#but there’s a STRAIGHT LINE between some speak now songs and wcs

[lulabo]

“I’m 33, I don’t care about anything that happened to me when I was 19”

Ma’am explain Would’ve Could’ve Should’ve

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ here’s to hoping (cause i can’t stop calling) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.1k

summary: gojo calls, and you spend it half-wishing you weren’t broken up. 

contains: gn!reader, exes to ???, alcohol, mentions of going to the club, gojo is bad at being an ex, complicated feelings, ambiguous ending, kind of hurt/comfort. 

a/n: writing this as my copium, i haven’t written gojo outside of col in so long so this was challenging, but equally as exciting! some songs that inspired this are: better than this - lauv & oh, gemini - role model.

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: calling your ex drunk at two a.m. with feelings still stuck in your throat

“Well, well, well… miss me already?”

The clock on your kitchen wall reads some time between 2:05 and 2:10. Even when you squint, the little lines remain a drunken blur. 

You blame it on the alcohol. 

“Don’t be shy now.” the voice on your phone continues, shaking you out of focus. 

Had you been any more sober, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. 

Had you been any more sober, the throbbing in your head wouldn’t have persisted from the sound of—

“Gojo–” you sigh. 

“Satoru.” he interrupts, a full pause before he continues, softer, “It’s Satoru, remember?” 

Had you been any more sober, you wouldn’t have even answered his call. 

You haul your bag up sluggishly, the chains of the strap clacking against your countertop. Patience is a ticking time bomb when you’re this inebriated, the heavy bass from earlier tonight still thumping its way within your brain. 

You can’t think straight. 

“Satoru,” a name now foreign but still so close to home; it burns on your tongue, trickles bittersweet down your throat, “you called. What do you need?” 

It’s stupid of you to ask, you know, because Gojo’s been calling you like this since the day you broke up months ago. You’d picked up the first few times, but quickly realized that it wasn’t good for the both of you—you’d never move on, and Gojo would never let you go. 

Except—

“You picked up.” 

—liquor makes for poor company when it only serves to soften the anger you’ve built up as protection. It really is all the alcohol’s fault. 

Your eyes burn as you squeeze them shut, sighing, a twisted exhale, “You have to stop, Satoru.” 

“Stop what?” he feigns, the lilt at the end a sure sign of the most insufferable smirk. 

The thought of it makes you sick, makes you ache with memories of pinching his nose at the sight of it. He used to giggle then; now, he chuckles on the other end. 

That’s the question, isn’t it? Stop what?

Since the break-up, Gojo’s been acting like nothing’s changed. He still calls you just as much, still texts you with undertones that tread the fine line between flirty and ‘just Gojo’. Your toiletries are still at his apartment, and his clothes are still in your closet. 

You’d find humor in it if not for the fact that all of it has been so goddamn confusing.

He started it; he broke up with you. 

Shouldn’t he be pushing you away? 

To this day, you have no full closure, no other reason other than an ‘it’s better this way’ followed by a continuous stream of mixed signals because how he treats you is still the same. 

“Stop calling,” a lump forms in your throat, an admission you’ve had to remind yourself again and again, “we’re not together anymore.”

“I can’t call a friend?” 

You snort, fiddling with the metal links of your bag strap, “Is that what we are?” 

A pause. Slippers shifting on floorboards. They sound just like the sleepless nights he’d shuffle out of bed. 

You can picture him on the other end, head tilted and leant back on the plush leather of his couch. He hums but doesn’t answer you—he never does when it can mean something. 

“You still sound the same.” 

And you don’t expect it at this moment, to get so choked up over how he sounds over radio waves, but he says the words a little too fondly for you not to notice. Gojo’s always teased that he can pinpoint your voice from the moment you speak the first word.

You don’t mean to give him any more authority over your feelings than he already has, but the words slip out before you can catch yourself, “You’re being unfair.”  

Another hum. His tone shifts to something lighter, more teasing, “Like you aren’t. Always typing, never sending…”

The huff that punctuates his sentences paints itself vividly with a small pout. 

“Stop staring at my chat box then.” is all you can muster, the ache spreading throughout your chest. 

“Afraid I can’t.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“You’re impossible.” your eyes begin to feel wet, your sniffle concealing itself as you clear your throat. 

The silence that follows is uncharacteristic of your relationship with Gojo, even more of the man you know, but you find it filled to the brim with all the possibilities of what went wrong—of things you know he’ll never say out loud.

You know Gojo has issues; they presented themselves well enough in the year you were together. Being with him is accepting that you’ll be reading between the lines your entire life. 

He is simultaneously touchy but distant, vocal but elusive in his affections; he drapes himself over you every chance he gets, but when you touch him in places no one else has, you think a storm swirls cyan in his irises. Gojo gives compliments like candies on Halloween, but he keeps his feelings close to his chest, locked away like presents tightly wrapped under a Christmas tree. 

This is why you never saw it coming. 

This is why there was no hint, no sign of him ever wanting to break things off when he did.

‘Let’s stop dating’ with no warning. 

“Had fun tonight?” he asks so casually, like it doesn’t tell you a million things—how he still has your location on his phone, how he’s still checking on you, Six Eyes or not. 

Tonight was okay, all things considered. You don’t go to clubs often, but your friends kept you company; the music boomed just a tad bit louder than you’re used to, and the drinks were good, but—

“You would have hated it.” 

If Gojo were there, you would have stayed 10 minutes tops. He’d whine about being bored but you’d be able to tell, from the slight furrow of his brows and the clenching of his jaw that it’s because one of his migraines is forming. 

“Good thing I’d have you, then.” 

There are half-truths in jokes like this, a dangerous thing to say when you both know he could still have you if he wanted.

“Stop flirting, it’s annoying.” you try to steel your voice, pushing down the false hope rising in your chest. 

“You love it, though.”

The pain sears you, hurts when he says the word so lightly, as if he isn’t aware that you know love is the reason he had to break things off prematurely. As if he doesn’t know that you’re still in love with him, that you’re still putting faith in a tragedy. 

“Do you even know what loving something feels like?” 

The line remains silent, save for the softest sound of his breath hitching. 

