turn so your back is to his chest, arms connected and crossed over your stomach.

“What happened to being out of practice?” you sigh over your shoulder.

“Only way to be in practice is to practice, right?” Your only response is a giggle and you twirl away before coming back to him - feet flying across the concrete floor.

It is by no means perfect. Every once in a while you bump into each other or take a turn too hard. But your laughter soothes the hesitancy in him, reminds him that dancing isn’t about being perfect with someone, but just being with someone.

The song is swelling and muscle memory leads Bucky, sending you into spins over and over and over again, just enough to make you a little dizzy.

“Bucky, the oil-!” It’s happening before he can stop it. He’s spun you directly into a puddle left behind from a leak. Your foot flies through the slick, disrupting your already precarious balance. Down you fall - hard - taking Bucky tumbling with you to the ground.

He helplessly watches it happen in slow motion. Feels your woosh of breath escape when his full weight lands squarely on top of you. Rolling to the floor he scrambles to his knees beside you, words rushing out of him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, are you okay, did you hurt anything? What a fuckin’ idiot, I shouldn’t’ve - are you alright?”

Your chest is heaving, doing its best to recover some of the air that had been knocked out of you. Slowly you nod in response to his question, lashes fluttering as you seem to steady yourself.

Then you’re laughing.

A deep, unbridled, straight-from-the-belly laugh that brings Bucky back down to earth, reassures him that you can’t be hurt too badly. It doesn’t stop there - he’s fairly sure you snort in the midst of your giggles but he’s too overcome with his own chuckles to be certain. Your joy is infectious and soon he’s out of breath himself.

As the laughter subsides his hand clasps yours to pull you up to a seated position, watching you closely for any signs of discomfort. You seem fine, maintaining the grip on his hand as you join the vertical world again. You’re smiling that small smile of yours. The smile that caught his eye in the first place.

Your thumb swipes over the back of his hand and it registers just how close you are. Close enough for him to see the depth in the color of your eyes. To see every individual eyelash, to count each freckle he finds.

In a similar fashion your eyes rove his face. No doubt thinking what he’s thinking, wanting what he wants.

“Can I kiss you?” he breathes raggedly.

“You better,” you gasp, fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

Before he can lean down fully you’ve met him halfway, soft lips all his for the taking as your eyes slip shut.

Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss. A peck to the cheek, a smooch saying goodbye, a brief moment to show affection. Given freely, barely a blip on the radar. Kissing wasn’t something Bucky thought about often. He had enjoyed his fair share of kisses, sure.

But this. No other kiss has triggered the emotions swelling in his chest like this one. It’s almost as if he’s feeling sunshine on his skin for the very first time. Like a lamp has been lit in a room shrouded by black, glowing fiercely in darkness. Somehow he learns so much about you with this kiss. You’re soft to his chapped, pliant to his firm. Warmth to his breeze.

He leans back to catch his breath allowing his forehead to rest against yours. You hum contentedly, eyes still closed, mouth twisting sweetly.

“Hey lovebirds!” Startled, you jump away from each other. “I’m locking up, some of us have dinner waiting on us,” Harvey shouts from the office.

Grinning at your embarrassed moan Bucky helps you to your feet. “Since we don’t have dinner waiting for us, wanna catch a bite?”

With a raised brow you look down at your clothes. “I’m a mess and now covered in motor oil, no decent place would let me in the door.”

“Truly decent places welcome everyone.”

“Shut up.”

“Then at least let me buy ya a hot dog on the way home,” he compromises with a grin.

“No, it’s okay, my place is out of your way.”

“It’s almost dark, I’m not letting you walk home by yourself.”

“Bucky I can’t be that much of an imposition-”

He grabs a hand you’re waving wildly as you try to refuse. “Are you trying to get rid of me? ‘Cause it ain’t workin’.”

“Never,” you reply with a huff. “Fine.”

After your goodbye hug to Harvey, Bucky shakes his hand again before thanking him for his time.

“Get her home safe, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Bucky ducks his head, fingers threading in yours.

Moving to leave the garage, Bucky stops you. “Hold on,” he snags a clean rag from a shelf. “May I?” he motions to your face. After you nod he gently wipes away the grease you’d relocated to your forehead during your work. He shows you the stain left behind, can’t stifle a grin when you look horrified.

“How long has that been there?” you ask incredulously then hold up a hand before he can respond, “You know what, don’t tell me.”

Spring may be on its way to summer but the evening still carries a light chill, tempting Bucky to keep you even closer than usual. Somewhere along the way you wrap your other hand around his arm, basking in the safety of being able to be this close to someone.

