#but again. this is almost where they lost me last time so i’m reserving judgement

[j-esbian]

ok here is my hot voltron take in 2024*

it’s all right. it’s not a masterpiece but that’s ok. it holds up and i still think it’s fun

i feel like it suffered from a lot of factors while it was coming out. the rushed production (76 episodes in just 2 years), fandom expectations exploding and exceeding what the show had ever planned to do, the creators running their mouths and people putting more faith in word of god than what made it into the actual show, etc.

it’s not the pinnacle of television. i think a lot of people had high hopes when it came out; i remember a lot of folks talking about how the people who made it had worked on the last airbender, so they were expecting a similar caliber. i think a better analogy would be that this is a mech anime for western audiences where mech animes aren’t really a thing. but it struggled to deliver on that

i do think the biggest thing it suffered from was the production schedule. i still don’t understand why it was divided up the way it was, into a bunch of small, unevenly distributed seasons. there’s a lot of things that could have been executed better, but didn’t get developed in the way they should have. and the final product (for a lot of the character stuff specifically) feels like a line of tropes strung together rather than a coherent narrative, and the plot had very little thought put into it long-term (there’s almost entire seasons that give no screen time to haggar/honerva and like. maybe we could have spent a bit more time showing her pulling the strings and manipulating zarkon/sendak/etc. rather than Only focusing on them, in the seasons where they’re the villains). this is generally something i associate with things that lasted past their expiration date (like supernatural lol). i would have to look more closely into the development of the later seasons, because it really gives the impression they just had to run with their first thoughts and didn’t have time to flesh things out properly, especially in contrast to the seasons with lotor because they were almost cooking with that

for example, they almost sold me that allura had developed feelings for lance, but then in order to make it clear, they started making her all blushy and awkward around him because That’s A Trope People Understand That Means A Girl Likes A Boy, when that was really never who she was. they reached for it as shorthand to signal to the audience but didn’t really think too deeply about Who they were applying it to. the whole thing with shiro’s partner (and ambiguous autoimmune disease that exists only for one scene) would have been nothing if the creators hadn’t hyped it up so much beforehand, and if a little more time had been given and a little more care had gone into the scenes where that mattered, and if there had been literally any indication of it in the previous 6 seasons. they could have thought about how audiences would interpret pidge’s gender fuckery and done something to address that to avoid accusations of queerbaiting. it just added drama to season 1, they made a bathroom joke in season 2, and then forgot it was ever a plot point. whenever keith is on screen he’s the main character. he has the most developed arc out of any of the paladins (finding his family, becoming a leader, learning to not be such a loner) but again, whole swathes of episodes go by without him. and in his absence no one else really takes the spotlight. it just focuses on plot. hunk doesn’t really get anything to do until season 7, and it’s a very good scene where he’s jealous of lance and pidge for having their families back but it also feels like the first time he’s taken seriously in 60+ episodes. et cetera.

*big caveat that i just finished season 7, and season 8 was where i lost interest and never finished. i know The Big Thing that happened in season 8 and i can see where they were coming from. i’m sure they were thinking about doing a Big Damn Sacrifice and making some statement about the loss of the Old World to give birth to the New. i just don’t think they were mindful of 1) who they were sacrificing or 2) the fact that they were telling this story in the real world, where there’s countless other stories about black women being denied happiness in order to further someone else’s story. i don’t think this show Uniquely Hates Women because it has the same level of sexism that’s present pretty much across the board in modern sci-fi. they didn’t need to shoehorn in the romance but they clearly tried to be more mindful than the original (instead of Zero female paladins, there were two for most of the show.) they definitely had huge blind spots and i’m not excusing that but i do think that doesn’t cancel out everything else. it seems to be due to obliviousness rather than active malice. but again, i have yet to watch the final episodes

[inkedtae]

fountain of fantasies ⇾ jjk. [M]

⟶ from the eros universe; you do not need to read eros to read this one shot

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ god!jungkook x curvy!reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ s2l, greek mythology au, circa. 1800 au, historical au, light fluff, angst, smut, pwp, filth, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾ you rather be engaging in heart racing activities than in heart breaking ones

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 15.6k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ dom!jungkook, bigdick!jungkook, buff!jungkook, winged!jungkook, longhair!jungkook, ponytail!jungkook, sub!reader, slightly insecure!reader, shy!reader, mentions and consumption of alcohol, unprotected sex (wrap it to tap it folks), rough sex, playful-ish sex, semi-public sex, fountain sex, dirty talk, creampie, multiple orgasms, slight degradation, overstimulation, exhibition, a lil voyeurism, praise kink, anal, edging, squirting, choking, hair pulling, bodyworshipping, a lil motorboating, a lil begging, water play, a lil spit play, a lil breast play, ass play, a fountain of filth :)

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾ i’m too much of a hoe for greek god guk not to turn this into a mini-series... 

⤜ banner by ↠ @thebannershop​ (thank you dearie~)

⤜ beta’d by ↠  @moonmintrails​ (my soulmate~)

⤜ le playlist ↠

Plump plum juices leak from your violet stained lips. You watch the storm rage through the balcony windows. Flashes of lightning, streaks of raindrops and the wall-rattling thunder only stares back at you. The noise of the world around you would be just the perfect cover for all the sounds he draws out of you. Teeth sinking into the fruit’s flesh, you take another bite and fix your stockings. Topless, you lean back in your plush seat and cross your legs. 

You know he’s not coming. It’s been a week since his last visit, a week of staying up late only to fall asleep and wake up to a new toy. You glance at your bed. The collection of gifts under it do not compensate for his absence. You don’t want the ruby dildos or golden anal plugs. You can live without the silver tit-clamps and sapphire pearled whips. It’s him you won’t do without. 

But tonight would be a perfect night of fun. You swallow your bite before taking another one as your mind circles every dirty thought you’ve been wanting to entertain for the last seven days. Staring out the rain stained windows, the one that appeals to you the most for tonight would be on that balcony, where it started all those months ago. The thought of being drenched in rainwater while he bends you over the railing makes you squeeze your crossed legs together. And the fluttering flap of his wings as they shake out the storm prickles your skin with goosebumps. Wet hands tangled in your wet hair. Loud moans blended in the loud thunder. 

An urgent knock raps on your door. You sit up, letting out a shaky breath from the remnants of that fantasy. As you set your plum down by some grapes on the side table, you shoot to your feet to grab your robe. 

“Bunny,” Mary, your sister, whispers from the other side. 

The little childhood nickname brings a smile to your face. The two of you would play Wonderland in the garden as children and Mary would have you, Bunny, guide her down the right path. Now, she only ever calls you that when she’s nervous and struggling to admit it. 

Tying the robe around your waist, you eagerly let her in. “What is it, Mary?” You smile as she rushes past you. 

She doesn’t take a moment to properly greet you, darting to your little library instead. “Do you have that book about Mount Olympus?” She asks. Her freshly painted nails scrape over the spines of each book as you part your lips to reply. “Oh! Here it is!”

Returning to your seat, you watch your older sister skim through the pages. “Why the sudden interest in Greek gods?” 

“Michael mentioned something about Hera and I just wanted to- I knew it!” 

Chewing on another bite, you raise a brow at her. “I’m sure he’d be pleased to hear that tomorrow,” you chuckle around your food.

Mary pauses. Her eyes, previously gleaming with excitement, diminish into indifference. She clears her throat and shuts the book. “Mama says to never correct a man.”

You stuff your mouth with a big bite and avoid your sister’s gaze. There’s lots you have to say about your mother’s philosophy on love, but you know better than to voice those opinions. 

Mary continues talking, despite knowing your reservations about your mother. She holds the book to her chest and tentatively sits on your bed. “Mama wants me to talk to you about something.”

Slowly chewing, you glance at her. You already know where this is going. It’s another desperate attempt on your mother’s part to make sure you don’t wear the dress he had gifted you. She knows full well how much it reveals and how well it’s designed. You don’t care for your mother’s opinion though; you haven’t for months. It’s Mary’s opinion on the subject that matters to you. 

“But, I told her that I don’t want to lie to you.” She takes a moment to sigh then meets your gaze once more. “You’ll look gorgeous in that dress, Bunny,” she smiles. “And I have the perfect shoes for them too.”

A laugh bubbles out of your throat and you almost choke on your food. Mary laughs at your struggling state. “Oh, can we get ready for your party together?” You ask, perking up in your seat once you properly swallow your food. 

Mary’s excited gaze wavers. She glances back at the book before hesitantly nodding. “Yes.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing…”

You give her a pointed look. Flopping down on the bed, Mary groans and stares up at the ceiling. “What do you think of Michael?” You part your lips to reply, but she continues, “I mean I know he’s from a good family, and can take care of me, and he’s so handsome.”

You bite your lip at the last comment. Michael is not exactly your type of heartthrob. But, then again, your senses have been obscured by a god, so now not a single person can look as handsome, as beautiful, as heavenly as your Eros. 

“But, he says and does things I’m not exactly…” She trails off. “And I think his previous courtship with Linette ended horribly.”

Her half-sentence rings some warning in your gut. However, by the way she avoids eye contact to stare at your crystal chandelier, you decide not to address it. “What makes you think so?” you ask instead.

“Well, that’s what he told me.”

Resisting the urge to scoff, you simply quirk a brow. Mary may be a couple of years older, but she still hasn’t grown out of her naive tendencies. You’re about to tell her that everything will be okay when you catch a familiar silhouette on your balcony. 

He’s here.

Mary shoots up off your bed. You fear for a second that she may have seen him, but then she asks, “So? What do you think?”

Gulping, you take a moment to collect your thoughts. Erasing the fact that he’s finally here from your mind, you try to remain focused on your sister. You want the best for her. You want her to be excited about who she marries and for the life she will spend with that person. And that’s why it takes you a world of restraint not to tell her that if she isn’t a hundred percent sure about marrying Michael, then maybe she shouldn’t. 

“Do you love him, Mary?” You ask. “And I don’t mean that ‘nobility’ love. I mean that, ‘makes you cry just thinking about losing him’ love.”

Mary hesitates.Your eyes flicker to the balcony where he continues to stand. Inhaling deeply, you silently ask him to wait just a second longer. 

“I think I do,” she smiles. 

Your heart shatters at her phrasing. I think. Where is the room for thinking when true love is at your door? You want to tell her that there shouldn’t be any of this ‘thinking’ nonsense. You either do or you don’t, you want to say. But her smile is so pure and eyes light up just enough that you don’t have the heart to take it all away. Besides, maybe she really does love him. 

“Then, I think he’s perfect for you.”

Mary grabs the book and jumps to her feet. “Let’s meet in my room at seven,” she smiles, ruffling through your hair on her way to the door. “Have a good night, Bunny.”

“You too,” you smile as she shuts the door with a wink. The gesture is unusual but you suppose she’s just excited about the party tomorrow. You’re not exactly sure why she did it and with a winged god at your door, you can’t find it in you to care for too long. 

Darting to the balcony, you pull open the doors to be greeted by empty winds and heavy raindrops. Those wings are gone, balcony vacant of anything but despair. Not even a gift replaces his presence. You hold your tears back and swallow the growing lump in your throat. Your time is not one of his toys, nor is it free. You’ve run out of patience. You’re empty of reason, thriving on broken feelings. 

Shakily sighing, you bury the hurt in your voice and whisper, “if you can’t stay, don’t come at all.”

Sparkling diamonds, glasses, and wine circle the ballroom. Sipping on your drink, you take in the gleaming marble floors and the arches of the grand windows. The Barbury Estate is twice the size of yours. You want to believe that your mother’s delight in Mary’s proposal has more to do with her happiness than the fact that her fiancé is riddled with more wealth than he knows what to do with. But, you know that your mother has a special bond with money. It’s the same relationship she has with social standards. Her philosophy is simple; the more, the better. Now, if only your mother felt that way about you. 

No, wait. This night is not about you. An evening lost in a grand room of people only appeals to you when the occasion for such torture is your sister’s engagement party. Your chest swells with pride as you watch Mary dance with her fiancé. Michael Barbury is not exactly what you would call ‘prince charming.’ His jokes border on racism and thoughts are somewhat insipid, but he makes Mary happy. That’s all that matters to you. Her relapse in judgement last night does worry you. But you know that she’ll be happy with Michael. With Eros gone, you wonder how soon you’ll find a love like that too.

Mary’s graceful giggles cut you out of your trance. You blink once, twice until your senses fully return to you. Even the smallest thought of him throws you out of your consciousness. Settling your eyes back on your sister, watching as she basks in Michael’s unwavering attention and dotting devotion, you’re greeted with a sense of comfort. The guilt of not speaking your truth disappears and the fear of never finding love dissipates to the back of your mind. 

“Miss (Y/N)?” Lee Kyon asks, waving his hand in front of you. 

Right, you forgot he was there. Turning to face him once more, you flash Kyon a somewhat kind smile. “Yes, Mr. Lee?”

He furrows his brows. “Is everything alright?”

Perhaps everything would be alright if your mother didn’t constantly feel the need to set you up with the first poor man that accidently looks your way. Yes, you’re well aware of your mother’s behaviour and the fact that Kyon has no real interest in getting to know you. Judging by the way he continues to loop back to the same dull topic about the history of wine, you can tell that he is merely trying to keep the conversation short enough to be polite, but not long enough to be courting you. 

It’s not as though you care for his company either. Kyon has half of Michael’s intelligence. Even though you were only half-listening to his rant, you already pick out the few historical inaccuracies in his unprompted explanation. Of course, the worst thing you can do to a man is attack his wits and pride; that’s what your mother tells you anyway. It’s what worried Mary last night too. And you’ve tested that theory enough to know how true it is and how fun it can be. Watching them grapple for the right words, flare their nostrils in frustration and demand you apologize will always be just as humorous as when they try to “teach” you about language or art or, in Kyon’s case, history. 

Biting back a sigh, you nod and silently pray for a way out of this boring conversation and into something a bit more exciting. 

Clearing his throat, Kyon searches for a way to fill the silence. He then half-heartedly mutters, “You look darling this evening.”

Glancing down at your dress, your face heats up. The tiger lily-peach layers of satin and tulle fall down to your ankles. The pleated skirt mirrors the petals of a flower. Cleavage on display, the long flowy sleeves fall off your shoulders. Finished with a green ribbon around your waist and gleaming pink jewels, this is possibly the best dress he has gifted you. 

Your Eros left it, no wait- he’s not yours anymore. A friend left it hanging in your closet one morning after another passionate night in his embrace. It was a beautiful surprise to be woken up to and a manageable struggle to explain how it came into your possession. You can’t help but find it a bit ironic how your mother is desperate to set you up with the first man she sees, but hesitant to dress you up for the occasion. He must have known, must have felt your frustration towards your mistreatment. 

It takes everything in you to fight off the smile playing on your lips. You glance back up at Kyon, parting your lips to thank him when he continues, “And how brave of you to wear such a dress.”

You pause. “Brave?” 

Kyon smiles and nods. 

Is he really telling you what you think he is? Is he really undermining your confidence, undermining the beauty you know you have by commending your ‘bravery?’ No, you mustn’t judge too quickly. Perhaps he’s admiring your choice to go against expectations of covering up with a shawl. 

You swallow back your initial assumptions, and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Mr. Lee?”

“Well,” Kyon starts. He looks off to the side and raises both his brows before looking to you once more. His hazel eyes scan your figure, jaw clenching as he clears his throat. “A dress like this is traditionally worn by a woman that looks more like…” he trails off, eyes wandering as well. “Like Miss (L/N).”

A stinging chorus of hushed laughter strikes your pride. Your gut boils with shame and humiliation as your eyes bounce between the partygoers near you. You hadn’t realized they were eavesdropping. As a desperate attempt to ignore their maliciously amused looks, you follow Kyon’s gaze to Mary. Chewing on your lip, you ignore the urge to roll your eyes. This isn’t the first time someone has compared you to her, and you know very well that it won’t be the last. Even the utter disrespect of referring to you by your first name and your sister by your last name further displays their lack of recognition for you. In their eyes, you will forever remain as Miss (Y/N), the spinster-destined sister of Miss (L/N). And though you are certain that the twinge of pain and anger festering in your chest is for Kyon, you can’t help but be a little annoyed with your sister as well. 

But then she laughs, smiling so bright and wide. She looks up at Michael and rests her chin on his bicep, reveling in his attention and embrace. You realize, in her moment of happiness, that you can’t find it in you to hold this grudge against her. Your love for her is greater than your pride. Besides, she plays no part in your insecurities. And, you decide as you turn back to Kyon, neither will this privileged upperclassman.

“How brave,” you sigh with a single shouldered shrug. 

“What is, Miss (Y/N)?”

“How brave of you to believe anyone cares for your opinion.”

Kyon chokes on his drink. The partygoers, previously humoured by your embarrassment, relish in your courage to upstage Kyon. Gasping a giggle, you step back to avoid being spit on. He glares at you as he wipes his chin. You don’t hesitate to return that hard, hateful look in his eye. Raising a challenging brow, you dare him to attempt to embarrass you again.

He takes one step towards you, looking as though he’s about to grab at your arm when his stride is redirected. Kyon walks away without another word. You stare after him in confusion as he mutters an apology under his breath. 

You’re not sure what caused this sudden change in his angry course, but you’re all too happy to be rid of him to dwell on the thought of his motives much longer. He must’ve known how offensive his words were. True, most people compare you to your sister, but at least they have the decency to do it behind your back. You rather be physically absent from a conversation like that. It makes it easier to ignore and avoid the negativity. 

Confidence restored, you feel comfortable in your skin again. The dress is a perfect fit, the struggle to breath nowhere to be found, and sits well on your frame- despite what others think. However, you have very little time to revel in your victory as your mother stalks towards you.

“What have you done?” she hisses over your shoulder. Before you even have a chance to look back at her, she drags you by your arm to the edge of the room. “What did you say this time?”

A heavy sigh pushes past your lips as you clasp your hands before you and reply, “He insulted me.”

Your mother quirks a brow. “And?” She questions as if waiting for a more substantial argument. 

“And?” You echo in confusion. “And he insulted me. I don’t see why that’s not enough of a reason to insult him back.”

She shakes her head and inhales deeply. You brace yourself for the disparaging rant you know is coming. Nothing good ever comes from a head shake and heavy sigh. But, instead of her usual ‘stay in your place’ harangue, your mother cuts to the chase this time. “Do you realize that might just be your only chance for happiness?” 

Suppressing a dry chuckle, you lower your gaze to the floor. You know your mother is well aware of how her question sounds; you know she doesn’t care. Still, you ask, “Is that really what happiness looks like, mother?”

She falls silent. After a beat, you dare to peek up at her. Those once hard eyes soften as her gaze locks on Mary and Michael, locks on how they gaze upon one another with such adoration. Blinking repeatedly, she turns to you and sighs, “Yes, to some people that,” she pauses to glance at Kyon, “is what happiness looks like.” 

A wicked pang of sad, lonely anger twists in your chest then tumbles to the pit of your stomach. Your gaze falls to the ground and heart shatters with that last shred of hope that your mother perhaps did want the best for you. Up until now, you truly believed that in some twisted way, she was just looking out for you, making sure you have someone by your side long after she’s gone. Her words now and that shameless look that matches that shameless confession only point to the painfully obvious fact you have tried so hard to ignore. Your mother’s need to make you look a certain way and throw you at any breathing man has never been for your well-being, but rather the well-being of her reputation. 

“Go to Mr. Lee, (Y/N),” she orders. “Offer to freshen his drink, wipe down his shirt, and then apologize. Beg for his forgiveness if you have to; just make this right.” 

With a deep breath, you trail your eyes back up and try to collect yourself. Your eyes flicker between the exit and where Kyon stands.Your mother clears her throat, drawing your attention back on her. 

“Have I made myself clear?” 

“Crystal.”

She returns to her friends, that gleeful smile plastered on her face once more. Your eyes fall back on Kyon with every intention of following through your mother’s orders. However, he only greets your gaze with malice. A wave of nausea overwhelms you. 

With a shake of your head, you tear yourself away from his threatening demeanour and turn towards the exit. You just need to get out of his line of sight, out of that pretentious atmosphere. Something within you can’t seem to stop telling you that one more moment near that passive-aggressive punk will only make you feel worse. So, you lengthen your strides out of the ballroom and down the hall to put as much distance between you and them. 

The pressure of their expectations suffocates you like no corset ever has. All you can think is how desperately you need some fresh air. It takes you a moment, but you navigate your way around the manor well enough to find the back entrance. 

Cold air engulfs you the moment you step outside. A relieved giggle slips past your lips and you throw your head back to relish in the cool spring breeze. The sky reflects a swirl of silvery indigo. It lures you into its constellations and wonders with every other glance. Lowering your gaze, you scan the garden before you. A cobblestone path leads all the way down to a hedged maze. You can never resist a good garden. In fact, you had helped design the one back home. You hope that when your husband-to-be comes along, he’d have a garden too and maybe you can design it together.

Realizing you can maybe hold on to a few more moments of peace if they can’t find you, you decide to follow the path and hide away within the walls of the maze. You’re halfway down the cobblestone trail when you sense a strong pull dragging your soul closer to the hedges. Picking up your pace, you follow that tug faster, soon weaving through the maze like you’ve been through it before. It’s not long before you reach the centre. 

It’s a large clearing, decorated with a variety of blooming flowers. In the middle stands a grand marble fountain. Three tiered, the fountain sprouts fresh water through the mouths of singing angels. A little smile plays on your lips as you click-clack your way towards it. The tranquil rush of the stream calms your previously erratic heart. You take a seat on the edge and stare down at the pool. It’s empty of floating flowers or little fish like the one you have at home, but still beautiful all the same. 

“Miss (L/N).”

Your eyes well up the moment his sweet voice greets your ears. A shaky breath escapes you and you turn to find him. Did he not hear your words last night? Does he not care? Or is he here to stay this time?

Sitting atop the hedges of the garden maze and out of the moon’s light, he looks just as heavenly as always. Most details of his beauty are hidden, but you can make out his long hair and the way it’s pulled back into a ponytail, leaving loose, short strands to frame his face. And those soft wings are out, spread wide behind him as he stares back at you. Shirtless, he smirks. 

You can’t help the smile stretching upon your lips at the sight of him. It’s an uncontrollable reflex, as is the wetness of your core when he’s around. He usually doesn’t arrive this early when he does show up. How long has he been there? 

Clearing your throat, however, you subside the urge to smile upon his presence. “Mr. Jeon.” His name leaves your lips in a trembling breath as your heart’s aflush with desire. You have to remind yourself that you’re upset with his disappearances.

A sweet smile takes over his features. “I’ve upset you,” he notes. 

Is this a joke to him? How many nights does he expect you to wait around for a maybe? You both know your time is worth more than that. And though you want to tell him that he’s done more than upset you, that he’s disappointed you, you confess something else instead. “I’ve missed you.”

“You know I miss you too,” he replies. 

You resist the urge to scoff. “Are you working tonight?”

He shakes his head. “I just got off actually.”

Without me? You mentally scold yourself for your dirty thought. You can’t even hold onto your anger for more than thirty seconds without having the urge to spread your legs for him. “Lucky me,” you sarcastically reply. 

“Do you like the dress?”

“I’d like it more with the gift from last night,” you glare at him. “If there was a gift from last night, that is.” 

Hopping off the edge, his wings fan out to guide him down before you with ease. Your face falls as he stands in the moonlight. Thick mud coats his muscular body and those once white wings are stained with dirt and grim. His sharp face is scratched with little scabs as well. He looks like he fell from the sky. 

“Jungkook,” you whisper as you reach out to caress his wounded cheek. 

But Jungkook can’t be any less interested in his current state. His attention does not waver off you. Those kind eyes of his scan your frame, lingering around your breasts. “It looks even better than I imagined.”

You feel as though you have to ask him if this really is a joke to him this time. He leaves you for a week with very little behind and returns only to be caked in mud and peppered with wounds and has the audacity to pretend it’s not an issue. Now, you’re upset. 

You blink back your tears, quietly asking, “What happened?”

Maybe it was the hurt in your tone or the worry flashing in your eyes but his usually cocky demeanor trembles just enough to comfort you. “It’s just been a long night, baby. I missed a couple of shots and it took a little more effort than usual to fix everything.”

Fidgeting fingers trail up the exposed side of his thick thigh under the stained toga-like skirt he wears. He shudders under your touch as your hands make their way up to his buff chest where they stay. You inhale deeply to settle your erratic heart. The earthy grim of the mud invades your senses. He doesn’t even smell like himself anymore. 

Knitting your brows together, you ask, “Are you hurt?”

Jungkook’s entire expression softens. Shaking his head, he goes to cradle your body closer to his but stops before his hands reach your waist. You can feel his desire though, to touch and be touched. It’s raw and real, and purely Jungkook. This shared desire the two of you have roots deep within your souls. It breaks your heart to think that he’s not yours anymore, and maybe you made that decision rashly, in a moment of anger. But, you both know it’s not how you feel right now. 

“I need to know your schedule,” you say in a quiet voice. He tongues his cheek, erupting your heart with a surge of want. You ignore the feeling long enough to continue, “I can’t just sit and wait, Jungkook.”

He stares down at you, eyes unreadable. You can tell that he’s mulling over your words, but have no clue how he feels about them. Finally, he cups your cheeks, staining them with dirt, and says “I need you to trust me when I say that I’m doing my best to get to you as quickly as I can, darling.”

Your heart cannot deny him when his gaze reflects such sincerity and honesty. Every ounce of trust, of belief is in him and only him. And maybe you are being selfish, but to be stranded without an explanation is heartbreaking. You know he knows that, or at least feels it in you when you think of him and pray. 

“Just tell me I’m yours again,” he whispers, “and I’ll prove to you how much I’ve missed you too.”

Is that why he’s here? He’s afraid of losing you? Biting your lip, you can’t help but lean into his touch. It was mean of you to punish him like this and make him think that you were really upset with him when in actuality, all you wanted was a little more attention. You give him an innocent look through your lashes. He does his best not to swoon, but you know him well enough now to know that the little quiver in his lips means he’s on the verge of getting on his knees. 

“No man of mine is this dirty,” you smirk, echoing the words of your first encounter. 

Jungkook smiles and this time you have to keep yourself from swooning at the sight of his dimples. “I thought that’s exactly how you like them,” he purrs as he walks you back towards the fountain. 

Heat rushes to your face. The marble edge of the fountain hits the bend of your knees but you refuse to sit down with Jungkook only inches away. His hands may still be on your face, rubbing that dirt into your cheeks, but his body is still too far away from yours. You move to take a step forward, desperate to have your body against his. However, Jungkook is quicker, most likely having read your mind, and moves back before you can even get half a step in. 

Your eyes harden at the action. Pushing his hands off your face, you quirk a brow. 

“I don’t want to ruin your dress.”

“A dress like this is meant to be ruined.”

He smirks. You can tell by the amusement dancing in his eyes that he’s enjoying the sight of you this needy and possessive. He decides to further test the limits of your composure, asking, “Don’t you have a party to get back to?”

He’s teasing. The mockery riddled in his features is enough of a hint, but the playful tone in his voice is still something you bask in. Taking a seat on the edge of the fountain, you let out a deep sigh and look up to the clouds. “A flight back home might do us both some good,” you suggest instead. “It’s not like there’s anything waiting for me at the party anyways.”

“Not even your sister?”

You shake your head. 

“Mother?”

Face folding, you suppress the urge to groan and whisper, “Oh, gods no.” 

Jungkook chuckles as he circles around the fountain. He dips his hand in the clear water, before asking, “What about Lee Kyon?”

Now, what would Jeon Jungkook know of Lee Kyon? A quick scan of his features doesn’t let you in on much besides the fact that he’s trying to draw a reaction out of you. However, what reaction is he hoping for? Is he looking for an explanation? He knows all about your mother’s habits and your relationships, or lack thereof, with mortal men. You never even have to say it; Jungkook knows there’s no one else for you but him. 

“Mr. Lee is fragile,” you sigh. 

His wings twitch. He likes what he hears. You curl in your lips to keep from smiling. Could he, Eros the god of love, lust and desire, really be jealous of an imbecile? Setting your visual tastes aside for a moment, you and Jungkook both know that Kyon, bless him, knows less than the very fountain you’re sitting on… The very fountain Jungkook is climbing into.

“What are you doing?” You ask, shooting to your feet as Jungkook makes himself comfortable. A giggle tumbles out of you, even though you tried to bite it back, at the sight of him washing himself like a bird. 

Jungkook stops for a moment, that playful gaze meeting yours. This one look is enough for you to know he’s heard, and he’s most likely still hearing your thoughts. You wish you could dip in and out of his mind too. It might put an end to all the guessing on your end. 

Continuing to splash his torso clean, he replies, “You’re sending me some mixed messages, baby. I thought you didn’t like me dirty.”

He has a point. Making your way over to him, you sit by his submerged frame on the edge of the fountain. Jungkook rubs his lips as he watches your jeweled fingers trace the curves of your cleavage. Your hand stops in the centre, just above the tied strings of your corset. You begin unlacing it when Jungkook tsks. Snapping your gaze to his, you wait for further instructions. 

“What are you doing?”

“I want to get in with you.”

“So, get in.”

You move to unlace your corset once more, but Jungkook grabs onto your wrist. Catching his darkening gaze, you furrow your brows at his tilting head. He’s gesturing for you to get in, but won’t let you take off your dress. He can’t serious think you’d get in wearing it the water is filthy with his- 

Glancing at the clear water, your thoughts are overtaken by confusion. You expected it to be tinted a dark brown from all the mud but it only reflects the marble bowl of the fountain, Jungkook’s legs, and that growing erection between them. You probably should question him on when he took that skirt off and why the water is so clean even after he went into it with layers of dirt coating his skin, but the heat between your legs is slowly growing more and more insufferable. 

Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook’s to find him already staring at you, a smirk painted on his handsome face. He pushes his tongue against his cheek once more, knowing how much you love that move, then quirks a cocky brow. Kicking off your heels, you lift your dress enough to dip each stocking covered foot into the fountain. You hiss at the sensation of the soggy socks against your feet, but power through knowing how much Jungkook loves the way they look on you. 

Your dress puffs up to the surface and you have to push it down and back to put as little space between you and Jungkook. “Your hair’s filthy,” you pout as you finally straddle his lap. 

Jungkook lets out a little sigh. You first think it’s because his cock stands right in front of your pussy, but soon realize how wrong you are. His dazed gaze wanders over your features, unsure where to stop and what to admire first. Those large hands instinctively find your thick thighs. He rubs and massages them as you untie his hair and wet your hands enough to wash some of the dirt away. You tilt his head back and lick your lips. It’s a habit you have when concentrating. Jungkook knows it well. 

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he suddenly purrs. His voice is thick, saturated with lust and adoration. “Honestly, you don’t have to do anything, darling, just let me look at you for a little bit.” 

You freeze, hands half tangled in his mud slick hair, and gaze back down at him. Dipping your head down, your lips catch his. You’re obsessed with the lack of hesitation between the two of you. Never has Jungkook thought twice about taking you as his when the two of you are this close. No matter how long he’s gone or how upset you may feel about that, when you find each other again, it’s almost like he never left. Your souls rapture in harmony and bodies tangle indefinitely. Eternity lies in the palms of your hands every second you're together. 

“I’ve got to clean your hair,” you mutter against his lips. He only hums before kissing you again. Inhaling sharply, you let him have another sip of your breath before pulling away completely. And you realize, as you glance at his wings, that they could probably use a good scrub down too before the two of you indulge in the good fun you’ve been dying to have all week. 

Before you can vocalize this, however, Jungkook is already readjusting your shared position. He tucks his wings tight behind him and shifts the two of you around so that the stream of the fountain washes down his back. “Hurry,” he orders. There’s very little room for negotiation in his tone. His appetite for a fun night is growing too and you can’t help but smile at the eagerness you’ve triggered. 

Sticking your tongue out, you hook it under his chin and tilt his head back. Jungkook continues to gaze down at you as he gives into your gesture. “That’s hot,” he mutters. 

This is new. He never talks this much when things start to heat up. Most of the time, you’re tossed looks and expected to decipher his mood, but you’re all too caught up in how gorgeous he is, you can barely understand what he means. Everything is always based on feelings and going with your instincts. But this time, Jungkook’s more vocal. It’s almost as if he’s thinking out loud. 

His wings twitch again. You snap your gaze from his hair to his eyes and find he’s raising a brow. Didn’t you wish you could hear his thoughts too? Could this be his way of granting it to you?

“You know what I like most about you?” He asks as you continue to wash the mud from his hair. Grazing your nails through his scalp, you hum in reply. “You’re incredibly intelligent.” 

Your fingers shudder against his head. The guilt of last night returns. Your sister should be with someone who isn’t afraid of her intelligence either. You should’ve told her not to follow through with this, not to marry Michael.

Jungkook’s hands trail up to your ass, gripping onto the plump flesh. The harsh gesture snaps you back into the moment. You jump a bit and let out a little squeal as your gaze meets his. “I much rather you don’t think of other men when you’re with me,” he groans. 

Fighting off the proud smile tempting your lips, you nod. “Sorry; it won’t happen again.” 

“Better not,” he mutters and that smile finally settles on your lips. “And don’t worry about your sister. She’ll be fine.” 

A part of you wants to question him more about how he knows that, but the death grip he has on your ass and the way he’s looking at you does not leave much room for a sexless conversation. You rather your family stay out of conversations like this with Jungkook. His desire to be the only one in your thoughts makes a bit more sense to you now. 

Smiling, Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose. “You figure things out faster than most people,” he says. 