You must have hit a nerve. 

He hums, an expected answer, but then he mumbles, words spoken so faintly, so quietly, you’re surprised they even came through. 

“Yeah, I do.”

a/n: wanted to use this as dialogue practice because i think gojo’s dialogue is one of the trickiest to nail! i also found it so fun exploring this kind of dynamic with him!! i subtly hint on some of gojo’s personal issues but don’t explicitly state it to leave room for interpretation! the ending is ambiguous for that same reason.

thank you notes: @stellamancer for helping me out so much with this 🥺 practically beta-ing it, really 🥺 ily niku 🥺 in my head, gojo does not exist without you 🥺 & @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @scarabrat @soumies for being my lil cheerleaders always 🥺 ily all 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[cherryjuicegf]

for @toss-a-coin-to-your-bard thanks for the prompt darling the poem was magical!! it was only fit to write some fluff for it, i hope you enjoy ♡

wc 640

love song - rainer maria rilke

"I tried to hold it back, you know."

A light autumn breeze enters the window and the curtain floats with it. Jaskier looks at Geralt beside him, a light frown between his brows. "Hold what back?" he asks, but can't bring himself to frown for much longer.

Because the afternoon is soft and the sheets are white and Geralt looks so beautiful with the sun tangled between his lashes, that he can't help but smile. A habit, perhaps, the way he delights in the presence of beautiful things.

Geralt huffs silently and sits up to watch him straight. Yet his gaze lowers at once. "This, now." His voice is hushed as if embarassed. Regretful. "I tried to keep you at bay."

Maybe he is waiting for an answer, but Jaskier doesn't give one. He doesn't even try, and it feels so heavy on his tongue, but he can't. Beause he knows. He knows what Geralt tried to do, he knows what he chose instead. He knows what Geralt needs.

And now, sweet gods, he knows even more. The taste of his kiss. The cracks on his lips, the lines of his jaw, the love in his eyes. The way he touches and the rythm of his breath. And he can't imagine a world in which he doesn't know. A world in which he didn't try.

So he doesn't speak, and only the distant, otherworldly sounds of the street fill his silence.

Geralt looks at him then, and shakes his head. "I never thought you wanted this. It was..." he pauses, a moment, and searches for words inside Jaskier's eyes. In some peculiar way, he always finds them. "You were worlds apart. I never thought you wanted me."

Be the one to hurt, so that you don't end up on the ground. Be the one to leave first.

Jaskier lets out a bretah that sounds like a complaint, and reaches for Geralt's face, warm and fitting inside his hand. Geralt leans into the touch like an ages hungry man afraid to eat too much, lest he cannot take it.

Why would you ever think that, Jaskier wants to say, but he knows the answer. He knew it when he came back.

Instead a smile, faint. "You know what makes a song beautiful, Geralt?" He chuckles at the way Geralt squints, almost playfully, perhaps expecting another one of his musings. But this oen doesn't need many words.

He turns around and reaches for his lute beside the bed, skilled fingers easily finding the strings, and Geralt stares.

"The chords," he continues, "never consist of a single note. Nor a single sound." He proceeds to play two strings, and they sound the same. Geralt can see why they always want him to give lectures in Oxenfurt. Jaskier doesn't take his eyes off him, smile wider. "You must play two or more different notes to ring them. And then you get a memorable melody." He strums the strings, fingers carefully placed, and indeed, a beautiful sound.

Geralt huffs a laugh. "So you're saying we must be pressed to make a nice sound."

Laughter. Jaskier nudges his shoulder and puts the lute on the floor. "Don't be a prick! I know you understand."

He does. Because before Jaskier can properly look at him again, he pulls him into a kiss, deep and warm like syrup, a hand reaching for his nape to keep him close, and Jaskier sighs, and smiles.

Then, a question. A golden stare melting in the setting sun. "What about our song then?" Geralt smirks and watches as the bard rolls his eyes. Fond. "What do you think of it?"

Tune. Press. Strum.

Jaskier's eyes crinkle like lake waves with his smile and he presses another kiss on Geralt's lips, short and blissful.

"I think it's the sweetest song I've ever heard."

[scarlettriot]

Stood Up

Pairing: Sero/F!Reader

Summary: When you find your dating making out with someone else at a Halloween party, Hanta swoops in and reclaims your evening, rekindling an old flame.

Contains: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Demisexual Reader, Astronomy/Greek Lore Nerd Sero, Old flame

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Demi Problems, Praise/Smidge of Degradation, Name-calling (slut & whore), Pet names (Love, good girl, pretty girl), Car Sex, F Masturbation, Oral M Receiving (Road Head) I think that's everything

A/N: This took me much longer than I expected. It's also my first time writing Sero. Given the season, I decided to add a touch of Halloween and costumes to this one.

If you'd like to read other's in the Stood Up series, here are the links:

Stood Up - Bakugo - WC 3,502

Stood Up - Kirishima - WC 3,612

Stood Up - Kaminari - WC 2,461

Word Count Starting Below: 3,494

Denki Kaminari's annual Halloween bash was in full swing by the time Hanta had arrived. He'd come straight from patrol, wrapping himself up in his own tape making a half assed mummy costume for himself. Not like anyone would notice with the flashing colored lights, loud music, and abundance of liquor.

However, Hanta didn't even make it up to the double glass front doors of Denki's home. Not before doing a double take at the very familiar pirate that ran by him.

"Y/N?" You stopped allowing him the chance to catch up to you, "Holy shit, it is you, when the hell did you get back?"

Three years you'd been gone, working in America. Time differences and busy schedules made it so the two of you barely kept in touch. It was a shame, Hanta thought, considering how close the two of you used to be.

"I- uh- just a few weeks now. I heard you were helping out with the disaster relief after that storm."

It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, the funny colors of the dancing lights were what made your cheeks look wet, right? Those couldn't have been tears.

"I was, yeah, but I got back yesterday. I didn't know-"

"Get the hell outta here!" His head snapped back towards the front of the house, just in time to see Eijiro, dressed in an impressive werewolf costume, literally throw someone out of the party. The guy drunkenly stumbled off, Eijiro walking over towards where Hanta was standing with you. "Y/N, you good?"