“I have a question for you,” he rasps.

“Yeah, Bucky?”

“Can I call you Sassafras now?”

“No.”

Chapter Nine

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[et-in-cinerem-reverteris]

Class of 1953 - Chapter 5 - Nowhere Fast (6.5k)

“So,” Dan begins, “now that I’ve finally got you alone, tell me - how are you?”

“I’m fine - tired - but nevertheless enjoying myself. Thank you for saving me from those girls earlier, I was having a completely rotten time with them.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! It was my pleasure,” he assures, taking a sip of his champagne and leaning in slightly closer. “Anyway, I couldn’t let them at you, could I? You’re mine.”

Here I am with what could possibly be the final installment of Class of 1953! I may add more chapters if I come up with new ideas, because I do love writing this story...but we shall have to see!

The link to Ao3 is here

Or, read under the cut!

Tonight is the night they have all been waiting for - tonight is the night of the Drama Society’s production of Romeo and Juliet. The show marks the last day of term at the University of Oxford, and as lecture halls shut and the libraries close, thousands of students traipse across the town to parties and dinners in celebration of their first, second or third term here at Oxford. The past eight weeks have been academically demanding, mentally challenging and socially exhausting; Phil had taken an entire month not to feel overwhelmed at the imposing professors, the foreign city and the sea of unfamiliar faces. To make matters worse he had struggled to make friends, too nervous to join in with conversations in the lecture halls and dinner halls alike. Thankfully socialite Mary had then come to the rescue; dragging him along to clubs and speeches, competitions and parties, she had set to work sowing the seeds of a social life until Phil was sure there was no student in the city he hadn’t yet been introduced to. Before long several friendships had begun to bud, and then finally after a month of worrying, all was finally calm and relaxed in Phil’s world.

That is, until one of the seeds that Mary had secretly planted unexpectedly grew vines around his entire being, taking root inside of him with a strength he had never experienced the likes of before. Each day the petals grew bigger, the colours brighter and its scent ever sweeter, until eventually it had become so overwhelmingly pretty that it took every atom in Phil’s body not to pluck it lest his caress caused the flower to die. So there he had stood, secateurs in hand, unable to touch what he so badly wanted to cut from the stem and claim as his own.

The room is plunged into darkness. Phil snaps back to reality. A hushed stillness sweeps over the crowd and all eyes are trained on the chancel as the chamber becomes hushed. The clack of high heels ricochets off ancient walls as hree women clad in dark hooded cloaks come into view, gliding across the space and stopping before a threshold of candles as they remove their hoods, look up, and begin to speak in unison.

“Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;

Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows

Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.

The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,

And the continuance of their parents' rage,

Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,

Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;

The which if you with patient ears attend,

What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.”

The three women replace their hoods and glide back to the enclosed space. 

Phil fidgets in his seat. The play is about to begin.

Enter Sampson and Gregory of the house of Capulet. 

The servants barge onto the stage and chatter amongst themselves before being interrupted by the presence of their rival Montague servingmen. The scene quickly descends into chaos as Abram and Sampson quarrel, sir, and despite having watched, read and studied the scene countless times before Phil finds himself on the edge of his seat, wholly absorbed by the spectacular acting in front of him. In the midst of the madness Benvolio launches onstage, parting the bickering servants and beating down their swords as he begs them to stop. A trio of girls in the front row start to giggle. Phil furrows his brows, glaring daggers at the gaggle from the far side of the room. What about Dan’s acting is there to laugh at? Disgruntled, he turns his eyes back towards the set, before realising what’s causing their tittering.

Ah. The codpiece. Of course. With his cheeks feeling slightly hotter before, Phil switches his attention away from the girls and back towards the performance.

Sixty minutes pass, and as the two hours’ traffic reaches its halfway point the mood inside the chapel is that of intense concentration. There are no breaks in between scenes, no respite in the intensity of the emotion, and as such the air grows heavy and humid. Romeo and Juliet’s relationship explodes into existence, turbulently naive as it teeters like a spinning top, threatening to crash at the slightest wobble. The first tremors arise on a swelteringly hot day as Mercutio and Benvolio run into Tybalt and Romeo. Tensions spark immediately; swords crash, insults are spat, and in a flash Mercutio is left with a wound which damns him to a sudden and early grave. Staggering under Benvolio’s grasp with tears in his eyes he howls a plague o’ both the Capulet and Montague houses, and in a weeping mess, is dragged off stage. 