You kiss the little freckle under his lip to let him know you’re done cleaning his hair. “You spend too much time in my head,” you tease. Instead of in my…  The rest of the sentence twirls in your mind for him to find it. 

As you move to clean his right wing he chuckles and continues, “I’m serious, baby.” He kisses your neck as you stand on your knees and reach for his wing to properly clean it off. “Your mind amazes me. That’s why I spend so much time there.” 

Barriers of the mind fall. They were trembling before but now, with every whispered thought Jungkook voices, you can feel those walls of distance crumble around your inseparable bodies. You’ve always melded perfectly physically and stroked the other’s spirit by caressing your souls, but mental barriers have always halted any real conversation between you and Jungkook. He’s always been able to know your next move, your every thought because of his immortality. And to have the chance to do the same only makes you feel that much closer to him. For this reason, you hope he doesn’t regret opening up to you and giving you a little peek inside his mind. 

Your physical senses shock you back to the moment. His fingers soften their grip on your ass, rubbing it instead and your pussy reactively clenches at that pet name you love so much. Unsteadily inhaling deeply, you move to clean his other wing in silence. You decide you won’t talk this time. Your mind is open to him if he’s looking for your opinion, but tonight you just want to hear his thoughts and be the one tossing unreadable looks. 

Jungkook chuckles against your neck, rolling his shoulders back as you brush your fingers through his wings. His lips trail down to your collarbone. He kisses his way down to your breasts and buries his face between them. Breathing in your scent, he sighs happily and mutters, “This is my favourite thing.”

Your breasts? By the way his hands always settle on your ass and the fact that his first hand-delivered toy was an anal plug, you always just assumed that his favourite feature of yours must be your ass. But you suppose if your breasts-

“Actually, I was talking about the way you smell.”

“It’s called soap,” you tease, earning yourself a light spank. He then bites on your right tit, sucking on the skin just because he can. You giggle and settle yourself back on his lap. Your ass, plush and plump, all but melts over his muscular thighs. 

Jungkook stares at you. His brown eyes are vacant and lost in thought. He quiets under your gaze, only just shifting to pull you closer than you already are. Your pussy frames the length of his cock and you find it increasingly hard to stay still. Trying to read that dazed expression on his face, you wonder what happened with his devotion to thinking out loud. 

Licking his lips, Jungkook finally breaks the silence. “Twenty-three.” He leans towards you turning the two of you back around so his back is against the fountain’s edge again. “I want you in twenty-three different ways, but I don’t think we have time to do all of them.”

You swallow thickly. Grinding your hips into his, you rub your needy pussy against his throbbing erection. Jungkook’s eyes slightly roll back and he has to hold your hips down only to look at you properly again. “Can we make time?” You ask. The desperate cry for more is evident in your voice and you know that, by the quirk of his brow and the shudder of his wings, he’s having trouble saying no. 

“I wish,” he confesses. “My favourite ones take time.” 

His fingers dig into your ass again, hinting at what his favourite positions might be. It’s no surprise that it has to do with your ass, you’re just worried that he’s going to ask for more than you’re ready for. Yes, you may have gotten used to anal plugs over time since he knows how to prep you for them, but his cock is an entirely different game. You are constantly reminded of how those other toys really are just toys because his cock is that uncomparable. 

Jungkook relaxes back against the marble wall and watches you as you salivate over the size of his cock. He doesn’t need to read your mind to know you're terrified of whatever pain may come with it but excited because you’re just that much of a whore for him. 

“You know you don’t have to do it. I have lots of other favourites,” he smirks. 

As your thoughts trail off, he bucks his hips into yours. You breathe moan and clutch onto his shoulders. Every little movement makes you ache for more. A week without a single bit of sexual stimulation, even by yourself, is too long. He never told you that you couldn’t play around alone anymore, but when you have him, why the hell would you play with yourself? You know he’s going to come every night, or at least you hope he is. And the truth is, one he must already know judging by the pleased look in his eyes, even if he had told you he wasn’t coming, you still wouldn’t have touched yourself. Nothing can compare to his touch; you don’t need to try anything else to know this.

A shaky breath escapes Jungkook at your next mental confession. You don't think you were ever really mad at him. You just knew that acting out would get him to come tonight. Jungkook scoffs, looking up at the darkening sky as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

Are you even really sorry? His eyes dart to yours as if wanting to see for himself if your thoughts are true. You don't know if you can answer this question with his eyes on you like that. But, that conclusion seems to be enough of an answer for him. 

He shakes his head and wraps his arms around your waist. Pouting, he asks, “Do you know how worried I was?”

You mirror his expression, drawing a pout in your features as well, and press your chest against his. His breath hitches and body melts into yours, betraying his intentions. Noticing his struggle to stay upset with you, you pepper wet kisses under his chin and along his jawline. 

Jungkook can’t resist you for much longer. He whimpers as his hips grind into yours. Bending at your every touch, he unravels beneath you. A giddy smile breaks your pouty features and it’s only then that he seems to realize how much he’s let himself go in front of you. His grip on your hips hardens. As you kiss up his face, you find his lust-stuck eyes dark with dominance. He hates being vulnerable to your touch this much.

“No, baby,” he rasps. You quirk a brow. “I hate how drunk you get off the power.” 

A proud smirk twitches on the corner of your lips, confirming his words. You’ve barely had taste for the power he’s accusing you of getting drunk off of. However, the fact that you’re able to control him so well with such a small dose fills your heart with pride. 

“You’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“I am?”

There’s a certain cocky pitch in your tone that rings sharply to his ears. His brows twitch, wings flutter, and gaze wavers. He may have been able to look past your exaggerations of dismissal and the way you tease him, but to speak to him with very little regard for his power unleashes something primal within him. You can always tell you’ve really pissed him off when he pouts, clenches his jaw, and breathes so steadily, you can barely hear him. 

Jungkook watches you carefully. “One week without my dick and suddenly you think you own it?” 

“Don’t I?”

A sharp smack lands on your ass. The slow draft of the water does not slow his hands down. In fact, it only increases the sting and accuracy. You gasp and fall forward against him only to be spanked again. Another moan leaves you, this time with your lips hovering over his. Exchanging breathes, a dangerous thought occurs to you. Your lips are over his. What’s to stop you from spit-

He growls. You tremble against him. The purely thunderous rumble in his chest rattles your soul. “I fucking dare you,” he hisses.

Though you want to heed his warning, you can’t help but notice how he keeps his mouth open despite his disapproval. You gather what you have in your mouth and pause for a moment, knowing that he knows what you’re about to do. His mouth remains open. You drop the wad of spit it without a second thought. 

Jungkook swallows it almost immediately. “You’re going to regret that,” he breathes. 

“I highly doubt that,” you smirk.

The cocky persona you seemed to have picked up from him crumbles when his middle finger pushes between your cheeks and circles your tightest hole. His words about his favourite ways to fuck you return to you in distant echoes. You arch your back and push your ass into his hand. His finger threatens to slip in. 

“You’re barely ready,” he scoffs.

Do you harbour reservations based on fears that he just might be too big to fit in your ass? Of course you do; he’s huge. A fact of which he can’t help but always smirk at when you point it out. But, you’re hungry for him and you know that he would never do anything to hurt you. Letting out a shaky breath, you affirm, “I can take it.”

“You aren’t wet enough.”

“Then, change that.”

The continuous authority that drips in your tone has tested his patience for the last time. Reaching a hand out of the fountain, Jungkook grabs for something on the ground. You try to lean over him and sneak a peek at what he’s looking for, but the friction of your clit against his length has you shuddering back in place. 

A little smile breaks Jungkook’s previously callous expression. He pecks your neck and laughs quietly against your skin as he mutters, “You’re adorable.” 

Heat rushes down to your core instead of your face at the little praise. You lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips when you catch a glimpse of something gold in your peripherals. Glancing up, you find him clutching onto his bow. Before you have the chance to ask what he’s planning, Jungkook only just drops the tip of his bow in to break the surface of the water. A misty rose gold tints the clarity. Little flicks of sparkling gold twinkle back at you as you watch the fountain filter the essence all around you. 

You cautiously meet gaze. He always confirms new things with you before acting on anything, no matter how mad or horny he is. His rash decision to spike the fountain with an unknown substance chills your blood for a second. You start to shift back from him a bit when he breaks the silence. 

“It’s just a lubricant,” he quickly explains. A relieved breath, you didn’t realize you were holding, leaves you. Shifting back against him, you nudge your nose against his. “Sex is a bit different underwater, baby, and I don’t have time to get you as ready as you need to be.” 

A gentle nibble on his lip is all it takes for the rush of the fountain to be the only sound in the silence that settles upon you. His hands guide your hips against his, the fiction much smoother now with that hint of lubrication swirling around. You run a hand through his hand and tug his head back to be greeted with the sweet rumble of his laughter. You can’t help but giggle with him as you place soft kisses along the side of his neck. 

Jungkook quietly moans in little whines and breathless gasps. Every shudder of his wings and furrow of his brows makes you want to rip your dress off and be just as naked and against him. But, then again, there’s something powerful to the taste of being fully clothed and still destroying a man’s composure. You barely have to do anything and Jungkook bends to your every will. You can now understand why he believes you’re so drunk on power, but the truth is you always had this power. He knows this, most likely wanting you to realize it too if he’s the one that suggested you stay clothed. The only difference now is that he’s openly displaying the ways you unravel him rather than keeping it to himself. 

“Do you see what I mean now?” He asks in a breathless whisper. You trail your kiss up to his cheek and moan against it as he continues, “You’re so smart and beautiful and precious.” 

Jungkook pauses, stilling your hips and pulling his face away from yours to look into your eyes. He parts his lips to speak but his words keep falling short somehow. 

His words so far have already ignited an untamable fire not only between your legs, but within your bones as well. He is drenched in every part of you. Shifting to a softer touch, you untangle your fingers from his damp hair and cup his cheeks the same way he had done to you not too long ago. “Go on,” you tease, tossing him a playful look. 

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t even smirk. His eyes, though hinted with amusement, continue to be lost in some sort of trance. He knows you’re curious, but keeps this little bit of thought to himself. Lifting your hips, he hovers your entrance over his erection and finally smirks. 

“Beg a little,” he orders. Though his voice barely carries to the other side of the fountain, the authority in his tone is still as clear and hard as it always is.

Your power trip must have really messed with him if he’s having you beg without giving you a good reason to. An annoyed sigh fans against your collarbone as your body continues to hover over his. “Don’t play,” he rasps, “You know that’s not it. I can hear the truth before the lie, darling.”

That’s an unfair advantage but one you don’t mind too much if it means he talks to you like this all the time. He’s right too. You know that’s not what’s got him eager to hear you beg. It’s the way you beg that’s got him eager to fuck you. Clenching around emptiness, needy to be filled and ruined, you whine a tiny “please,” then a string of profanities as his tip strokes its way to your entrance from your clit. 

“Again.”

Back arched, breasts against his bare chest, and hands clutched onto his biceps, you place your lips on the shell of his ear and blow a gentle breeze against it. “Please,” you mewl. 

Jungkook’s hands tremble and he all but drops you on his cock. Pussy in an instant stretch, with very little room to adjust, you cry out in his ear. Though your voice may be broken and pitchy, Jungkook doesn’t flinch. When it comes to you, the usual results never qualify. You are one of a kind, as unique as him. 

His muscles flex under your palms. Hands finding their place on your ass again, Jungkook guides your thrusts. He can practically feel your weakening body with every bounce and grind against him. You know he can. He shows it in every tightening grip on your ass and grunt in his moans. 

The knot in your stomach is already twisting, conspiring against your better judgement on how long you think you can last. You’ve never been able to outlast him, cumming twice before he finally reaches his first orgasm of the night. He’s just so big and hits those right places way before the rest of him can catch up. How he manages to brush up against your softest spots within the first three thrusts will always be beyond your comprehension. He’s just that good. 

The choked moan that leaves him resembles a chuckle. A frustrated whine escapes you. Is he still listening to your thoughts? It’s not like you’re thinking anything he already hasn’t heard you say, or rather scream, but it still somewhat embrassasses you to know that he will always hear how whipped you are for him. 

“Tell me,” you plead with your lips pressed just under his ear. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

The sparkling water around you begins to splash out of the fountain bowl as Jungkook speeds up the pace of your bounces. Deciding your ass seems to be too much of a distraction to him, you pause mid-thrust and move his hands up to your hips. A shuddering gasp escapes him as you carry on with the bounces at his same pace. Your ass claps in and out of the water, thrashing water all around the ground. 

Jungkook digs his short nails into the flesh of your hips, growling every time you whine at his tightening grip. Forehead against his, you catch his gaze and offer an innocent one. “I’m-” he cuts himself off, realizing how breathless and dazed he sounds. You nuzzle your face into his as a silent attempt to encourage him to continue. “Kiss me,” he begs. 

If you weren’t stuffed full of his cock and extremely enchanted by the way he pretends to sound composed, you would’ve refused to kiss him and insisted that he finish that sentence. And that knot in the pit of your gut only tightens with the grip of your pussy. Pressing your lips against his, you slip your tongue in and let him swallow your moans. 

The moment his tongue tackles yours, your legs quake. Thrusts hesitating, your body begins to spasm against his. Your hands grapple at his shoulder just to ensure you stay a float as your threatening orgasm continues to build. 

“Jungk-” You break the kiss to tell him, to ask as he has taught you over and over again. 

But Jungkook only latches his lips onto yours once more. You gulp down a moan or two of his before he hisses against your lips, “Just fucking cum. Now, kiss me.”

You may have been drunk off power not too long ago, but as you kiss him again, you realize that he is drunk off you. And that’s all it takes for your ograsm to finally rush over you. Jungkook lifts his hips up to meet your stuttering ones. Your lips fall off his. Face buried in the crook of his neck, you cry out his name and cream all over his cock. 

“I’m thinking you’re such a good girl for cumming like this,” he suddenly whispers as you ride out your orgasm. Even with your ears ringing and mind shuddering from the second wave of cum gushing all over his hard, huge cock, you can still hear every dirty praise clearly. “My whore got herself off so well.”

The whine that escapes you from his words alone is borderline pornographic. Jungkook even feels it, arching his back so his chest collides with yours as well. “You’re so sexy,” he whimpers as you babble fountain water by his shoulder from exhaustion. 

Wet, wet, wet; everything is wet. You’re both drenched in lube tinted waters, cum, and your desires. You can’t revel in it though, as the skirts of your dress float the surface and corset clings to your chest all too tightly. You can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone tell him that you need a quick break. 

“No,” he groans, settling you on his thighs. Circling his hips into yours, Jungkook grips onto the nape of your neck to peel you off him. 

Your heart stumbles as your mind races to figure out what you’ve done that was so wrong, he’s wanting to stop the night here. “I’m sorr-”

“You don’t need a break,” he sighs between moans. He sits himself up, his wings extending only to drape over the lip of the fountain’s bowl. All movements underwater cease as he digs his fingers into the bust of your corset. In one swift motion, Jungkook tears the first few laces apart, instantly sending a full batch of oxygen to your lungs. 

Gasping, you gaze down at your torn dress before glaring at him. Maybe with just a wet dress, you could have explained your way out of whatever mess this is going to get you in when you attempt to return to the party. However, a torn dress will not be that easy to explain. You want to glare at him and tell him off but he shoves his face between your now exposed breasts and moans before you’re able to. 

He moves your hands up his shoulders so your arms drape over them, then settles them on his favourite place; your ass. Two of his fingers push between your cheeks and stroke your hole. His touch there is much smoother than before and you suspect that it must be the bow-tipped lube. 

You moan quietly, resting your chin atop his damp head as he kisses and bites at your breasts. Your pussy still hasn’t recovered from your orgasm seconds ago. In fact, truth be told, your entire body is having trouble recuperating after cumming that hard in a week. But you want more of him and he still hasn’t filled you of his godly load yet. And with his fingers circling around your asshole, you can’t deny him the second ride he’s patiently waiting for. 

A slow grind of hips into hips is a good start, you tell yourself. You’ve never really had to deal with this before, since Jungkook would usually just keep pounding into you despite the fact that he knows your limbs are exhausted from one orgasm already. Clenching your jaw, you start to bounce again, ass clapping against his thighs in suppressed thumps underwater. The overstimulated pleasure brings tears to your eyes. You cry out his name and hold onto his wings. 

He groans against your right breast from the contact. You’re about to apologize, knowing his wings are sensitive, when he shoves his fingers into your tightest hole. You freeze and throw your head back from how easily he slipped in and how fucking good it feels. Jungkook scissors his fingers within you, peeking a glance up from between your breasts. 

“Are you okay, baby?” he slurs. He licks up the valley of your breasts, holding your gaze shamelessly. 

“Mhm,” you mewl. 

Resuming your thrusts, you feel your tears run down your face freely. You don’t even have it in you to wipe them away. Your hands, instead, centre around his back. You scratch at it for a bit until you feel him add a finger. Moans tumble into his wet hair as your fingers trail up the length of his spine. 

Jungkook stiffens. A choked groan tears from his throat and he hides his face further into your breasts. They bounce around his cheeks with each hop on his cock. Too consumed by your own overstimulated pleasure to dwell much thought on his movements, or lack thereof, you mindlessly repeat the action. You stroke his spine once more and then you hear it. 

He sobs a moan.

You still your hips, looking down at him. As you run a hand through his hair, you’re about to ask if he’s okay when the whooshing flutter of wings obscures your vision. One second, you’re straddling his lap with his fingers in your ass. The next, you’re the one submerged in the water with him hovering over you. Wings fully extended, face stained with tears, Jungkook makes sure your arms are resting over his shoulders like before then takes up a deadly speed of thrusts into you. 

His speed defies the laws of physics, hips moving much faster than they should underwater. Half the fountain is on the ground from the force of his movement. All you can do is sob with him as your body becomes his only source of pleasure. 

What’s gotten into him? He doesn’t even have an interest in your ass anymore, hands locked in a death-like grip on your hips. In a moment of pure animalistic pleasure, you just wish you knew what’s running through his head. 

“You,” he growls in a pout. “You’re all I think about, you fucking whore. You’re all I can ever think about.” He swallows thickly before continuing, “You can’t go one second without thinking of me and now all I can hear is your voice. All the time; it’s you, you, you.”

You don’t know if you should apologize or cum from the simple confession alone. His voice, his words, his entire fucking attitude has you aching to cum all over again. 

Jungkook stumbles over his chuckles. “You just love seeing me like this, huh? You love seeing me worship you, baby?” 

Worship. Does he want you to cum that badly that he’s willing to lie? You both know he doesn’t worshi-

A sharp thrust derails your thoughts. Your eyes roll back as you moan out his name. 

“You’re my goddess,” he confesses. “You’re my only goddess.”

He repeats the phrase over and over again until that’s all that rings in your ear, in your heart, in your soul. His release paints your tightening walls. The knots within your gut have unraveled long ago and it’s only when your blurred vision somewhat clears and convulsing body trickles into tremors do you realize that you’ve both cum together to the words he’s still repeating. 

Voice a tiny, gruff whisper, Jungkook whispers, “My goddess.”

He’s serious. He must be. He truly worships you. The tears in his eyes, the break in his voice, the truth is clear and just as starkly bare as he is between your legs. His eyes suddenly flash with worry, almost as if he’s recognized what he’s said. He meant what he said, you realize, but he never meant to say it. 

Jungkook gingerly pulls out of you as you try to seat yourself up. You pull your legs into your chest and watch him take a seat beside you. He leans his head back against the rim of the fountain and gazes up at the sky. You follow his gaze, noticing it’s gotten much darker out, the silver stream of stars piercing an indigo backdrop no more. A midnight black cloaks the world above you, a crescent moon lighting up your night and an array of stars twinkling down at you. Though your mind is still foggy from your recent orgasms, body still shuddering, you can’t help but think about his words. What makes him think you belong up there, amongst true gods and goddesses? 

His wings twitch as they tuck themselves behind him. You know that combination well. He’s hiding something. Usually, you don’t ask, knowing he will only deflect the topic and shower you with attention and praises instead. But, his spoken thoughts are now looping around your mind, begging to be answered. 

“Jungkook,” you mutter, shifting closer to him. Face still stained with tears, he forces himself to look at you. The questions are on the tip of your tongue; what, why, when? However, as you part your lips all you can bring yourself to say is, “I didn’t hear anything.”

You’re my goddess. 

The words return with ten times the force they previously held. It’s almost like denying their existence is just as blasphemous as saying them. You swallow thickly and try to extract the words from your mind, but it's too late. They are as entrenched in your bones as your affection for him is. There is no undoing what has been done. 

You bring a hand up to his face and wipe away the stray tears. He melts into you almost immediately. Maybe it’s best if you return to the party now. You can make up some excuse as to why you’re drenched and torn on your way there. Jungkook’s state is all but worrying and you feel as though you shouldn’t be witnessing this. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he finally says. His voice has regained composure and tone controlled. No more does he choke on his words or laughter. The authority he indirectly bestowed upon you has been returned to him. 

You should tell him you’re done, that he shouldn’t say things he doesn’t mean to. You should tell him that he shouldn’t play with your feelings or your heart like this. But, again, the words wither away the moment you part your lips to voice them. And, instead, you ask, “How do you want me?”

Jungkook smirks. His hands snake around your hips and lift you up onto his lap. Back to his chest, you make yourself comfortable, leaning into him. He pushes the excess fabric of your dress aside just to get you as close as possible. Then, you feel it against your ass, pushing its way between your cheeks. His erection is just as hard as when you started. It’s no wonder why he’s not done with you yet. You suppose he didn’t just confess something he can’t take back only to still leave with a full hard-on. 

“I thought you didn’t hear anything,” he whispers in your ear as his hands cup the underside of your thighs. 

You nervously look at him over your shoulder. “I didn’t.”

He chews on your earlobe, warm tongue caressing your jaw. “I should stop thinking about it,” he whimpers against your skin. “I should stop thinking about you.”

I’m not a goddess, you want to tell him. But, by the way he sucks in a sharp breath, you can tell he’s heard and isn’t impressed. He opens his mouth to say something, maybe to scold you for degrading yourself, or to correct you. The words never arrive. 

Jungkook shakily exhales. No more trips into his thoughts it would seem. He remains silent as he spreads your legs and swiftly lifts you up. You expect another harsh round into your pussy but his tip shoves its way through your asshole instead. Throwing your head back, you try to suppress your scream by holding your breath. 

It doesn’t hurt as much as it usually does during the first initial thrust of a toy. Whatever he tinted the water with must be the result of a smooth entrance, and a deliciously blissful stretch. You let out a breath you held, along with a loud, high-pitched squeal. Jungkook folds you up well, holding the bend of each knee into your chest as he continues to slowly lower you onto him. 

Once you finally take him all in, you settle your entire body back into him. Shuddering breaths, drifting eyes, you hold him deep within you and try not to completely lose yourself in a fit of moans and pleads. You don’t even know what you’d be begging for, just that a string of “pleases” will leave you. 

Are you getting bigger, you mentally ask. 

He chuckles and shakes his head as his nose nuzzles into your cheeks. He can’t get enough. Inhaling you deeply, you realize that he can’t get enough of you. He even said so in so many words. And you don’t have much of a problem with that considering you can’t ever get enough of him either. You’ve consumed all of his thoughts it would seem and he’s even lost himself to you so much so that he’s declared you his one and only god-

“Fuck!” 

The stream of the fountain rushes down on your clit. He holds you straight beneath it as his hips move up and down against your ass. You’re at his total mercy, every thought of ever being in control a complete joke. You rest your head against his shoulders, trembling hands placed over his as a desperate attempt to control yourself.

Your first water wave induced orgasm hits you within seconds. You don’t know for sure, but you’re all but certain that you’re cumming. Your eyes have been screwed shut for a while, and body shaking since this endeavor in the fountain began. Only when you try to close your legs do you confirm that you indeed came.

Jungkook keeps them open though. He ignores your pathetic scratches on his knuckles as you try to explain to him that it’s all just too fucking much for you to take. “Just let me cum,” he tries to soothe between little hushes and murmurs about how good you’re taking his cock. 

But then your second orgasm from the fountain hits and you can’t stop squirming in his hold. He keeps you folded and under the water’s subjection nonetheless, somehow even cooling the temperature down. As you shiver under the cold rush, Jungkook positions you higher against him so that the water pours into you instead. You realize, pussy clean of his cum now, that you’re getting fucked by a fountain; a fountain that he controls. And you fucking love it. 

Then, there’s the fullness of your ass. Every inch of you is his. If you’re his goddess, he must know that he’s your god. Your one and only. 

“Careful,” he warns against your thoughts. 

You have an assful of his cock in you, getting off more times than you can both count in a fountain that does not belong to either of you; when have the two of you ever been careful? In fact, your recklessness is what brought you together. Had he not seen you on your balcony every night, he might not be here at all. Carelessness runs in your veins, laced in your tone as you cry out, “You’re my god!”

The clouds rumble above you. The heavens can warn all they want. Interrupting sexual endeavors would do them more harm than it would do you. 

“If you want to cum, you’ll behave,” Jungkook hisses. His thrusts suddenly snap into something primal. 

Your body bounces every time, water rushing down your clit once more. This time you feel your orgasm build, and fast. Toes curling, eyes rolling to the back of your head, you hold onto every twisting, clenching knot at the pit of your stomach. 

“Ask!”

“Please?”

A particular ram into your ass lets you know that half-hearted plea won’t get you very far. He doesn’t deign to repeat himself. Instead, he lets his harsh movements and bone-rattling growls speak for him. 

“Please let me cum, Jungkook, please.”

“Again.”

“Please, please, please, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t say it. But you feel it. You feel the approval in the form of a gentle kiss against your ear. Hips a craze, rolling against the wave, you clench your jaw and try to channel all your pleasure in a high-pitched moan rather than the cry your lungs are desperate to let out. Your cum gushes then, juices squirt seconds later. Entire body on fire, under the scrutiny of the stream as you try and fail to recollect yourself. You’re shattered, ruined, obliterated by his cock and this fountain of fantasies. 

“That’s a good girl,” he coos. “That’s my good girl.”

His. His. Gods, the things you would do to be his always, not just under the cover of the night. Jungkook releases your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist as he grounds your ass over his hips. Load after load shoots within you, making your giggle and shake with ecstasy at the filling sensation of being stuffed so well. 

“Ah-yah, baby,” he groans in a scowl against your jawline. “You’ve got the tightest little hole for me, hmm? If you weren’t so exhausted, I’d have us do this all over again.”

Exhaustion. Yes, that’s what you’re feeling. With your mind foggy and broken from the countless orgasms he’s sent through you, you can barely find it in you to breathe, let alone think to go for another round. Your body’s only excuse for staying afloat is the winged god behind you. He clutches onto you as if his only reason for surviving is you. And judging by his previous confession, that very well might be the case. 

Jungkook rests back against the fountain’s edge once he’s done. Gasping for air, he continues to hold onto you, kissing your shoulder mindlessly. “I never really know how much I miss you until I have you,” he whispers. His teeth graze your supple skin. 

Body limp, you can’t find it in you to reply. All you can think is after he pulls out, he’s going to fly back to Gods know where and leave you to hobble back to the party alone. After all, isn’t that how every night ends? You two share a passionate few moments, both have out of body experiences when orgasming, then you fall asleep and he sneaks away. What’s to say this night won’t be any different?

“I thought I told you to trust me?”

“I do.”

He scoffs. You don’t blame him. Your words are hardly convincing. It has nothing to do with the fact that you just came five or six different times. It’s the lack of commitment in your tone that tips him off. You hear it too. You really do trust him. He’s just let you down too many times to count. 

“What more do I need to do? I’m with you every chance I get.” 

Exhaustion. It’s not a physical one, not the one you’re still recovering from. It’s one of the mind. He’s exhausted with this back and forth. You are too. This isn’t exactly what you thought your first relationship would look like. 

He pauses, body freezing beneath you. 

Oh, right. He’s in your mind. He heard that. Is that not what this is, though? Isn’t this a relationship?

“Say it.”

“What?”

“Say it,” You repeat, looking at him over your shoulder. 

Jungkook starts to soften in you. You’ve really set him off now. He lifts you up and off his cock, sitting you on his thigh and ignoring the way you hiss and whine at the discomfort. You turn to glare at him over your shoulder only to find him already glaring at you. 

“Do you want me to come back?”

Is he threatening you? “Do I have to remind you who came here begging-”

“You lied!” He cuts you off with a shout. 

“You knew that, though. You knew I was lying,” you point out, a pout starting to overtake your features. “You came because you missed me.”

“That’s never been a secret.”

“Say it then, Jungkook. Say this is a relationship.”

He falls silent. His once annoyed eyes can’t even meet yours. 

“I know you’re jealous of Lee Ky-”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffs. Shaking his head, he forces himself to meet your gaze. 

Sad tears vary drastically from blissful ones. Tears of bliss soothe the pleasure and make it bearable. Tears of sadness sting your eyes, pierce your heart and shed any part of you that can make such a situation bearable. Sad tears only remind you of your pain. 

Your eyes sting with despair as he regards you with such frustration. Emptying your mind, discarding all thoughts, you ask, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

Jungkook sighs, but not a beat of hesitance affects his answer. “Of course.”

You raise a brow. See?

“Fine. This is a relationship,” he mutters. “What does that change?”

Nothing. It hasn’t changed a thing. You don’t even feel any different, any better. Maybe it’s because you forced it out of him? You don’t know. The tears only fall faster though, and you can’t bear to look at him. Your heart’s conflicted, shattered and replaced all at once because, though he is the cause of your tears, his presence is also the only thing soothing them. You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your temple over his. 

You can at least relish in his company for a few moments longer. And his scent, that intoxicating waft of creamy coconut and sweet peony orchards returns now that all that mud and grime has been washed off. The scent is comforting enough for you to relax in his arms and forget your pain for a second. 

“That’s not what I smell like,” he whispers. You tilt your head away to get a better look at him. A little smirk tugs on the corner of his lip as he says, “It’s what you smell like.”

Impossible. He’s always smelled like at the end of every night. You’d cuddle into his chest and inhale a breathful of the tropical scent. How could that be what you smell like if he reeks of it? The knowing look in his eyes is enough of a hint for you to realize you know the answer. He’s dripping with your essence every night because he spent the night in you. You wonder if you smell like him too. 

He sighs, circling his arms lazily around your waist. He deeply inhales your skin, smiling against it, but doesn’t answer your mentally posed question. Damp hair clinging to the sides of your faces, you settle in the other’s company. One of his hands rises from the water and wipes away your tears. As you sniffle, he whispers, “I promise I’m-”

“Doing the best you can,” you croak, finishing his sentence with him. 

Yes, yes. You’ve heard it all before. You don’t think he’s lying, your Eros is no liar. You do believe that he is, in fact, doing the best he can. But if his best is only a few hours every night, you’re not sure you can accept that. And, yet, you also can’t find it in you to truly, with all your heart, reject it as well. 

He needs to prove his devotion to you in another way. A risky thought then tiptoes into your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you take a deep breath and ask, “Could you do me a tiny favour?”

Jungkook’s hesitant to meet your gaze. He glances at you through his peripherals, otherwise keeping his gaze locked on your breasts. Whether he’s trying to distract himself or not, you still push them out a bit in hopes that they will grant you the “yes” you’re hoping to hear.

He nods. 

With a little kiss upon his cheek, you stroke his shoulder with the soft tips of your fingers and ask, “Would you please escort me to my sister’s wedding?”

He turns his head away from you. Staring across at the other side of the garden, Jungkook withdraws from you. His hands fall off your frame as he heavily sighs. You press yourself against him, trying to regain his attention but he only shakes his head. 

“Acting cute won’t make this any easier,” he grumbles. 

You huff and slouch against him. “How about just the rehearsal dinner?” You try to negotiate. When he rolls his eyes, you quickly add, “I’ll be stuck with Kyon and honestly I don’t think I handle another minute of his incorrect reilieration about history.” 

Jungkook snaps his head towards you at the mention of another man. You cock a brow to which he only scoffs at. “You’re being obnoxious,” he seethes. “And unbelievably selfish.”

“So?” you question before you can stop yourself. His words sting, slicing through your confidence all too easily. There isn’t much room for thinking and even if there was, he would be listening to them anyways. So, you might as well say what you want out loud. “Was it not selfish of you to make me wait-”

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters under his breath. “I’m not going to repeat myself, (Y/N). You can’t keep telling me that you trust me only to keep bringing this up. I was busy. You had to wait. It didn’t kill you.” 

Your tears have returned. He rolls his eyes at the sight. Whatever remnants of your heart you thought you had has been obliviated. “You make me feel so loved,” you whisper as your hands retract from his body. 

Jungkook’s expression disarms all hostility. His eyes reflect regret but you’ve heard, seen all you need to. 

“But why do you only make me feel this way when we’re naked?”

“You’re not naked,” he’s quick to reply. 

It’s your turn to scoff. How can a god be this dense? “Aren’t I, though? Tell me, Jeon Jungkook, whose thoughts are open for the other to hear? Who is the one waiting, praying for the other’s attention? Who has been bare since first glance on the stupid balcony you left last night?”

Before he couldn’t meet your eye out of disinterest, but now he avoids your gaze out of guilt. Yes, you’ve been obnoxious, selfish, maybe even a little entitled. However, you’ve had a god to yourself for months. You’ve had endless moments of ecstasy that only end in soft cuddles and whispered sweet nothings into the night. Is wanting that attention when the sun hasn’t set yet too much to ask? 

Jungkook parts his lips to reply when his eyes suddenly shoot up. He sits up, almost knocking you off his lap and snaps his head towards the very pathway you came from. 

“(Y/N)!” 