You nodded while Hanta tried to piece together what'd happened. "Sorry, it took me a second to find the bastard. Do ya wanna come back in? I'll make sure he leaves."

"No, Eijiro, thanks though. I'm just gonna head home."

The wolfman frowned but understood. "We'll have a smaller party for ya! Just the gang as a welcome home! You know Denki will look for any excuse to throw a party." He turned his gaze on Hanta. "A mummy, really?"

"You've been a damn werewolf for the last two years! You don't get to give me crap."

Eijiro poked the fuzzy pointed red ears carefully set into his spiky hair. "Mina and I worked real hard on this costume... seemed like a waste to only wear it once."

"We both know you haven't just worn those once, big man."

That got a chuckle out of you while all Eijiro could do was shrug and try to hide a shit-eating grin.

He asked you again if you'd like to stay and once more you said you were going to just head home. It was when you specifically said you were going to be walking home that Hanta spoke up offering to drive you back to your home since it was Halloween and people were creeps.

You were a damn pro hero but he still didn't feel right about just letting you walk home alone.

When you agreed he told Eijiro he'd be back soon and walked over with you to his car.

>>><<<

A part of you missed the old station wagon Hanta used to drive, not that this BMW he now drove wasn't absolutely amazing, you just sort of missed the comfort of the old car.

He waited until he'd reached the end of Denki's long, winding driveway to finally speak. "So, you wanna tell me what happened back there, or am I just supposed to pretend like Kiri didn't kick someone out on your behalf?"

"You could probably just ask Kiri and he'd tell you."

"I could, but, I'd like to hear it from you."

You knew you could tell him, there was nothing you couldn't tell Hanta. There was once a time when the man knew every single detail about your life. Sure, time and distance had put a strain on that relationship but you were back now. There was no reason why you couldn't at least start rebuilding what you and Hanta once had.

"Y/N, if you don't wanna say anything-"

"I was just casually seeing this guy. You know me and dating, how we don't always work out." You said abruptly and he quit talking, "And so, we weren't like official but we said we'd go to this party together. Well, I got here and went looking for him and found him making out with one of Hawks' sidekicks. I got a little upset when he noticed me and, well, he just said he found someone better."

Hanta actually stopped the car, pulled off to the side of the road, threw it in park, and looked right at you because he knew what found someone better meant exactly. You'd used those words in high school when that guy from Shiketsu that you'd been seeing got pissed off that you wouldn't put out and ended it with you. You went to his dorm crying because he 'found someone better', is what you told him. It took him a few hours to get the truth out of you.

You'd always been the kind of person to love with your entire heart but sexually, you'd confessed that you felt different from all the other kids your age back then. Not having the same urges and desires that everyone else seemed stricken with.

"Hanta, it's fine, really. Kiri heard the whole thing and, well, you saw what happened."

"Doesn't make it right! So, you went on a couple dates with a guy, that doesn't mean he just gets to expect you to put out for him! Even if you weren't demi, no one gets to just assume they deserve sex."

His lips were pressed in a narrow line, nostrils flared once in annoyance. He was usually so calm and laid back that you thought it rather cute when he got overprotective. "It's alright, Hants, really."

He still gave you a look that said he disagreed but then shook his head, dropping the subject for now at least.

"Still like those late-night drives?"

"I love them."

"Good."

Hanta waited for a car to pass and whipped the car in the other direction.

It wasn't long before he had the windows rolled down, conversations filling in the blanks of lost time, in between belting out choruses of your favorite songs. Minutes slipped by the further he drove, you lost track of both time and kilometers, letting him tell you all about the ridiculous antics the group had been up to.

Eventually, you caught the scent of salty air and even in the dark, you had a pretty good idea where Hanta was going. He followed a winding road, making two left turns and then a right leaving you on a stretch of road that paralleled the ocean.

You let your head fall against the seat, eyes falling shut and inhaling that wonderful smell you missed so much. Hanta had just one hand lazily on the wheel, his elbow resting out the open window, a relaxed smile was illuminated in soft orange lights off his dash.

You let your head roll onto his shoulder, not as easily done without the bench seat in his station wagon but it worked nonetheless. "Thanks."

His free hand came to rest on your knee, "Anytime."

He turned the wheel, pulling over and parking in front of a small beach access that you guys had found at 3 in the morning five years prior. Hanta kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the car to avoid them being sand-filled and you did the same with the knee-high boots purely because you longed to feel the sand between your toes.

The wooden planks were worn, parts buried beneath the sand until eventually, none remained. Breaking waves flooded your ears and you made a run for them! Before you could reach the lapping water though, tape had wound around your middle and yanked you backward.

"Not happening!" Hanta said firmly. "Last time I let you talk me into late-night swimming we didn't have a change of clothes either and we both got so sick! I think I might have actually died without Bakugo's soup!"

You chuckled, remembering being nineteen and curled up with Hanta on the sofa in the living room of the apartment you all shared for nearly a week. The sniffles didn't cease for almost three weeks.

"Okay, okay, no swimming." You flopped back down into the sand, his tape still attached meaning the cellophane hero was pulled down with you. "Tell me about the stars then, Hants. Who's out tonight?"

Astronomy was a hobby of Hanta's you learned about after moving into the dorms your first year. It wasn't uncommon to find him out on the roof most nights, laying on his back and looking up into the clear night sky littered with twinkling stars, usually with a joint pressed between his lips. It became almost a habit for him to grab you on his way up, pulling you along because you were more than happy listening to him tell you about each constellation and the stories behind them.

It was around this time of year, in your final year of high school; somewhere between him recalling the greek mythos of Aries and Sagittarius that you noticed your heart beating a little faster. You realized something had shifted between the two of you, and, holy shit, was this what it felt like to have a crush! When the hell did that happen?

You'd entrusted everything to Hanta back then, and now, laying in the sand shoulder to shoulder while he talked about Draco, that familiar feeling stirred again. You remembered what it was supposed to be like when you weren't forcing it for some random guy. How simple it was supposed to be.