A few seconds later Benvolio re-enters. With a bowed head and anguished countenance, he sinks down to his knees and announces that the brave Mercutio is dead.

“Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did stay.

Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink

How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal

Your high displeasure. All this- uttered

With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd-

Could not take truce with the unruly spleen

Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts

With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;

Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,

And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats

Cold death aside and with the other sends

It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity

Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,

'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and swifter than his tongue,

His agile arm beats down their fatal points,

And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm

An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life

Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;

But by-and-by comes back to Romeo,

Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,

And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I

Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;

And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.

This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.”

The hairs on Phil’s arm start to prickle, and an intense rush of passion floods into his breast. It feels as though he has just witnessed the greatest tragedy on earth. Lady Montague speaks and the plot moves on but all he can see is Dan, his Dan, the Dan who he had known was a keen actor but had never expected to be so talented as this. 

As the room gets hotter, Phil begins to feel slightly faint. His mind wanders away from the performance and drifts through the air, scattering across the mosaics, twinkling into the lights - only an hour until Dan’s party...

The play draws near to its tragic end. As the bodies of the young couple are uncovered, the quarreling families finally begin to make amends.

“O brother Montague, give me thy hand.

This is my daughter's jointure, for no more

Can I demand.”

“But I can give thee more;

For I will raise her Statue in pure gold,

That whiles Verona by that name is known,

There shall no figure at such rate be set

As that of true and faithful Juliet.”

“As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie-

Poor sacrifices of our enmity!”

The two men stride towards each other and clasp hands, thus ending the feud which took the lives of their innocent children. As they part, Prince Escalus begins his closing speech.

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings.

The sun for sorrow will not show his head.

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;

Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished;

For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

The actors bow their heads, and the chapel is silent.

One person claps, two people clap, and then before long the whole audience explodes into rhapsodic applause accompanied by shouting and cheering and whistling, filling the air with an ecstatic buzz as the heaviness is lifted and transformed into a feeling of triumph. Onstage the actors and actresses break out into wide grins, linking arms and forming a line as they bow towards the audience, smiling and laughing at the roses, hats and handkerchiefs people throw at them.

There’s a tapping on Phil’s arm. As he angles around he sees Mary gesturing towards the door and saying something including the words ‘going to get Beth’ and ‘see you later’. He turns his attention back to the stage. Scanning through the actors and actresses he scours each circle until he locates Dan in a corner exchanging warm embraces with his friends. It’s a joyous sight; for the first time since the pair of them met, Dan looks well and truly relaxed. The boy pats one of his friends on the shoulder before waving goodbye and turning around to examine the audience. Phil perks up. What is he doing? Is he looking for someone? Could he be looking for him? Perhaps he’s looking for someone else. Perhaps there’s another friend Dan’s looking for, perhaps there’s someone else who he-

Their eyes connect, and Dan’s entire face lights up. Phil smiles, unable to stop the warmth bubbling in his chest as he waves.

Then, in a swift and synchronous movement, the pair are on the move. 

Leaping up from his seat Phil shuffles down to the end of his pew, apologising for treading on bags and shoes as he darts towards his companion as quickly as possible. He bypasses a flirting couple, crosses two confused parents, avoids a gaggle of staggering drunks and then slowly, excruciatingly forces his way through the backs of some excitable swots who are totally unaware that he’s trying to get past. Through a gap in their necks he manages to catch a glimpse of Dan. Trapped amongst a horde of plump and well-dressed gentlemen the boy stands a few meters away, unable to elude the meaty paws he has become ensnared in. The men eye him hungrily, bombarding him with bawdy and flirtatious comments which Dan graciously rebuffs as he locks eyes with the ginger haired boy, shooting him a wink and a knowing smile. Phil goes limp with infatuation. With a grunt of effort he pushes through the crack in the swots’ backs, inching through their shoulder blades, crawling between their knees, inhaling the stench of the sweat from their skin before finally, finally he is free! He lurches forward, rushing through the open space, skidding as he treads on a wonky stone slab, reaches his arms out and-

The force of their embrace sends them flying backwards, foreheads knocking together as they collide against the back of a pew with a sharp jolt. Dan’s neck feels clammy under Phil’s fingers, hair still moist from the sweat of the performance. There’s a certain roughness in the smell of musk and perspiration exuding from the boy’s damp skin as he’s pushed up against the pew...and then he feels the codpiece digging into his groin.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for tonight.” 

They pull themselves apart, legs and arms still intertwined. Dan’s face glows, golden and flushed, glistening as he grins with joy. 