You gasp upon hearing your mother’s voice. The clicks of her heels draw further towards you and before you can look at Jungkook and ask what you should do, what you should say, you’re thrown into the fountain. 

Ice cold waves engulf you as you inhale a good chunk of the fountain. Your lungs burn from the accidental intake of water. You only just get your hands under you and sit yourself up and out of the water as quickly as you can. Familiar shouts ring in the distance. Coughing up the fountain, you push your hair back and look around the garden. 

Your mother is staring at you in utter shock, screaming at you to come out but refusing to help you herself. As you try to lift yourself up, you find the water has returned to its usual clarity and that Jungkook is nowhere to be found. He seriously left you to almost drown in the fountain by yourself? He’d be lucky to get more than a kiss from your tomorrow night. You can’t believe he has the audacity to yell at you then let you there like that. In a fit of anger, you send a lashing string after lashing string of profanities to him in the form of a prayer. 

“Miss (L/N)!”

Your blood chills. Hands on the lip of the fountain, you turn towards his voice. Fully dressed in a dark blue suit, his wings nowhere to be found, and dry hair pulled back a neat ponytail, Jungkook rushes over to you. His strong hands settle on your waist before he effortlessly scoops you out.

All you can do is stare. Mouth agape, eyes vacant, you try to figure out why the hell he made himself all presentable and left you looking like a mess. You want to whisper your profanities and swear that he will never touch your ass for leaving you in such a mess, but all you can find yourself saying is, “Mr. Jeon.”

His eyes shoot to the sky as your mother rushes towards you. Nothing is making sense and you only wish you can read his mind to know what to do next. 

“Goodness, (Y/N),” your mother hisses as she rushes towards you. “Cover yourself!”

Looking down at your bust, you gasp. Oh, right, he tore it. Crossing your arms over your chest, you look up at him and glare. But Jungkook only takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s only when you feel your mother’s arms around you do you realize that you’re shivering. 

“What have you done to yourself now?” she whispers in your ear. 

Her eyes then settle on Jungkook. That look graces her face. That look of assessment. She’s scanning the unknown god up and down, looking for signs of wealth, status, and reliability. It doesn’t take her long to innocently smile and fall victim to his beauty, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Jeon.”

He bows his head then turns to you and says, “I told you not to sit on the edge.” Jungkook fakes a polished chuckle. He shakes his head at you when your eyes narrow at him. “I told her, Mrs. (L/N), I told her the marble is slippery. But, Miss (L/N) just had to get a better look at those flowers.”

You glance back at the fountain with your mother, finding an array of tiger lilies floating in the bowl. All this trouble to explain why you’re wet? You look back at him cautiously and wonder what the end of this conversation is meant to look like. 

“Yes, she loves flowers,” your mother sighs. She then sets her sights on Jungkook once more and asks, “Jeon… I’m not sure I know of the Jeons. Are you from out of town?”

Jungkook charms your mother instantly with that kind, toothy smile of his. He nods and compliments her quick wits, to which she laughs, then explains, “I’m visiting for the wedding.”

The wedding? Does that mean?

“Miss (L/N) invited me. I’m rather glad to have run into you, Mrs. (L/N) as I was hoping to ask permission to escort your daughter to the wedding.”

One of your hands, previously covering your right breast, shoots up to cover your mouth out of utter shock. Did he orchestrate all this just to agree to your favour? You hope you haven’t guilted him into it. You’ve done that to get him here and admit to your relationship; you already regret doing that. You just hope he’s acting on his own accord right now. 

Jungkook shoots you a wink as your mother fixes the jacket so that your uncovered breast is concealed once more. Sighing of relief, you offer him a grateful smile. 

“Are you sure?” Your mother suddenly asks, looking back to Jungkook. “(Y/N) is the one you want to escort?”

He glances at you and smiles. “Miss (L/N) the one and only thing I’m always sure about.”

Your mother raises a brow at you. She smells something fishy, knows something is off about this entire encounter. You watch her carefully as she looks between you and Jungkook. And when you expect her to refuse, to lecture you in front of him, your mother adopts an opposite approach. She smiles upon the two of you and shifts you closer to Jungkook. 

“I would be delighted to have you escort my daughter, Mr. Jeon,” she beams. “Do you mind walking (Y/N) to the carriages? I cannot let her go back and drip all over the Barbury’s rugs.” 

Jungkook offers you his elbow, returning your mother’s smile. “It would be my pleasure.” 

You stumble towards Jungkook, your mother practically pushing you into him. With a shaky hand, you take his arm and let him guide you out of the maze. After a turn or two within the tall hedges, you part your lips to ask him what he thinks he’s doing. 

However, Jungkook fills the silence before you can. “I’ll buy you an entire bouquet of lilies, darling. Just promise me to never fall into a fountain again,” he laughs, exaggerating the volume of his voice. 

This time, you pick up on his hints and realize that your mother must still be close by if he’s still putting up such an act. “I promise it won’t happen again, Mr. Jeon,” you innocently reply. 

A smirk, you know is real, graces his features. He walks you around the manor and to the front of the house before breaking out of this noble character of his. “I think she bought it. Your mother is a very suspicious woman.”

You scoff. “That’s just one of many titles she holds,” you mumble under your breath. As you walk towards your family’s carriage, you can’t help but ask, “Why did you do that?”

Jungkook stops you before the door and takes both your hands in his. Those amused eyes linger around your exposed breasts. He chuckles a bit at the way you arch your back to keep them there, making you giggle along with him. 

“Are you happy?”

You pause. Is that why he did this? To make you happy?

“Are you?”

He gives you a pointed look. “Answer the question, (Y/N).”

“Are you just doing this to make me happy, Jungkook?” You ask instead. “Because I will go back to her and tell her that we were both in that fountain and-”

“So what if I am?” He cuts you off. “I want you to be happy, (Y/N). Why is that so wrong?”

It’s not. There’s nothing wrong with him wanting you to be happy. But you want him to be happy with his decision. You’ve forced him into admitting things and meeting you. You don’t want to force him into this too. You want him to want to take you, to want to be with you. That is what true happiness is to you. It’s Jungkook unconditionally wanting you the way you unconditionally want him. 

Jungkook cups your face. Leaning his forehead against yours, he whispers, “I’m sorry I make you think I don’t want you just as much as you want me.” His nose brushes against yours, hitching your breath as he presses himself against you and continues in a breathy whisper, “Watching you cry breaks me in ways I can’t describe. And being the reason for your tears just destroys me, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to see you smile again.” 

Then, he presses his lips upon yours, reaching for the carriage door behind you. When he pulls away, he doesn’t give you a chance to reply, ushering you into your seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow night, baby,” he smiles. 

You’ve misjudged him for the third time tonight. Thinking he doesn’t care for you, thinking he left you, and thinking he doesn’t want you. All you can do now is pray that he forgives you for all the curses you’ve hurled his way. 

He chuckles and places kisses on both your hands. “It was very amusing actually.” 

You nod. “I’m sure.” But, you’re still sorry. 

With one last round of kisses over your knuckles, Jungkook promises, “I won’t be late.”

“I’ll be waiting regardless,” you immediately reply. 

The next three words are on the tip of your tongue. He can almost hear them, judging by the twitch of his brows. You don’t have a chance to say them though as he clears his throat and shuts the door. You watch him from the window, shakily exhaling. 

Jungkook calls the coachmen. The carriage jerks forward. The lasting image of his smirk, those sweet eyes and that muscular frame is all you try to see. However, in seconds, he’s pulled from view. The only memory you have of him remains with that sacrilegious confession in a fountain of fantasies. 

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[btsqualityy]

Assuage: Chapter 19

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: ABO (Alpha/Beta/Omega) dynamics, angst, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

“You did what?!” Taehyung screamed and everyone in the room cringed from the sheer volume of his voice. After the chaos of the day, everyone was gathered in Namjoon and Hyorin’s cabin in an attempt to regroup and discuss what needed to happen next. 

“Tae, let it go,” Jungkook whispered but Taehyung shook his head as he looked at his brother. 

“Fuck that! I can’t believe you kicked Yoongi hyung out of the pack!” Taehyung yelled. 

“It’s what had to be done,” Namjoon shrugged. “His loyalties came into question and I had to make a judgement call.”

“Oh yeah, so damn near choking him out was a part of that judgement call?” Taehyung scoffed.

“What?” You spoke up and everyone looked over at you as you were laid out on the couch, your head placed in Hyorin’s lap as she stroked your hair. “Joon.”

“He put the pack at risk, not to mention the fact that he betrayed you, Y/N-ah and Tae and all of us,” Namjoon pointed out. “Me choking him was honestly the least harmful thing that I could’ve done to him in that moment.”

“But he has nowhere to go and you know that!” Taehyung chastised. 

“That’s not my fault Taehyung,” Namjoon spat back. 

“Yeah well, you’re no better than Seo-hyun then,” Taehyung snorted and everyone in the room froze. 

“Tae Tae,” Jimin tsked in disapproval but Namjoon held his hand up, silencing him. 

“You know Tae, I realize that as our spoiled younger brother, the concept of responsibility may be lost on you but to me, it’s not,” Namjoon started. “As Pack Alpha, it is my job to ensure this pack’s safety. That means you, Y/N-ah, my mate, my pups, and everyone else that belongs to this pack.”

“So that means you would kick a member of this pack out if you thought that they endangered it? Even by accident?” Taehyung questioned.

“Yes, because that’s what has to be done sometimes,” Namjoon shot back. “Making difficult choices is what comes along with being Pack Alpha and it’s hard but you do what needs to be done in order to preserve the futures of the people who trust you. It’s a thankless job but I do it, without hesitation or reservation, because I fucking care and the last thing that I need is bullshit flack from one of the main people that I’m trying to look out for.”

“Joon hyung,” Taehyung tried to say but Namjoon swiftly turned his back and walked over to the front door, yanking it open and storming out. Hobi looked over at Hyorin and after receiving a nod from her, followed behind him and shut the door as he left.

“God, I can’t believe him,” Taehyung huffed as he began to pace back and forth around the living room. 

“That was a low blow Taehyung, and you know it,” you admonished him. “Joon just did what he thought was best.”

“And you know how he can get sometimes,” Hyorin added. “Joon’s extremely intelligent but he’s still an Alpha and you know how Alphas react when they or the people that they care about have been threatened.”

“That’s no excuse though,” Taehyung replied.

“It’s just different for Alphas, Tae,” Jungkook said. “As much as I don’t agree with what Joon hyung did, I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same if I were in his position. It’s about principle.”

“Fuck principle!” Taehyung exclaimed. 

“This is all my fault,” you whispered suddenly and everyone immediately looked at you, shaking their heads firmly.

“No, it’s not,” Jin told you. “You fell in love and you can’t be blamed for that.”

“Yeah, but I fell in love with a lone wolf that we didn’t know from a hole in the wall,” you sniffled. “I didn’t even ask him to explain more about his old pack because I didn’t want to be insensitive but look where that got me. Where it got us.”

“It’s not like you knew,” Jimin tried to say. “And don’t blame yourself for trying to be respectful of someone’s trauma, there’s never anything wrong with that.”

“Jimin’s right, you don’t need to beat yourself up over this,” Hyorin agreed. 

“But I can’t help but to feel so fucking dumb,” you huffed. “I let him spend my heat with me Hyo, all because my Omega liked his Alpha and I let that cloud my judgement. I should’ve thought things through more and not have rushed into it.”

“You let him spend your heat with you based on what you knew about him at the time,” Hyorin pointed out. “And don’t blame your Omega. Our wolf side doesn’t always follow the same logic as our human side but you know your Omega would never knowingly lead you astray. If your Omega trusted him, it’s because he made you feel like you could.”

“Something is off about all of this,” Taehyung announced suddenly, making everyone look over at him. “This entire situation just isn’t making sense.”

“What are you talking about?” Jin wondered.

“Y/N-ah, did you let Yoongi hyung explain when he came to talk to you?” Taehyung asked and you arched an eyebrow.

“What was there to explain Tae?” You questioned. 

“I just don’t know if any of us should be taking Seo-hyun’s word at face value,” Taehyung explained. “We don’t know that there’s any truth to what he said other than him saying it and we all know he’s a liar and a master manipulator.”

“For your information, yes, Yoongi told me himself that he was from Seo-hyun’s pack and that he knew Seo-hyun was the one who killed our parents,” you revealed. “But even if he didn’t, just the fact that he either belonged or still belongs to that pack is enough for me to never want to see his face or smell his scent again.”

“Maybe you should back off a little Tae Tae,” Jimin suggested. 

“Fine,” Taehyung huffed, reaching out and grabbing Jungkook’s hand before stalking over to the front door, pausing only to throw it open before stomping out. 

“You know, I really think you should calm down,” Jungkook told him as they walked down the front steps of the cabin. “We should head home and get some sleep.”

“You go, I’m gonna go to the Head Hall,” Taehyung shook his head.

“I really don’t think Joon hyung wants to talk right now.”

“No, not to see him,” Taehyung rolled his eyes as he began to walk away from Jungkook. “I’m going to look through some history records.”

“History records?” Jungkook repeated. “History records of what?”

“The Great Pack War,” Taehyung smirked knowingly and Jungkook groaned loudly, knowing that his fiancée was up to something. 

“I knew he wasn’t going to let this go,” Jungkook whispered to himself as he followed behind Taehyung.

..........................................

Since joining the Kim’s Pack, Yoongi hadn’t allowed himself to reflect back on the 10 years that he spent as a part of Seo-hyun’s pack but as he roamed around the woods carrying only a backpack and a duffle bag full of clothes while trying to find shelter for the night, it was almost as if his mind couldn’t help but to go back to that dark time. 

Of course, his life in that pack wasn’t always completely horrible. As a pack comprised mostly of Prime Alphas, they were always seen as desirable so there was always an ample amount of Omegas to fuck and that were willing to treat him like a King. In addition to that, being in a pack with several amazing hunters and builders meant that food was always plentiful and the cabins that they lived in would’ve been the stuff of royalty, if they had been living in medieval times. 

However, for every positive thing that Yoongi could remember about that pack, he could counter it with two negative things. Toxic masculinity was the basically the law that Seo-hyun’s pack lived by, and Yoongi couldn’t even remember how many times he had been referred to as weak by Seo-hyun and most of the other Alphas in the pack because he wasn’t a complete asshole like them.

He remembered how they would starve him if he didn’t hunt big enough animals. He remembered how getting into fist fights with other Alphas in the pack was the only way that he could somewhat prove himself and his worth. He could even remember the time when Seo-hyun demanded that he be chained up outside, in the dead of winter, all because he had given a pregnant Omega one of his extra blankets for her nest. 

Yoongi’s life had been like a rollercoaster every since the Great Pack War had started and he had thought that maybe he had finally found a stable life that could make him happy with the Kim Pack. Boy, did he feel foolish now. 

After walking for over an hour, Yoongi managed to find an abandoned cabin. After searching through it and finding no signs of human or animal life, he set his bags down and began to look through it. The cabin seemed to have been abandoned for a good while, so Yoongi figured that it was as good a place as any to stay while he figured out his next moves. 

“I don’t even know what the fuck that would be,” Yoongi muttered to himself as he spread a blanket onto the old, ratty couch that was placed in what Yoongi assumed was once the living room before laying down on top of it. Actually, as he thought about it, Yoongi realized that this was the first time in his life that he had ever been truly alone. Sure, he felt alone after his parents died and he was left in Seo-hyun’s pack, and he had felt alone when he first joined the Kim’s Pack but there was something different about now. 

Without any other bodies around, Yoongi found the silence deafening and with only his own thoughts to keep him company, he could only hope that he wouldn’t be forced to be left alone with them for too much longer. 

..........................................

Tag List:  @jikook-enthusiasts @veryuniquenamegoeshere @seolarsyj @littlrmills14-blog @preciouschimine @kt-rny @copenhagenspirit @min-yus​ @cheysjimin

[tomhiddelstonandzaynmalik]

Love at first sight?

Chapter 7

prologue chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 Chapter 6

Warren Worthington III x reader

Word count: 1259 words.

Warnings: language

"Once upon a time, there was a lonely creature

Mind always shrouded in darkness

Hopeless was he, without a prayer for salvation

Dwelling forever in the abyss [...]".

-The Demon Loved an Angel by Xan Abyss

"fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck,fuck!". "Had I been too forward?". "What if she thought I was a perv?". "You twat, you can't do anything right, can you?".

Warren's inner voice was screaming at him. The tender kiss and quick wink had seemed appropriate at the time for some unknown reason. You see, it wasn't Warren's style to show his affection to others, even more so with people he knew recently.

"Darling, how many times must I tell you: One shall never do any public display of affection, for it must be reserved only for those you are close to in the confinements of one's home." Warren's mom said, kneeling in front of him after his seven-year-old son had rushed to squeeze in a hug a kind waiter who'd managed to sneak one of the leftover chocolate treats before the little kid left the exclusive Gala he'd attended to with his parents. "Even when they give me chocolate truffles?" The little boy said. "Even when they give you chocolate truffles. It is not proper etiquette, Warren". The kid couldn't help the weepy look on his face. He was still too young to understand it. Why couldn't he show his love for the people he liked? Nor the silver lining from his mother's words. "People like us cannot mix with people like them". After all, the Worthingtons were one of the wealthiest families in Europe. They belonged to the elite. For them interacting with the working class was a capital sin.

Even when Warren had left his former life behind years ago, old habits die hard. Like it or not, his family's beliefs had been engraved into his mind, resulting in Warren rejecting any affection altogether that turned him into the most touch-starved man on earth. Whereas it was coming from an older man like Hank, caressing his shoulder in a comforting manner after one of his usual nightmares. Or from his only friend patting his back after he splurged out the sassiest come-back ever. Even when the physical contact had come from an almost stranger like Peter, they were quite an emotional shock, making Warren's mind rewind those interactions on an endless loop.

"[...] But then one glorious afternoon

An angel's light broke through the gloom

They were both far from home

In a land they didn't know

She held out her hand

And asked him to follow [...]".

Perhaps it was the fact you forgave him without a second thought for having almost killed you. It could have also been how you never seemed to disapprove of anything he let out about his past. Maybe it was how your beautiful Y/E/C eyes would sparkle slightly whenever your gazes crossed paths. Another possibility was how talking with you was comfortable it was light and free of judgement, allowing him to open up unconsciously. Or the way you would tilt your head to the side in curiosity when he told you about a particularly delicate subject.

"... And that's how I got stuck with this fucking monstruosities". "What the hell? They're fucking awesome, Angel!". You said, taken aback. "Well, if you say I'm an angel now, you would've lost your shit if you had seen me with my former ones". Yes, his Horseman wings were sleek and imposing but, they were nowhere near that majestic white-feathery pair of wings he used to have. "Angels were supposed to be God's soldiers, you know? I don't know about you, Angel, but these beauties do fit with the description!".

And for the first time, Warren hated them a little less. After all, you had seen beauty into the grimmest-looking part in his body.

Or most definitely, it was all of the above which had made Warren's instinct act on its own, allowing them to come out for you to see them.

"HURRY UP, YOUNG MAN!". Just like before, a shrilling sound followed by Charles's voice inside Warren's head made him twist in pain. He got so lost in himself he couldn't notice he'd been standing in the foyer all along.

It was 11:25 when he entered the professor's office, it hadn't been so late, but for someone like Charles, even 5 minutes past the agreed time was an atrocity. "Don't worry sitting down since you're this late, we only have five minutes before my next appointment". Charles wasn't pleased with Warren's tardiness but tried to remain with the same calmness so distinctive of him. "I'm sorry, I got-". "I know, I know, you got entertained with our new arrival". Charles had cut him off mid-sentence, and after mentioning you, he couldn't help the knowing smile to come up, causing Warren to feel embarrassed.

"I'll go straight to the point. Do you have any plans for yourself, warren?". the question had surprised him. Living on the streets makes you focus your energy on making it through the day. there is no time to think about the future when you don't even know if you'll make it to next week. "Not really". Warren let out. "What would you say about staying here?". "I would say, I was never a fan of homework".

The concept of living at Xavier's was weird. Wasn't it a school? The last time he set foot in a classroom, Warren had been 14. Yes, by then, he was fluent in 7 languages, played multiple instruments to perfection and could recite Shakespeare by memory. But that had been eight years ago. Who knows just how far behind the rest he would be if he started school again. "Don't worry about that, Warren. You do not necessarily need to be a student to live here. There are plenty of other options". He clarified after reading the young man's mind. "Oh yeah? like what?". He asked with an untrusting look. "You can teach music or any of the many languages you know, or train the older students... or perhaps you would like to join our "little club" ". The man was talking about the X-MEN which caused Warren's demons to show up once more. "You are not a hero you dumb bitch! You never were and you will never be".

Charles took notice of Warren's overwhelmed face and said something before it was too late. "Those were only the first things that came up to me. What I'm trying to say is, you have to start to think ahead. You survived the crash for a reason, Warren. Maybe this is life's way of telling you what happened in the past is now gone, that you need to start moving on. We all want you to stay, Warren. Not just to be a passer-by." The Professor was wheeling towards the door where Warren stood doubtful. "Just think about what I said, please." "Now, if you will excuse me. I'm about to ask a young lady the very same thing". With that, The Professor wheeled out headed to the infirmary room.

"That cleaver old man". Warren mutter to himself, amazed by Charles' intellect. He knew if he pulled the right strings, like implying the possibility of you staying at Xavier's, Charles would honestly make him consider the idea of settling down here too.

"[...] They knew they had to return home

But he could not say goodbye

The thought of losing her forever

Ripped through him inside[...]".

And maybe, he wasn't so wrong after all.

[stanknotstark]

Astral Pt. 8 (Loki x Reader)

Ok guys they’re REUNITED! God i hope you all know that I wrote all 7 parts in one day because i was so obsessed with getting chapters out so i wouldn’t have to write them daily or lose my thoughts!! Ok well now i have some time to figure out where the story will go from here or if i end it here....

IM JUST JOKING it’s not over yet XDD it’s barely begun :p Feel free to send messages about what you think is gonna happen or who might make minor appearances, villain or hero, cuz i have some planned out! I’ve been doing research guys, i bought a marvel encyclopedia for the first time in years cuz i visited the store the other day and loaded up on comic books again it’s been awhile but my collection is growing again ^^

You’re standing next to Natasha when the brothers drop down from the sky in their rainbow elevator thing. Thor called it the bifrost? It wasn’t something Loki had talked about when you had been on speaking terms, he must have not found it important enough.

The brothers landed outside on Stark’s glorified patio, 91 floors up. You almost forget to breathe as you look at Loki. His hair is a little longer now, he’s definitely lost some weight, and the bags under his eyes tell you enough. His face is cold as he looks around and, angrily, lets Thor lead him inside where you all stand in various places waiting on them. You note that both the brothers are dressed casually but it’s still a bit much, Earth wise. 

You swallow as Loki first sees Tony and smirks at him, “Seems I won’t be missing that drink you promised?” 

Tony gave him a once over then shrugged. “I guess you deserve a small break. Thor filled me in on what’s been going on.” Tony said, you thought you could hear a hint of a threat lacing his words though. Loki huffed and rolled his eyes looking at the rest of the team before his eyes landed on you. 

You looked into his eyes for what felt like hours but must have only been seconds. The angry look he had been parading in dropped and you saw a flurry of reactions so quick everyone else would miss it but you knew Loki. You try your best to keep your face disinterested, not quite sure if you succeed. Still a bit hurt he told you to never come back coming to the front of your mind you look away and whisper to Nat, “I gotta go, fill me in on what happens.” Then you rush out.

You hear Tony saying, “You already scared off y/n..” as you left the room. 

You basically run to your room and slam the door shut. Your breathing had started becoming haggard on your way up and only intensified as you closed yourself in your room. Both your hands gripped at your hair and pull, your eyes squeezed shut, tight. You shouldn’t be reacting like this it was Loki, it was just Loki. He wouldn’t hurt you, physically. You had thought that you were over whatever heartbreak you had all those years before. How the fuck were you to function normally around him if just one look at him made you this panicky? Made your heart beat so hard you thought it might break out of your ribs. Made you want to cry deliriously happy and sad at the same time. 

You let go of your hair, let your tears fall, and punched the wall a few times, hoping the pain in your hands would ground you. Luckily, it did, but you’d probably have to come up with an excuse because your knuckles were blooming dark purple. You took in deep breaths, copying what Loki had taught you to do when you got to worked up, subconsciously, the thought of him causing you to freak a bit more but then you just focused on breathing. 

It’s a few hours later when Natasha comes to your room and tells you dinner is ready. You had settled and had a book open in your lap as you sat on your bed. You consider skipping dinner and you’re about to say it when you see the look Natasha is giving you. She had been the one to teach you to over come your fears, to face them head on. She probably thought you were scared of Loki because he had tried to take over the world. Oh, how wrong she was. You nodded and told her you were gonna wear something else. She left you in peace and you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face then putting on your brave face and getting dressed in something casual. A simple t-shirt and jeans would suffice. 

When you entered the dinning room, a floor below yours, everyone was seated. Natasha had left you a seat. Right next to Loki. You swallowed and studiously kept your eyes anywhere but on Loki when you sat down. You realized Loki was very tense when you sat next to him but said nothing on the matter. 

“Brother! This is dear Y/n I mentioned, she’s got a quick wit just like you, I’m sure you both will be the best of friends!” 

You smiled at Thor but it probably came off as more of a grimace because Thor gave you a frown. Loki said nothing and focused on eating his food. The whole table got silent realizing something was up between you and Loki. You cleared your throat and tried to sooth things over by looking at Loki. His eyes caught yours and for a second you got lost in them, again. God, get ahold of yourself!

Mentally shaking your head you plastered a smile on and said, “Nice to meet you, Loki, I can’t wait to get to know you.” You finish lamely then quickly look at your food and begin stuffing your face so you wouldn’t have to speak anymore. 

“Riiiiiight.” Tony said eyeing you and Loki suspiciously. Steve sat next to him frowning at your attitude. You missed the silent conversation Natasha and Clint had. 

“You’re going to choke if you continue to eat like a bilge snipe that hasn’t seen food in weeks.” Loki said in a casual voice.

You choke. You swallow what is in your mouth, Natasha hitting your back a few times, and then you laugh. 

God you missed Loki. 

“Remember when you swallowed that moon berr-” Stopping yourself short you swallowed and closed your eyes, last seeing Loki’s happy look turn into a neutral face as he glances around at the team. Damn. 

“Remember? You two know each other?” Natasha asked, nudging you with her elbow. Thankfully you see she reserves her judgement on the situation. 

Sighing you look at the team and set your utensils down. 

“Loki is...” You shot Loki a confused look as if to ask if you still were but shook your head and continued on looking at Nat primarily, “We’re soulmates. I first met Loki when I was 13 years old.” 

“In person?” Steve asked.

“No, I can astral project my spirit but because I’m his soulmate it wasn’t hard it just kind of happened when I needed him most.” 

You picked up your glass of water, noticing you are shaking a bit. You especially tried not to jump when you felt Loki set a comforting hand on your thigh under the table. Taking a drink you looked at the table, took a deep breath, then let your eyes come back up to the confused team. 

“When you needed him most?” Tony asked after a few minutes of silence. 

Looking at Tony you bit your lip. Should you....

“My grandfather killed my grandmother in front of me when I was 13, I hid in my closet and closed my eyes, when I opened them I was in a room in Asgard.” 

“She was in one of my mental rooms that I use to astral project. A fabricated room I made when I was younger.” Loki said, his eyes only on you. 

“He was always there when something bad happened and we became best friends. I was 17 when I realized I had magic, his magic.” You said looking at Nat who looked confused. “Because we’re connected through our mind and soul, I draw my power from him. The powers I have are Loki’s in a sense but at the same time my own, I can do some things he can’t and vice versa.” 

“So if Loki just like, hypothetically, died,” Tony rolled his eyes when Loki glared at him, “Hypothetically! Would you lose your powers?” 

You swallowed as a knot formed in your throat and looked at Loki with sad eyes, willing him to answer because you surely didn’t have an answer for that. 

“Possibly.” Loki clipped out, sending a glare at Tony, as if damning him for making you think of that preposterous idea. 

Tony hummed in thought. 

“If you’re soulmates, why did she react the way she did when she first saw you?” Thor asked, mostly aiming the question to Loki. Loki looked at Thor, angry, then let out a breath and held his chin high. 

“We had a falling out three years ago.” 

“No doubt your fault?” Thor said causing Loki to nod once with a roll of his eyes. 

“No!” You yelled looking at Loki with exasperation. “I’m the one that chose to leave!” 

“I’m the one that gave you an ultimatum.” Loki ground out, frowning at you. 

“You were trying to keep me safe.” You said causing Loki to scoff. 

“Ok, wait, what happened so we can all choose our sides respectfully here?” Clint asked. 

“Shield found out about my powers when I was 17, said once I turn 18 they can give me an offer I can’t refuse. I could work for them. Loki said not to do it because it sounded like they were gonna use me as a weapon, that we knew nothing about Shield and what it stood for,” You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose with closed eyes, “I told him I was gonna take up their offer considering I had a bad home life, he argued Shield could be more dangerous and I told him I was still gonna take the offer anyways so he offered an ultimatum.” Letting your hand fall down to your lap and over Loki’s, still resting on your lap. You softly caressed his knuckles under the table. When you had closed your eyes, to pinch your bridge, you missed the concerned look Loki gave as he saw the violet bruises on your knuckles. 

“He said if I leave to never come back because he wouldn’t be able to watch me get hurt.” 

Tony breathed through his teeth, a hiss, but otherwise everyone stayed silent. 

“I left.” You finished lamely.

The table stayed silent for awhile, everyone gathering their thoughts and questions, until Steve spoke up. 

“After she left, what did you do Loki?” 

“I had Heimdal watch over her-”

“He is all seeing.” Thor said quickly to help out.

“-and I told him that if she were to find any trouble she could not handle to send me to her.” 

You looked up at Loki, shocked, who zealously kept his eyes on Steve. You offered what comfort you could by grasping his hand and squeezing. You smiled inwardly as Loki’s tense form softened slightly. 

“I’m taking it she never ran into trouble she couldn’t handle.” Steve said, more as a statement than a question.

“From what Heimdal has told me, joining Shield is the best thing to happen to her and I almost stopped that.” 

“You couldn’t have known.” You said quietly, frowning in thought, Loki finally looked down at you and your heart almost broke in half at the hurt in his eyes. 

“All you wanted was the best for me and I’m sorry I left,” You looked down and squeezing his hand before looking back up at his eyes, “I’m sorry I left and never tried to reach you again but I’m not sorry about the decision I made.” 

Loki looked at you for a bit then nodded, satisfied with something he found on your face or possibly in your eyes. “I’m sorry I never tried to reach out to you too.” Loki admitted.

You glanced at Thor who sat next to Loki, looking a little put out he never knew about the both of you. 

“Sorry we didn’t tell you Thor I kind of wanted to keep it a secret because I was going through a lot and wasn’t very trusting of strangers at the time.” You said to placate Thor, making the blame fall on you instead of Loki since their relationship was already rocky to begin with. A minor way you could apologize to Loki about not contacting him. 

Thor smiled, genuinely, then said “I’m just happy to make your acquaintance now, y/n.” 

Everyone went back to eating their almost cold meal now. Natasha and Clint the only ones that noted that you and Loki ate with one hand the entire time.

Conversations flowed between the team smoothly like you all were meant to be there, together. No one made any comments on the fact that you and Loki couldn’t keep your eyes off each other the entire time either.

Pt. 7/Pt. 8/?

Tag list: @justfangirlthingies @emelieh99  @high-functioning-lokipath​ 

[monstersandmaw]

Male vampire x male character - Part Two (nsfw) (Halloween ‘surprise’ Patreon story).

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

I'm really pleased that you and my Patrons enjoyed the first part, and that folks were keen for more. I’ve had more interaction with this post on Patreon than many of the others, which is surprising given how mlm stories are usually much less in demand than m/f ones. Thanks for that!

Anyway, here's more of our favourite oblivious dork Alec and his obviously-not-a-vampire crush... Part Three is on the way too (tomorrow), despite this having been planned as a quick porn-without-plot one-shot, as it were. Oh well?!

Hope you enjoy.

Part One

After his initial - admittedly strange - meetings with Sebastien, Alec didn’t see him on campus at all for the rest of the week, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. Yes, the guy had been a bit of a pompous arsehole in the library, but he’d made up for it by coming to the art room and apologising, engaging him in conversation — even if that conversation had been slightly… odd? — and being so god-damn-fucking beautiful too.  

He overheard his students gossiping about ‘Dr. Dulac’ earlier that afternoon while they all carved the pumpkins he’d bought for them at the local supermarket, and it seemed that the general consensus was that Sebastien was single, unfailingly polite (even in the face of Janette Hilton, the English Department’s longest-serving and least sympathetic lecturers), hotter than any celebrity you cared to name, and a specialist in the poets of the First World War like Sassoon and Brooke, among other more esoteric interests.  

After an hour of clock-watching in his tiny little office in the Art Department on Friday, he abandoned all hope of concentrating on his last few bits of admin, and shut down his laptop. After clearing up yet more pumpkin seeds that he’d somehow missed on the last two sweeps he’d done of the studio, he stepped outside, never wanting to see another bloody thing again. Too bad he had a whole bloody cardboard box of them waiting to go into the boot of Kay’s car for her party that night. Still, he was almost sinfully proud of the carvings he’d done on them. One was decorated the whole way around with the foliate style engravings usually reserved for the steel on antique guns, with different depths to create the highlights and shadows, and another particularly spherical one had been cut away in squares to resemble the Death Star.  