You inclined on an elbow and he stopped mid-sentence. "Eh, everything alright?" You nodded but he looked anything but convinced, mirroring your position and asking you again.

It was easy for you to lean forward, to brush your lips against his for the first time in three years. And, when you pulled away, he looked about as shocked as he had the night you'd done it when you were eighteen.

"You- you still like me?"

When you left for America, you'd both agreed to put a pause on your sort of relationship. Free to date and screw whomever you pleased because three years was a long time and it just seemed like a fair decision to make. The realization that he might now have someone else special in his life dawned on you...

"Yeah but I totally understand if things are different now and I shoulda asked- oof!"

He kissed you so hard you toppled back into the sand, quick pecks, one right after another, ending them with a long one that nearly left you breathless.

"I didn't know how to bring it up. I didn't want to make you feel awkward about things or make you think I expected something. I thought that maybe since we didn't talk for a while your feelings might have changed."

"I can say with confidence they haven't."

"Thank fuck." He groaned and captured your lips in another searing kiss.

It was easy to lift his shirt off, the shreds of tape that remained were now covered with gritty sand that clung to your fingers as you traced the chest and torso you knew so well. Gliding over defined muscles, lingering on old scars and mapping out new ones he'd collected in your time apart.

His own hands were busy flicking open the brass fastenings of your corset, huffing about it being so much more difficult to get to your chest and something about it being very unfair.

By the time he'd undone the last one, bright headlights shown across the beach. "Shit."

Giggling ensued from the walkway and you both sighed, at least it wasn't the police or a hero patrol. Hanta gathered his shirt and ran back to his car with his hand in yours.

"I thought our days of being caught were over."

"At least it wasn't Mr. Aizawa this time."

A chill ran down your spine remembering the night and the lecture you'd received when your teacher had caught Hanta sneaking out of your room early one morning.

"So, uh, do you still plan on going to Denki's party?" You asked innocently enough but Hanta knew you far too well.

"I think I'm gonna miss it this year." His hand found a home on your upper thigh. "Apparently, you and I have a lot of catching up to do. Lost time to make up for and all that."

"Too bad you don't have that old station wagon anymore. If you did, we wouldn't have to wait to get back."

Dark eyes glanced over at you not so subtly parting your legs.

"I dunno. It's not too often I travel in the backseat of my own car but I've been told it's pretty roomy. Lots of legroom."

Your hand ran over your legs, dipping down to lightly brush your more sensitive parts, thankful you opted for the thin pair of black leggings rather than the dark skinny jeans. Your fingers danced again and this time you let a soft moan pass your lips. "Eyes on the road, Hants."

"That's a little hard to do when I've got you spread out in the passenger's seat." He grabbed your free hand and pressed it against the bulge in his pants. "You've got me distracted, filthy little woman."

You appreciated him testing the waters, a subtle way of checking if you liked those nicknames he used only in private with you, giving you a chance to protest if your likes had changed. They were one's that only felt right coming from him and you were eager to hear more.

Forgoing your own high, you leaned over the center console as best you could, undoing his belt first, followed quickly by his zipper letting his strained cock be free.

His grip tightened on your leg when you kissed the tip of him. "Just like old times, huh?"

A chuckle turned quickly into a moan, taking him in your mouth, pushing yourself further on his cock, fighting your gag reflex to get him down your throat. Hanta reclined his seat further, giving you more room to work with.

Your legs clenched tighter with every groan you pulled from him, wiggling your hips in the seat, letting a hand fall back between your own legs. There was an attempt of a moan around his cock when his fingers coiled in your hair. "Such a good slut. Keep fuckin' goin'." He let you continue at your own speed, needing to focus as best he could on the road rather than what you were doing but, damn, you were making that increasingly difficult.

He wasn't stopping you though. He rarely did. You'd sucked him off on countless drives before and only stopped when- "That's it." He lifted you off him by your hair at the same time he pulled off the road. There was a convenient turn-off, hidden by overgrown brush you noticed before he shut off the headlights.

Hanta took you by the chin, smearing drool. "Backseat, pretty girl." He reached into the glove box and pulled out a foil wrapper, "What do you say we test out that legroom?"

He wait to watch your smile grow wide before crawling into the back because he had to be the first to go if this had any chance of working. Once situated, pants under his thighs, he patted his lap for you to climb over.

You slid easily onto his lap, hands traveling up and over his shoulders, kissing hard while you rocked your hips against impossibly hard length.

There was so much comfort in the familiarity of him. It wasn't awkward to fall back into rhythm with Hanta, to remember that he loved the feeling of your nails dragging down his chest. And he was just as eager to get your shirt off, reach your breasts he'd missed so much, and get his tongue on your nipples.

Your head tipped backward, loving the pace he set, hips bouncing creating the perfect tug on your nipples between his teeth.

"Love, if I promise to buy you a new pair, can I rip these damn leggings? They're just so thin and-"

"Please." Your breathy moan had him smirking and with a single grunt the leggings were ruined, cool air from the vents had only a moment to touch your bare ass before Hanta's hands reclaimed it.

There was no way he hadn't felt your arousal before ripping your clothes off, you soaked through your panties and leggings, you knew that, but that didn't stop him from commenting on how soaked you were now on his fingers. "Want me inside you, whore? I think you do."

You nodded with a whimper and he slipped a finger in. "Hants, noo- I- I want your cock, please."

"You're gonna take my fingers like a good little slut first." You clenched at the words falling from his mouth. "So fuckin' tight you can barely take a finger. How'm I supposed to fit in here if you can even take a single finger? Need you to loosen up, alright." He pushed another finger in, scissoring the two inside you.

"This gonna make you cum? You need this bad, don't you? Tell me. Tell me how bad you need to cum."

"I want it. Please, please, I need it. I'm so close," You babbled and ripped the foil open with his teeth, rolling it with one hand on his cock. In an instant, his fingers had been replaced with this dick. Sticky fingers on your ass helping you ease down on him with a hiss.

"Fuck," Hanta let out a throaty chuckle, "You still fuckin' feel the absolute best." He dropped a kiss between your breasts, letting you adjust to his girth. "Perfect. Good girl. Such a fuckin' good little slut."