“Hey - you should come backstage and meet the cast.” 

Phil scrunches his face up.

“No, I’m serious. I want you to meet them, they’re a wonderful bunch.”

Sighing, he bows his head in surrender. Dan beams, turning to walk down the aisle as Phil follows on close behind him, watching the golden lights twinkle as they pass through the excited crowds who- 

Knuckles brush against his. Phil flinches. Fingers dance around the back of his hand before scuttling over towards his palm. He smiles. Heart racing, he rotates his hand as his and Dan’s fingers interlace, a secret gesture of affection seen and understood by nobody else but the two of them. He gives the hand a squeeze, and it squeezes back. 

Right now, Phil could die happy.

The sea of faces washes on. A circle of students stand near the stage, singing For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow to a boy who waves his hands arounds in embarrassment. The entourage cheers, causing the boy to hide his head in his hands. Phil smiles at the scene, remembering how he once suffered a similar fate back in secondary school. They approach the stage, hands disentangling as they walk through the cloister which Dan had dressed inside during their visit to the chapel a few weeks prior. Squeezing through the narrow stone entrance Phil is immediately confronted by the stuffiness of the room. Twenty-odd actors and actresses all in various states of undress gossip and laugh as  they run around, sharing bags of sweets and throwing roses at each other in giddy revelry.

“Ah, Daniel! Where have you been?”

Phil looks over to see the actor who had played Mercutio, a short Sikh man that Dan has to bend over to hug. After exchanging some brief jokes, the stranger looks over towards Phil.

“Hello my friend! You must be Philip,” he begins, voice imbued with a Punjabi accent. “I am Daljeet Kahlsa, but please, call me Dalji.” 

Daljeet’s handshake is firm, and when he smiles Phil notices that his moustache is curled at the ends. When complimented on it, the man only smiles wider.

“Ah, I can tell I am going to be friends with you! Daniel speaks of you often - he says you are a very clever man. What are you studying?”

“Oh,” he laughs nervously, “I’m probably not as clever as Dan says I am. I’m studying Eng-”

“Dalji please, you can interrogate him later! I’ve got to introduce him to everyone else first!” Dan cries.

“Okay, okay, as you wish!”

As Dan pulls him away Phil mouths an apology to Dalji, who replies with a reassuring wink. 

Passing through the congested room they walk over to a small crowd standing in front of a box which, every now and then, people unceremoniously fling their costumes into. Dan introduces him to a well-groomed and well-spoken man called Kenneth, who shakes his hand and asks “how do you do” followed by Christopher, a lanky, blond, bespectacled lad who greets Phil with a subtle nod of the head. 

“Here, sit down old chap,” Kenneth booms. “We don’t want to have you awkwardly standing up while the rest of us get changed.” 

Phil sits down, giving his thanks to the courteous man. Fortunately, before he can be bombarded with questions about who he is and what he’s studying, the group are interrupted by a loud Irish voice shouting the names of Dan and his friends. 

“Chris, Ken, Daniel! Where have you bastards been?”

“Owen! Come here you rascal,” Kenneth cries, shouting at a ginger haired boy who skitters towards him. The two begin to play fight, pretending to box as Dan rolls his eyes and Christopher watches on reprovingly. In the middle of the fighting Owen catches Phil’s eye and stops, tapping Kenneth to let him go.

“Hey, who's this?” He asks, lightly punching Phil on the shoulder.

“I’m a friend of Dan.” He reaches out a hand. “Phil, nice to meet you”.

“Ah, great to see you buddy. You enjoy the show?”

“Oh, it was superb!” He beams, looking around at the actors. “You’re all so wonderfully talented.”

Kenneth guffaws. “Well, Philip, I’m terribly glad you think so, but I shall have to correct you there. We’re the talented ones,” he jests, pointing at himself, Christopher and Dan, “but this buffon managed to fuck up one of only five lines. Five lines! How on earth you managed to do it really is beyond me!”

“Too many whiskies,” Christopher mutters drily.

“Oi!” Owen scoffs. “Enough with the Irish stereotypes! I don’t even like whiskey. Now, Guiness however…”

The congregation continue to laugh and joke as they unlace their doublets, shuck their boots and peel off their tights. Out of modesty and embarrassment Phil averts his eyes, occasionally stealing a glimpse at the men in their vests, briefs and boxer shorts; regrettably, when Dan starts to rope him into the conversation, he has no choice but to look their way.

“Say, Christopher, you’re a bit of a photography whizz, aren’t you?”