The October air outside bit into his lungs as he drew a deep breath - the spicy, fragrantly damp scents of autumn filling his nose - and his eye was drawn to the twinkling lights of the little coffee cart that still lingered in the park, selling tea, coffee, and hot chocolate to chilly students leaving the university campus for the night. With a black coffee for himself in one hand, he made his way to the Engineering Department, warily holding another frothy concoction in his other. It was apparently called a ‘London fog’ and it smelled of earl grey tea and lavender. He thought it sounded (and smelled) disgusting, but Kay perked right up when he deposited it on her desk five minutes later.  

“Bless you, Alec Twayblade,” she grinned, taking the plastic lid off and inhaling it like it was the best thing she’d ever smelled. “Oh my god. How can you not like this?” she said after taking a huge gulp and moaning obscenely.  

Alec didn’t bother to reply, his eye-roll speaking volumes anyway. They’d had this discussion so many times that they were both probably playing it out silently in their heads right that second. When Kay glanced up and saw that he certainly was, she snorted and grinned. “I love you, Alec,” she laughed. “You’re still coming tonight?”

“Against my better judgement,” he growled, leaning his weight on her desk and folding his arms across his battered, blue cable knit sweater. He had a huge daub of yellow paint on one elbow from that morning, and a small burn hole in the bottom from a failed attempt at pyrography a few years ago. It was the most comfortable jumper he owned, and he would probably wear it until it unravelled around him.  

“You’re still not going to wear a costume, are you?” she added as she stood, pouting.  

He shook his head. “I draw the line at that.”

“But you’d be so good making one!” she countered. “You helped me with that bat costume when we were at high school… Don’t you remember how fucking awesome it was?”

“I do,” he chuckled. “But I’m not going to wear one myself.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Too much attention, huh?” she said softly. “Well, you know you’ll stand out more if you’re not wearing one tonight…?”

He shrugged. Honestly, he just couldn’t be bothered to dress up. Halloween had rather lost its shine for him anyway. “Not if I hide in the kitchen all night and make too-strong cocktails for everyone,” he said, flashing her his most roguish grin. “Plus, I spent much of today carving pumpkins with nattering eighteen year olds who are far too old to be carving pumpkins on academic time, but —”

“— you’re an awesome teacher who understands the need to let off some steam on the holidays,” she interjected. “Plus, it’s good practice anyway… working with a new medium…”

He allowed his lips to pinch upwards into a tiny smirk and let her have that one. “It’s nice to see them having fun,” was all he said.  

An hour or so later, just as he arranged the last of the pumpkins down the garden path of Kay's Victorian semi-detached house, a voice murmured from behind him, “I can see the hand of a master at work in these carvings.”

Not having heard anyone approaching, Alec jumped, cursed, and dropped the pumpkin - thankfully with the candle still unlit. It rolled in a semicircle until a black boot gently stopped it, and a familiar face dipped into view as the owner of the boot bent to pick it up. To his surprise, it was Sebastien, and he was in costume. Probably anyway. Hopefully? Fuck. Alec’s brain stalled at the sight of him.  

His eyes raked up Sebastien’s body and his jaw went quite literally slack.  

The slender man was wearing thigh-high boots and leather pants so tight they had to have been spray-painted on, into which was tucked a loose, old-fashioned, white shirt with a good bit of flounce at the collar. “Holy shit,” he whispered, and Sebastien chuckled softly, a low, amused sound in the back of his throat.  

“You recognise the costume?” he asked, seeming innocently amused. The long, dark coat, accented with gold brocade and bright gold buttons, opened briefly in a soft gust of wind that made the lit pumpkins flicker and lifted his loose, silver-white hair back for a breath as well.  

“I…” he swallowed. “Uh, you’re Alucard,” he croaked. “From the Castlevania games…” A wry incline of Sebastien’s head told him he was correct, and then Alec blurted stupidly, “Shouldn’t you be shirtless though?”

Sebastien’s smile grew from pleased to deeply amused, his eyes glittering, and it was only then that Alec noticed the contacts burning a bright gold in his eyes and, as his lips peeled back and Sebastien began to laugh, he saw long, tapering, white canines befitting a vampire costume. “It’s a little cold for that, don’t you think?” Sebastien asked, still laughing quietly as Alec flushed crimson.  

“Sorry,” he blurted. “I know. I just… forget it.”

“Where do you want it?” Sebastien asked, and Alec’s poor brain went blank.  

“What?”

“The pumpkin,” Sebastien deadpanned and Alec’s poor, blank brain melted out of his ears with embarrassment.  

“Uh… there’s fine,” he said, pointing at the little wrought-iron garden gate.  

Sebastien placed the pumpkin down on the flagstone path so that the carved graveyard scene glimmered and flickered with appropriate spookiness, visible to anyone approaching along the quiet, suburban street. Enormous London plane trees stood sentry every few paces, heaving up the tarmac pavement with their roots, like a sleeper shifting a blanket with a restless turn, and sheltering the cars snuggled and parked beneath them. A carpet of leaves clung to the gutter in a long, golden line, melting into nothing in places in the glittering puddles. It would have been beautiful, had Alec not been faced with quite literally the most beautiful thing in the entire universe.  

“Am I early then?” Sebastien asked, dusting off his palms and turning back to face Alec, who had barely managed to make his legs work long enough to stand up straight again.  

He shook his head. “No. Henry’s inside already,” he said, running his fingers through his scruffy black hair. “With Rachel and Alison. I just forgot to put the pumpkins out earlier.”

“No costume?”  

With a roll of his eyes, he shook his head. “Nope.”

“Too bad,” Sebastien said, eyeing the front door. The contacts were really creepy, shifting in the light that spilled down the stairs as the front door suddenly opened and Kay stepped out before he could worry that he’d been the only one to dress up. He could probably brush it off anyway, Alec supposed, and tried not to envy the man’s quiet confidence.

Silhouetted starkly against the hall light, with her high ‘Dracula’ collar on prominent display, Kay shrieked with glee and clapped her hands when she saw Sebastien. Apparently the two of them had been getting along rather well, while Alec had sequestered himself away in the Art Department like an ascetic.  

“Bastien! You look amazing oh my god!” she blurted, rushing forwards a step or two before halting abruptly. “Wait, does that make me your father for the evening?” she cackled. “Wow, your teeth are really good! Mine wouldn't stay in for more than a few minutes…”

Sebastien’s gold eyes flickered sideways to Alec but it happened so briefly that he almost missed it. “Custom made a long time ago,” was all he said. “Shall we go inside? It’s freezing out here.”

“Yes, of course, come on in,” she said, waving them all inside, Sebastien first. As Alec passed her last, she slapped him hard on the backside in rebuke and hissed, “Told you you should have worn a costume! You look like a big dumbo!”

“No different from any other night,” he quipped back, and she growled something indistinct at him. Perhaps a werewolf costume would have suited her better. “You could have told me you’d invited Dulac…”

“Why?” she retorted. “So you could suddenly decide that an evening moping alone with your PS4 playing Rocket League with strangers was more appealing? No fucking chance. Get inside. Sebastien’s right; I’m freezing my tits off.”

The distant murmur of voices in the living room made him veer off instinctively into the kitchen, and while they began to watch some old Hammer horror film, he made drinks. That, at least, he was good at.  

Entering a while later, he found that Sebastien was seated on the sofa beside Henry, who wore an enormously fluffy wolfman costume - mostly a repurposed Chewbacca onesie with a latex wolf mask. He’d pushed the mask up onto his head in order to eat the Halloween themed nibbles on the coffee table, and the effect rendered him entirely ridiculous. Another reason not to wear a costume: it’s impractical, and gets in the way, and washing ketchup out of matted fake fur is a nightmare. Alison and Rachel sat practically in each other’s laps, one a zombie and the other a ghost, both squeezed into one groaning old armchair.  

After half an hour of Christopher Lee’s admittedly creepy Dracula, Alec slid from his seat at the periphery, and ducked out again into the kitchen. Straightening from fishing a beer from the back of the fridge, he heard the soft click of the door and turned to find Sebastien standing there.  

“Get bored with late 1950’s horror too?” Alec asked. “Beer?”

Sebastien inclined his head in a way that said he wasn’t a beer drinker and held up his almost-empty wineglass as an excuse as he moved a little closer. “If you don’t like cheesy horror films, and you don’t seem to like Halloween either, I wonder why you came at all tonight?”

“For Kay,” he said, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She loves this shit.”

At that, Sebastien paused, a delicate smile on his face. In the soft glow of the under-cupboard lighting, his tanned skin seemed to shimmer, and Alec wondered fleetingly if he’d put some kind of glittery body powder on. Next, he wondered what on earth Sebastien was doing in here with him, looking at him like that.  

“You are a good friend,” Sebastien said quietly, seeming perhaps a little sad around the edges.  

“She’s done more than her fair share of looking after me,” Alec sighed knowingly. “Not that I’m doing it because I owe her,” he added, twisting the cap off the bottle and leaning back against the counter to drink deeply from it. As the malty froth washed over his tongue, he felt eyes on him and looked over at the other man.  

Sebastien tilted his head slightly to the side, the false golden light in his eyes making him look like a cat in the dark. “You said she was trying to set you up with someone…”

Alec snorted, nearly shooting beer out of his nose. “Yeah. Well, she seems to think a good fuck will sort my mood out.”

“But you think otherwise?”

“You offering?” he asked bitterly, taking another swig and feeling uncharacteristically bold, though absolutely not expecting the answer he got.  

“Perhaps.”

His eyebrows shot up and this time he did cough a little. “You can’t be serious.”

“You think someone who looks like me is entirely straight?” he asked with a wry smile, and Alec had to hand it to him. Not many men he knew could pull of long, luscious, white-blond hair like that, or would have the confidence to wear fucking thigh-high boots and whisper-tight leather pants…

“Still… you don’t really know me… That’s all I meant…”

“Doesn't mean one couldn’t engage in — how did you call it? — ‘a good fuck’. Not that I’m averse to getting to know you better, before or after.”

Alec swallowed another enormous gulp of frothing beer and blinked. “You’re serious?”

With a melodramatic smile that revealed his vampire teeth clearly, ‘Alucard’ purred, “Deadly.”

And Alec burst out laughing. The spell was shattered and the two men shared the remnants of their drinks and their laughter together before Alec sighed. “Your place or mine?”

At that, Sebastien seemed to falter, as if he hadn’t thought through to that point. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “I assume yours would be alright?”

Alec shrugged. “Sure, if you don’t mind smacking your head on the ceiling and being able to touch two opposite walls at the same time…”

Sebastien’s lips hitched into another wry smile. “I’ve fucked in tighter spaces, I’m sure.”

“You know what?” Alec said as he rinsed out the beer bottle at the sink and half-turned to look at the other man over his shoulder. “You’re absolutely not what I expected.”

“Nor were you,” he shot back, still smirking. “And it’s been a while since I was assaulted by someone in a library.”

“Bring back happy memories, did it?” he snorted.  

“Not exactly,” Sebastien murmured, and Alec realised he hadn’t actually been joking. “But I must confess that — despite my behaviour — I was pleasantly surprised by the sight of you when you rounded that bookshelf…”

Turning, Alec approached him cautiously. If he was genuinely serious about his proposal, Alec would find out now. “Pleased enough to seek me out afterwards…” he said, raising his eyebrows. He couldn’t do that ‘one brow at a time’ thing that Sebastien could, but it seemed to get his tone across all the same.

Unusually for Alec, Sebastien had an inch or two on him in height, and as Alec paused in front of him, close enough to catch the faintest hint of a woody cologne, the man angled his face just perfectly for the light to dance along his high cheekbones. Fuck, he was exquisite. The urge to kiss him rose in Alec; to feel his lips against his own, to have those elegant hands scrunch his hair…  

As if reading his mind, Sebastien slowly, carefully, raised his right hand and brought his index finger to Alec’s chin, tilting it upwards just a fraction with the lightest pressure. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much, and it left Alec breathless. Again. Panting slightly, he parted his lips and then swallowed thickly.  

Sebastien’s eyes darted instantly to the motion of his throat and for a second, Alec could have sworn he saw a vibrant red light reflected in his eyes. Sensing his moment of hesitation, of tension, Sebastian frowned. “What?”

“Nothing,” Alec breathed. “I thought your eyes went red but it must have been a car on the street outside or something.”  

“Indeed,” he murmured, but then blinked rapidly. “Do you still wish to continue this?”

“Yes,” he whispered. Don't stop now. His whole body was thrumming in a way it hadn’t ever before with casual encounters. He felt alive for the first time in months.  

Sebastien stepped back, turning his face away a little more. “Should we make our excuses…?”

Alec shook his head. “Nah, Kay will know what’s going on anyway, and I don’t want to face her smug looks until tomorrow at the least.”

With a softly amused chuckle, Sebastien stepped back and allowed Alec to leave the room first. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as the other man followed behind, but he didn't turn around or look at him until they were outside on the main street.  

“It’s a bit of a walk…” Alec said, only realising then how long the walk would be. “I’m way over on the other side of town by the station…”

The continuing intensity of Sebastien’s scrutiny was beginning to shift from a turn-on to just marginally unnerving, but he told himself that an esteemed professor at one of the country’s finest universities, with more letters after his name than anyone his age had a right to possess, was unlikely to be truly dangerous for a one-night stand… right? There was something about the way he stared at Alec — an unmistakable hunger in his eyes — that made his skin prickle and his heartbeat jump instinctively. Like a deer before the gaze of a tiger, he was entranced.  

Unexpectedly, Sebastien’s easy stride slowed at the brick gateway to a small, gravel park that sat between an old church and a chemist, the latter closed at this time of night. “May I kiss you?” he breathed, still gazing at him unblinkingly, as though Alec were the pretty one in this equation, not him.  

Alec couldn’t help grinning. The way Sebastien’s eyes bored into him then drove all thought of threat and fear from his mind, and he nodded.  

The man’s hands were chilly from the night air, but the moment they cupped his jaw and drew Alec toward him, he forgot about that. He forgot about everything at the meeting of their lips. Sebastien began tentatively, merely brushing their lips together, but when his golden eyes fluttered closed, he deepened the gesture, tongue just begging entrance, teasing him before withdrawing, retreating and returning.  

Searing want shot down Alec’s spine and he arched into Sebastien’s taller body, hips seeking contact through his jeans. He moaned, deep and guttural, and it seemed to awaken something in Sebastien, because the man grabbed hold of the back of Alec’s hair and pulled his head slightly to one side to begin to kiss along his jawline, down to wards his neck. For a heartbeat, Sebastien froze there, nose pressed to his rabbiting pulse point, his teeth just grazing skin, before he exhaled harshly and stepped back. “We shouldn’t get carried away,” was all he whispered, stepping slightly out of Alec’s dazed field of view. “My place is nearer though.”

“Ok,” Alec said, still reeling. “Sure.”

When they reached the apartment building, his steps faltered in amazement. “You live… here?”

A slight flush seemed to warm Sebastien’s cheeks as he stepped up to the main doorway, only to have it opened from the other side by a man in livery. “Good evening, Monsieur Dulac,” said the friendly doorman instantly.  

“Good evening,” he replied. “This is my friend, Alec Twayblade.”

It was impossible for the doorman not to realise that his ‘friend, Alec Twayblade’ was going to be a little more than that for the night, but he never let a flicker of judgement pass across his face. From the concierge desk - Sebastien’s building had a fucking concierge desk too - another man looked up and wished them both a good evening as they headed for the lifts.  

“Does the English department also sell diamonds or drugs or something? How the fuck can you afford a place like this on a lecturer’s salary?” but even as he said it and the doors closed with a soft chime, he realised the truth of it. Sebastien’s aristocratic features and bearing were not merely a persona. They were truth. He stared up at him while Sebastien turned a key in the lift panel.

“Are you secretly royalty or something?” he whispered, only half joking.  

The man shot him an amused look and shook his head, silk-white hair whispering against the rougher wool of his costume coat. “No, of course not, but I do have some inherited wealth.”

Some? “So you don’t actually have to work at the university at all then?”

He made a so-so motion of his head and said, “No, not really, but I genuinely enjoy teaching.”

“Your students certainly seem to enjoy you…”

“You don’t enjoy teaching?” he asked as the numbers on the dial climbed and climbed.  

Please don’t say you live in the fucking penthouse too, Alec thought, already suspecting it might be true from the whole ‘special access key’. He glanced at the number pad and saw that the button labelled ‘PH’ was illuminated. Fuck. “Most days I enjoy it,” he admitted. “But I kind of fell into it a while back and just sort of…” he shrugged, “Stuck with it.”

Sebastien asked no more, and the lift finally stopped on the top floor. The doors drew back to reveal an apartment beyond that Alec could only gawp at. It was like something from the set of an Architectural Digest photo shoot. Nothing was out of place in the hardwood floor paradise, with clean, crisp lines and white marble counter tops in the kitchen off to his left, while a comfortable, and yet still clinically modern, sitting area sat to their right. Deep, fluffy rugs dotted that part of the penthouse, and a wide balcony stretched out over the city beyond, complete with a little table and chairs for warmer evenings.  

“This place is incredible,” Alec breathed, the reason for his even being here completely forgotten.  

Clearly sensing that, Sebastien smiled bashfully and said, “Would you like something to drink?”

Alec cleared his throat and hoped he wasn’t going to be faced with a choice between very expensive wines that he’d never heard of. “Sure… thanks.”

“White, red, beer, or whisky?” he asked, walking towards the kitchen and dumping his ‘Alucard’ coat over the back of a white sofa as he went. Alec’s mouth went dry as he watched the point where his narrow hips met the flowing material of the white shirt. Dear god, an arse like that shouldn’t be… well, it just shouldn’t be. And yet there it was. Clad in leather and looking positively delectable. “Or a soft drink?” he added when Alec remained silent.  

Aware of where his gaze had landed, Sebastien halted and looked back over his shoulder, long, loose, naturally straight hair already losing the curls that had been worked into it for the Alucard costume. Definitely not straight, if he owned hair curlers.  

“Uh…” Alec said, unsure what the question had even been now.  

“I’m going to pour myself a whisky, if that helps…?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Sebastien smiled, looking almost endeared by Alec’s inept stuttering. Surely he couldn’t be unused to such a reaction? “Make yourself at home then.”

With a smoky, peat-tinged whisky in a wide, heavy-bottomed tumbler set on his glass coffee table, Alec watched Sebastien turn the gas fire on, and, to his surprise, he came to a halt directly in front of him. Setting his own whisky down on the table with a deliberate, and yet delicate, clunk, Sebastien turned back to him and raked his eyes down Alec’s body in a way that made him flush hot all over. His cock twitched with interest and he tried not to preen under that gaze.  

Sebastien’s eyes and teeth were back to normal now, with no hint of the golden contacts or the vampire fangs, and Alec fleetingly assumed that he must have removed them at some point between getting the whisky and appearing in front of him looking like he was about to ravish him. Oh dear god, please let him be about to ravish me, he thought with a big, dumb grin spreading across his face.  

Seeing his reaction, Sebastien reached down and knelt facing him on the sofa, running his palm over the already-growing bulge in Alec’s jeans. Alec let out a deep grunt and rocked his hips up into the contact, throwing his head back against the soft, open weave of the white fabric. “Oh fuck,” he hissed.  

Sebastien’s fingers found the button of his jeans and deftly undid it, but he paused. “May I?” he asked, and Alec found himself nodding before he’d even worked out what Sebastien wanted.  

He found out a moment later, when his jeans were around his ankles and Sebastien was kneeling on the floor between his knees and licking a long stripe up the length of his rapidly hardening cock.  

“Oh god,” he panted as the wet heat of Sebastien’s mouth engulfed half of his length and then drew back to leave his wet tip exposed to the slight chill of the apartment air. The contrast stole his breath for a heartbeat, but Sebastien returned his attentions to his cock, gently sucking and working him to full hardness in a matter of minutes.  

Pleasure sparked through Alec’s whole body and he strained not to thrust back into Sebastien’s mouth, even as Sebastien took him right to the back of his throat, the tip of Alec’s cock nudging against the silky resistance of his throat.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” he chanted as Sebastien’s fingertips just teased and caressed the underside of his balls too, and Sebastien hollowed his cheeks and sucked a little more insistently. “Oh fuck…” Really fucking eloquent here, Alec, he thought vaguely, but one look down at the vision kneeling between his legs and sucking him off drove even that thought from his brain.  

The suck and slide of Sebastien’s mouth was incredible, and while he had no idea quite how much time passed, it felt like mere seconds as the heat stoked in him until he could feel the orgasm threatening to crash through him. “I’m… I’m really close…” he gasped as Sebastien moaned against his cock, sending little vibrations thrumming through him and tipping him even closer. The sharp prick of his teeth every now and again was a perfect counterpoint to the slick heat of his mouth, and it was never enough to hurt. Normally Alec wasn’t one for including teeth in this, but with Sebastien, it felt perfect.  

Sebastien pulled back just as Alec felt himself beginning to coil up, his lips swollen and glistening from the exertion of bringing him that close, and he smiled. He looked radiant, and Alec’s cock twitched enthusiastically in his hands as he let out a soft whimper. The air was cold and his tip beaded pre-come freely, which Sebastien thumbed away with a surprisingly tender gesture, only to watch as more pearled immediately at his slit. Using just the tip of his tongue, Sebastien lapped at it delicately and Alec’s whole body shuddered.  

His thighs shook at the tiny, intense stimulation, with Sebastien's fingers gripping the base of his cock in a tight circle, and he gasped, chest heaving. It was too much and not enough, and as he found his perineum teased as well, he bellowed and trembled. He was half a heartbeat away from coming harder than he could ever remember coming in his life, and Sebastien wasn’t going to let him have it. He roared and ground his teeth, bucking his hips, which made Sebastien laugh softly.  

“Alright,” he heard him murmur, before he swallowed him down to the back of his throat again, and Alec shattered with a yell.

When he finally blinked his eyes open, he found that Sebastien had risen and was sitting on the small sofa beside him, whisky in hand, staring openly at him. He didn’t look smug exactly, but there was a quiet satisfaction to his brown eyes that made Alec flush, at which Sebastien’s beautiful lips drew back into a smile. He noted again those slightly larger canines, but they were nothing like the vampire teeth he had worn earlier.  

“What do you want?” Alec asked, voice hoarse. God, he sounded wrecked. Had he really shouted so hard he’d made his throat sore?

Sebastien’s dolorous, dark eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “What do you want?”

“To watch you come,” he said immediately.  

“And how would you like me to come?” Sebastien replied, sipping nonchalantly at the golden liquor as if the were discussing what Alec would like Sebastien to wear. As it was, his leather pants were constricting his obvious hard-on in a way that had to be painful for him, and his shirt was open at the neck to reveal delicate collarbones and a glimpse of his beautiful olive skinned chest.  

He was an absolute vision. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he blurted in a whisper before he could stop himself, and to his surprise, Sebastien laughed. The sound was bright, delighted, and oddly self-conscious, as if he hadn’t been expecting a compliment like that. “Sorry,” he added, looking away. “Look… if you’ve got condoms, I’m… I’m good to… you know…”

“You want me to fuck you?” Sebastien asked, his gaze sharpening again.  

“Yes?”  

“’Yes?’ Or ‘yes’…?” Sebastien asked, seeking clarification.  

“Yes. But I don't understand your question.”

“Look at me,” Sebastien said.  

“Hard not to…” Alec quipped back, still feeling utterly wrung out.  

“Most people assume I’m going to be the one taking it…”

Alec’s eyebrows rose as realisation settled. “Oh. And, what, I look like a top?”

Sebastien’s lips twitched. “Conventionally more so than I do, with your rugged looks and the rough shadow around your jaw…”

“So… do you want me to… you know…? Or…” Fuck, he felt like a teenager again, struggling to articulate himself and not get his sentences in a tangle while this breathtaking creature just sat there and watched him make an idiot out of himself.

“I very much want to fuck you,” Sebastien said at last. “If you’d like that as well.”

“Yes,” he said instantly.  

Sebastien set down his glass and rose in a single, elegant motion, and then held his hand out to Alec.

His skin was still cool, especially next to Alec’s searing body, and his hold was steady as Alec heaved himself to his feet and allowed himself to be alternately tugged and kissed into the bedroom. 

___

Part Three

Behold, plot has appeared to go with the Halloween porn I had planned. Alec’s family will come up in the next chapter.

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I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me  know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

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[rugbypolycule]

take your hand in mine

pairing: itadori yuuji x fushigoro megumi

characters: itadori yuuji, fushigoro megumi, kugisaki nobara, fushiguro tsumiki (mentioned),  fushiguro toji (mentioned), gojo satoru (mentioned)

rating: general audiences, no warnings apply

words: 1968

summary: yuuji is half-decent at painting his nails for a beginner. megumi is absolutely smitten and gets pulled along for the ride. they're both in love and clueless.

or: an intimacy fic where yuuji paints megumi's nails. because those boys deserve some quiet time.

ao3 link

Itadori Yuuji isn’t someone who gets embarrassed easily. He rarely pays attention to the opinions of others, and not for a lack of caring. He has such a strong sense of self, such an unwavering faith in his own mind that criticism often flies right over his head. On anyone else, the trait would far too-closely resemble arrogance – even self-centeredness. The pink-haired boy, however, is too gentle, too empathetic and kind. His steady confidence shines in a bright halo that threatens to overwhelm even those with the strongest defenses.

In simpler, more candid terms, Fushigoro Megumi feels like he can’t breathe when Yuuji smiles. If he were more honest with himself, he’d recognise that his feelings of breathlessness aren’t reserved for Yuuji’s full-watt smile. The truth is that around Yuuji, Megumi’s lungs work overtime. He is almost constantly filled with this restless sort of energy, the urge to act. It makes his fingers itch and his pulse lurch to his throat.

It’s a cool day. It had been overcast for a while, the clouds heavy with an oncoming storm so strong it could almost be tasted. Yuuji loves days like these. The feeling of his hair standing on end, the thickness of the air around him, the velvety grey of the sky. It is the sort of day that makes you want to stay inside with lights dimmed and quiet music playing.

Yuuji finds himself in this exact position, scrolling through Pinterest on his laptop. Ever since meeting Megumi and Nobara, he had discovered a newfound love for fashion. He loved bright colours and stark geometric patterns and shiny skin and lips. It felt fresh and energising. He loved the attention to detail that went into putting together a full outfit – the studded belts, sheer scarves, painted nails.

Yuuji loved the look of nail polish. He could wear his dark uniform and still bring colour into his life, and for cheap. Plus, going shopping with Nobara was always a fun experience. She had picked out a bright purple shade for Yuuji, but he had his eyes on a bottle bursting with golden yellow. He bought them both at her loud insistence. They ate sushi that day. It was nice.

Now Yuuji sits on his bed, yellow bottle in slightly trembling hand. His nervous anticipation doesn’t come from fear that people would think he looked weird or strange; he is more worried about messing up the application and look messy, about which Nobara often complained. The concern quickly dissipates, though, making way for Yuuji’s quiet excitement as he opens the bottle.

The breaking of the seal causes a wave of fumes to fill his room. Yuuji’s nose tickles. He sneezes a few times, coming dangerously close to spilling the yellow paint everywhere. Thankfully, his reflexes are stronger than his body’s averse reaction. He slowly lifts the brush out of the bottle, taking care to wipe off the excess varnish just as Nobara had told him. With a slightly steadier hand, he begins painting his left index finger. He moves on to the next, then the next, then his right hand (which is considerably more difficult and why didn’t Nobara say anything about that?) Though he was unpracticed, he didn’t make a huge mess like he thought he would. Save for a few yellow-tinged cuticles, he had done a pretty decent job.

For a while, Yuuji just sits back and admires his work. Nobara had told him to wait no less than 15 minutes before even thinking about using his hands. Yuuji lasts 5 minutes before looking for a cooking video to pass the time. Nothing was smudged, and Yuuji quite happily sits through more than a few videos before the smell of the nail polish becomes too much for him. It had been plenty of time now, so he doesn’t worry about messing up his nails as he opens the door to his room.

He stops short as he finds Megumi on the other side of it.

If anyone asked, Megumi was just walking past Yuuji’s room for no reason. In fact, he was only going to get water, and had to pass by Yuuji’s room in order to get to the common area. The reason he stopped at his classmate’s door at all was simply to ponder the possibility of getting a snack. There was no other motive behind it.

Sadly, all his excuses do nothing to hide his deer-in-headlights expression. Before he can open his mouth in order to deny being there on purpose, a hand is thrust towards his face. Megumi flinches back in a sort of surprised confusion before realising that Yuuji has yellow fingernails.

“Do you like them?” asks Yuuji, grinning at Megumi like an expectant puppy.

Oh. There’s that hummingbird thrum in his bones again. The rapid movement of blood that makes his head light and his breath shallow. Yuuji is beautiful.

“Yeah,” Megumi tries to answer. It’s at times like these, when he’s lost for words and doesn’t know how to move his face to seem genuine, that he really appreciates Yuuji’s personality. Almost anyone else would have thought Megumi disinterested, or worse judgemental because of his monotone and lacklustre response. Thankfully, Yuuji just huffs out a laugh.

“You don’t have to sound so excited about it, Fushiguro.” He rolls his eyes, still grinning, arm still extended. “I thought you would’ve appreciated it more.”

Megumi softly bats his hand away. “I don’t ‘not appreciate it’, Itadori. It’s cool. I’m just… thinking about how it probably wouldn’t suit me.”

Megumi gets whacked on the shoulder. “Hey!” He complains as Yuuji pulls him into his room and sits him down on the bed. The nail polish smell, not having quite left the room yet, makes Megumi’s nose wrinkle up. Yuuji lets out a giggle that sounds like sunshine on skin.

“What are you doing?” Megumi almost whines as Yuuji rummages around in his closet. Yuuji turns to face him, pulling a plastic bag out with him with a flourish. His smile hasn’t left his face yet, and Megumi feels like he’s drowning in it.

“Won’t suit you? We’ll see about that,” says Yuuji, confident as always.

Megumi tries not to splutter. “Well. Yellow isn’t really my colour, Itadori.” He says his name too softly, like he always does. He tenses up and hopes Yuuji doesn’t notice.

To his almost-disappointment, Yuuji doesn’t react. Instead, he pulls out a bottle of purple nail polish and throws it towards the bed, a way too smug look on his face. Megumi wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

“Nobara got me to buy two,” he almost sing-songs, “so now you have to let me paint yours!”

In another reality, there is a Megumi that rips his gaze away from those brown eyes and mumbles something about Yuuji not making any sense. He leaves the room with his heart intact, and goes and eats ice cream with a spoon with his wolves in the dark.

Instead, he tries desperately to stay quiet, to suppress a gasp as Yuuji grabs his hand to inspect it. Megumi blames the tightness in his ribs on his binder and toughs it out. Except Yuuji’s hand is so warm and impossibly soft and that idiot shuffles close enough that their thighs are touching and it’s all. A lot.

Yuuji is still just cradling Megumi’s hand in both his own, turning it over and staring for so long it’s as if he’s trying to commit the skin to memory. The air is still thick with an oncoming storm, but now a tentative intimacy mingles amongst the electrified atoms. Megumi doesn’t dare move or speak, as if the universe will punish him by way of Yuuji letting go of his hand. He chooses rather to count each of Yuuji’s eyelashes, watch his nostrils flare as he breathes out in quiet concentration.

“You have really pretty fingers.” Yuuji murmurs, completely unaware of how devastating it is to Megumi’s heart.

Having been abandoned by his father, not knowing his mother, and his sister being in a coma, Megumi hasn’t been a close acquaintance to touch. Hell, even when his sister wasn’t confined to a hospital bed, he was too prickly and stubborn to receive hugs most of the time. Somewhere not-so-deep down, Megumi craves touch. Sometimes, he stares at the ceiling and wonders what it could feel like to be close to someone that didn’t involve the rigidity of training or the annoyance of Gojo’s hair ruffles. To feel warm and fuzzy and for it to be because of someone else’s hands.

Yuuji’s touch, combined with his soft words of praise, are a dream come true. Megumi can only cough awkwardly and watch as Yuuji starts to coat his short nails in purple. Yuuji’s tongue is almost the same colour as his hair, and it sticks slightly out of his mouth as he works. At some point Yuuji had turned that low music back on: a steady and slow lo–fi that does nothing to calm Megumi’s racing heart.

Yuuji keeps slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth on the back of Megumi’s hand as he glides the brush against his fingernails. It’s in all ways comforting as it is maddening, and Megumi does not expect the quiet, “you take such good care of your hands,” when it comes.

Yuuji chooses that exact moment to look into Megumi’s eyes. His face is so open and earnest and it’s becoming harder and harder to keep looking back without leaning forward into his space and just…

Megumi lets out a shaky breath. “Really? Thank you,” he replies, trying to sound as casual as possible with his pulse constricting in his jaw. His mouth feels dry.

Yuuji moves swiftly onto his other hand until all that’s left is his pinky. Not wanting to repeat the slight smudges he had accidentally painted onto Megumi’s left pinky, Yuuji pulls this last finger closer to his face, his breath fanning against it and sending shivers up Megumi’s whole arm. He finishes painting the nail quickly and carefully, but doesn’t put down Megumi’s hand.

Megumi can’t help the soft gasp he lets out as he feels a feather-light kiss pressed to his wrist. It’s as if his blood sings. They observe each other quietly for several moments – taking one another in, willing the silence to never break. Yuuji eventually pulls his face away from his work, now admiring the job.

“All finished.” Yuuji’s voice isn’t loud, but it fills the room. Megumi moves on the bed, beginning to pull his hand away. Yuuji drops his wrist in favour of grabbing Megumi’s waist with both hands, eyes almost panicked.