He wasn't about to last long. Not once you started bouncing up and down on him, your tits right in front of his face.

"Couldn't even wait for me to get you home, had to fucking tease me in the damn car." He held onto the fat of your ass, pulling you along him and slamming you down hard.

"Kinda pathetic how desperate you are. Fuck. Kinda hot too."

When the top of your head bumped the roof of the car, he scooted lower, trying to give you as much room to ride him however you pleased.

"What do you need? You wanna cum, don't you, pretty girl, what do you need?"

"Faster, faster please."

Hanta shifted even lower, making you grab onto the two headrests while he thrust his hips up into you at a rapid speed. His thumb on your clit was the additional stimulation you needed to fall over the edge. Nails clawing at the black leather as he continued to moan below you now chasing his own release.

You stayed poised above him, using every last bit of strength to stay upright until his mouth was rambling and his cock pulsed inside of you. Fingers bruising your skin before holding your pelvis snuggly against his.

He was bent in a way that looked entirely uncomfortable and yet he still smiled so widely. Reaching up to brush hair out of your eyes, "You okay?"

"Perfects, Hants. A little sore but I'm sure you are too." He moved off his lap, letting him slip out of you with a groan, "Is your neck gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Having you back, love, is more than worth a little bit of a neck cramp."

As he tied a knot in the condom, depositing it into a plastic bag he had tucked away under his seat, Hanta raised a brow, "Love, really, are you alright? Please, tell me if I hurt you at all."

"No! I'm good, why?"

"You're sitting silly."

You were sitting a little odd, perched on your knees rather than sitting on your ass because the leather was chilly and you told Hanta as much making him laugh. "Wait, I think I can help." He leaned back to the front of the car, flicking a button making it glow. Once he tucked himself back in his pants he hopped out of the car and you could see him rummaging in his trunk through the rear window.

"I keep forgetting to take this out from our camping trip a couple months ago. Guess it turned out to be a good thing." He laid the blanket down over the passenger's seat, declaring that should help a bit.

You wrapped the now toasty warm blanket around your bottom half while Hanta drove back towards the city, your head on his shoulder, his hand on your thigh.

"So, shopping tomorrow? I believe I owe you a pair of leggings..."

"It's a date."

[alldayangst]

lovebug (Tom Holland)

GIF is from gaybuckybarnes here on Tumblr. You can access my masterlist here. This was written for @worldoftom’s lolbrosgetsicktoochallenge. The prompt I had was: ‘Tom self diagnoses himself as sick. He’s got all the symptoms. He’s speechless, over the edge and just breathless. He never thought he’d get hit by the ‘love-bug’ again’. Inspired by the song Lovebug by Jonas Brothers!

A/N: Y/N is an assistant director on Cherry in this fic. This has a lot of Cherry (the movie) references but most are explained if you haven’t seen the film. Such as, it was filmed in Cleveland and Morocco, directed by Joe and Anthony Russo. Some scenes in this fic borrow from the movie & I’ve linked clips from the film if you’d like to listen/watch along. WC: 4K.

“Yeah, Mum, I’ve just got like the sorest throat at the moment.” Nikki’s picture cuts in and out on a scrambled screen on the South side of London, her husband’s hand periodically reaching out for her, rubbing her shoulder, then leaving the frame almost as quickly as it came in. Even through the low quality, the pixels dashing about his screen, Tom can make out his mother’s brows knitting together and can’t remove the feeling of utter guilt when he sees her grow redder and redder out of anger, concern and confusion for her son. “But I’ve got Harry here with me.” Harry waves from behind his brother, his trusty mug swapped for a Phoenix Coffee Cup in his spare hand, just to get a taste of the States.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He barely drinks coffee on the other side of the pond, and would bet good money that an at home PG Tips would beat America’s swankiest coffee joint any day. But now, he’s betrayed his usual routine and his body’s all out of whack and his throat is hoarse, he’s breathless even at times.

Harry shoots his mum a half smile to comfort her, but he doesn’t know what it's like to be a mother, and his and Tom’s mouth both form an ‘O’ when Nikki begins to type so hard her screen jolts and Tom swears she’s put a dent in it. “You know what? I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, Tom! They’re overworking you!” Nikki looks intensely to find her baby boy in drug-addled eyes and his jungle of curls on his newly shaven head. She guesses it becomes easier when Tom pushes his face halfway into the screen and pleads like the child he’ll always be to her, “Please, please Mum! I can’t have any days off. Under any circumstances, I need to finish this film!”

Tom turns to his younger brother for help. “Tell her, Harry!”

And as little brothers do best, Harry spills the beans as soon as Tom’s phone is in clutch. “Tom’s fallen in love with the first A.D., Y/N.”

Nikki immediately loses her frown, knowing how love can knock Tom off his feet and blow all the wind out of him. Tom’s father, Dom, re-enters the frame to match Nikki’s grin. He never misses an opportunity to tease. “Oo, caught a case of the love bug, have you?”

Harry has to whip the phone around to dodge Tom’s protesting arms reaching for it again. “Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot.” Harry mutters. Tom’s family doesn’t budge any further, knowing how bad Tom was hurt after his last relationship. They weren't sure when the love bug would come back to bite him again. So after they all shared a knowing look, Harry handed Tom his phone back. “I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.”

It all started five weeks ago. Tom, at 24, was beginning to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound.  Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour.

He’d say, perhaps, you were the closest thing to the real deal. The problem was, he didn’t know if you liked him back.

“When life was beginning, I saw -”

“When life was-”

“When life was be-fuck!”

“When life was beginning, I saw you.”

Tom could make a picture book out of the day he first met you. He remembers how your hair looked that day, the speckles of genuinity in your eyes, how your ear-to-ear smile seemed to be a mirror because every time he saw you from then on, he brandished the same beam. He recalls how his eyes went low as he dropped his script to his lap and stared at your lips, so soft and kissable, as you repeated his words back to him: “When life was beginning, I saw you.” Then you chuckled softly as Tom waited patiently for his head and his heart to return to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic. I have a bit of trouble reading.”