A smirk flashes across the blond boy’s face as he adjusts his wire glasses.  “Well, I wouldn’t quite say that I’m a whizz as such, but um, yes, I suppose I do enjoy taking the camera out for a bit of a spin every now and then.”

Phil’s interest is piqued. “What camera do you have?”

Christopher turns to face Phil with a surprised look on his face, as if not used to being talked to. “Oh, I’m not a serious photographer or anything,” he confesses, “my parents just bought me a Kodak Retina as a gift for my 18th birthday. I haven’t been using it much so far - mostly just taking pictures of wildlife really - but if this beautiful snow keeps up I just might have to start using it again.”

Dan re-enters the conversation, seemingly having engineered for it to go towards this point.

“Phil is part of a photography club, you know. Chris, you should join.”

“Really? Oh how wonderful. Yes, I’d be very interested in joining actually. When do you meet?”

“Thursdays at eight, right here at Keble,” Phil explains. “We’re only a small bunch and none of us are experts, so there’s no pressure to be a photographic prodigy or anything.”

“He says,” Dan jeers, “despite being one himself.”

Phil scoffs. “I am not!” 

“You should see his photographs,” Dan continues, putting a leg on Phil's chair and a hand on his shoulder. “Harsh shadows, mesmerising patterns, vivid colours - this chap could make the most mundane of objects look worthy of being in the Ashmolean Museum.”

“Now this is just nonsense - pure flattery,” he assures Christoper. Nonchalantly leaning back in his chair he angles his head towards his flatterer, halting when he sees the look on the boy’s face. The solemnity of Dan’s expression burns through him like hot coals, brows slightly furrowed as he stares into Phil’s grey eyes with a look of unwavering adoration. If the pair of them were alone he might cry at such a gaze, and with an uneasy swallow he turns back to Christopher. “Still, come to the club when it resumes in the New Year, we’d be glad to have you.”

“Fantastic,” he beams. “I shall make a note in my diary!”

The group don their normal clothing and make their way out of the chapel, stopping frequently to say their goodbyes to fellow actors and actresses while picking up various party-goers along the way. As they leave the chapel Phil strikes up a conversation with Christopher, who turns out to be a second year History student with many similar interests to him. Ambling across the Liddon Quad with the rest of the crowd - which has now amassed to a party of twenty-five plus a few stragglers - they talk of studying Latin, trips to the Isle of Man, and how to cultivate rare South American plants in an English greenhouse. Before long they arrive at the corridor leading to Dan’s room, which has now become rammed with people as the boy struggles to unlock his door.

“Urry up then!” An impatient partygoer shouts.

“Alright, alright, be patient!” Dan retorts. The crowd laughs, and then, finally, the door swings open.

The torrent of people carries Phil into the room until it dissipates, dropping him in the middle of and submerging him in his new surroundings. 

This is Dan’s room. This is the place where Dan lives.

In Oxford’s typically palatial style the walls are panelled with wood, there’s a fireplace at one end, and in the centre sits a red velvet sofa amongst a few ratty leather armchairs that circle around a dark wooden coffee table. Tucked away into the corner is a small black piano with a jumble of sheets laid on top of it, no doubt Dan’s doing. Feeling relaxed by the homely decor Phil helps himself to a healthy glass of champagne and saunters through the room, searching for someone familiar to talk to. 

It doesn’t take long before he’s stopped by Daljeet, and half an hour later, Phil finds himself engrossed in a retelling of the man’s life. Seven years of service in the British Army during World War Two had only rewarded Daljeet and his country with partition, a bitter war that he had escaped by fleeing his country and returning to England. Within a year of his return he met his now-wife and had begun studying for a Medicine degree at Oxford, which he is now in the third year of. Aside from an interest in science Daljeet reveals that he also has a love for contemporary American literature, but just as Phil is about to ask his opinions on The Catcher in the Rye the pair of them are interrupted by the sound of tinkling glass and a loud cough. They look around in confusion, wondering what the noise was, until they see a man standing on the sofa with a glass of whiskey and a silver spoon in his hand, waiting for silence as the chattering grinds to a halt.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. We are gathered here today to witness-”

A woman shouts at him from the corner. “This isn’t a bloody wedding, George!”

Several people laugh. “Oh be quiet Olivia! Come on then, come up here. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Miss Juliet!” 

As the crowd cheers a tall, elegant woman with long, mousy brown hair bounds up to the sofa and is hoisted up by George, who wraps his arms around her and kisses her cheek. 

“Now then, I suppose you would like to do the honours?”