“You can’t leave yet!” His voice doesn’t raise above the volume of the music, but his words are emphatic. Megumi is trembling in his grasp. “You have to let them dry. And since I spent all that time painting your nails for you, it’s only fair that you stay here with me while you wait.”

Megumi is about to protest, knowing his limits are close to being reached. His face is burning hot and surely visible from the mere distance Yuuji sits away. He feels fit to burst.

The sky does before he has the chance.

The first clap of thunder sounds outside, and a pitter pattering of rain begins to thrum against the window. Megumi resigns himself to this still fume-filled room. He lies down on the bed next to Itadori Yuuji, feeling everything. He doesn’t answer when Yuuji asks if he wants to watch something, nor does he pay attention to whatever the pink-haired boy pulls up on YouTube for them.

Instead, Megumi exists in a content closeness to his friend, counting his eyelashes, and feeling the heat of Yuuji’s hands on his waist.

[omgrachwrites]

Blue Christmas - Steve Rogers

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: When the love of your life leaves you at Christmas you fear that you will never get over it.

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of cheating

Words: 1417

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this one and please let me know what you think! And I'm not gonna lie, I was thinking about Billy Russo while writing this 👀👀 this will be my last post till after Christmas (I promise I'll pick up my Remus fic again!) Have an amazing Christmas if you celebrate it and if you don't, just have an amazing day! I love you all xxx

The atmosphere in your tiny New York apartment was simply lovely, the gorgeous smell of cookies baking wafted through the small space. Christmas music was blaring on the radio while you decorated the tree. You loved Christmas, you always had, ever since you were a little girl and this year it was even better because you were spending it with your boyfriend in your new apartment. It had been a tough year, both you and Steve had been working like crazy just to make ends meet but it was all going to be worth it.

You grinned when you heard Steve come in and drop his keys on the counter, “hey baby,” you walked up to him and pressed a kiss to his lips. You pulled away when his lips didn’t pucker against yours and that was when you saw the tense and grim look on his face.

“Steve, what’s the matter?” you asked, biting your lip, feeling dread curl in your stomach.

“Y/N,” he started in a monotone voice, his beautiful blue eyes looked dim, they normally sparkled when he looked at you, “I can’t do this anymore.”

It felt like someone had dropped a rock into the pit of your stomach. What exactly was he saying? You were so confused, the pair of you had been together since the 9th grade, “you mean…” you trailed off when he nodded and rage bubbled in you as you took in his expressionless face. How could he feel nothing at all? Was the whole of your relationship just a lie to him? “But, it’s Christmas. How can you do this at Christmas?” your eyes began to tear up, you didn’t want to cry in front of him.

“I know it’s Christmas and I’m so sorry,” he took one step towards you but you took two steps backwards, bumping into the half-finished Christmas tree. Steve sighed and bit his lip, “things have just been so hard and I can’t pretend anymore.”

You furiously swiped at your eyes before folding your arms and glaring at him, “you know what most people do when things get hard? They try to fix things, they don’t just run away, you can’t just run away from me Steve,” a horrible feeling grew in your chest and you felt sick to your stomach, “there’s someone else isn’t there? That’s why I’ve hardly seen you, you haven’t been working at all, you’ve been with someone else!”

Steve raised an eyebrow and finally, an expression of surprise and hurt flashed on his handsome face, “Y/N, you think I’m cheating? Of course I’m not, I just don’t love you anymore and like I said, I can’t pretend anymore.”

At his cruel words you gasped as a sharp pain, almost like a knife twisting went through your chest and hot tears streamed down your face. You hated that he had such power to hurt you; you had never been so hurt in your life. You would go to your parents for Christmas, they would love you and wrap their arms around you and help you forget everything.

A couple of weeks later, after Steve had moved all of his stuff out of the apartment – you were determined to keep your apartment, you loved it too much to sell it – you decided to follow Steve. Your soul couldn’t rest until you found out if Steve had been lying to you, had he been seeing someone else? Had he been cheating on you? Steve stopped in at a cute café and even through the glass you saw the dazzling smile on his face – the one he used to reserve for you – as he walked over to a beautiful blonde woman and he kissed her deeply. The pain you felt was almost too much. What did she have that you didn’t? What a blue Christmas.

13 Years Later

You giggled as you watched your ten year old son Max messily and thickly smear icing onto his cookie, “wow Maxie bear, do you want a cookie with that icing?”

He squealed and giggled as you hugged him from behind and rapidly kissed his cheek, “I love icing Mommy!” he grinned, dimples in his cheeks and icing in his golden blonde curls.

“Just like your father,” you smiled.

Almost on cue, your husband Billy walked through the door, his face lighting up when he saw you and he produced the bouquet of flowers from behind his back as he swept you up in his arms and kissed you passionately. Billy’s love was a love that you had always wanted, “Merry Christmas my love.”

“Merry Christmas baby,” you cupped his cheek, “they’re beautiful Billy,” you grinned as you got a vase of water while Billy lifted Max into his arms.

“So, I wanted to ask you something,” Billy started with nervousness in his voice and you paused from your flower arranging to look at him, “my buddy from work will be spending Christmas alone, his fiancé had been cheating on him. I was hoping that he could stay with us, just for a couple of days?” he bit his lip and your heart melted, your husband was such a kind and loving person.

It made you feel sad to think that someone could be alone at Christmas, you would never wish it on anybody, “of course baby,” you grinned as you cupped his cheeks and pressed a lingering kiss to his chapped lips, “you are such a kind man,” Billy blushed as he chuckled bashfully and immediately helped Max with the icing on the rest of his Christmas cookies.

A few days later Billy’s friend arrived and you had made sure to decorate the house even more lavishly this year, you wanted to bring some cheer into his heart. When Billy’s friend arrived you were so engrossed in your work that you didn’t investigate for about ten minutes. The door to your bedroom was ajar so you could hear the conversation that was happening in the living room.

“So, how are you Steve? I know it’s awful being alone on Christmas, that was my reality before I met my beautiful wife,” you smiled at Billy’s words; you couldn’t believe how lucky you were to have found him.

“I’m alright, it’s just hard you know, thank you so much to the both of you for letting me stay, to be honest, I knew things weren’t right for a while but I just didn’t want to admit it. I’ve had the great love of my life, but I lost her, just after I turned 19. I threw her away and that will be something that I’ll always regret. I told her that I didn’t love her but I soon came to realise that I was wrong but it was too late.”

You frowned; you recognised that voice, the voice which was filled with so much pain and despite your better judgement you had to go and see what was going on. Time seemed to stop as you walked out of your home office and into the living room to see your ex-boyfriend with your husband. Steve was still so handsome but when you looked at him you felt nothing for him, no anger, no malice, and no love. Just nothing.

Steve looked away from Billy and met your eyes. His mouth dropped open a little bit as he saw you and a number of emotions flashed through his eyes. Billy turned round to look at you and smiled as he got up from the couch and kissed you gently.

“Steve, this is my amazing beautiful wife Y/N.”

You bit your lip, you really weren’t sure on how to play this but you ended up going with the safest option, “it’s nice to meet you Steve. I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” you meant the apology but you couldn’t help thinking that he deserved it after what he did to you.

A look of hurt flashed through Steve’s eyes but he managed a small smile as he ran his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, “it’s nice to meet you too Y/N,” he gave you a meaningful look, “you have such a beautiful family,” he gestured to your family photographs on the wall with a melancholy look on his face.

“Yes, I know,” you smiled up at your husband before you looked back at your ex-boyfriend as you protectively held your stomach where your second child was growing. There would be no more blue Christmases.

---------------------

@smiithys

[shreddedleopard]

Some more thoughts after chapter 132 ...

So these words by Hange got me thinking ... it’s like Isayama wanted to point out to us what we already sort of knew technically with Armin being made commander, but perhaps wouldn’t have fully processed had it not been pointed out here.

I feel like Levi’s head is probs pretty mashed right now, and he’s got a grim mix of emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

They’re off to stop Eren. Armin is a negotiator, first and foremost, so I feel like he’ll at least try that to begin with.

Hange told Armin Levi is his subordinate, but I wonder if Levi is sick and tired of following people’s orders and then watching them die. Plus he’s gone from leading these kids as very green recruits to having them be the ones to give him orders ...? I dunno. I know Levi is a dedicated soldier. I know he’s normally respectful of authority. But Armin ... it doesn’t feel so long ago that Levi was having to teach him about what it means to be a soldier and having resolve.

Despite Levi’s words about the value of not hesitating, since this moment, we’ve seen Armin hesitate time and time again. With Bertoldt at Shiganshina. With wanting to reach out to the rest of the world and negotiate peace. Armin isn’t a fighter like Levi. Armin is a negotiator. I feel like at this point, with all he’s lost, Levi is now past negotiation.

What if Armin orders Levi to do something, and Levi just disagrees? He’s with the 104th but he’s of the old guard; none of these guys have seen the shit he has in his lifetime. Will he really be able to bring himself to trust their judgement over his own? Can he recognise Armin as a leader in the same way he did Hange and Erwin?

Maybe this is where Isayama will show us Levi’s growth. Or maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll use it to convey how Levi is still stuck in the past with his old comrades and his old way of thinking - hesitate and you die.

I can’t imagine Levi willingly and thoughtfully going against the chain of command, but he’s been set up pretty well here to be pushed right to the edge of his own reasoning. If there’s a moment to say, take Eren down or neutralise him but with potential risk of harm to Eren, and Armin tells Levi to stop - to just wait a moment - will Levi be able to follow that order? Near the beginning of our story, we saw Levi take on a responsibility:

We’ve seen what could be some more potential foreshadowing where the group is torn between hesitation and action here, this time centering on Jean and Levi ...

Jean learns from this and puts it into practice during recent chapters ...

Here it’s clear to see that Jean has taken on Levi’s line of reasoning. This time, he’s quick to pull the trigger against his enemies to save his comrades. Enemies who were also once comrades, might I add.

And we see him making that decision beside Mikasa. The girl he’s dreamed of being with since the start of the story. We saw in an earlier chapter how Jean was close to siding with the Jaegerists just so he could achieve that dream, but in that moment his conscious wouldn’t allow it. After hearing Floch, though, just before he died, it’s almost as though we can see more of Jean’s resolve to take Eren out quickly crumbling away.

Let’s skip back to current events. Why might all this hesitation vs. Action when it comes to characters’ reasoning be important for the final confrontation with Eren?

Potentially, Jean and Levi have reasons not to want to hesitate once they get an opportunity to take their oposition out - whether that oposition in the final vital moments is the same for both of them remains to be seen. Armin, however, will always favour negotiation. And Mikasa ...

My guess is, Mikasa wants to talk too. She wants Eren to be the one to wrap her scarf once more. But Isayama has promised to hurt us, so things will never be plain sailing.

Where have we seen a moment of disagreement involving EMA and Levi before?

In season 3 of the anime, just before the split, we got some eerie jumping in the end titles, before we cut to this exact scene without any context. We saw Levi strike a blow to Eren, prompting Mikasa to attack. The scene ended for us with Mikasa’s blade pressed to Levi’s neck.

This doesn’t sit well with me.

I’m not sure where Pieck, Reiner, Onyankopon and Connie also fit into all this, but my guess is this: chaos will ensue between our alliance in the coming chapters. There are too many conflicting motivations which could come into play in the final confrontation.

What that will look like, and who will side with who, well ... my mind keeps changing. Will Levi put aside any lingering reservations and follow Armin’s orders, even if he doubts them? Will we see a repeat of a confrontation between Mikasa and Levi over Eren? Will Jean use Levi’s own reasoning to take him down if he stands against Mikasa? Or will Levi fulfill his own dream of becoming the ‘hero’ as Kenny once asked him, and maybe he’ll save one or more of the alliance members from a rampaging Eren (remember when Eren’s titans attacked Mikasa before Armin was able to get through to him at Trost way back when?) but be taken out in the process?

One things for sure: Isayama is an absolute genius for making so many outcomes not only feel plausible, but also well set up with foreshadowing and build up, so we’re kept guessing until the last.

Someone tell me I’m not going crazy. Or that I have it all wrong. Either way it’s nice to know what everyone else has taken from recent events!

Here ends my ramblings for today. Now I need to go do something productive.

[ladydorian05]

A life in retrospection

(pic credit: @a7estrellas​)

#Pedros12DaysOfChristmas

Hello @scribbledghost​ !!! I couldn’t wait, I’m your Secret Santa darling!!!!!

I really, really, REALLY  hope you like this. This is actually the third try at writing your gift, I dot nervous and the self doubt worm hit me hard while writing. You mentioned you wanted ‘talking’, well my on the first one it was more talking than anything and was such a mess that I knew no amount of editing would fix it. I didn’t erase it completely I used some parts for the second one that served as the foundation for the final one.

It’s still a little bit of a mess, I suck at choosing titles and maybe the ending is a bit rushed.

Edit: Forgot to mention, Miss Daisy belongs to Scribbledghost, from her neighbour Whiskey series, check it out, you won’t regret it. 

A life in retrospection

Soulmate AU!

Pairing: Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels x fem character (a name is mentioned so it’s not THAT reader friendly)

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, lil bit of depression, Jack goes to therapy so expect to read a different man (we really just yeeted a whole man and turn him into a better one, the beauty of fanfics), fluffiness, this man is not afraid to cry, allusions to spiciness but just implicit.

Words: 3K and something.

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

He couldn’t believe this was his life now.

He thought as he watched, through a window from the inside of his warm home, as the snowflakes fell outside.

Couldn’t believe he was capable of feeling such happiness again, not after everything he’s had to live through.

A few years ago, he almost committed the biggest mistake of his entire existence, condemning millions of people just because of his trauma. Good thing a pair of gentlemen helped knock some sense into him. Literally. And god bless Champ for giving him a second chance, since then, his life had been filled with second chances.

He finally went to see the Statesman therapist and work through his issues, he gave himself a second chance, to heal, to see the world in a different way.

What he never thought he would get, was a second chance at love, at being loved, but his beloved’s favorite pastime was to just prove him wrong every chance she got.

And prove him wrong she did.

Everyone has a soulmate, even him, and just like everyone else’s, his soul mark appeared on his thirteenth birthday. Right there, the name and the first letter of his soulmate’s last name etched into his skin in his soulmate’s handwriting and just like everyone he had been excited.

He spent countless hours staring at the letters on his wrist, studying the beautiful, soft and round letters, some of them just a breath away from being cursives. Always wondering when and if he would be able to meet the person they belonged to.

As the years passed, he became more aware of how small the chance that he would actually meet his soulmate was, and while he kept wondering about them from time to time, he didn’t stop himself from falling in love with someone else.

He shared many years with her, they got married just as they were fresh out of college, neither of them caring that they weren’t each other’s soulmates. Marriages like theirs weren’t rare at all, after all the world is way too big and life too short to spend it looking for one person.

Yes, life is short and it can be so cruel to the least deserving. The day he lost both his wife and unborn son was the day something inside him broke, something he thought could never be repaired again. He fell in an abysm of self blame that in time turned into bitterness and hatred for those who fell in the clutches of illegal substances. He really thought he would never love again.

Until one day. One fateful day thanks to a mix up with his order at his favorite coffee shop, he met her, his beloved; when their drinks had been served in the wrong cups by the new barista in training.

She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, what were the chances that said woman would turn out to also be his soulmate. From the moment he saw her he felt drawn to her. He knew it, the moment their fingers touched when they exchanged their cups. Something in him shifted with a rush of emotions, leaving him breathless.

Hell, even now she still leaves him breathless.

They had spent the rest of that day getting to know each other, they talked about everything and anything, as if they were old friends seeing each other again after some time apart. He had heard the stories multiple times, people would talk about how they felt the moment they found their soulmate, they all paled in comparison to the overwhelming feeling of being know in such a way by someone you had just met.

He felt so blessed just being able to be in her presence.

Indiana, Indy, his love, his Moonshine, the light of his life that pulled him out of the remaining darkness inside him. You gave him a second chance at love, at actually feeling alive and not just living. And he took it, he would’ve been and idiot if he hadn’t.

They decided to take it slow to truly get to know one another and see where this connection of theirs would take them. After all, not all soulmates went on the romantic route; some, were just destined to be platonic and neither option was better than the other, that’s just the way things were.

But after many dates, after both bared their souls to one another, they were happy to discover that all along there had been something growing between them and that the feeling was mutual.

They shared their first kiss beneath a starry sky, she had taken him to her favorite spot in the city, maybe the stars weren’t as visible as in other places due to the light pollution of the city but neither of you were really looking at them, too lost in one another. After that night everything fell into place.

In the following months, they spent as much time as they could together, lunch breaks, dinners, weekends at each other’s apartments watching movies, talking about work, about anything and everything.

After Champ had notified him that he was going to be allowed go back to field work, he invited you to dinner at his place. He decided to tell you everything then and there, about his wife, about his work; he had previously asked for permission for the last one, assuring his boss that this was serious and that he trusted you completely, he even told you about what he almost did during the whole Golden circle fiasco.

He had expected to see some kind of horror or judgement written in Indy’s face when he finally lifted his head when he stopped talking, he should have known better. He found understanding in your eyes, you told him how proud you were that he looked for help after everything he went through and that ‘James Bond job’ or not, you would be there for him.

You had also added an ‘Of course your alias is Whiskey!’ that made him laugh, but that was beyond the point.

You only asked, that every time he was to go on a mission that he’d let you know, and if he had to leave at a moment’s notice, he would call or text you as soon as he could, you also asked him to be careful.

“We just found each other I don’t want to lose you.” Were your exact words. He remembers because he kissed you as soon as you said them, it started slow and full of gratitude but it soon changed into a passionate one.

That had been the first of many nights, and mornings, he got to share his bed with you. You moved together shortly after that night. Going to bed every night and waking up with you at his side soon became the highlight of his days, if he could he would spend a lifetime just lying with you in bed. He savours every moment he gets by your side.

He had been sure, long before the date of your first year anniversary approached; both of you chose it to be the day you met; that he wanted to be there for you, he wanted to protect you, to make you as happy as you make him, to be anything you needed him to be, a friend, a lover, a life partner; you just had to say it and he’d do anything become that person.

He made a decision. They had already discussed the subject of marriage on more than one occasion, so he was sure it was something you would want or wouldn’t be opposed to it eventually. He still thought about it, long and hard for days.

After his first marriage he never thought he would be open to, well, any kind of relationship that went beyond one-night stands, but that was before therapy, before he worked on the demons inside his head; and now, now he just hoped you would be willing to take an old man as your husband. Again, he should’ve known better.

He planned everything, a romantic dinner at good restaurant; not too over the top fancy but with good food; then he would take you on a romantic walk through Central park, he knew of a spot that had a beautiful gazebo with a view to a pond, he decided he would ask you there; and of course, he sent to polish his mother’s ring.

She gave him the ring some time after his wife passed away and made him promise that he would only give it to his soulmate if he met them. His parents had been soulmates, and his grandparents as well, she explained that the ring had been in the family for many generations and more times than not the marriages had been between soulmates, maybe she believed the ring would bring him luck in finding his own.

With everything carefully planned, he just had to wait for the day to arrive.

But even the best-laid plans, often go awry.

The date fell on a Friday, he was just about to clock in when he received a call from Champ, he and Vermouth; previously known as their Ginger ale; where called for an emergency mission. A Band of extremist where planning a bombing, they got the location of their hideout and were tasked to take them out immediately.

While the mission wouldn’t take him to the other side of the planet, it would take him to the other side of the country, he knew even if they hurried up, he wouldn’t be back in time for the reservation; in fact, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t be back until midnight.

He remembers how much he had apologized to you as he called you on the Statesman’s plane, and bless you and your beautiful heart, you took it in stride, telling him it was fine and that you could celebrate the next day, that all you needed was for him to return to you safe and sound.

And he did just that. At around two in the morning, he opened the door to the apartment he shared with you, he left his hat and jacket at the entrance. He was beginning to un button his shirt when he saw you sleeping on the couch, a box of pizza on the coffee table and the tv still on.

It made him feel guilty but it also warmed his heart that you had tried to wait up for him, he decided against waking you up. He turned the tv off and took you in his arms, you only stirred a little bit before your breath evened out again. He placed you on your side of the bed and tuck you in; he took all of his clothes off except for his briefs before joining you in bed.

The next morning, he stirred awake at the feeling of your lips leaving small kisses all over his chest.

“Mmgood morning Moonshine.” He said, his voice rough from sleep.

“Good morning to you too, cowboy. Sorry I woke you up, but I couldn’t resist.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, love. Can’t think of a better way to wake up.” He had pull you closer to his side, your head resting on his arm. “’m sorry I missed our anniversary.”

“None of that Jack, I told you it’s okay. Besides, you can always make it up to me.” You said with mirth, running your hand up and down his torso.

He chuckled. “What did I do to deserve you?” he muttered as he placed a kiss on top of your head.

Both of you stayed quiet, just enjoying the moment, basking in the feeling of being in each other’s arms; until he broke the comfortable silence.

“Marry me.”

The words had just slipped through his lips. He knew neither of you really needed fancy restaurants or romantic venues, you just needed each other. So, what better place and moment to ask you to be his wife, than in the warmth of the home you shared, lying in each other’s arms in their bed.

“What?” He felt your hand stop its movement right on top of his heart, he was sure you had felt how fast it was beating.

“I said, marry me, Moonshine. Please?” You sat on the bed, watching him with an unreadable expression.

“Jack Daniels, you better not be joking.” You had pointed a finger to him.

“Tell me my love, if I wasn’t serious, would I have this?” He said as he also sat on the bed and reached inside of the drawer of the nightstand, taking the velvet box in his hand; not the best hiding place but he hadn’t planned for it to stay there for a long time; he opened it to show you the ring inside.

“Oh my god Jack!” you covered your mouth with your hands as your eyes became glossy with unshed tears.

“Indy, Indiana, my love, my Moonshine, my soulmate. You have no idea how blessed I feel to have you in my life, there aren’t enough words in the world to help me express how much I love you, how much you mean to me. You’re an amazing person, so kind, intelligent, strong and beautiful, and I’ll be more than honored to be your husband, if you’ll have me.” He held his breath as he watched you process what he just said.

He was beginning to get worried when you just sat there for a few seconds, that felt like an eternity to him, staring at him without saying a word. You took him by surprise when you jumped into his arms, just as he was considering on telling you that it was okay if you didn’t want to or that you could take your time before answering.

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, a thousand times yes Jack! Of course I’ll have you!” By the time he got the ring on your finger both of you were a sobbing mess. He didn’t let you leave the bed until way past noon, and only because neither of you had had breakfast. He had to take good care of his fiancée.

The wedding had been beautiful, only your closest friends and family were invited to the event.

Sometime after the wedding, Champ asked him to move back to Kentucky, he offered him a promotion, he offered him his own position in Statesman, saying that he was ready to retire and that he thought that, out of everyone else, he was the best candidate for it.

His past self would have jumped at the opportunity, not only would he be in charge of the intelligence agency, he would also become the major stockholder of the distillery; but he wasn’t that man anymore, it was a huge responsibility, even if it came with its benefits.

And he had a wife. Your friends lived here, your work was here, you had built a life for yourself in this city long before he came into your life; he couldn’t just go home and tell you ‘Darling, guess what? We’re moving to Kentucky!’ and he refused to leave you behind.

He thanked Champ for the offer and asked him for some time to think about it. He told you about it as soon as he got home. He told you that he couldn’t just ask you to leave what you worked so hard to get behind and follow him down south.

You let him speak, you let him ramble on and on about why it wasn’t a good idea, he also listed some of the positive things that came with accepting the promotion.

“Wait a minute.” You interrupted him in the middle of his tirade. “As the head or director or whatever you guys call it, you would be permanently stationed in Kentucky? As in no more field work?”

“Well, yes and no. At first yes, Champ will have to show me the ropes of everything, then I’ll probably still be active for some years but then well yes, eventually I won’t be sent on missions as frequently as right now. There’s also managing the distillery and that means normal corporate stuff like business trips and all that; it won’t be that different from what I already do here.” You nodded at his words.

“Do it. You have my support.” His eyes widened at that.

“But, but Moonshine, what about your work!?”

“What about it? I’m sure I can request a transfer, and if not I’m sure I can get a new job, it’s not like we’re moving to the middle of nowhere; I could also become a free-lancer.” You listed. “Listen Jack, if moving south means you’ll be risking your life less and less as time goes on, then we’re moving south.” And that was the end of the discussion, he knew the decision was made.

He let you choose the new house, he only asked for enough land to get a horse or two in the future; he was dying to take you on romantic rides; and you chose a beautiful roomy one, neither of you wanted to dismiss the possibility of children. The extra points of the house were the beautiful chimney inside and the fire pit on the back porch, it also had a barn not far from the main building.

And it was good that the house was quite large because half a year after moving in, he convinced you to go with him to a local farm animal expo on his day off. As you browsed through the various handmade items in display, he stumbled upon a woman selling teacup pigs, and while he had always considered himself more of a horses and dogs person, his curiosity got the better of him.

They were so adorable, one in particular caught his attention, he couldn’t resist the adorable beaded eyes looking straight at him; before he knew it, he was making his way back to you holding the little piggy in his arms.

He got a “Jack, why are you holding a pig like a baby?” from you the moment you saw him.

“Because she is! Just look at her she’s so cute, she’s my cute little lady.”

The conversation about the new member of their family continued on the way back home.

“I hope you’re not thinking about letting her stay inside the house once she begins to grow.”

“What are you talking about? Miss Daisy’s a teacup pig; she’ll only grow an inch or maybe three at most.”

“Oh, so it’s Miss Daisy! She already has a name and all that. I’m warning you; I’m not going to pick up what Miss Daisy produces after eating.” You said. “Wait, teacup pig? You are aware there’s no such thing as teacup pigs, right?”

“What do you mean? The woman said they were all teacup pigs.”

“Oh my god. My love, you have been deceived.”

He may not know a lot about pigs, but he couldn’t believe that that sweet woman had outright lied to him, right?

Wrong. Like always, you were right, and he fucked up. At least he eventually convinced you to let him keep Miss Daisy inside. She’ll always be a baby to him, no matter how big she got.

And then, he became an actual father. It wasn’t enough for you to give him so much love and happiness, now you had given him the greatest gift of all. She was perfect, from her tiny nose to her even tinnier toes.

If he had cried when you agreed to marry him, and cried even more when you gave him the news of your pregnancy; he was sure he cried a river the day their daughter was born.

Here he was, years later, still madly in love with you, still feeling like the luckiest man in the world.

He was brought back from his memories by a pair of hands sliding around his middle from behind.

“Hey, I made hot chocolate, want a cup?” He turned around to properly face you, a big smile on his face. “What? Do I have some coco powder on me?”

“No,” he shook his head “no. It’s just, well, you just took my breath away.” He said wiggling his eyebrows up and down in the way he knew always made you laugh.

“Pffff, Jack, I married you, you can stop saying stuff like that.”

“On the contrary, Moonshine, I shall keep on stating the truth of how my stunning wife makes me feel every single day of my life.” He leaned to give you a sweet short kiss.

“You haven’t answered Mr. Daniels, hot chocolate or do you want a cup of coffee?”

“Mmmm, I’ll have the chocolate this time, gotta honor the drink that brought you into my life, Mrs. Daniels.” He pressed his forehead against yours.

“What’s gotten into you today?” You asked, laughing softly as the hairs of his moustache tickled your upper lip.

“Nothing, just been reminiscing my happiest memories. Want to know a secret?” He whispered the question. “They’re all about you.” He leaned in for another kiss when the voice of his little girl calling for him reached them.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look! Look at Miss Daisy! Isn’t she pretty?” He turned his head from his Moonshine as his daughter came running up to them in her cute pajamas, just in time to see Miss Daisy as she came waddling behind his lil’ sweetheart wearing a pink tutu, a tiara and he noticed her glittery pink painted hooves.

“Wow, sweetheart! She’s really pretty!” He tried to sound excited for his daughter’s sake, but he knew it came out more strained than he wanted.

She giggled before running off back to her room, with, once again, Miss Daisy running after her.

“Want me to google if that nail polish could be potentially harmful for her while you put our little tornado to sleep?” God bless his wife.

“Yes, please.” He let out a sigh. “You’re amazin’ Moonshine.” He turned back to you before placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I got you, cowboy.” He had to separate from your arms so he could go help their daughter keep her bed time schedule, otherwise they’ll surely have a cranky child for most of the next day.

“Hey honey! You want a bed time story?” he heard a distant ‘yay’ and a couple of snorts in response. “Be right back babe.” With a wink as he walked towards their daughter’s room.

Maybe he’ll never get used to this much happiness in his life, but he’ll never complain, what were the odds that he would meet his soulmate and build a beautiful home and a beautiful family with her. He must have done at least something right if he got to live this life.

And he will live it, to its fullest.

Tag list (do let me know if anyone wanst to be tagged in future works):

@oloreaa​

[stargaze-issei]

— 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐮𝐩 !

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭; matsukawa takes you on a date, filled with surprises until the very end.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; cursing bc i can't see mattsun not cursing

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; fluff, like, FLUFF

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 2266 (it's a pretty number)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; 1. this came in a dream 2. can y'all tell how obsessed am i with the idea of stargazing with mattsun??

i’m here, hurry or i’ll leave u <3

the effect issei had on you never changed, a giggle emerged from your throat and escaped your mouth. you could picture your impatient boyfriend, tapping with his fingers on the wheel at the rhythm of the music, looking at the entry of your building every two seconds, his moody expression being as adorable as usual. on purpose, you walked lazily outside your place, hoping to get on his nerves. issei never was one who worried a lot, but he lost his cool rather quickly against waits, no matter how short they were. however, his annoyed mock changed the moment he saw your figure appear from behind the door, looking gorgeous as always. a smitten grin took place in his face, watching you getting nearer and nearer. if hanamaki would’ve been there, he most definitely would’ve teased him. 

“hey, since you won’t tell me what we’re doing i thought i—” matsukawa’s hand cup your face, pulling you softly for a kiss. his lips were a little dry at first, but nothing you weren’t used to. a taste of his usual monster drink was noticeable in his mouth, making you smile in the middle of the kiss. such an eboy, you thought, choosing to keep it to yourself instead of ruining the moment.

“you’re pretty, want to be my girlfriend?” he asked, playfully smirking at you, his hands still held your face close enough to feel his breath mixing with yours.

“sorry but i’m a little out of your league, don’t you think?” his mouth opened in an O at your answer before leaning in to kiss you again. you responded, after so many kisses, in perfect synch while your hands placed on top of his. 

despite the first feeling of disconcert, you chose to follow your boyfriend’s game. issei was more reserved than one would think, usually not the one who initiated physical affection beyond hand holding or a peck on the lips, but sometimes he had his moments of clinginess where he couldn’t keep his hands to himself and kisses were spread all over you. he took distance from you, breaking the kiss to stare at your face and caress your cheek with his fingers, making you rub it against his hand as a cat would do. his smile widened before he united your noses in a skimal kiss, and then finally letting you go off his gentle grab. matsukawa sat back in the driver seat, accommodating himself while you put on the belt. 

“sorry” he whispered before starting the car, you knew he had a hard time after realizing he had been a little more intense than usual, no matter how many times you reaffirmed you absolutely loved being the object of his affection. his mouth said sorry, but his hand wandered to yours, once he caught it, he led you to take the gear lever and place his hand on top of yours. 

a sudden heat attacked your cheeks at the act, thinking about the way issei had done that out of complete habit.

“i’ve missed you” you said, hoping to make him a little more comfortable with the shown affection.  

another smile, just like the one from when he saw you, appeared on his face. at least now he didn’t try to hide it, unlike when you first started dating. his response to your confession was a squeeze on your trapped hand and an entertained glance from him. the rest of the car ride both stayed silent, to feel the other’s presence was enough to be content. matsukawa drove with such confidence, you couldn’t help but wonder where he was taking you. a curious look to the back seat gained you a groan from your boyfriend, warning you to stay in your place so his surprise wasn’t ruined. the sun was already setting when you finally got to your destiny, although issei’s hand never abandoned your skin. whenever you took away your hand to scratch your face or accommodate your hair, his travelled to your nearer thigh, and as soon as he saw your hand free again, he would catch it.

“close your eyes.” said mattsun before opening his door, you looked at him in confusion, a little scared of what he had planned. “oh come on, trust me a little” hesitantly, you shut your eyes, squeezing his hand in yours. 

“isse do—” but it was too late, a blindfold was already covering your eyes, preventing any spoiler of the so awaited surprise “you kinky bastard” you joked, trying to ease the increasing anxiety you were beginning to feel.

“don’t be so surprised about it” he chuckled, planting a kiss on your cheek and laughing at your scared reaction, “wait for me here, don’t take it off” 

if you said you weren’t scared you’d be lying, not because you thought he could hurt you… on purpose, at least, but matsukawa had a fame for not thinking things through completely, usually leading to a mess. right now, he parked in the middle of a forest, you thought, and seemed to be looking for something in the back of the car. a shovel, said your most dumb self, only to laugh at yourself for even think something like that.

“what are you laughing at?” he questioned, you could hear the smile in his voice, which only made you giggle more.

“nothing. you aren’t looking for a shovel, are you?” it was his turn to laugh before he closed the door that allowed you to hear him. you waited for him to help you outside the car at that moment, but minutes passed and no sign of your boyfriend was to be heard.