“It’s cool, I'm the first A.D. That’s what I’m here for.”

You rubbed your hands on the back of your trousers, your mic jostling in your back pocket as you attempted to rid yourself of your nervous, sweaty palms.

“I’m Y/N.” You reached out for a shake only for Tom to cough loudly into his own hand. 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry! That wasn’t me trying to get out of your handshake. I- I-.” Tom looked at his hand for it had failed him for the first time in his life. His hand that had helped him up during handstands, being his crutch through cartwheels and backflips, but had decidedly run out of luck to be on the receiving end of Tom’s monstrous cough impending a handshake with someone his eyes just couldn’t look away from.

You laugh again. Your laugh sounds like melody, Tom muses. Awestruck, he wishes he could play it again, repeat it like a radio hit and never wash himself of the feeling he got when he heard your laugh for the first time.

“It’s all good. I’ll see you around.” You disappear from his trailer, likely on a venture to your own, when Joe and Anthony block his view of you walking away.

Anthony and Joe take on the ghost of you in Tom’s room, “Tom! The man, the myth and the legend!” Joe comes behind him to rub his newly hairless head. “We’re so glad you agreed to do this movie!” 

“Bummed that you’re not coming to the Browns game tonight, though.” Anthony remarks, throwing a football at Joe who sets it in his lap.

“Harry and I, we’re British, mate. We play football with our feet.”

Joe doesn’t know it then, but his next words are the beginning of the end for Tom. He rubs on his football and looks Tom in his eye when he poses, “It’s a shame ‘cause the whole crew’s going. First day of filming celebrations.”

“The whole crew?”

Anthony mumbles an ‘mhm’ as he picks up a framed photo of Tom and RDJ sitting pretty on Tom’s dresser, posing like father and son.

Tom’s usually self assured when he’s on set, but he’s hesitant to say this next improvised line. His voice trails off as he speaks. “Including Y/N?”

“Y/N?” Joe queries, with a smile that’s half scary and half comforting, and the butterflies in Tom’s stomach are begging him not to fuck this up and suddenly every second a word is not spoken feels like hours have passed and he might have ruined things before they’ve even started, gosh he just met you and-

Tom tries to play it cool. “I don’t- they’re cool.” Tom coughs again. “I mean, I don’t really know them but Y/N seems cool I guess.”

Anthony and Joe smile at each other, scrambling to exit. “Whole crew’s going, baby!” Joe beams.

“Please don’t tell Y/N I asked!” Tom shouts before they’re out of earshot.

“Yeah, yeah. Anthony, go long!”

A few hours later, Tom was sitting next to an unamused Harry, you on his left, foam fingers pointing every which way. 

“Are you a big football fan?” Tom asked, imposter syndrome creeping up on him. He had the best seats in the house, but knew not a thing about this sport he’d come down to watch. Meanwhile, crew and crowd alike sat themselves around you guys, cheering leaving throats raw for days to come and a tussle for a foam finger between Joe and Anthony leading to hundreds of sugary popcorn shells scattered on the stadium floor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t ever turn down the option to look at Odell Beckham Jr. Are you?” you replied.

Tom looked over to his brother who sat with his chin in his hand, lips pulled into a thin straight line as his rusty curls were blown about from the wind of brown and orange flags flown from fans behind him. “We could learn to love it.” Tom flashed you a toothy grin, unsure of where to guide the conversation next. He knew for sure that he wanted to keep talking to you, but his ego began putting up a fight, eager to show himself off if you’d have him in any way. Tom sighed. “Truth is, we have no fucking clue what’s going on.” Tom could hear the commentary about a player reaching the end zone, but they were all just words that went into one ear then came straight out of the other.

You giggled. “I have no idea either. We could make up our own rules if you want.”

Tom likes the way you think. He also likes the way you speak. He loves the way you laugh.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” 

You covered your mouth. “Oh, fuck, I hate my laugh!”

“I’d make you laugh a thousand times if I could.”

You pointed to the jumbo screen as Mayfield made a touchdown, unable to stop laughing from sheer nerves as you felt Tom’s hot, burning haze on you. An advert for Cleveland’s Own Phoenix Coffee flashed on the screen as you spoke. “We’ll make our own rules. Every time we see the quarterback pick up the ball, we’ll cheer.”

By the end of the night, Tom is speechless, breathless and over the edge of his chair in faux excitement and anticipation of the quarterback receiving the ball once again. 

“Another coffee?” The service worker asked.

“Yes please!” You and Tom both say in unison, pumped as the quarterback began circling around to collect the ball in open arms.

The footage of the game is cut abruptly as the camera points to a confused, solo Harry; Anthony and Joe are seen at the edge of the frame whispering suggestively and pointing towards Tom, the camera eventually capturing the superstar who looks back up at his own reflection. Poorly green screened hearts flood the screen and the camera pans to include you in the frame too. Tom looks on in horror when he realises what’s going on and how it could be too late, and turns to you.

“I promise I didn’t know this was going on. We don’t have to.” Tom panics. 

You hear him loud and clear, that you don’t have to, but your heart and eleven thousand people are telling you to kiss him otherwise. “Oh well. We should just do it.” you murmur, the bright pink ‘KISSCAM’ logo flashing in and out.

It doesn’t take more than a moment for the gap between you and Tom to close, for your face to get lost behind his, his lips pressing against yours, eyes closed, trusting each other to share your air. This was probably the first thing that night worth cheering for, howls and whistles erupting around you. 

Tom doesn’t understand American football, but he thinks that the best seats in the house could be anywhere next to you.

Harry’s on the phone to his twin brother, Sam, when you and the rest of the crew make it back to the hotel later on. “-Yeah, and Tom spent half the night with the first A.D. cheering and screaming at fuck all.”

The Cleveland Browns lost that night, but Tom remains none the wiser. He stood in the doorway as Harry continued to relay his day to Sam. “Oh, and Tom, Mum said to give her a call, eavesdropper.” He flicks Tom’s reddening nose before closing the door.

A week and a half later, Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He never has the time anymore to attend ‘real’ football games back home, and he actually understands the game back in Britain. But now, he’s cheered at almost every given opportunity to impress you stupidly, and his chest and voice is suffering as a consequence.