“I think I shall,” she beams. “Hello everyone. I would just like to quickly say an enormous thank you to all of you for coming tonight. You were marvellous. I’d also like to say a big thank you to my wonderful Romeo...” 

This immediately sets off whooping and whistling as Olivia giggles. 

“Where are you Harry, where are you, ah! Hands off my woman, do you hear?” George cries, raising his fist in mock jealousy. 

“Anyway, tonight is a night for celebration. Congratulations to those of you who have just completed their first Michaelmas term here at Oxford - the workload only gets heavier from here on in,” she laughs. “Many thanks to the magnificent Daniel for letting us use his room for our revelry, but remember everyone! Do not go into Terence’s room, or we shall all receive a beating from that brute, do you hear? Now, go off and be merry you depraved bastards, and if you want champagne, form a queue here!”

The chattering resumes, and as Phil turns around to find somebody else to talk to he sees Mary approaching him with Beth on her arm. 

“Hello you two! Are you having fun?”

“We certainly are! I’ve just rescued Beth from Bailiol’s drab Christmas party. It looked absolutely horrend-”

“Really, it wasn’t that bad! You just wanted me to leave so you wouldn’t be alone at Daniel’s,” Beth cries.

“Yes alright, alright,” Mary tuts. “Phil, come - you must meet our friends, I’ve told them I’ll introduce you, come.”

Gripping his arm, she drags him across the room until they arrive in front of two American brunettes with coquettish, blushing faces who are introduced to him as Joan and Jean. Their small talk is light and humorous, and as they share anecdotes and funny stories about their time at the university Phil begins to notice that his new acquaintances appear to be quite taken with him. They ask about what he’s studying, what college he’s at, where he comes from and what his hobbies are, and as the conversation progresses he could swear that Joan and Jean are edging closer to him each time they keel over at his jokes. 

Finding their flirtations slightly intimidating, he scans the room for a certain familiar face. Their eyes lock immediately. Dan takes a swig of champagne and sends him a reassuring wink, mouthing ‘you okay?’ through the distance. Phil simply indicates towards Joan and Jean, who have taken to clutching onto his arms. Dan explodes into laughter. ‘You’ll be fine,’ comes the response, followed by another bout of mirth. Phil stifles a snicker.

“Hey Phil,” Joan begins, batting the lashes of her big blue eyes. “You say you’re teaching yourself Latin? That’s so neat.”

“Oh I agree, you must be super clever,” Jean adds, pawing at his arm. “I’m taking French as well as English Lit. I can help you out with your lessons, if you’d like.”

The other one tuts. “I’m sure he doesn’t need our help, Jean.”

“But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind! Won-”

“I’m afraid,” Phil interrupts, “that I’ve had to go on a bit of a break with studying Latin, as I’ve had quite a lot of other things to focus on this term.”

“Oooh, like what?” One of them asks. Phil is starting to forget which is which.

“Well, like-”

“Like a girl, perhaps?”

Phil shoots a nervous glance at Mary and Beth, who look as though they’re restraining themselves from laughing.

“Oh Philip, do you have somebody that you’re seeing?” 

“Well...not really, but I um...”

Phil now faces the difficulty of trying to explain his situation whilst skirting around the fact that he is openly-but-also-not-openly a homosexual who is probably-almost-definitely falling in love with a boy who is probably-almost-definitely falling in love with him too despite neither of them explicitly talking about it but both of them communicating it through questions and answers and gestures that have been building up to something which Phil sincerely hopes will come to a conclusion tonight, so sorry June or Jane or Joa, or whatever it is, but there’s absolutely no chance whatsoever of anything happening ever in a million years. 

Fortunately, before he has to face that problem, the man of his affections swoops across the room and steps towards the group.

“Good evening Mary, Beth, Phil - oh! Who are these lovely ladies I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting?”

“Hi, I’m Joan,” the first one giggles, reaching out her hand for him to kiss with Jean following on in the same fashion. The two women exchange a glance, the meaning of which Phil understands with a feeling of disgust.

Great - one each. 

Filled with enough repulsion to last a lifetime, he flashes a panicked looks towards Dan.

“Well ladies, it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to dash off and take Phil with me.” 

The girls’ faces fall. “Please say you’ll come back!”

“Ah, I’m afraid he’s mine. See you later ladies.”

“But-”

Phil walks off, returning Mary’s sly smirk with a nod as he breaks away from the circle and catches up to Dan. When they’re halfway across the room Phil releases a long breath, finally free of unwanted attention as they pull up to a side table laden with alcohol.

“Champagne for you, sir?”