“issei?” you said, a little louder than regular. when you got no answer, your hand went to the fold on your eyes. “if this is a joke it’s not fucking funny” a partial laugh went along your voice, how many times have you and issei laughed at that exact same phrase while you watched an horror movie?. the time he had been gone could easily be ten minutes, even more, and your worry was starting to overcome your initial anxiety “i’m taking this off and you better be alive when i do it” you warned, hoping that it stayed as a joke. 

the sight in front of you hadn’t changed at all from when you arrived, something your mind took as a good sign. you opened the door, taking your head out first to check for anyone hiding outside your line of view, and once the coast was clear, you finally stepped outside. the first thing you saw behind the car, the last spot you’ve heard matsukawa, was one of his shoes. you had no idea if he was wearing that pair, but why would another pair of shoes be in the middle of nowhere?

“mattsun i swear to god, if you’re fucking with me i’ll break up with you right now” your voice was loud enough to be heard around yourself and the car, but nobody answered. 

your eyes tracked the way the shoe must’ve come from to find its twin, and a long line of the rest of issei’s clothing. you damned yourself for not remembering if he was wearing them earlier. against all your better judgement, you decided to follow the obvious path the clothes were pointing, praying for it to be just one of your boyfriends stupid pranks.

please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead.

a small light made its way to your eyes, behind a heavy curtain of trees and bushes, as you got closer, you realized it wasn’t just one light, but candles spread all over the place. a blanket, with drinks and food carefully displayed, was in the middle, and on top of everything, an almost naked mattsun waited for you with a stuffed animal between his hands. he had the most wholesome smile printed on his face, his eyes glowing with happiness at seeing you. the only thing he had on was a jacket, his underwear and his socks, the rest of his clothes rested in your hands.

“hi” he whispered, you looked at him up and down, in shock, catching a subtle shiver in his legs. it was freezing, yet there he was, naked in the middle of a forest at night. “i forgot to bring something to mark your way here, so i had to improvise” 

“you’re such a… dork” you said, trying to get over your surprise, fear and blossoming warmth growing in your chest.

“dork? that's all i get? i’m standing in the middle of night, naked, in a forest for you, at least you could give my clothes back” he laughed it off, walking towards you. his arms wrapped you in a firm grip, bringing you closer to him. despite the cold surroundings, you could feel his hot skin through the fabric. 

“i love you, know that?” you confessed, staring at his dark eyes.

“i thought you were out of my league,” joked issei, before uniting once again with your lips in a slow kiss.  you pulled away before the kiss deepened, suddenly remembering he was half naked in front of you.

“get dressed. now.” 

“but there’s so much more we can do like this—”

“we’re not having sex in a forest, what if a bug crawls up your pee pee?” you whispered the last part closer to his ear, earning a disgusted mock in his face replacing his smitten expression.

“we agreed you wouldn’t call it pee pee anymore, it makes it seem like it’s small” issei whined, getting offended by the second seeing you weren’t denying what he said. 

mumbling how, sometimes, you were even meaner than him and makki together, that he was going to get back at you someday and you weren’t going to like it, he took the clothes from you and finally put them on. you sat on the blanket, absorbing your surrounding and the small details mattsun had set up. it was impossible he prepared everything in just ten minutes, meaning, he came before and advanced some of the arrangements, like the candled, carefully set in safe positions to avoid initiating a fire, or how the ground beneath the blanket was without a single rock or stick, as if someone had cleaned it before. the basket only carried two more blankets for later, when cuddles weren’t enough to keep the warmth in your bodies, and the food and drinks were displayed in front of it, a collection of both yours and his favorites. too focused you were on issei’s masterpiece that only when he laid by your side, you noticed the only light remaining came from the sky.

“what happened with the candles?” you complained, cuddling to his side and burying your head on his chest, closing your eyes to enjoy the closeness.

“open your eyes, you’re going to miss it” before you could even think of how he knew your eyes were closed, a shooting star crossed the sky above you in a gleam. your head shook to look at your boyfriend in amazement. “you’re going to miss it” he cooed, your eyes opened wide at his comment. wasn’t it already over?

your question was answered seconds after, it wasn’t one, two, nor three stars falling, tons of them plowed the sky, bathing your sight in a completely new scenery. the dark colors of the night danced with the coming and going flashes of the meteor shower in front of your eyes, it seemed like an endless fantasy happening just for the two of you. it felt like issei was behind all of it, as impossible as it sounded, your heart fluttered at the mere thought of his love being strong enough to make stars fall from the sky. you had time to laugh at your idiotic thoughts later. 

matsukawa’s arm brought you closer to him, his eyes fixed on your astonished expression. the stars made it seem like your eyes were actually glowing, they might as well have, he thought. as much as he wanted to look away and enjoy the astronomical event happening, his eyes and head weren’t answering to his commands. it felt almost sacrilegious to look away from you, more beautiful than ever, with wonder printed on every single pore of your skin, shining under the unique glow of the night. issei swore, he could’ve stayed there, admiring you, for the rest of his life. for a moment, time stopped. there was nothing behind those trees circling you, you and him were the only ones in the world and your love was never coming to an end. he wouldn’t even notice when the shower ended if it weren’t for your slightly bumped expression. 

your head turned to him again, a few inches from his face, your mouth opened but no sound came out of it, then it closed, and opened again. you couldn’t find any right thing to say.

“did you like it?” he asked, with a little smile flourishing on his lips.

“i can’t even describe it, issei” you said softly, looking straight into his eyes. you had no doubt, you were in love with that man and that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

“are you still out of my league, then?” he teased, his thumb finding its way to your bottom lip.

“right now, you could ask me to marry you and i’d say yes” his silly smile widened, leaning into you to seal the moment with a kiss.

“i’ll do it, someday”

𝐟𝐮𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭; matsukawa heard about the meteor shower because oikawa wouldn't shut up about it for the past three weeks. he was actually the one who pointed out how good of a date it would be.

[twilitty]

Waiting pt.2

Waiting

@twilitty​

Part 2/?

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: none

Read this first! Bella is away while Rose and Emmett are watching Nessie. This fic is centered around Bella.

It took everything out of Bella to not draw attention to herself. She had dressed in sweatpants and a ratty sweatshirt that she had to hide in the back of her closet so Alice couldn’t find it. Yet still people stared at her. This was one thing Bella doubted she would ever get used to: the attention.

She liked to lay low, fly under the radar, get lost in the crowd. But, that hasn’t happened to her since her human days. Well, it hasn’t really happened to her since Phoenix. It seemed that Forks high school thought she was the best thing around and quickly she had a band of boys vying for her attention. 

She’s walking down a busy side street in Port Angeles, she hadn’t lied about where she was going. The entire family knows she is in the city, they just don’t know why- except for Alice- and decidedly choose not to ask her about it. She appreciates the faux privacy they give her. It’s difficult living with a family who had supernatural hearing abilities, every whispered argument with her new husband was put on display for all to discuss in private. 

Port Angeles is her monthly retreat from the Cullens, who seemed to be her only socialization after she awoke as a vampire. It’s not that she doesn’t enjoy spending time with them, she loves them all dearly, but most conversations revert back to time periods from before she was born. She was never a fan of history class.

Port Angeles was nowhere near as large as other cities, but it was close to home and she doesn’t like leaving her daughter for long periods of time. 

The street is littered with tourists in heavy backpacks, maps under their noses. The maps are unnecessary, each street has clear signage and you can always cut through alleyways to the next street over if you need to move fast. She can’t imagine how anybody could get lost among these streets and then scolds herself immediately. She had gotten lost in these streets. Her human self was used to getting lost and falling into the lap of trouble. She hates forgetting about her old self. 

Her shoulder bag bumps her hip with every step, inside her car keys, wallet, and a hardcover book. It’s a battered copy of Pride and Prejudice, the edges of the stiff covers frayed with time and use. The words inside bore the stains of past tears, tears she would never shed again. She remembers the last time she cried over these pages, sitting on Charlies beat up couch with her wet hair tied up in a towel atop her head. She couldn’t stop thinking of Edward. This was before they had come together and stayed together. She had hoped that his behaviour was an imitation of Mr.Darcy’s. Hopefully he was just pretending to dislike her because he didn’t know how to work through his true emotions, ultimately her hopes came true, but at the time she felt empty. 

Empty from caring too much and empty from being let down yet another time. A new town she didn’t want to be in, and the one bright side seemed to hate her, how is she supposed to cope with that? She had treated herself with a bowl of ice cream after her hot shower, curling up in a quilt that seemed older than her and reading Jane Austen yet again. 

Everytime Darcy entered a scene another fat tear would drop onto the page, marking the exact spot she thought of the cruel bronze haired boy. A boy so beautiful her heart wanted to sing, yet every time he looked at her with that same disdain she couldn’t help but feel torn apart all over again. How could one human stand so much torment?

A part of her, small and insignificant, sits in her gut and wishes for tears. Wants some physical expression of her emotions. But, that won’t happen. 

The street winds to the right, groups of teenagers clustered outside of an indie coffee shop and giggling amongst each other. Idly she wonders, how is Angela doing? But the thought disappears as quickly as it comes and she finds herself at the end of the street with a four-way stop in front of her. 

She takes the right turn, sneakers scuffing as she lets her heels drag a little with every step. Humans never walk evenly, there is always something to unbalance their gait and mark their shoes. Alice would rather die a million deaths than see Bella purposefully mistreat her shoes, even if they’re knock offs she bought at an outlet mall. 

A couple buildings down, all cement and brick, is the public library. It’s poorly funded and the lighting inside is horrendous. The windows need to be resealed and the doors squeak like mice. She loves it. She enters into the drafty lobby, a bulletin board shows all the events this month, a book club is scheduled for today at noon. She checks her watch, 11:47. 

The next doors lead into the children's section where parents and toddlers sit in a semicircle at the back wall, a poorly constructed stage is used to recreate a story with hand puppets. “Save me!” She hears one of the socks yell out, a few children gasp and her steps slow to a stop. A child sitting up close to the stage has brown hair braided down her back in uneven strips. Her giggles stand out from every other childs gasps of horror. Beside her sits an identical little boy, his brown skin shining just like his sisters. 

“Don’t worry,” the little girl whispers into his ear, “the princess has a happy ending.” The boy looks up at her with big doe eyes, his nose sniffling. “I promise,” she says. Then, as if feeling that someone is watching, she turns around and faces Bella from across the wide room. 

They look at each other, the human and the vampire, the child and the woman, the hunted and the hunter. Her, Bella thinks absently, her senses slow to a dull, focused only on the soft thudding of the little girls heart. She is so beautiful. The girl watches her, wide eyes blinking as she takes in the woman staring at her without seeming to notice it. Then, she raises a dark palm, waving it at the woman.

Bellas senses surge back into her, noises and colours and scents slam into her like a wall and she almost feels the need to take a steadying breath. The girl continues to wave, her little brother looking over his shoulder to see who she’s looking at. 

Walking quickly and a little dazed, Bella makes her way to the staircase and closes the door behind her. She takes a deep, unnecessary breath which does nothing more than fill her lungs. Her chest sits hollow, no movement unless she forces it and no beating of a heart. She wonders idly what would happen if she was opened up, would they find her heart still intact? Did the venom solidify it like the rest of her or is it just simply gone? 

“Isabella!” It’s Nancy, she’s at the top of the stairs holding a book to her chest. She’s an older woman, maybe sixty five, with beautiful grey hair cut into a sleek bob at her shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here, and looking stylish as always!” Bella just nods with what she hopes is a warm smile, she had heard and smelt Nancy above before she heard her but still widens her eyes to make it seem surprising. 

Coming from anybody else, calling Bella “stylish” for wearing sweatpants would have been sarcastic. Maybe a joke about how she always looks beautiful. But not from Nancy. Nancy is too kind, she likely has never said a poor word to anybody. 

“Thank you,” Bella responds. Taking the stairs up, Nancy has already started talking again. Bella's mind has a difficult time abandoning the little girl in front of the stage. The girl's heartbeat thuds in her ears, carrying through the thick metal door and up the stairs. She isn’t sure if she can still hear it or if her mind is just playing it back on a loop.

“All the ladies are already here, you’re the last to join us.” She continues to talk about who is here and who can’t make it. Someone brought lemon squares and someone else had snuck in orange juice and a bottle of champagne for mimosas. It’s a wonder the book club hasn’t been kicked out of the library permanently, it seems every month they are receiving another infraction for bringing in food and drinks. 

The book club meets once a month to discuss the book they were supposed to read, this week it’s Pride and Prejudice. The room they reserve is tucked into the back left corner of the library, the carpet is dingy and the walls that were once white are closer to yellow. Bella loves this room.

The ladies are all already sitting in a semicircle, a low table in the center is covered in treats and large glasses filled with a sweet smelling drink. A large bottle of champagne sits next to it. “Isabella!” A few of them call out as she enters the room with Nancy. She greets them happily, smiling widely.

“Alright, so this month we read Pride and Prejudice!” A few women whoop at that, giggling and whispering amongst each other. “Now, now,” Dhruvi chastises lightly. She’s the club leader, she makes sure the discussion doesn't get carried away. “Who wants to share their first reactions to Mr.Darcy?” Bella's mind runs faster than any computer, her words and actions are usually well thought through before she reacts, which is why she takes herself off guard when she responds so quickly. She hadn’t even known she had something to add. “I think he was acting a little cruel.” Bella’s voice says without her knowing. All eyes are immediately on her, apparently none of them agreed because their eyes are wide as saucers.

“How could you say that?” A woman pipes up, her bushy eyebrows knitted atop her wrinkled forehead. “He loves Elizabeth.”

“Yeah,” Bella says slowly, her mind whirring but not producing anything. “But that doesn’t mean he can treat her like he doesn’t care for her. He should have been open with his feelings at the start, not play stupid mind games with her.”

The room is quiet, the air dripping in what can only be suppressed judgement and mild concern from the old women. Bella notices this, takes a few looks around the circle and swallows her pride. “I’m sorry,” she enunciates, each syllable crisp with her obvious discomfort. “I guess I’m just projecting my life onto the story.”

“Is it your husband, dear?” It’s Nancy, sitting three women down from her and giving her a soft smile. Her skin is wrinkled, her eyes creasing in a motherly way. Bella’s vocal cords refuse to work, and even if they were functioning she has no idea what to say. None of the women speak and instead watch Bella work the question over in her mind.

Even though Bella could have thought this over in the bare breath of a second, she takes a minute to truly think it over. Was it her husband? Edward who loved her, who she loved? They had a child together, they were both immortal. She served up her human life on a platter and asked him to throw it away. No, it wasn’t her husband. Their relationship was perfect, picturesque, the happy ending everybody always knew they would get.

“My wife,” starts Dhruvi with a heavy sigh, “does this to me sometimes, too.” Bella had met Dhruvi’s wife before, she was a kind woman with long black hair streaked with silver, her skin a nearly identical shade of brown to Dhruvi. “She will go days treating me like a guest in our home, not holding my hand or kissing me. We will eat breakfast at opposite ends of the table and make small talk. The entire time I think, ‘did I do something wrong? Has she abandoned her feelings for me?’ But, no.” She leans over onto her knees and the scent of her floral perfume fills Bella’s head. “The next night she will cook me dinner and kiss me and tell me I’m beautiful. And, yes that is nice but it is also sad like you said-” Bella never said that what Darcy did was sad, but in her head she can see now that that word fits into her sentiment perfectly. “- because for a moment I questioned my wife’s love for me and that is very painful.” 

The room nods and murmurs in agreement, Nancy giving Bella a sad, pitying look the entire time. “I- I’m sorry about your wife not always being open about her feelings,” Bella starts, feeling like she’s being forced into giving confession. “But that’s not my Edward.” 

“Not mine either,” Nancy says quickly. “But when we met that was him. He was my Darcy in the way you described him. I love Patt now but at the time he would take me out on a date only to show up for class the next day with some new broad.” She shrugs her shoulders, “and that was cruel. He played mind games with me.” The grey haired woman doesn’t seem upset by this, instead she seems content with it. Stating it with a resigned indifference. 

“But you’ve got him now!” A woman exclaims and that sends the room into an uproar of laughter. Bella’s is noticeably absent from the mixture. 

The group finishes their discussion about the book in just over an hour, a few women sneak snacks into their purses as they depart, giggly from all the champagne. Bella packages her novel into her bag and puts it over her shoulder. Dhruvi stands at the door, with a styrofoam plate of lemon squares, only three left. 

“Isabella, I’m sorry about your experiences with this month's novel.” She says it kindly, but also as if she’s digging for more information. Trying to reopen the discussion from earlier. 

“No, I enjoyed the book, really. It was quite romantic.” The words rush out of Bella, the last thing she wants to do is start this conversation all over again. Dhruvi laughs off her comment.

“I’m considering hosting dinner at my home, I will be inviting a few of the women from this group and a few others you don’t know.” Bella’s silent heart has jumped into her throat. “Would you be interested in joining us?” What does she say? That she will go but won’t eat a single damn thing? Oh, sorry, I ate just before getting to your house for this prescheduled dinner. How awful is that, there is no way that she can go. 

“I don’t think I’ll be available that day.”

“I didn’t mention the date,” the older woman says slowly, eyelids leveling down over her pupils as if searching for something in Bella. The vampire has no response to this. “Bring your husband,” she says finally, “I would like to meet him.” 

[kasienda]

A Miraculous Reveal - Just an Ordinary (Bad) Day

Marinette choked back a cry as her eyes landed on the black butterfly that fluttered towards her. She slid down to the ground, and pulled her knees to her chest. How had she sunk this low? Yeah, her day had sucked, but it was the suck of an ordinary bad day where everything seemed to go wrong.

But it shouldn’t have been soul ending. Ladybug’s responsibilities hadn’t interrupted Marinette’s life at all. Chloé hadn’t been picking on or undermining her. Lila hadn’t cornered her in the bathroom, and while her history teacher was probably irritated that she had run out of class, she wasn’t facing a potential expulsion.

It was just an ordinary bad day.

Surely, not anything worthy of an akuma. Especially not an akuma for Ladybug.

Marinette should have been able to handle it. She always handled it. She just needed to breathe deeply and calm herself down.

And yet, the akuma fluttered ever closer.

Continue reading on Ao3

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed. “You need to breathe.”

Marinette choked off a sob, scuttled backwards on her butt away from the sparkling butterfly, and did as her kwami advised. She took long and even breaths, trying to soothe herself, but she was losing the battle. Her tears threatened to claw back up her throat anyway.

It had been an absolutely terrible day.

It had started with the nightmares. She hadn’t been able to fall into slumber without tearing awake an hour later with her pajamas sticking to her sweat soaked form, struggling for air. On a bad night, Marinette didn’t always remember the haunting images that plagued her attempts at rest, but she would tear awake with a pounding heart and crying eyes just the same.

But this night, the dreams were far too vivid. In some, she faced the concerned faces of her friends and family, but she didn’t know their names. In another, she lived underground, living off rats after Hawkmoth’s dystopian wish came to fruition in the form of iron-clad authoritarian rule. But the worst nightmare featured Chat Blanc’s soulless blue eyes staring straight through her - never seeing his partner and friend. He hunted her through forests covered in winter white, or he threw her off the tallest building in Paris. And in the last one, he hadn’t tried to hurt her at all.

No, he had tried to turn his cataclysmic power on himself.

He had been so alone. Died alone in a desolate world.

She hadn’t been able to save him.

And after that, she had been unwilling to try again for sleep.

It felt like she hadn’t slept at all. Her head existed in a fog with a dull ache between her temples. Her thoughts and motivation were even more sluggish than usual this morning. She wished that she could just sleep through one whole night just once this week. Was that too much to ask?

When she hadn’t made it out of the bathroom quickly enough, her mother had been kind enough to leave a breakfast tray on her desk. Only, with a towel over her head as she was drying her hair, Marinette hadn’t seen it. She had knocked the whole tray - strewn with eggs, toast, and coffee - over onto the floor when she stumbled past. It wouldn’t have been a big deal except she had a project laid out on the floor. A pattern pinned in place that she hadn’t cut out yet. The coffee alone no doubt ruined the fabric she had spent months saving up to buy.

Marinette fell to her knees in front of the disaster.

Her mother found her there still clad in only her towel, staring stoically over the lost project.

When thin warm arms wrapped around her, Marinette’s started in surprise.

“Oh Marinette, I’m so sorry,” her mother apologized. “I didn’t mean to risk your project. I was trying to save you some time.”

Marinette shook her head against her mother’s chest. “It wasn’t your fault,” the teenager responded tonelessly. “I didn’t see it.”

“I can’t promise anything,” her mother soothed, as her hand rubbed warm circles along her back. “But I will try to save the fabric.”

Marinette nodded, but she couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes from the disaster. She didn’t know what she was feeling, but whatever it was, it wasn’t good. And it wasn’t really about the fabric. It was about everything.

If Ladybug hadn’t been needed last night, no doubt Marinette would have finished cutting the pieces out, and had the project tucked away safely.

If Marinette wasn’t the Guardian, she would have had more time to earn more money to replace the loss, and she would have more time in general to recreate the now soggy patterns. More time to spend on the things that brought her joy.

As it was, Papillon had her up and running frantic at all times of day and night.

It wasn’t fair.

“Marinette, I will clean this up,” her mother assured her, still rubbing her back. “Do you think you could start getting ready for school again?”

Marinette stumbled to her feet, and began the usual mad dash to collect all her things before heading off to school.

She was only five minutes late by the time she ran out the door, with a ham and cheese quiche in her bag as a second attempt at sustenance. It wasn’t until she had fallen into her usual seat beside her best friend that she realized she had forgotten her essay.

The essay that she had actually completed, proofread, edited, and printed out. The assignment was no doubt still laying in her printer’s document tray on her desk in her room.

She let her head fall to the desk in frustration. Why did it have to be for Mendeliev? Any other teacher would have let her retrieve the paper during lunch and turn it in for full credit. But Mendeliev? While the science teacher was never very sympathetic with anyone, she had lost all patience with Marinette and her scatterbrained tendencies months ago.

Which is why Marinette’s grade was in jeopardy. She could not afford this late penalty. Having to retake the course in summer school was the absolute last thing she needed to add onto her plate.

At the end of class she had asked anyway, but the stern science teacher glared down her nose. “We’ve already had this conversation, Marinette,” she said coldly. “I’ve no interest in repeating it now.”

Her head hung low, Marinette trudged into the hallway barely noticing the bustle of students around her. Until one of them crashed into her and icy cold swept across her front.

“Oh my god! Marinette!” Rose’s shrill voice punctuated her shock. “I’m so sorry!”

“Marinette!” another voice crooned mockingly. “Finally found a fashion statement that suits your personality, I see!”

“Shut up, Chloé!” Alya barked already at her friend’s side, trying to help wring out the dark liquid from Marinette’s original shirt.

Marinette crumpled like paper on the spot. Hot tears sprang to her eyes, her throat closed up, and her chest felt tight.  

Rose squeezed her hand, as tears sprang to her blue eyes. “Marinette,” she sobbed. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. I was just running to meet Juleka. It was an accident. Please forgive me.”

Marinette squeezed Rose’s hand in return. “I-it’s okay, Rose. I-I know it was an accident. Today… today, has just…” and she choked on the words.

“Ladies!” Damocles’ voice barked across the courtyard. “Get to class!”

“But sir!” Alya objected. “Marinette needs to get cleaned up.”

The principal eyed the three girls. “Marinette is fully capable of cleaning herself up in the restroom. You and Rose need to get to class.”

Her friends glared daggers at the principal’s disapproving frown, but eventually shouldered their bags, and turned towards class with sympathetic smiles and slumped shoulders

Suddenly, Marinette stood alone in the courtyard in her sopping wet blouse. She blinked her eyes furiously, beating back the tears that threatened to fall. When she could breathe easily again through the lump in her throat she picked up her bag, and made her way slowly to the bathroom.

But within the privacy of the tiny girl’s bathroom, her emotions caught up with her again, and was soon weeping softly as she tried unsuccessfully to dab the coffee out of her pale pink shirt.

How much was too much, before a girl couldn’t take it anymore?

She fought against the thought, and forced her breathing to slow until she could dam up the flow of tears. She could do this.

She was Ladybug.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Alya: Hey girl. I just received a slip to leave for a dentist appointment. I have to go. Are you going to be okay?

The words blurred for a second, before Marinette stubbornly wiped her eyes, and recentered her breathing all over again. Of course, she would be okay.

She was Ladybug.

She typed back a quick response assuring Alya that she would manage.  

After she finished rinsing her shirt the best she could, and using a hand dryer to get it down to damp rather than soaking, she returned to class.

Marinette ducked under the teacher’s disapproving gaze, and scrambled to her seat.

History proved to be particularly dreary that day. The teacher was just droning on and on. She would have had difficulty enough paying attention on a normal day. As it was, Marinette’s emotional reserves were shot and with Alya gone for her appointment, and Adrien absent for who knew what, there was nothing there to distract her. Soon, she caught herself nodding off.

“Marinette!” Her teacher’s sudden unexpected voice tore her from her unsanctioned nap. “If you stay awake in class, you might actually score higher than a D on the next exam.”

And that was the straw she could not handle. Tears burst from her in uncontrolled torrents. Right in the middle of class. Consoling and judgemental comments alike had poured in around her.

She didn’t wait for the teacher to call the class back to order. Instead, she bolted for the exit.

She had thought she could soothe herself in the privacy of the empty hallway, but instead she had found herself on the ground, backed into a corner on her butt, face to face with an akuma.  

It honestly was almost pretty. Electric violet sparkled across the butterfly’s black fluttering wings.

Some part of her wanted to reach out and touch it.

Because Marinette was sick of crying, tired of being the bigger person, and far too aware that her thin shoulders could not bear the weight of protecting an entire city from a terrorist indefinitely.

She had no fall back position. She was it! A sixteen year old girl. Who thought that was a good idea?

If she was going to lose someday anyway, why not today?

Tikki’s bulbous form flew into her face and took up her entire field of vision.

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed. “You need to breathe,” she added gently.

Marinette nodded, trying to follow those directions.

Because she couldn’t be akumatized. No one would know Ladybug was out of commission. No one could bring out extra allies from the miracle box.

But her throat was tight and her chest felt hollow and she just wanted to curl up on herself and cry.

Chat Noir would have to face her alone.

The butterfly melted into her earrings. She felt them grow hot, but she couldn’t move as the electric violet flooded her vision.

Hello, Lady Liberty.

His voice was cold, but booming. It seemed to scream from inside her own head. Her hands clutched either side of her face.

“Marinette!” Tikki yelled, but Marinette had to strain to hear her.

You bear a heavy load. Let me ease your burden by allowing you to let it all go. You can be free.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks. Marinette wanted to let go. She wanted to be free.

But Tikki was still screaming, and Marinette knew her kwami was the one she ought to be listening to. “Don’t fight your feelings! If you fight them, they double down. Try to accept them. Forgive yourself, Marinette. Have patience and compassion for yourself. Please! Can you do that?”

Marinette nodded, but who was she nodding to? She didn’t know.

I grant you the power to free everyone from the burdens they carry.

Marinette nodded again.

“Think of something that makes you feel safe and loved,” the other voice interrupted urgently. “Something that makes you have hope! Go to that place on your mind, Marinette.”

Her mind instantly flooded with visions of her partner.

Being tangled up with him in the string of her yoyo the first time they met. He hadn’t been upset. He hadn’t doubted her ability. He had been excited and wanted to know her name.

Him diving in front of her to take a hit only to instantly fade from existence. But he had smiled, just for a moment. Like he had died happy knowing he had protected her.

His infuriating smirk every time he managed to pull off a stupid joke at a ridiculous time or one up her in some ridiculous competition.

He gave her advice - patient and heartfelt - even when she was asking for advice about confessing to another boy.

His arms wrapped around her - solid and safe - after her biggest mistake that had cost her a mentor. His faith and trust in her had never waivered.

And suddenly, she was laughing through her tears.

She was in love with Chat Noir.

When had that even happened?

It didn’t matter, but the revelation made one thing crystal clear: She couldn’t be akumatized.

That would leave her partner alone.

And she would never do that to him.

Marinette gasped for air as the butterfly broke away. The akuma couldn’t hold her. Not like this, not with the joy that flooded her form at the realization that she could be happy - that she could make her kitty happy.

The winged creature flapped away, and Marinette sagged to her knees. Her bones felt like jelly, but she was giggling hysterically.

The black butterfly flew away. Only once it was out of sight did it occur to her that she should have transformed and purified it.

But she hadn’t been thinking at all, and now Ladybug was going to have to deal with an akuma.

She supposed that was better than Ladybug being the akuma.

Muffled screams pierced the silence, followed by the sound of a classroom door slamming open.

Marinette didn’t move immediately. She remained huddled up on the floor unmotivated to get to her feet. Students evacuated from their rooms - some more orderly than others. Despite the chaos around her, Marinette remained unaffected by it.

Even an explosion rocking the ground beneath her legs still folded underneath her form, was not enough to bring her out of her funk. Paris could wait for five minutes.

“Well, look at you!” Chat Noir’s booming voice echoed from the courtyard. “Aren’t you a regular class act?”

Marinette was running for a safe spot to transform before she had made the conscious decision. While she was willing to make Paris wait, she couldn’t leave her partner fighting for a second longer than necessary.

Not ever.

No matter how done she wanted to be with this day.

“M’lady!” He greeted happily when she landed beside him.

“What’ve we got?”

“Apparently a pop quiz burst this kid’s bubble!” Her partner reported, his green vertical pupils never leaving their adversary. “Apparently he was angling for an A in Geometry.”

She sighed. How mundane. “His teacher is the target?”

“Monsier Fontaine,” he clarified.

She nodded. “Let’s get this over with, kitty.”

The akuma wasn’t particularly dangerous, which wasn’t surprising since she knew he hadn’t been Hawkmoth’s first choice.

But Ladybug was having trouble keeping her head in the game - she was still raw and shaky from too close a call. She stumbled through an easy dodge more than once. But Chat was always there hauling her to her feet or blocking the attack.

Once he had her upright and centered for the fourth time, she wasted no more time waiting for an opening and immediately called for her lucky charm.

A spotted frying pan fell into her hands. She blinked at the pan, her mind remaining stubbornly blank. She had no clue what to do with this!

“What amazing plan will you cook up next?” Chat grinned at her, his baton spinning in his hands blocking another blow.

She looked into his smiling eyes, and everything instantly fell into place. God, he always was exactly what she needed. Of course she had fallen in love with him.

The battle lasted another twenty-two seconds.

But when Chat Noir offered her a fist for their traditional victory fist bump, she knocked it aside and seized him in a hug instead.

He stiffened for a second, but then his tension fell away and his arms encircled protectively around her. “LB? Are you okay? I didn’t think that battle was that hard. I certainly don’t remember dying that time.”

“Shut up!” she whispered into his chest as she clung to him.

His arms tightened around her. “As you wish, M’lady.” His head leaned against her own and she stood there feeling the comfort of his solid warm frame holding her upright. They just stood there for several seconds. Everything was quiet. Then his chest was vibrating. Was he purring?

She hadn’t known he could do that.

She nuzzled her cheek into his chest, closer to the soothing vibration.

“LB, are you okay?” he asked again.

She shook her head. “I just had a really bad day.”

Her earrings beeped in warning, but she remained within his embrace.

He sighed and melted against her. “Who do I need to beat up?” he mumbled.

She giggled. “I’ll text you my list.”

“I’ll take care of it by end of day tomorrow,” he joked, his voice tickling her inner ear.

She knew he was joking, but she grinned anyway. He was always on her side, no questions asked.

“I need to talk to you somewhere private. Where do you think would be safe from prying eyes?”

He pulled away just an inch and searched her face intently. She had no idea what he saw, and she quickly found her gaze falling into her hands, a heated blush creeping out from under her mask.

“Do you remember that café we went to after patrol last week?”

She nodded.

“There’s a deep balcony in the alleyway about three stories up. The building is closed for renovations, but the balcony is untouched.

“Perfect. Go recharge, and meet me there?” She requested.

“See you in ten, M’lady!”

Ladybug launched herself up out of the school’s courtyard and onto Paris’s rooftops. Her earrings beeped again. She ducked behind a chimney, and let the transformation fall. Tikki fell into her hands.

Tikki didn’t take her offered cookie. Instead, the kwami flew up to Marinette’s face and nuzzled her head into Marinette’s cheek. “Are you okay, Marinette?”

Marinette leaned into the affectionate gesture. “I’m exhausted, Tikki. I feel raw and numb. But not as upset. Thank you, by the way. I would not have survived that without you.”

“I’m always happy to support you. I am sad that it was necessary today.”

Marinette stroked the top of her kwami’s head. “I’m going to tell him who I am.”

To her relief, Tikki didn’t object. Instead, the kwami nodded. “I understand. But if you’re emotionally done for today, just know you don’t have to talk to Chat Noir right this second. It can wait until tomorrow or next patrol.”

Marinette shook her head. “Today proved that not telling him is a potentially huge risk. I am not going to sleep again until I fix it. And plus, he deserves to know. He’s wanted to know for so long.” She trailed off for a moment as her feelings caught up with her all over again. “He’s going to be so happy,” she whispered, a tear slipped down her cheek even as she giggled.

“You love him?” Tikki asked with a soft smile.

“I don’t even know when it happened!” Marinette exclaimed. “And that stupid cat is never going to let me live it down,” she grumbled.

Tikki did a happy little dance in the air. “I’m happy for you, Marinette. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you, Tikki. Now, let’s go.”

Tikki inhaled the cookie in two gulps. Marientte called for her transformation and launched herself into the skyline once again, her heart light even if butterflies fluttered in her stomach with nervous energy.

She arrived at their meeting place. He was already there sitting in a lotus position frowning into space. His expression brightened when he caught sight of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked for the third time, his eyes shining with concern.