You and Tom walked onto set with your pinkies intertwined, growing closer and closer by the minute, but Tom doesn’t miss how Ciara’s boyfriend visits set every day for her, doesn’t miss how they rub their nose together in this lovey-dovey affection he wishes he could bestow upon you.

The scene wasn’t working.

The crew was beginning to grow restless and Tom silently became more frustrated as the minutes went by and he was unable to get his lines right. He remembers how a week ago, it felt so easy. You were there to correct him when he stumbled upon his lines and you picked him up so effortlessly, a twinkling smile on your face. But then? Then you were different. Your eyes were scrunched up behind the lens of the camera and you were mumbling something to Anthony about how the sun was due to go down in Ohio soon so you needed to hurry along.

“Alright.” you announced. “Take five!”

And Tom was thankful, Ciara perched upon a swing for the scene they were filming, Tom dwindling the rope of the swing under his finger as her boyfriend approached her once again. “Hey dude, are you okay?”

Ciara looked at Tom with the same concern, hands finding home in her boyfriend’s nest of hair. “Yeah, Tom, are you okay?”

Tom coughed into his hand. “Yeah, guys, I’m good.”

“I think you’re coming down with a nasty cough.” Ciara muttered.

“Yeah. It’s you guys. You’re too cute. You make me sick.” Tom laughed humourlessly for a short while, wanting to be that adorable with someone, maybe not anyone, maybe just with you someday. Then Tom shook his head, a bitter feeling in his throat as he yawned. “It’s the Browns game. I was yelling and screaming every time a quarterback got the ball. Of course I’m a little unwell. I’ll be good as new in a few days though.”

Ciara already knew Tom wasn’t playing a man with the healthiest of habits, but she worried that Tom was getting this bad this early. “Maybe you should talk to the first A.D. about reducing shoot days from five to three?”

Tom didn’t like the prospect of seeing you less. “Yeah.” Harry had a clapperboard between his hands, leading Tom’s eyebrows to furrow as his brother yelled something about it being take 13. “Maybe.” 

Harry resumed to a new position in your chair, with you taking Harry’s place right across from Tom, a coffee waiting for him when the scene was over like Harry always did. Ciara’s boyfriend left the frame to watch supportively on the sidelines.

“Lights. Camera. Action!” Anthony called. “Time is money, you guys! Let’s try to get this one right this time.” 

They’d been over this already twelve times today.

“Hey, I’m really happy you’re here.”

Ciara read her line back. “Why’s that?” 

Tom could hear whispers of the crew, the sound guy glaring at them in case they were picked up in the scene, and he knew it had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t for some reason get the next line out all day. And that reason, unbeknownst to everyone, was because Tom couldn’t say something he didn’t mean - feeling like his heart was locked in a cage for which only you had the key. He looked past his co-star, Ciara, and up at you; feeling so close but you were far away, leaving him all day without anything to say. And overcoming his speechlessness and breathlessness, even in just that moment, he ran his hand over the rope to say, “Cause I like you. A lot.”

Ciara and the rest of the crew broke into a wide smile once Tom finally spoke his next line, but the only person Tom was focused on was you, who wasn’t smiling, but mouthing his words back to him.

Ciara breathed, “Shut up.”

And Tom’s sure to look you in the eye when he says, “I really do.”

When the filming for the day is said and done, Tom makes a beeline for you across the greenery. You hand over his coffee to him, “It’s a little cold now, but a warm hand is holding it.”

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to hold your hand?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You swapped jobs with Harry, I saw.”

“Yeah, well. It’s good he gets to grips with the job now. You know, in case anything changes.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket. “I should probably give you my number. In case anything changes.”

“Oh no, yeah. Your number is?”

“216-XXX-XXX. Speaking of changes, I heard you’re trying to get your days reduced.”

“You were eavesdropping?” Tom looks at your face that bears no trace of guilt. “You’re just like me!” He pulls you close.

“Tom, if what happened today is because you’re working too much, I’m happy to reduce your time.”

“Nah, nah.” Tom sniffles, rubbing his nose on a jacket probably worth more than your life. “I’m just a bit sick, s’all. I’ll be fine.”

Two weeks pass and Tom’s no better. With the Cleveland game nearly a month ago, Tom has nothing to blame and as first A.D., you’re obligated to reduce his hours. Tom’s on the phone with his mother when you approach his trailer. 

“Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot. I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.” 

You’re so quick to skip happily back to your trailer that you miss Harry calling out to his brother, he’s his protector now that his mother was countries apart. “Tom?” Harry starts.

Tom mumbles an ‘mhm’, hoping Harry would make it quick as he sees you FaceTiming him. If only his mother could see him like this. He’d get to call her tomorrow and tell her he’d called you for the first time yesterday, he could hardly wait to utter, 'I've finally found the missing part of me’. Harry sighs as the FaceTime ringing is relentless. Tom’s eyebrows threaten to meet in the middle of his face as he clutches onto his phone.

“Tom.” Harry begins. “Y/N is giving up assistant director.”

Tom’s really not sure where Harry gets the source of his information from, but he’s sure this isn’t true. He thinks you’d tell him before his brother if you were leaving the film behind, leaving him behind.

The film is due to move filming to Morocco soon, and Tom’s well aware that not all film crew joins them when production moves abroad, but to Tom, you’re an extension of this movie universe. And Tom refuses to leave the memories of you in this filming cycle. “How’d you know?”

“I’m taking over.” Tom’s screen lights up with the glow of your call, and as bright as it is, as bright as you are, as bright as your smile surely is on the other end of the phone call, Tom’s in his deepest darkest feelings wondering how he fooled himself into thinking romance could go right for him this time. 

He’s going to Morocco. You’re not. You’re funny, smart, promising, beautiful. You’ll find someone good for you, a better pair by the time he’s back.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, man.” Tom sulks in his bed, the light from your constant calls bleeding through his bed sheets. “I just wanted to warn you.” Tom nods, screaming into his pillow. Harry decides that’s his cue to leave, a glimmer of light from outside seeping through the crack of the door as Harry escorts himself. Tom musters all his might and courage to reluctantly answer your phone, the ear-to-ear grin he knows so well greeting him once again.