“Go on then. I could do with a drink.”

Dan pours one out for both of them and hands a flute to Phil. “Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

The champagne is delightful, washing through his system like a cool, crisp wind on a hot summer’s day. They take their seats on two small chairs that lie parallel to the table, unintentionally mimicking each other’s body language as they rest an elbow against the top rail, prop their heads up against their hands, cross their outermost legs inwards and then lean in to face one another. 

“So,” Dan begins, “now that I’ve finally got you alone, tell me - how are you?”

“I’m fine - tired - but nevertheless enjoying myself. Thank you for saving me from those girls earlier, I was having a completely rotten time with them.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it! It was my pleasure,” he assures, taking a sip of his drink and leaning in slightly closer. “Anyway, I couldn’t let them at you, could I? You’re mine.”

“Am I now?” Phil quips, taking another swig of champagne and passing over the flute to his other hand as Dan unconsciously does the same. “It got terribly awkward when one of them asked me whether I had a girlfriend.”

Dan guffaws. “You should have told them that you do,” he jests, grabbing Phil’s hand and holding it. “‘Hi, I’m Daniella Howell, pleased to meet you! I’m Phil Lester’s girlfriend, tee hee!’”

Phil laughs at Dan’s ridiculous impression, doubled over with tears in his eyes as his chest heaves. When the act finishes, Dan’s hand stays stationary. Phil’s eyes flit down, admiring the sight of their hands together before he looks up at Dan, who smiles at him fondly. Suddenly Dan’s eyes flit across Phil’s face and over to something in front of him, a small smirk creeping across his face.

“Look, look over there.”

“What?”

“Turn your head around, slowly.”

Careful not to look suspicious, he cranes his neck backwards to see Joan and Jean peering over at their shoulders and gawking them. They spin away, realising that they’ve been noticed. Phil turns back to face his companion, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh dear.”

“Oh dear indeed. Poor girls, they don’t have a chance in Hell with us.”

“Mmm, quite.” Dan removes his hand, places his glass on the floor, and slaps his knees. “It’s a bit stuffy in here, don’t you think?” 

Phil nods, finishing his champagne and putting the glass on the table next to him. 

“Come on, let's go and open some windows.”

Dan pulls him out of his seat, bubbles dancing around his head as they cut across the room. Phil thinks he can hear the sound of Joan and Jean trying to get their attention, but he’s too tipsy to tell. They stop in front of a door as Dan fumbles around in his pockets for a key, thrusts it into the lock and turns, opening up the shadowy alcove within. 

Stepping forward, Phil crosses the threshold, door closing behind him with a soft click as he’s sealed off from the outside world with a soft click. The hairs on his arm start to prickle. He can hear the sound of Dan’s footsteps treading through the inky blackness, followed by the glide of opening curtains. Blue light pours into the room, dim and obscure. He steps up onto the window seat-cum-window sill that Dan stands upon, catching a glimpse of the city before the panes swing open and cold air sails into the room. The moon shines brightly, illuminating the ivory frosted lawns and red brick fortress that separates them from the rest of Oxford, a sea of gleaming church spires that stretch on for ever and ever like a vast expanse of endless and undiscovered land.

“It’s a breathtaking view.”

“Not as breathtaking as you are.”

Phil’s heart thumps in his breast. He whips his head around. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

His heart beats even faster. He thinks he knows what’s coming next. Dan hooks his fingers around Phil’s belt loops, pulling their hips together while looking him dead in the eye. Phil’s gaze darts to the floor.

“I-I mean, if you think so then I can’t refute you, but in my eyes you are, and always have been, far, far more handsome, a-and-”

“Phil.”

He looks up.

“Just kiss me.”

Time stands still.

Their faces inch closer, breath mingling and eyelashes brushing across each other’s skin before finally, finally, their lips connect with a kiss. 

It starts off soft, and slow, and delicate, before growing stronger and rougher until Phil is pressed up against the wall with his hands on Dan’s rear and his tongue slipped into his mouth, touching, feeling and devouring every inch of this gorgeous boy in a starved rapture, their kisses growing deeper and more adventurous until something starts to stir and Phil moves his hand to grab-

*knock knock knock*

They break apart, freezing to the spot. 

The door swings open.

“See, Joan, I told you they weren’t in here.”

“But they must be, where else would they-”

The light switches on.

The girls turn their heads.