And she found herself lost in his gaze - sincere and yet, incredibly open. How had she ever turned this boy down?

“I…” she trailed off, unable to find words. She just needed to say it. Why was she hesitating? This was going to make everything easier and he would be thrilled, wouldn’t he? He had always wanted to know.

But he hadn’t asked in a long time. Maybe he had moved on. Like she had asked him to.

She shook her head at herself. It didn’t matter. She had been akumatized. This wasn’t about what either of them felt. Not telling him was putting millions in danger every single day.

She found herself smiling.

“M’lady?”

She dropped down next to him, deep into the private balcony with walls on three sides. The balcony wasn’t designed to have a view. She suspected its function was just to allow the inhabitants to be outside.

“Tikki, spots off,” she whispered.

“Woah! What are you doing?” he demanded, turning his head away.

That wouldn’t do. She took his face gently between her hands. He didn’t resist as her skin tight suit peeled away in a ripple of pink light.

He just stared at her, his eyes wide in shock. “M-Marinette? But… I saw you… and L-ladybug.”

“Fox miraculous,” she explained.

“Ah,” was all he managed to say, his beautiful green eyes wide with shock.

“I-is this okay?” she asked.

He blinked at her dumbly. “Uh, y-yes, of course it is, m’lady! More than okay! Just completely unexpected.”

“You don’t have to reciprocate,” she told him.

He blanched. “Are you kidding me?! Plagg, cla-”

She pinched his lips closed with her bare hands. “No! Wait! Let’s talk first. You can reveal yourself after if you still want to.”

“But I…” he objected, his body tense and unmoving.

She covered his mouth again. “Please?”

He sagged against her hold. She didn’t remove her hand until he nodded. “Whatever you need, M’lady Princess.”

Every muscle in her body loosened at the new combined affectionate nickname. Princess. She was his princess. And his lady.

“Tikki?” Marinette called.

The kwami nodded.

“Spots on.” And she let her magical energies wrap her once again in its protective warmth.

Chat’s eyes were as wide as canyons as he watched her display. “Wow! That was… amazing. Your transformation is like a dance. You’re so graceful. I mean… I knew that, but this is just like the epitome of...”

She covered her face with her gloved hands, trying to cover the heat she felt growing from the bottom of her mask. “Please, stop,” she begged. How was she ever going to tell this boy what she needed to when he kept sending her thoughts and feelings scrambling in a million different directions with gushing praise?

He grinned. “I can’t help it,” he objected. “You’re so amazing. I mean... I already knew that, but now…” he trailed off and really looked at her. “I’ve suspected you more than once. I just…  But after kwami buster, I assumed it was just wishful thinking.”

Her jaw dropped. “You wanted me to be her?”

He barked a laugh. “You have no idea.”

Her blush bloomed from her cheeks to the very tips of her ears. But she didn’t know what to say, and the silence stretched between them.

“So… uh…” his hand rubbed the back of his neck. “What changed your mind?”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach in an attempt to soothe herself - to assure herself that she hadn’t truly become an akuma. She hadn’t betrayed her duty or her partner in that low moment. “I just... I need you to know.” It was all she managed to say before her throat seemed to snap closed, choking off everything else she needed to say.

“It must’ve been some bad day to convince you to go against the prime directive of superheroing,” he offered, his voice gentle and soft.

And she laughed, but within seconds her mirth transformed into tears and she was finally crying, the sobs tearing through her.

His arms instantly wrapped around her. And she fell into his embrace and just let herself cry.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m right here,” he soothed, his hands rubbing comforting circles on her back.

And she cried herself out. It was a good cry. A release of not just the day, but also of all the tension and stress she had carried for weeks, or maybe years, with no place to unburden herself.

Until today.

“What happened?” he asked when her cries had finally faded.

The question was thrilling. Amazing even because it occurred to her that for the first time since taking up the mantle of Ladybug, for the first time in years, she didn’t have to filter anything.

“It’s stupid really. Just a bunch of little things that all added up.” And she told him all of it. About the nightmares, and she’d tell him about the reality of Chat Blanc soon. But for now, she stayed focused on the day. She spoke of her ruined fabric, her feelings that mishap had triggered about being Ladybug and the Guardian, about her blouse getting ruined, about her friends not being there in class, and her stupid stupid teachers wo just didn’t understand that homework could never be her top priority. “And I could have handled all of it, I swear! It’s just so hard on top of all of this. The akuma was the last straw.”

“Akumas do have the worst timing,” he commented.

She sighed. He didn’t realize that she didn’t mean the monster they just fought, but the raw little black butterfly.

“It was meant for me,” she admitted softly. “It actually succeeded in melding with my earrings.”

He turned rigid underneath her, suddenly as frozen as an ice sculpture.

Her grip around him tightened. “And you know what I was most angry about, Chaton?” she continued, determined to get all of it out. “I wasn’t angry at Papillion. Not really. I was just upset that I couldn’t let myself be akumatized. I’m the only person in Paris who isn’t allowed to just say “fuck it” and let the butterfly take me. The only person who isn’t allowed to have a bad day. I want to be able to have a bad day!”

“I want to be able to let myself be akumatized, and just be able to trust that Ladybug and Chat Noir will take care of it. Why don’t I get that?”

She pulled back just enough to see his face, and she was horrified to see the tear tracks down his cheeks.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!”

His eyes landed on hers. “Whatever for?” he demanded.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” she admitted, brushing his tears away with her thumb. “I’m sorry that I’m so pathetic. That I wasn’t strong enough.”

He pulled back, and turned her so they were looking right at one another eye to eye. He had a hand on either one of her shoulders. She felt like he was staring directly into her soul, but she couldn’t look away. She had never once seen him so serious.

“Buginette, I need you to hear me right now,” he paused as if expecting her to object. When she didn’t, he continued. “You are the strongest person I know. From what you said, I gather that you were able to throw off an akuma after it had gotten you.”

She nodded confirmation.

“I’ve never known anyone to do that. I didn’t know it was possible. Maybe someone has done it before. I guess I wouldn’t have a way of knowing, but… I guess what I’m saying is that you’re not pathetic. Not even close. You’re so strong, and incredibly resilient. And I don’t know how you’ve done everything you do as Ladybug and as Marinette for so long.”

His eyes bored into hers, never once did he look away.

“And you’re allowed to be human, Buginette. And this feels weird to say, but I want you to be able to have a bad day, too.”

She laughed. And he smiled in response, touching his forehead to hers. His compelling green eyes filled up her whole vision.

“I’m sorry that you’ve felt so alone in holding the mantle of Ladybug. I’m sorry that I haven’t been here in the way that you needed.”

She shook her head. “That’s not true! You’ve always been here. You’ve always given me what I needed even when I didn’t realize. And me feeling alone was more my fault than yours,” she insisted. “I’m the one that insisted on keeping our identities secret. I thought it was too dangerous to share our identities.”

She pressed her lips together in thought.

“But when I was facing that akuma, I realized that not sharing is dangerous, too. That I’ve been keeping all my secrets in one basket. And while that makes them harder to lose, it also makes me more vulnerable. If I hadn't been able to fight off that akuma, you wouldn’t have had any back up and you wouldn’t have known that Ladybug wasn’t coming.”

“You’d likely be an absolutely terrible akuma,” he commented. “I mean, you kick ass without anything boosting your skills. I’m going to have nightmares about akumanette now.” His tone was light.

She stuck her tongue out at his teasing. He smirked.

She allowed the moment of silliness before growing solemn and serious once again. “Master Fu kept all his secrets in one basket and kept himself hidden for over a century. He told one person - me. And less than two years went by, and all it took was one stupid thoughtless mistake on my part and it all came toppling down!”

Chat squeezed her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s also easier for him to stay hidden and keep secrets when there aren’t akumas out terrorizing the street every other day!”

“And I don’t even know how to do this as well as him,” she continued to rant as if he hadn’t spoken. “And I am falling apart, Chaton.” she broke into soft sobs again.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m right here. And now that I know who you are, I’m going to be so present and so supportive you’re going to wish that you had never revealed your identity!”

She traced the curve of his jawline with two fingers. “In this moment, I really don’t think I’m going to regret any of this.”

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “For?”

“For trusting me. I promise I will do everything in my power to protect you, your secret, and by extension, your loved ones.”

She nuzzled further into him, her head resting on his collar bone. She didn’t want to be caught crying again.

“I don’t know if I’m worth your devotion, Chaton,” she whispered.

His arms tightened around her waist. “Shhh! Don’t say that. It’s not true.”

The tears flowed before she could stop them. “I-I don’t know how… to be the Guardian,” she confessed.

He only smiled. “You didn’t know how to be Ladybug at first either. You rose to that challenge beautifully.”

Her lips twisted into a displeased frown. “Only because I had such an amazing partner,” she said emphatically.

“I only have ever followed your example,” he told her. “You taught me to be a hero.”

She laughed. This boy. He never stopped. “God, I love you.”

Chat Noir looked like she had clubbed him with a two by four. His eyes were overblown, and his mouth open in a little ‘o’ of surprise.

She bit her lip, trying to assess his reaction because for once in his life he was being infuriatingly silent. “I meant it. It wasn’t just a slip. I actually love you.”

He blinked at her, unmoving.

“P-please say something,” she begged.

“I… uh…”

She wilted at his hesitation. “I thought you’d be happy…”

He pulled her against his form, tucking her head under his chin. “Trust me, Bugaboo, I am over the moon! I’m not sure that this day could get any better honestly. I’m just also in shock and more than a bit confused.”

She relaxed into his embrace, melting at how natural it felt to be held in his arms.

“Since when do you love me?” he asked, his voice barely louder than a gentle breeze.

“I think it’s been a while now, but I realized it just today,” she confided into his chest.

“How?”

“When we saw the akuma, Tikki told me to go to my happy place and I thought of you,” she sat up and looked up at him then. “You’re the only place anymore I feel safe and completely understood. And I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner.”

“What about your friends?” he whispered, his eyes swirling with an emotion she could not label.

“They’re great. But they can’t understand... and it’s not like I can explain it to them.”

“What about the boy you love?”

“I had to let him go.”

“Why?”

She leaned up against him once again, her gaze falling to their feet. “I couldn’t share all myself with him. And he doesn’t need all my baggage. Plus, I think I already missed my chance. He’s in love with someone else.”

She could hear his frown. “How do you know?”

“He told me.”

“He told you he was in love with someone else,” he repeated, the disbelief clear in his voice.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I find it hard to believe that he could love anyone else when he knows you.”

She rolled her eyes. “He told me that the girl he loved didn’t like his jokes, and since I was sitting right next to him in his fancy limo car when he said it, I knew he wasn’t talking about me.”

He went rigid underneath her. She jerked up, and searched his face. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing!” he said, turning his gaze away.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

He gaze swung back to her, his cheeks burning in the most beautiful pink. “I just find it impossible that he wasn’t talking about you.”

She gave him a flat look. “He definitely wasn’t talking about me.”

Chat’s gloved hands cupped both sides of her face. “He was actually.”

She was lost in his intense gaze.

“He just didn’t know it was you,” he whispered.

She stared at him for several seconds, but she shook herself and pulled away. “How would you know? You weren’t there!” she objected.

His claws scratched at the back of his neck. Her eyes zeroed in on the action. It was familiar.

“I know you don’t believe me, but It’s true. He was talking about you,” he insisted, looking right over at her. “You never have liked my jokes.”

“That’s not true! It’s not the jokes that suck!” she objected. “Though they are a bit lame,” she tacked on softly. “But it’s the timing! Your timing sucks!”

And then her expression faded. Her eyebrows scrunched towards each other under the pressure of the mask. “Wait, a second. I have never liked your jokes?”

“Well, you definitely didn’t like it when I pretended to be a wax model.”

She felt her face go slack, her eyes overblown and gaping. “A-Adrien?” she whispered.

“Hi?” He gave her a self conscious little smile.

“H-hi,” she managed back, her voice too high.

His whole face lit up in understanding. “Oh my god! You always stuttered around me because you liked me?”

Her cheeks burned hot.

“I was convinced forever that you didn’t like me at all, or that I was intimidating somehow for being a fashion icon,” he rambled.

“You were intimidating,” she broke in. “You were so kind and genuine. And just… incredibly patient. I liked you so much. I was terrified of messing things up. Which I did constantly, because I am such a spaz.”

His whole form softened, and he offered her the smallest most sincere smile and she gasped. Seriously, how had she never recognized him before this.

His hand slowly moved towards hers and he wove their fingers together, before touching his forehead to hers ever so gently. “Nothing has ever been messed up. You have always amazed me on both sides of the mask. I fell in love with Ladybug when she stood up to Hawkmoth on our first day on the job. I love the way her brain works and how her creative genius can find victory when she has almost nothing to work with.”

“And I’ve always admired Marinette for the way she goes out of the way to make everyone feel welcome - even stray cats that land on her balcony, the way she expects others to do the right thing, and the way she stands up when someone else doesn’t live up to those ideals. I love when her eyes get so big when she’s nervous and I positively love the moments when she trips over her own feet.”

She smacked him playfully, heat blazing from her neck to her ears. “Shut up! You do not!”

He laughed. “I do though! It gives me an excuse to touch her.”

She went still, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Every time you trip, I get to catch you or offer you a hand to get back up. I love those moments, Marinette. I’ve always cherished them.”

“Really?” She asked, her voice small, her eyes filling with emotion she could not define.

“Really,” he assured.

She moved before she thought about it. She literally threw herself at him, and he barely caught her; he was so startled. But he did catch her. Because he always caught her. And that made it really easy to kiss him.

Her lips pressed against his. And she took satisfaction from the fact that he took him a second to react, that she had managed to catch him off guard.

But then he did respond and she didn’t have the space for thought.

His hands cupped the base of her skull, cradling her whole head. His claws gently kneaded into her hair, sending tingles shooting down her neck and all the way down her spine. And his lips - they were so soft. As soft as a baby’s newborn skin. He gently sucked in on her lower lip causing her to gasp. They were sharing the same breath. His tongue tentatively brushed past her lips and she met it with her own.

Unfortunately, she eventually needed to breathe again.

“I love you,” she gasped against his mouth as she pulled away.

He smirked. “I told you that you’d fall for me eventually.”

She shoved him playfully away when he cackled happily. But she was laughing too.

“What am I going to do with you?” she demanded.

He pulled her against him again, and kissed her chastely. “Love me forever, I hope.” And then his expression grew serious. “Because I love you, Mari. I have since the day I met you.”

She grinned and traced the side of his face with a knuckle. “Forever doesn’t sound so bad,” she admitted before kissing him again.

And it really didn’t.

Even if he never let her hear the end of the fact that she had finally fallen for him despite her denials. Even if she had to put up with puns at the worst possible times. Even if he insisted on taking blow after blow for her.

If she was being honest, she didn’t want to hear the end of it. She wanted him to tease her for forever and a day. She wanted to hear his stupid jokes. And she wanted to fight with him at her side.

Because that was who he was. And she loved him.

[adenei]

Finding My Way To You - Ch. 8

AO3 // FFN

Adjusting

“Mum, I really don’t think all of this is necessary..” Hermione said the following day. Her parents had both taken the day off to spend time with them, and Jean had whisked her daughter away for lunch and an afternoon of shopping. 

“What? Being able to spend time with my daughter? When’s the last time we went shopping together? Hermione, dear, you are desperately in need of some new clothes! Plus, I want to help you find something special for your date tonight,” Mrs. Granger smiled knowingly.

Hermione sighed. Her mother was right. The clothes she did have were ragged from being on the run for almost a year, and it was nice to be able to spend time with her again. This was the kind of thing she’d hoped to do with her mother before sixth year started, when she thought she and Ron may be on the verge of something then. Speaking of…

“Mum, what did Ron say to you last night to change your mind about things?” she asked again, hoping she’d crack on the fourth try.

They’d been out much longer than Hermione had expected, which made her nervous, but when they’d returned, Ron looked relieved and Mum had a smile on her face. Hermione looked at her dad for help in gathering an explanation, but he simply shrugged. Even Ron was tight lipped about the exchange last night. That annoyed her, and subsequently cut into their ‘getting to know you’ time she was hoping for.

What Ron did admit was what her mother was planning for tomorrow evening. “She called to make a reservation at some posh seafood restaurant for us tomorrow evening.”

“All four of us?” Hermione asked for clarification.

“No, just you and me. She wants us to go on a proper date. Said something about checking the cinemas, too, whatever that means. Would you be alright to join me for dinner tomorrow evening, say, around 6:30?” he said with a chuckle.

“I’d be delighted,” Hermione played along. “But I’m not sure I have anything to wear,” she frowned.

“Right, I forgot that bit. Your mum’s planning to be here around eleven tomorrow to take you to lunch and shopping.”

Hermione smiled at the recollection as she browsed the current boutique they were in. They already had several bags between them of new clothes for Hermione. Several new shirts and jumpers, a couple pairs of jeans, trousers and skirts, and even new undergarments, which Hermione had been resistant towards at first. She was secretly happy, though because when she was ready to take that step with Ron, she wanted something cute or sexy and not just plain old boring cotton. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of wanting to be ‘sexy’ for someone. 

She’d even caved and allowed her Mum to purchase a new swimsuit. It felt like ages since Hermione had worn one, not since their trip to France all those summers ago, and it took several choices (of both her own and others her mum tossed over the dressing room door) before Hermione had decided on a bright blue two piece with white polka dots. The top was modest enough with a twist front that had string ties in the back, and the bottom was somewhat high waisted, which made her feel more comfortable. Her mum had also picked up a couple beach towels and insisted Hermione buy flip flops, or thongs, as the Aussies called them. 

“The weather is supposed to be beautiful tomorrow. You and Ron absolutely need to experience a beach day, so you’ll be prepared!” 

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “Mum, are you trying to plan the rest of our stay here?”

“Of course not! I just want you both to experience everything we’ve grown to love about this little corner of the world. Plus, you both deserve a bit of a holiday after everything you’ve been through.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Hermione said, as she felt an overwhelming need to hug her mother right then and there.

Their last stop found Hermione the perfect dress for her date tonight. It was teal, and flowy with wide straps and a keyhole opening. A satin band gathered at the waist to provide some shape on her body, and the flowy skirt came to her mid thigh. It was the perfect balance of elegant, yet beachy, and her mum had found a wedge, peep toe sandal to finish off the look.

“Thank you again for all of this, Mum. Even after everything I did…”

“Hermione, you’ll always be our daughter, and I’ll always love you. I only want the best for you, and even though Ron’s made mistakes in my eyes, he’s certainly proved to me that he’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy, and I respect that.”

“Sometimes I think I don’t deserve him.”

“It’s all about balance, my dear. Tell me, did you ever apologize to him about the canary incident?”

Hermione felt as though ice had been poured down her back at her mother’s words. She knew that she and Ron had gotten past the whole Lavender debacle, but thinking back on it, she realized that there never was an explicit apology for that.

“I- erm-” she stuttered.

“You really should. I raised you better than that.”

“You’re right. And I suppose I probably should apologize for attacking him when he came back as well..” she hesitantly admitted.

“Excuse me?” Her mother stopped on the sidewalk and looked at her. “I did not raise you to react with violence, young lady.”

“I know, I know! I just- I let my emotions get the best of me. I promise I’ll do better about keeping them in check.”

“I’m not the one you should be making that promise to, but I appreciate the intent.”

“You’re right.”

“Dare I ask what you did to that poor boy when he came back?”

“Umm, I used him as a punching bag, as Dad would say,” Hermione admitted.

“Oh, Hermione..I know you inherited my anger, but please don’t take it out on him like that.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.”

She knew it was wrong, and even though it wasn’t something she talked about often, she was ashamed of her actions. Pride and embarrassment had forced her to ignore bringing it up, but if they were going to start off their relationship properly, it needed to be discussed.

Hermione noticed her mum checking her watch. “We’ve got just enough time to get you cleaned up and ready for your date. I had your father bring a few items over to your flat when he went to pick up Ron.”

“Items? What do you mean?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Hair product and makeup, of course!”

“But-”

“No buts! We have an hour to get you ready before Ron’s due to pick you up.”

“He’s not already there?” Hermione was having trouble keeping up with her mum, both in walking speed and conversation.

“Heavens, no! It’s a proper date, remember? Now, let’s go!”

~o~

Ron was standing in the guest bedroom of the Granger’s home. He was looking in the wall mirror at his own reflection. His afternoon had been spent out with Hugo. He’d gotten a haircut at a local barber, found swim trunks for their ‘beach day’ tomorrow as Jean kept calling it, and an outfit for his date tonight. He was wearing a nice pair of trousers with camel colored dress shoes. His shirt was light blue with faint, thin pinstripe lines to give the illusion of texture. 

For the first time since Bill and Fleur’s wedding, he was proud of the way he looked. Mr. Granger had a knack for muggle style, and even though he was older, Ron trusted his judgement. He reminded himself of one of those business lads that flooded the sidewalks on the morning and evening commutes. He felt bad, and had tried to pay for the clothes himself, but Hugo had insisted. Mr. Granger had offered to purchase more for Ron when he caught him eyeing a new pair of trainers, and jeans that might actually fit his long legs, but Ron politely refused. 

“Ready to go?” Hugo called from the bottom of the stairs, drawing Ron out of his thoughts. 

He couldn’t wait to see Hermione. It’d been a long afternoon without her. Especially because he’d grown accustomed to being with her day in and day out. They made the short drive over to the flat, where Jean was waiting by the door. She held the door open for Ron as she wished them well for the night and reminded him of how to get to the restaurant, which was about five blocks away.

He watched them go and then bounded up the stairs. He was about to just walk into their shared flat, but paused and remembered that this was a date, so he knocked on the door. Ron barely had to wait for Hermione to open it.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but the sight of her in front of him made his jaw drop and he was pretty sure his heart stopped briefly. She was gorgeous. Her mum had no doubt helped her tame her wild curls, and it looked like she was wearing just enough makeup to accentuate her features. Not like the grams of it Lavender would plaster on her face every day. Her chocolate brown eyes were brought out by a light layer of deep purple, which were staring at him in much the same way he was looking at her, with adoration. And Merlin, that dress. She wasn’t one to wear dresses casually. Not that this was casual or anything, but he’d only really ever seen her in her school uniform or formal wear. He needed to say something to snap himself out of it before he lost his senses completely.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“And you cut your hair,” she responded. “It suits you. You look really nice in muggle clothes.” Hermione smiled shyly at him. 

Ron smiled back at him as he rubbed his neck awkwardly. Why did this feel so weird? This was Hermione, his best friend. “Should we, er, get going? We’ve got a bit of a walk.”

Hermione nodded as she grabbed her purse and locked up. Ron held out his hand and she took it as they made their way down the sidewalk towards the restaurant. They were quiet for a while, until Hermione finally said, “Is it just me, or does this feel…”

“Weird?” Ron finished.

“Yes!” Hermione said through an exhale.

“Yeah...what’s wrong with us? We haven’t changed or anything,” Ron joked.

“I know,” Hermione said. He noticed her blush in the soft glow of the streetlight.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know, it’s just that- nevermind, it’s rubbish,” Hermione talked herself out of saying what she was thinking.

“No, tell me. Please?” Ron urged gently.

Hermione took a deep breath. “I guess I’m just worried I’m going to mess this up. I don’t want to do or say anything wrong,” she admitted.

“Me too,” Ron agreed. They walked another block or so, double checking street signs so they didn’t miss a turn.

“Do you think it’s like this for all couples who were friends first?” Hermione asked him.

“Er, yeah, could be. Never really thought about it, though.” Ron admitted.

“So, then, maybe we should just act like nothing’s really different. Let’s not put extra pressure on anything,” Hermione suggested.

Ron chuckled. “That works for me. I think this is it.” He pointed to a sign just up ahead.

They checked in at the hostess stand and were seated at a table on the edge of the main dining room. It felt more private than some of the other tables in the center of the room, and gave them a spectacular view of the ocean lit up by the moonlight.

As Ron began to look at the menu, he noticed the prices. It was expensive. They ordered their drinks from the server, and then they were alone again to look over the menu. 

“Er, Hermione,” Ron said, getting her attention. She peeked at him from over her menu. “I don’t know if I have enough to, er…”

He saw her eyebrows raise in understanding. “Don’t worry, Mum gave me her credit card. It’s taken care of.”

“But your parents have already done so much for us,” Ron protested. “And it’s our first, er second, date. I should pay..” That’s what a true gentleman did, wasn’t it?

“Please, it’s okay. They want to spoil us,” Hermione told him.

He sighed and gave in. It was either that or insist they leave, which could cause a scene and he didn’t want that either. “So then, what would you suggest for a meal?” he asked her, looking at the varieties of shellfish that he’d never had.

He ended up settling on a pasta dish that included a variety of seafood. Scallops, shrimp, and clams in a light wine and butter cream sauce. Hermione had chosen a salmon dish over risotto, and they’d split an appetizer of crab stuffed mushrooms. The meal was delicious, despite Hermione having to help guide him through eating so he wouldn’t accidentally consume any shells. 

They were browsing over the dessert menu as Hermione said, “Seafood always tastes better when it’s fresh, don’t you think?”

“I’m sure it does, not that I have much to compare it to. We’ll have to find a place when we’re back in England so I can see if there’s a difference.” 

His heart skipped a beat as he watched her face light up at his suggestion. “I’d like that.”

Their desserts came shortly after as they talked about what they wanted and needed to do when they got back to England. Ron had opted for a chocolate mousse cake, while Hermione chose creme brulee. She began picking at it about halfway through.

“Everything alright?” he asked her.

“Yes, of course! I’m just getting full, that’s all.” He could tell when she was lying because she didn’t make eye contact.

“Hermione…”

“I’m sorry about attacking you with the canaries sixth year,” she said through a grimace. “It was, um, brought to my attention that I never actually apologized about it.”

“That’s what was bothering you? It’s ancient history, Hermione, it’s fine.”

“See, you always say that, but it’s not. I can’t just physically hurt you when I’m angry at you. Like when I punched you after you came back to the hunt..”

“It’s...alright. I was a prat, too,” Ron tried to make her feel better.

“Yes, but you’ve never physically hurt me. I promise I won’t do that ever again. I’ll keep my emotions in check.” She met his eyes this time, indicating her sincerity.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ron smiled. “Now, can we discuss something a bit more light hearted?” He suggested.

Hermione smiled gratefully as she took another bite of her dessert. “Did you want to go to the cinemas?” She checked her watch. “If we hurry, the one Mum suggested starts in twenty minutes just down the street.”

“I don’t know. As much as I’d like to experience it, I think I’d rather take a walk on the beach if you wanted to.”

“I like that idea so much better,” Hermione smiled. “Mum will forgive me for not following her plan completely, I’m sure. Besides, I’m sure some movie will be playing on the telly when we get back.”

“Brilliant!”

After they paid for their meal, they exited the restaurant and crossed the street to one of the many public entrances to the beach. They chose to walk along the water where the sand was a bit harder, and headed in the direction of their temporary flat. Hand in hand, they meandered along.

“The waves are so much calmer here than at Shell Cottage,” Ron remarked.

“That’s because the weather is much nicer. Every body of water can be rough and choppy or smooth with gentle waves,” Hermione explained.

He knew that, of course, but sometimes he loved to listen to her explain things. It had become a sort of comfort to him years ago. He just pretended it annoyed him to get under her skin. “Do you know how many times I hoped that we could experience something like this, but was convinced we’d be dead by the end?” he asked softly.

“I know. We nearly were...several times,” Hermione said.

“How’d we make it out? How’d we get so lucky. We shouldn't have..” Ron had to catch himself before he went into a spiral as he was reminded of who they’d lost. Fred, in particular.

“Don’t think like that,” Hermione said gently as she squeezed his hand. “We are still here, and you know he would want us to make the most of that.”

She somehow always knew what to say when it counted the most. Ron felt a rush of emotion flood over him. He loved her so much. His feet stopped right there, and he pulled Hermione back when she kept walking and was caught by her fully extended arm, their fingers still intertwined together. “You’re right. And I’m the luckiest bloke alive to have this chance with you.”

The setting was perfect. Sand beneath their feet, the moon and stars shining down on them, creating a soft glow of light, and the gentle crashing of waves close by. He pulled her close to him, bending down to kiss her. Ron felt her arms snake around his waist, while his own split duties. One hand cupped her face while the other snaked in her hair. 

He deepened the kiss and allowed himself to forget they were on the beach as he became lost in her. All he could feel was her, as he hesitantly grazed her bottom lip with his tongue. She opened her mouth further, granting him entry, as his tongue gently moved in and explored her mouth. She eagerly met his tongue with her own as Ron’s hands began to move down her body. 

He wanted more. Not that he wanted to rush things, but he was so overcome with want that it was hard to think straight. It took a car horn blaring from the streets to draw them back into reality. They reluctantly broke apart as he sought her eyes with his own.

“I think we should get back to the flat,” Hermione said breathily.

Ron simply nodded, not trusting his voice. They’d have plenty of time on the beach tomorrow.

[willcwthewisp]

spirited away | eddie & willow

TIMING: before mother’s day. LOCATION: willow’s apartment. PARTIES:  @specterchasing and @willcwthewisp. SUMMARY: eddie goes on a medium-driven chore, but gets medium uno reversed. also the spiderman meme except it’s mediums.

Willow sighed as she lowered her paint brush, feeling that familiar nagging sensation tingling in her neck that came whenever a portrait wasn’t quite right. It looked fine— lovely, even. But there was simply something amiss that the ghost in question hadn’t approved of, and she’d lost the snippets he was saying to her quite some time ago, as if his words had flitted out her open wind on the breeze. Oh well. The piece would be a nice one to sell, and there still might be a person who recognized what it was that she’d painted. There’d been quite a few instances of people coming forward, asking questions about certain pieces she’d done that looked far too similar to their memories of loved ones, or scenes of their youth. That was generally when she passed the painting off to her brother, a medium and exorcist who was much better equipped to deal with the ghost of the painting, and the loved one that came along with it. 

It almost came as a relief when she heard a knock at her door. Almost. Rising from her place at the easel in her art room, she peered through the peephole of the door only to be met with the face of someone she’d never seen before. “Ah- sorry, can I help you?” she began nervously, already thinking of the disaster that could strike if she ended up having to open the door. She didn’t have any interest in causing a hospital visit today. Or any day for that matter. Maybe she should request to be moved to the first floor of her complex. Then it’d be a little less worrisome when it came to potentially throwing people across the hallway. 

Eddie had some reservations about showing up to a stranger’s house unannounced, but they were outweighed by curiosity and a sense of duty. The ghosts made Willow out to be someone like him. In all of Eddie’s years in White Crest, he’d never had the opportunity to meet someone else who could interact with the dead. Admittedly, it seemed like she had a knack for ignoring them and that didn’t sit well with him, but he tried to reserve judgement until there was proof beyond the claims of a few disgruntled apparitions. 

“Yeah, so, hey,” he said, eyes locked onto the peephole. It struck him as odd that she didn’t open the door, but they lived in White Crest, after all. Being careful saved lives. “I know you don’t know me and this is probably wicked weird for you, but I’ve got a message from a, uh, mutual friend that they’d really like you to hear. It’s a little private, so I’d feel a little more comfortable giving it to you in… well, private. You wanna open the door for me?” He thought about reassuring her that he wasn’t some kind of bloodlust-y murderer, but realized that would only make him seem more dangerous.

Willow’s fingers tapped nervously against the door, still looking through the peephole and reminding herself that this man couldn’t see her in return despite the eye contact he made. “A mutual friend?” she echoed, the phrase throwing her. She’d purposefully distanced herself from the bulk of her friends ever since this whole sporadically throwing people problem had come to her attention, and she hadn’t had all that many to begin with. It was a choice of her own, never having been someone to seek out the company of too many people. Willow had been more than happy with that before her telekinesis had made any company dangerous. Now she relied on the people she called at her telemarketing gig to remind herself she was alive. It wasn’t all that helpful when they were yelling half the time. 

The ability to say ‘no’ was another of her shortcomings, and Willow walked a few paces back and forth as the man asked to be let in. Going back to the door, she glanced at him once more through the peephole. “I...okay- alright. But just- don’t come too close, okay?” If she could keep a table between him and her, things should be alright. Without further delay, she was opening the door to reveal the interior of her apartment, already taking a few careful steps away from the man. 

When Eddie’s question was met with a few long moments of silence, he half-expected his venture to be rendered fruitless. He couldn’t find it in himself to blame Willow for not trusting him, but he did wonder where her sense of adventure was. If a stranger came knocking on his door with the promise of a vague message, they wouldn’t have been able to finish their sentence before he welcomed them in.

Just as he turned away from the door, she finally spoke up. A warning. “No problems there, I’m a big fan of boundaries,” he enthused as the door opened. Willow seemed even more skittish than the average White Crestian as she put ample space between them. Eddie decided not to let it bother him—she likely had her reasons.

“Okay, so, the friend in question is a little on the dead side,” he explained carefully as he stepped into the apartment. “Actually, there’s a few dead friends. Is that… like, is that unusual for you, having dead friends?” As accustomed as he was to having conversations with ghosts, he knew that wasn’t exactly normal. His parents made that perfectly clear to him. If Willow wasn’t as much like him as he hoped she was, he needed to ease her into the subject matter.

“Great- good, that’s good,” Willow babbled nervously as she did exactly as she’d planned, skirting around to the other side of the table that was in her kitchen while Eddie spoke. But the mention of dead friends was more than enough to catch her interest, and in a reflexive move she looked over to the chair that Kal often loved to frequent. He was the ghost she heard most reliably, and currently her best friend seeing as she’d banned herself to as much isolation as possible. Unfortunately she wasn’t entirely sure whether or not he was here at the moment, her focus pulled away from any attempts to perceive him by the stranger in her apartment. 