Their jaws drop.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. How do I...oh my- carry on…” 

Moving as quickly as they can the intruders shuffle out of the room, turning off the light as the door closes behind them. A few seconds later the sound of Mary’s cackling can be heard. Phil looks over at Dan, who stares back at him. Dan starts to snigger until then they both erupt into laughter, cachinnation soaring out of the window and into the breeze. As they quieten down Phil looks out towards the view below, resting his forearm on the sill as a peaceful stillness settles. Keble’s vast, niveous quadrangle extends before him, glowing with a magical sparkle under the ultramarine wash of moonlight. Beyond the red brick turrets lie a mass of church spires and plane trees and twinkling car headlamps.

Dan sighs. “I can’t believe that that just happened.” 

Phil rotates his head around and watches the other boy. “Ridiculous, right? Did they really not get the hint that we weren’t interested in them?”

“I wasn’t talking about that.” 

“Hmm?” He blinks. “What were you talking about?”

“About us. I can’t believe it happened.”

“Oh.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”

A sheepish smile flickers over Phil’s face as he looks back towards the quad. Out of the corner of his eye, a light turns on. A student opens her curtains, peering out of the glass and staring at the snow-covered grass before pulling up a chair to the window and beginning to read a book. After a few seconds she gives up on reading and stares back out of the window, brushing a strand of hair out of her face as she rests her head in her hands.

Dan clears his throat. “Ever since I first saw you,” he begins, “I have been completely and utterly enamoured by you.” 

Phil turns around, resting his head on the window as he watches the boy speak.

“I have always thought of you rather like a secret garden. I imagine myself walking down a tree-laden path, exploring some uncharted territory near a house I have recently moved into when I come across a gate clad with ivy. As I go up to the gate, I see that it is closed. I peer inside. From this side of the gate I can’t see much, but what I can see is stunning - arches and roses and statues and fountains, neatly kept and beautifully decorated, the creation of a person with real elegance and grace. Unable to enter I continue on with my walk, but as I arrive home I find that my thoughts all centre around that mysterious gated oasis. Each day I visit it, and each day there is something new to discover: a babbling brook; a tree bearing fruit; a peacock wandering the grounds; a bridge tucked away in the distance. The more I visit the more my obsession grows, but I am too scared to try the lock or climb the walls lest the owner of the garden doesn’t want me there.” He pauses, shifting in his spot. “One day I arrive at those walls and decide to give the railings a shake; to my surprise, I find that it is open. Tentatively I push the gate, and as I walk in I am greeted by the most heavenly sight that I have ever seen. The sky is blue and warm, the flowers sweet and bright, the brook is clear, the fountain is great, and the fruit is full and ripe. I chide myself for not realising that the gate was unlocked all this time, thus idiotically depriving myself of something that I could have enjoyed for months before. After a short while I think to myself that perhaps it was destined to be this way, for now, after admiring for so long, I can truly appreciate what it is I have to behold.”

Phil takes a slow breath and tries to will his brimming tears back into his eyes. Biting the inside of his mouth he squints and knits his brows together, trying to compose himself. 

It’s no use. 

He turns to Dan, steps forward, cups his jaw and kisses him, firmly and wholeheartedly. The other boy’s hands clutch him by the waist, pulling him in as their kiss continues. After a few seconds they break apart, still in each other’s embrace and gazing into each other’s eyes as they catch their breath.

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

Dan beams. “Well, the inspiration behind it was quite something.

Phil is about to ask what it was, before remembering with a leap of joy that it was himself. 

“Oh Dan, how are we going to live apart for the next month? I don’t want to go home, away from you!”

The other man pauses to think. “I know - we shall send each other letters! I’ll write to you about Reading and my music work and you can write back to me about your photography and all the books you’re reading.” 

Phil grins. “That sounds great. I’d love that.”

There’s a brief moment of silence spent looking into each other’s eyes. Dan is the first to move, slapping Phil’s back and moving away.

“We had better get back to this party! People must be starting to wonder where we are.”

“Mmmm. We don’t want a repeat incident of Joan and Jean barging in.”

Dan laughs as he steps down from the window ledge, holding Phil by his wrists despite the drop being perfectly safe. They walk through the dark room together, still connected. 

“If I catch them looking at you again I shall have to kiss you in front of their prying eyes.”

“No, no, you mustn’t!” Phil giggles, wriggling as Dan nuzzles his face.

“Here, let me get one out the way before we go out there and I can’t kiss you again.”

Pulling Phil in by the wrists he draws him in for one last kiss, slow and sweet. Letting go of his hands he twists the door handle open, and a streak of warm light floods into the room. He turns around, giving Phil one last smile, before the pair of them walk through the doorway and back into the bustling party.