Thankfully, Kal had no problem speaking for himself. The ghost had already taken up a spot at Willow’s shoulder the moment Eddie had stepped into the apartment, feeling rather protective after the last stranger to enter Willow’s abode had left her tired and crying. “What do you want?” the ghost asked the man reflexively, not actually expecting an answer from one of the living. That was- until he recognized the familiar aura of what Eddie was. “Oh shit- you’re a medium, too?” 

Willow, still blissfully unaware of the guardian ghost asking questions on her behalf, was doing her best to play it close to the chest. She wasn’t entirely all that private about mediums and their abilities, but it wasn’t exactly the best idea to lead with ‘occasionally I see and hear dead people.’ “Um- do you have dead friends?” she asked, unable to come up with any better reply while being entirely oblivious of that fact that Kal had already given her away.

Willow’s babbling and general nervousness faded into the background the moment Eddie laid eyes on Kal. “I am!” he announced, eyes glistening with pride before finally prying them away to look at Willow. “Looks like we both do,” he said with a wide grin. Hope had taken hold of him before he reached Willow’s apartment, and now he knew it wasn’t in vain. Finally, he knew someone like him; someone he wouldn’t have to hide from, not that he usually did such a good job with keeping secrets. Eddie didn’t know how to be anything except himself, but he thought it might be nice to have someone in his life who didn’t look at him like he was speaking in tongues when he talked about the dead.

“You don’t have to hide anything from me, I’m just like you,” he told Willow. He thought it was a little strange that she apparently hadn’t heard the ghost out her, but maybe she was just playing it cool until she knew she could trust him. “Okay, maybe not just like you, but we’ve got a pretty cool common denominator.” 

Eddie took a moment to center himself. Amidst the excitement, he nearly forgot what he came here for. He looked back to Kal. “I’m just here to talk to her about her paintings, nothing weird, I promise.” Again, his eyes switched their focus to Willow. “See, some of our dead friends aren’t exactly happy with how they’re being portrayed, and they’ve been very adamant that I bring the issue up to you.”

Willow almost jumped at the stranger’s exuberance, momentarily confused while he replied to Kal. She still couldn’t hear the ghost, her mind moving far too fast at the moment for it to slow down enough to listen to her ‘dead friend.’ “Like me?” she repeated the words skeptically until he began speaking to Kal once again. “So you’re a medium?” Kal put his hands up as if trying to stop Eddie’s words before he could get them out...to little avail. “Hold on- don’t say that!” Willow’s paintings were one of the few, free joys the woman had left in the world, and he wasn’t too keen on seeing whatever reaction she might have in response to the other medium’s claims. 

But the words had been said, and Willow’s lips had already turned downwards into the beginning of a frown, looking towards the door of her art room and then back to Eddie. “They don’t like them?” Did they want her to stop? She’d always loved painting the stories she heard from the ghosts, even if some of them were sadder than the rest. Those were the paintings she also gave to her brother, the ones that had such miserable stories attached to them. Surely all ghosts deserved to move on if that’s what they wanted, but the ones that could only focus on their pain...that could only give Willow the traumatic stories of their demise, those were the ones that needed it the most. “I mean...I know my pictures aren’t perfect to what they remember but…” she trailed off with uncertainty, not entirely sure where that sentence had been going.

Kal’s warning went unfortunately unheeded, and Eddie only realized its importance once he saw the frown on Willow’s face. Her second question dampened his initial excitement. He didn’t know how important her paintings were to her, but it already sounded like he wounded her pride. So much for making friends.

“Well, I didn’t say that,” he quickly backtracked. “I’m sure they really appreciate the time and effort you put into memorializing them—I know I would.” Eddie spent more time than he cared to admit wondering about his own demise and what would follow it; how he’d be remembered. If someone cared enough to put his final moments on canvas, he couldn’t imagine being anything other than grateful. “Really, they just have a few minor critiques. You know ghosts, they can be a little picky.” He shot Kal an apologetic glance. “I know how hard it can be to feel the pressure of someone’s last wishes on your shoulders, it makes you really wanna do right by them, but there’s no way to do it perfectly every time, y’know? And only a few have come to me, so I bet you’re actually doing a really great job overall.”

The stranger was sure of the dead’s gratitude because the ghosts had said as much to him? Or was it because he assumed such a thing? “Did they...tell you that?” Willow asked tentatively, hoping that the answer might be yes. She didn’t paint solely for the ghosts, but it’d be nice to know that they got some enjoyment out of it as well. She’d always thought they liked having their stories listened to, being given a moment to relay something important of their life and seeing it painted before their very eyes. Still standing behind Willow was Kal, nodding his head emphatically as if he could provide the answer for Eddie, or at least signal the other man into giving a good one. 

The mention of ghosts being less than fond of her paintings was awkward enough, but now came the part where Willow had to tell this man that she actually wasn’t all that familiar with working for the dead, at least not in the way most mediums were. She wasn’t as self-conscious about her lack of abilities when it came to her family, having accepted long ago that she was different, and actually being somewhat grateful for the fact that she’d gotten to live a life of her own rather than one ruled by the departed. But when such an admission was being made to another medium that wasn’t related to her...well, it was nerve wracking to say the least. “Ah- well- about that. I don’t actually see and hear them all that well. Just sometimes. Not like the rest of my family or most mediums or whatever.” The last of his words had another semi-hopeful spark entering her eyes. “Really? You think so? Do you know which paintings the ones that have come to you are upset about?”

Seeing Kal’s emphatic nodding convinced Eddie to mirror the action. “Yeah, of course,” he said. In truth, they were usually more concerned with their grievances than what they enjoyed about Willow’s work, but Eddie felt like her spirit had been crushed enough for one evening. If she needed to hear a white lie to keep her self-esteem from folding in on itself, he would more than happily oblige. 

“Oh,” Eddie uttered upon hearing her confession, more interested in learning that her family shared her gift than anything else. He wondered what that must be like—to be surrounded by people that understood you. Mild jealousy flared in his gut. He thought he’d met someone like him, but instead it seemed to inhabit two completely different worlds. “At least you have people in your life who can help translate,” he offered, smiling sadly in spite of himself.

Willow’s follow-up question pulled him out of his self-pity. “Yeah, one sec.” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and opened the notes app. “George, the guy who died in a house fire, he said his eyes weren’t that close together. Shelly, the elderly woman who died of natural causes, says that you got her bedroom all wrong—she can’t stand your choice of wallpaper. And, um, Andrea, killed by some kind of demonic moose, would like it if you painted her with a little more dignity. She swears she didn’t go out screaming.” Eddie looked up from his phone to see how much damage their criticism had done. “See? Not so bad, just… little things.”

“Really?” Willow asked again, rather smitten with the thought that the ghosts might like her work. Sure, the person she painted most for was herself but...it was still nice to hear that people had enjoyed your work— especially when they were the inspiration. “Well then...I’m glad they like it.” The very beginnings of a smile had taken to the corners of Willow’s lips, looking the most relaxed she had since this conversation began. 

But that smile quickly turned to concern as Eddie spoke. He didn’t have anyone with him? How had he learned about the world of ghosts in the first place? “You parents...they can’t sense ghosts?” Willow supposed the ability didn’t have to run in families, but she was rather biased when she’d been raised in a family full of spirit-sensing humans. “Well you know- if you ever needed someone to help you translate I’m sure anyone in my family would be happy to. Especially my mom or brother.” It’d been some ten minutes of knowing the man after he’d shown up unaccounted at her door, and she was already offering him access to her family. This was probably what some of her more cynical friends were talking about when they said her kindness would get her hurt. 

Willow listened carefully to his requests, trying to memorize them all before she realized she’d most likely forget. “Do you think you could send the list to me? I could give you my number.” Then he’d also have it if he had any ghost questions, and was too nervous to ask how to contact her in the future. Going over what she remembered from his list, her lips pursed ever so slightly as she thought of the paintings in question. She couldn’t be sure, but this seemed more like an issue of vanity rather than her skill. Except for the wallpaper one. She often filled in the lesser details of paintings that ghosts didn’t bother to outline with her own artistic license. “Yeah- not too big.” Now that it was clear it was more the ghost’s problem than her’s, she was somewhere closer to being set at ease.

At the sight of Willow’s sort-of-smile, Eddie grinned from ear-to-ear. It felt like he managed to do something right. “Yeah, me too,” he enthused. He didn’t know Willow well, or at all really, but he already had a sense she might need the validation. Eddie couldn’t blame her, he had a lot in common with Tinker Bell, himself. When the applause stopped, so did his heart. Considering that, he realized he might have been projecting, but doing so in this instance seemed harmless enough.

The smile dropped as quickly as it disappeared, giving Eddie a taste of emotional whiplash. Willow seemed concerned about him, he didn’t intend for that, but her offer struck him right in the heart. “I don’t really wanna bother anyone,” he said politely while every fiber of his being revolted against his ill-timed manners. “But, I mean, if they… if they would be happy to help, like you said, it’d probably be better for everyone if I took you up on that, right? Who wants an uneducated medium running around solo?” He shrugged while his heart beat wildly in his chest. Finally, people who would understand him. Eddie’s throat tightened as he considered the possibilities.

“Oh, yeah, no problem!” Eddie brandished phone and closed the distance between Willow and himself with little regard for how intentionally she’d cultivated it. “Here you go,” he said amicably as he offered the device to her.

Oh! The younger man looked very nice when he smiled, like he didn’t have a single intention to hurt anyone that lived in this world. The change in his demeanor had her mirroring it instinctually, and her own smile grew bigger— as if they were stuck in a feedback loop of grins. While he began to speak of being a bother, Willow’s head was already shaking in a fierce denial of the concept, not willing to let him disparage himself in her presence. “You’re not! I’m the one who offered, anyway! And I mean- it’s always nice to have more ghost friends, isn’t it?” Friends were the last thing she needed while she was a literal flight risk in the sense of sending those around her sailing via telekinesis. But she couldn’t just let him fumble in this strange world by himself. “Perfect, then! I could put you into contact with my brother first! He’s the most involved with all the spiritual stuff- he’s actually an exorcist in addition to his mediumship.” If this young man latched onto her brother, Forest, there was also less risk of him coming around Willow to get hurt. 

Gingerly accepting his phone while being careful to avoid any contact, Willow tapped her number into the contacts, adding her name to the entry. Oh, right- she hadn’t actually introduced herself quite yet. “I’m Willow, by the way. Willow Finch.” She made no inclination to offer a hand for shaking, still avoiding physical contact at all costs. 

The moment Willow uttered the words ‘ghost friends’, Eddie felt a rush of unexpected affection. His entire life, most people either completely denied the existence of ghosts or spoke poorly of them. For a moment, Eddie struggled to find the right words to say, an unheard of predicament for him. “Sorry,” he said with a laugh. “It’s just—you ever hear something that sounds too good to be true? I’m waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me.” Not only did her family have mediums, it had exorcists. He wondered if she knew how lucky she was.

Eddie watched as she entered her phone number, half-expecting it to begin with 555. “Oh, right, I kinda did walk into your home without telling you who I am, didn’t I?” It wouldn’t be the first time he disregarded common courtesy and overstepped boundaries, and it likely wouldn’t be the last either. “The ghosts told me your name, but I’m Eddie, Eddie Carridine. It’s awesome to meet you, Willow Finch.”

Willow’s heart already ached for him, recognizing a loneliness in his words that she knew intimately these days. Perhaps their situations of isolation were from different patterns, but they’d been cut from the same cloth. The feeling of being alone wasn’t kind in the least, no matter where it stemmed from. Not for the first time she wished she could lend someone physical comfort in addition to emotional solace, the desire to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder growing stronger the longer he stood in front of her. “Of course. The world can be disappointing in the worst ways,” she began softly while forcing herself to stay where she was. “But I also know me and my family. And I bet you’ll be begging to get rid of us before they’d even think about leaving you alone. It’s just not in our blood.” After all, wasn’t that one of the tenants of being a medium? Ensuring that not even the dead were left behind, let alone one of their own. Where that was potentially comforting to Eddie, it was less than ideal for Willow— constantly having to make her own space when it came to the people that loved and raised her for fear of hurting them. 

“You were just trying to help,” Willow began with a chuckle, the only reservations left in her being based around keeping Eddie out of arms-length. And so far he’d respected that. “And the dead...they have a lot less people helping them than the living- so I’m glad you did.” Her smile was softer this time, still settling into who she was while she was less concerned about a stranger being in her home. “It’s awesome to meet you too, Eddie.”

Kal elected this as good a time as ever to re-enter the conversation, some of his wariness stirpped away as the conversation proceeded. Besides— he was naturally inclined to like any medium he came across. “She means it- you know. About not leaving people alone. She can’t see me half the time, but she still talks to me. Even if she’s not even sure I’m here. She’d do the same for you.” It was why he’d become so attached to Willow in the first place, unable to deny the heart she had for caring.

Eddie smiled sadly when Willow mentioned disappointment. The world let him down a few times, but he placed the blame on himself more often than not. He made eye contact with his biggest disappointment every time he looked in the mirror. Willow swiftly pulled his mood out of the gutters of self-deprecation when she told him he wouldn’t be left alone, not by her family. A lump formed in his throat, forcing Eddie to convince himself not express such intense emotions around someone he met minutes ago. “Where’ve you guys been my whole life?” he asked, making an attempt at levity. Nothing she said felt real, but Eddie had a penchant for far-fetched beliefs.

“Yeah, you actually get it,” he said, nodding as he did. It made sense for a fellow medium to empathize with ghosts, but that didn’t make it any less surreal. “I’m glad I did too, otherwise we might not have ever met. That would’ve been a pretty big loss, I think.” He didn’t want to sound too certain, he knew how intense he could be. 

Kal captured his attention next, confirming what Willow said. The lump in Eddie’s throat quivered, forcing him to clear it. “You guys make quite the duo,” he observed. “I, um, appreciate it—everything, I mean.” His gaze turned back to Willow. “You didn’t have to be so kind, most people wouldn’t. So, I… yeah, I’ll make sure you don’t regret it.”

Willow could tell he was on the verge of spilling over, she recognized it well when she’d seen it so often in herself. A gentle shrug tugged at her shoulders in response to his question, knowing he was trying to lighten the mood, but unable to perfectly match the nonchalance. “Just sitting here waiting, I guess. I think you’re actually running a bit late.” Another bell-like laugh trickled from her lips, not wanting to come on too strongly despite the kindness in her words. But she recognized a lost soul when she saw one, even if she’d seen less wandering spirits than most mediums had. 

She got it. Maybe not quite as much as someone with fully realized abilities, but she’d seen enough of it through her sister and brother, and parents as well. For a moment Willow was also overcome by emotion, her throat tightening as Eddie landed his compliments. How long had it been since she’d had such a tender moment in person? How long had it been since she’d made actual eye contact with someone for this extended amount of time? “I think I’m the one who would have been missing out,” she answered with the corners of her eyes crinkling in a welcoming happiness. She didn’t mind his intensity, oftentimes having a penchant for it herself when it came to the delicate side of life. 

Willow was silent a moment while she assumed Kal was talking to Eddie, reckoning the way his gaze flitted to the ghost over her shoulder. She’d seen it in the eyes of her family more than enough times. “Kal’s been here with me when...I haven’t been able to see much of anyone else. He does just as much for me as I do for him.” Possibly even more. “The way I see it- kindness is free, isn’t it?” Another shrug claimed her, and for a moment she thought she could almost feel Kal’s hand as he laid it onto her shoulder. “I’m just glad I can give it. You just focus on being kind to yourself, and we’ll call it even, yeah?” 

Fresh tears stung Eddie’s eyes. He immediately blinked them away, trying his best to save face. Showing his emotions rarely sat well with him, but he felt safe here even though he only just arrived. “Sorry,” he offered yet another apology as a second wave of tears formed in his eyes. “I’m sorry, this is probably so awkward.” He wondered what Willow thought of him crying at the first sign of kindness. Eddie pulled the hem of his jacket’s sleeve into his palm and wiped away the evidence of his emotional outpouring. “I promise, I don’t usually do this in front of people I’ve just met… or anyone, actually.” He let out an empty huff of laughter, suddenly unable to make eye contact.

The blows kept coming as Willow turned the compliment around on him. “Yeah, well, we’ll see,” he countered. “Get back to me when you’ve known me for a few hours.” Eddie felt pathetic and happy at the same time; exposed and protected. It didn’t make sense, emotions weren’t supposed to contradict each other so harshly, not in his experience.

Eddie watched as Kal’s hand rested on Willow’s shoulder. He said she couldn’t see him half the time, but Eddie liked to think he could recognize love when saw it. An irresistible urge came over him and, before better judgement could kick in, his arms wrapped around Willow.

Willow was a sympathy crier. There was no way around it, and her own eyes were beginning to well as she watched Eddie’s fill with tears, though her’s were born of the happiness that came from witnessing the weight fall from the other medium’s shoulders. Her heart ached for him, recognizing just how desperate he must be to break down so easily when faced with the bare minimum in terms of showings of kindness. Her own clumsy laugh danced with Eddie’s while she gave him whatever time he needed to recollect himself. She’d already decided she was going to ask him to stay for some juice and cookies. Or maybe wine and cookies? He looked fairly young, just at the cusp of drinking age. Someone so young should never have been as alone as he seemed, and her soul began to hurt all over again. 

All that turned to panic in the very blink of an eye as Eddie reached for a hug, and Willow’s hands were thrown out in front of her while she yelled frantically, “No! Don’t!” But it was too late, and as the young man came into contact with her hands she felt the telekinesis flash along with her flaring emotions. In another blink, he was pulsed back from her with a thrust far too powerful for the force to have come from her hands alone. “Oh god- oh god,” she gasped as she ran to his landing place on the couch. He’d fallen on something soft, but she wouldn’t feel relief until she knew he was alright. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Oh no- oh god I’m so sorry.” This time her tears were ones of dread and hopelessness. She should have known. Should have known things were going far too well, and that danger was lurking around the corner.

Eddie pushed the envelope often, it didn’t always end well, but he could honestly say that being telekinetically launched across the room was a first. He hit the couch with a thud, feeling like the air in his lungs had been knocked out of him. Before he could manage to sit up, Willow appeared next to him spewing apologies and concern. Eddie looked up at her, recognizing that she never meant to hurt him, and couldn’t help laughing. His lungs hurt, but he preferred the pain over crying. Propping himself up on his elbows, Eddie shook his head. “Hey, accidents happen,” he said with a wide grin. “But, uh, do you think you could teach me how to do that?”

Accidents happened, but they happened far too often when it came to Willow and her telekinesis. “But they shouldn’t,” she insisted, head shaking even as she skittered to put space between her and Eddie once again. “I don’t- I don’t control it.” The admission was paired with a blanket of shame and guilt falling over her features. Eddie had trusted her to give an answer when she offered help, and she was already failing the first question of that test. “I’m sorry- I can’t- I don’t know how to teach you. I don’t even know how to teach myself.” That was why he should stick around her brother more than he ever clung to her. “You should- you should go for now, I don’t want to hurt you if you stay longer.” How could she offer him a home, and then cast him out in the next breath? Was that not the cruelest thing she could have done? But if he left disappointed, at least he left whole and with his life still intact.

“Thank you, though.” He’d given her so much in just the span of a half an hour or so. “Really- thank you. I’m um- I’m glad the ghosts chose you to deliver the message, and brought you here.” Now the ghosts of her anxiety would just have to get him to leave. “And I do want you to text me.” In person wasn’t something she was willing to offer in the wake of having lost control, but she remembered how relieved he’d look immediately before everything had gone south, the look of a man crawling towards an oasis in the midst of a desert while he’d throw himself into his attempted hug. She wanted to be the person that quenched his loneliness. Willow just wasn’t sure how to do it while keeping him in one piece. 

[nebulablakemurphy]

Misconception

John Murphy x Emori

Summary: In the aftermath of the last war Emori and John become a family of three.

Warnings: Possible spoilers for the 100 season 7, mentions of child birth.

Earth is nice. A bit different than any of them remember. Quiet, more serene; just the remaining members of the human race and the ocean, for the rest of forever.

The food is much nicer than algae, the ground vaster than the expanse of the tin can they’d called home for six years.

Yet not as luxurious as the castle they’d occupied in Sactum. But this is home, this is where they put roots down. This is where they’re going to live.

It’s been about three months, since judgement day. Death, transcendence, and everything in between.

Emori still loves catching her fish, proudly displaying them to anyone within shouting distance.

Her body is beginning to fill out, just the slightest bit. In a way that assures John she’s not hungry. She’s happy, and healthy, and wants for nothing.

Days are spent with friends, that have become family. Nights are reserved for themselves, more often than not, ending up a spent pile of limbs on their makeshift mattress.

“John?” Emori mumbles, still basking in the after glow of their love making. “Are you sleeping?”

“Emori, I love you,” Murphy sighs, bonelessly curled around her back, “but I’m gonna need a few more minutes before I’m good to go again.”

“Not that,” Emori huffs a laugh.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, toying with the fingers of her badass hand.

“If something happens to me-“

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” John says, reassuring himself as well. Emori is fine, she will be fine.

“I need to know that you won’t try to-“

“Hey,” John stops her a second time. “Baby, nothing is happening to you.“

Emori pauses, then forces the words past her lips. “I’m pregnant.”

Silence. Deafening silence.

Murphy clears his throat. “Jackson knows?”

“Confirmed it this morning.” She nods, staring down at her hands.

“We have Sanctum.” He reasons, “all the medicine there.”

“We do.”

“Then we’ll...figure the rest out.”

“Is this alright, John?” Emori asks, with bated breath.

“All those years on the ring, when we were playing primes; the timing was bad. Always a war to fight, people to save. Now, all we have is time.” He pauses, hoping the right words will come. “I don’t love the idea of sharing you, but if it’s with our kid, you won’t catch me complaining. What I should be asking, is if this is alright with you?”

Emori allows the corners of her mouth to curl into a smile. “I want this baby, more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

John takes a steadying breath, placing a hand over the barely there bump. “You and this baby will have everything you want.” He kisses her shoulder, speaking directly against her skin. “I promise.”

“You’re what I want.” Emori whispers, resting her hand over his.

———————————————————

Emori is well on her way to the second trimester; but the nausea still gets the best of her on occasion. Causing her to just miss Raven’s shoes, as she purges the contents of her lunch onto the sand.

“You feeling alright?” Raven asks, immediately. “Should I get Murphy?”

“No, I’m fine.” Emori insists, with a shake of her head.

“That’s the second time this week.” Raven is not so easily convinced. “Jackson should check you out.”

“Jackson has,” Emori purses her lips. “Nothing to be concerned about. I’ll survive a little morning sickness, even if it does last past morning.”

“You’re-“ The mechanic breaks off. “You and Murphy? How?”

“After years of walking in on us, you know how.” Emori rolls her, brown, eyes.

“Well, congratulations. Right?” Raven claps Emori’s back, lightly.

Congratulations...yes, that’s right. “Thank you.”

“How far along?” The brunette leans in, with renewed interest.

“Almost three months.” Emori tells her.

“Have you thought about names yet? Because I think Raven could be unisex.”

Emori let’s out a laugh. “I’ll be sure to mention it to John,” she teases. “But I think you’ll be our only Raven.”

“It was worth a shot.” The woman shrugs. “Hey, do you want to see what I’ve been working on?”

“No nuclear reactor or toxic radiation involved?”

“Why would you think that?” Raven snarks.

“Then yes,” Emori agrees, “I’d love to.”

————————————————————

“Hey,” John greets his love, when she enters their hut. “Good day?”

“Raven and I are working on a pipe system that will pull drinking water from the valley. We’ll be able to get it from a tap.” Emori grins, a bit of pep in her step, as she comes to lie beside him. Pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Exciting.” Murphy deadpans, leaning into her warmth.

“It means actual showers, John.” Emori stares down at him, propped up on one elbow. “No need for the lake or running back to Sactum.”

“I thought you liked sneaking off to Sanctum.” Murphy nuzzles the underside of her jaw.

“I miss Kaylee’s bed.”

“Maybe Raven can build you one of those.” He jest, crossing both legs at the ankle.

“Speaking of Raven,” Emori trails off. “She suggests that the baby should also be named Raven. I told her I’d run it by you.”

“Yeah...” Murphy narrows his eyes, “not gonna happen.”

“I don’t think we should name this baby after anyone, living or dead.” Emori admits. “Bringing honor to the people we’ve lost is much bigger than that. With this baby, we start over.”

“I want that too, Em; to start over.” John whispers, there are so many things he would do differently now. “Do you have any actual names in mind, for our bundle of joy?”

“Not yet.”

“We’ll come up with something.” They’ve got time. “If not, hey you, should be sufficient.”

“Very funny.” Emori frowns, feeling her stomach turn.

“You ok?” John takes her face in his hands.

“A little nauseous, it’ll pass.”

“Be nice to your mother.” Murphy insists, attention now directed at Emori’s belly. “I’d like to keep her around.”

————————————————————-

Days turn into weeks, Emori’s bump grows. There is no hiding it now, even if she wanted to. The others have been very supportive, offering their babysitting services, when the time comes.

Emori flips back the flap of their shelter, waddling over to their bed and flopping down, without a word.

“Rough day?” Murphy asks, coming to sit beside her.

Emori offers a groan, in response.

“Should I massage your feet or something?”

“Or something,” she grumbles, “my back hurts.”

“Say no more.” John eases skilled fingers over the skin of her back. Applying slight pressure to the tense muscles. “One back rub coming right up.”

Emori sighs, relaxing into his touch.

“We should revisit names. Hey you, could make their big debut anytime now.” He murmurs, their child responds to his voice, with a swift kick.

“What are you thinking?” Emori wonders, resting her hand against the fluttering life in her abdomen.

“Odessa.” If she hates it, back to the drawing board.

“It’s beautiful...” Her voice catches in her throat. Saying things aloud makes them real, names make them real. “Are you hoping for a girl?”

“I’m hoping for a healthy baby, and a healthy you.” John annunciates each word for emphasis.

Emori nods, knowing better than to press the issue. “Now we need something for a boy.”

“Lady’s choice.” He kisses the back of her neck.

“Kai?” It’s different and unique, just like their child will be.

“It’s got a ring to it.”

————————————————————-

“John!”

The sound of Emori’s frazzled cry has Murphy chucking his dinner plate aside. Racing for the tree line, where he finds her, perched on a log. One foot bare and elevated off the sand.

He kneels down, taking the raised leg into his lap. “What’s wrong?” John asks, unable to spot an obvious problem. “Did you trip? Something bite you?”

“My shoe fell off and I can’t reach.” Emori informs him, crossing both arms over her chest.

Relieved, he chuckles, “that’s adorable.”

“It’s not.” Emori scowls, “I hate it. Now get the shoe.”

“Oh come on, this is the home stretch. Might as well try to enjoy it.” John will miss her belly brimming with new life. The promise of a future he wasn’t sure they’d have.

“Would you enjoy not being able to see your toes?” Emori snaps. She will do anything for her child, but she misses her independence.

“There are worse things,” he shrugs, bending down to retrieve the shoe. “Besides, I’m more than happy to help.”

“Thank you,” Emori fights back a smile. Watching him complete the task, with a brisk kiss to her lips.

————————————————————

Emori’s pained groan wakes John, from a dead sleep.

“‘Mori?” He grumbles, rubbing at tired eyes.

“Don’t panic,” Emori says, curling in on herself. “I’m having contractions.”

“Yeah?” He springs into action. No false alarm this time. “How far apart?”

“Not far enough.” She attempts to lighten the mood.

“We need to wake up Jackson, and get you to Sanctum. Can you walk?”

“I can try.” She nods, through gritted teeth.

“Never mind, I’ve got you.” Murphy sighs, lifting Emori carefully into his arms.

“Before we go...” Emori stalls, knowing he won’t like what she has to say. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Talking can wait, this can’t.” Murphy replies, moving quickly toward the doctor’s tent.

“If things don’t go as planned and it’s a choice, between me and the baby; you choose the baby. You choose the baby over me, you choose this baby over everyone.”

“Emori, we’re not doing this now.” He shakes his head.

“Promise me, John.” Emori feels tears burning at the back of her eyes, but makes no effort to fight them.

“Emori-“

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.“

“I won’t let anything happen to either of you.” This is the time that everything goes to plan. This is the time it has to.

“Promise me.” Emori’s voice is hoarse, as another contraction seizes her muscles.

“I promise.” He promises that neither of them are going anywhere. Losing Emori once was bad enough.

————————————————————-

They’re back in the operation room, the same one where John lost the love of his life. The equipment is here, poised and ready to go. It only makes sense for it to be here. Fate is cruel that way.

“Alright, Emori,” Jackson touches her knee. “You’re a full ten centimeters. When you feel the next contraction, I want you to push.”

John doesn’t miss the nervous tremor of her bottom lip. “You and me,” he reminds her. ”We’re doing this together.”

“I love you, John.” Emori smiles, through the pain. Then taking a deep breath in, she bears down.

“I love you too.” Murphy whispers, squeezing her hand tightly. Although it kills him to see Emori in pain, John remains calm and focused. This time it’s for something, this time she isn’t dying. “Good job, baby.”

They continue on like this, until her limbs are heavy with exertion, and his hand has lost all feeling.

The exasperated sound that leaves Emori’s lips, with a puff of air, is bearable. The tortured whimper that follows makes John wish he could do it for her.

“Emori, you’re doing great.” Jackson assures her. Stealing a glance at the beeping monitors beside the bed. “But I’m starting to see signs of fetal distress.”

“What’s that mean?” Murphy demands.

“It means we’ve gotta move this baby.” Jackson confirms both of their fears.

“I’m trying,” Emori says.

“What if she can’t?” John asks, watching fear and defeat paint her features.

“Then the only option would be a cesarean section.” None of them want that. But they have the equipment, he has the experience.

“Look, no offense, but we all remember what happened the last time you pulled something out of her.”

“This is different.” Jackson reminds him, “no internal damage.”

“We’ve been at this for hours, maybe Jackson’s right,” Emori agrees. Anything for this baby.

“I know you’re tired. But I need you to finish strong. Our baby needs you to finish strong. When the next contraction comes, you’re gonna push like hell, and we’re gonna have this baby.” Murphy insists, helping her lean up, so that he can climb onto the table behind her, for support. Her back now resting against his chest, with his legs bracketing hers.

“Ok,” Emori nods, adjusting her grip on John’s hands. “But if it doesn’t work-“

“It will work.” It has to. John rests his cheek against hers. Feeling Emori’s body begin to tense with the next contraction. “3,2,1, go.”

Through gritted teeth, Emori finally manages to move the stubborn baby down. Of all the birthing positions they’ve tried, this one finally seems to help a bit.

“Here comes the head,” Jackson announces.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Emori.” John kisses her sweat damp temple, her head clunking back onto his shoulder. “Deep breath, do it again.”

The scream that follows could raise the dead, full fear and desperation and then-

A second voice joins hers, much smaller and higher in pitch. A baby, their baby. Announcing it’s arrival to the world.

“Hey, you’re done.” Murphy says, grounding her to reality. “You did it.”

“I did it,” she smiles, peeling her eyes open.

Jackson places the wailing child on her chest.

Still covered in dark blood, she is the most perfect, wonderful, thing either of them have ever seen.

“Hi baby,” Emori let’s tears fall freely, “my baby.”

“Get a load of you, beautiful.” Murphy whispers to the infant. Her tiny eyes are open wide, trying to focus on the sound. “Welcome to the world.”

“She’s got your eyes.” Emori would recognize that color blue anywhere.

“You ok?” John asks, noticing how lax she’s become.

“Fine.” Emori assures him. “Tired, but fine.”

“Everything alright down there, doc?” He calls to Jackson.

“Everything’s good.” The doctor is all smiles. “Once she delivers the placenta, I’ll stitch her up and we’re all clear.”

Both their heads snap toward him.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got anesthetic this time.” Jackson clarifies.

Relieved Emori sinks back into John, humming to the newborn, who is beginning to stur.

————————————————————-

The sleepless nights are endless. Leaving the first time parents worried that maybe they aren’t cut out for this. Maybe they aren’t doing enough. But after a few weeks, they fall into a routine.

Odessa is a happy baby, with her father’s eyes and a head full of chestnut curls. She resembles Emori for the most part, which pleases John to no end. The little girl has everyone wrapped around the tiny fingers of her badass hand.

“Did you teach her to fish yet?” John calls, spotting Emori at the shoreline. Holding their daughter to face the waves, basking in the orange glow of the setting sun. “She’s gotta start pulling her weight around here,” he jests. Closing the distance between them, to caress Odessa’s chubby cheek.

“She might be a little young to cast a net.” Emori laughs, feeling John press a kiss to her head. “But she’ll learn.”

The eleven month old kicks her legs, reaching out for her father. “Dada.”

“She wants you.” Emori takes a step toward him.

“Not your finest decision, kid.” He mutters, under his breath. Taking the little girl into his arms. “I’d much rather be held by your mother.”

Emori smiles at the scene before her. Their daughter latches onto Murphy’s nose, with her right hand. “Fatherhood suits you, John.”

“I don’t know about all that.” The only thing that he knows for sure, is that he can’t mess up. He can’t mess her up.

“I do.” Emori assures him.

Murphy stares at his wife, with nothing but adoration and wonder; their child in his arms. “We should do this again sometime.” He nods toward Odessa.

“Funny,” Emori raises her brows. “I was thinking the same thing.”

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