Suddenly, he forgot how to speak. Hopeless, breathless, couldn’t you see that?

“Tom?” You call out his name a few times before cutting straight to the point. “Do you like me?”

Tom shifts slightly but not enough to show that he’s alarmed. “Huh? Yeah, I like you.”

He sits up, but doesn’t reciprocate the outrageous smile you wear like a heart on your sleeve. Tom’s eyes are sunken, dark circles forming under his eyes where he and his disturbed character become one. You suddenly remember why you shouldn’t have run away so fast, perhaps Tom was overworking himself. He continues, “But I’m an emotionally unavailable hopeless romantic. So I wouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Tom can’t help the hurt in his heart when he sees your smile drop so suddenly, knowing it was earnest. “Tom, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, life is unfair. And I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. We wouldn’t work out. And I like our friendship now. We should stay that way.”

You’re not convincing when you nod rapidly, not letting Tom see your face as you play with your fingers to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, I agree.” You’re much less convincing when the last frame Tom caught of you was a shot of tears dripping down your face, as three rings followed you. Tom’s screen went black in your absence, and Tom falls asleep with eyes even redder from crying, and he wonders when he’s gonna shake this sickness.

It’d been a few days since Tom had got his shots to allow him to go to Morocco. He sat opposite the doctor on set, a coffee cup placed on the desk between him.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. Shots always have their side effects, and he’d taken multiple shots in one day. And now, he specifically asked for you to hold his hand during the process, Harry branded in a glinting jaw-drop, only for you to leave directly after. 

“I’m speechless, constantly feeling over the edge, breathless.” Tom explains his symptoms to the doctor. “At first I thought it was because of that stupid football game, then all the coffee I’m drinking, now I don’t know if it’s the shots. I feel like shit, doc.”

“I know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

“What?”

“Lovebug.”

Tom stares at the doctor in utter bewilderment. “You figured that out based on my symptoms?”

“I figured that out based on the puppy dog eyes you gave for your first A.D. when they left without a word.” The doctor begins to laugh softly, but Tom is unamused. How is he supposed to shake this illness after completely ruining your relationship? How is he supposed to mend your bond after talking so recklessly, so emotionally? “Tom, I’m not here to be a fairy godmother, I’m being strictly medical. At a certain point, what you feel in your mind affects your body. So I prescribe that you talk to Y/N and say everything you need to say.”

And while that seemed easy enough, Tom’s ego was at work again, and Tom was feeling far too bruised and wounded to speak to you first. Surely if you cared enough, if you liked him back, if you were willing to be distanced, you would reach out first.

It seems Tom’s pride had forgotten that you already did.

“I heard that this is the exact shit that happened in Cleveland, and he couldn’t get the line out.” Tom hears the whisperings from behind the camera, the amount of familiar faces in the crew dwindling after the change in location. He doesn’t respond. He waits for someone to take five. And when no one throws him a bone, he asks Harry to.

“Alright, everyone take five.”

“Someone get this kid a fucking coffee, he’s always on edge.” Joe instructs.

“And you think giving a kid in twenties coffee is taking him off edge?” Anthony chuckles.

Tom doesn’t care whether or not he gets the coffee, rocking side to side. He’s got all the motion for this role, but he feels nothing. All he felt was for you.

“Here.” Harry sets a Moroccan mint tea down next to Tom, hoping it would calm him down. When Tom takes a few sips, the look in his eyes is less pleading, and everyone’s ready to rumble, this being the last scene of the day.

Harry feeds Tom the line. “Baby, are you seeing bad things?” Tom is seeing bad things. A life without love, a life without you. Unable to contain it all, Tom turns his frustration into laughter. “Why are you calling me baby for, man?” Tom has this ear-to-ear grin but even he feels it's not as innocent, as genuine as yours. He never knew a smile so wide could be so full of pain.

“I have an idea.” Harry saunters off to collect his phone. “Don’t stop rolling the cameras.”

When Harry comes back, there’s sounds of shifting erupting from his phone. “Hi, Tom.” 

Tom didn’t know it would be so bittersweet to hear your voice again. He wasn’t sure if he should put walls up again or if twice was the charm. Even if you worked out in the short term, whose to say Tom wouldn’t get hurt again? And Tom wouldn’t want to hurt you.

“Are they taking good care of you out there? I don’t think I took good care of you.” Tom doesn’t say anything on the other side of the line, so you continue. “I’m not a good A.D. if you’re always sick and tired, and I didn’t want to see you any less, which was selfish of me, so I didn’t change your schedule.” You sigh as you admit why you left. “When you asked, though, I swear I was gonna do it, but then I heard you liked me, and I got carried away. I had to remove myself from the situation to do what’s best for you. Do you understand me? I did it for you.”

“I, uh, I got a diagnosis.” Tom stumbles.

“Oh my gosh, are you seriously sick?”

“I’m speechless. Over the edge, breathless.” Tom laughed dryly, finally feeling like he can choose an ending.

“What did they say it was?”

“Lovebug.” Harry smiles softly at his brother.

Your laugh is like nectar entering Tom’s ear.

“I might just love you way too much, Y/N.”

“Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?” Tom tries his best not to sound dejected that you didn’t say it back, knowing he’s already felt the brunt of this heartache already.

“I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too. I love you.” Joe stops recording, and Harry lowly whispers ‘take.fucking.five.’ as he and the crew creep away from Tom’s new found love scene. 

“Anthony, can I borrow your phone?” Harry begins to type Nikki’s number as soon as Anthony gives over the phone. “Mum, Tom just told the first A.D. he’s in love with them so guess who’s out of a job?”

Tom knows why he’s sick. He used to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound. Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour. But now, Tom has found you.

[apocalypticgargoyle]

meet clay, he knows how you'll die.

intro filler chapter sorry

☾ pairing: dream x reader

☾ cw: interact at your own risk; contains graphic depictions of various character death and violence, suicide, blood, gore, and other triggering material. angst, language, guns, adult content, mentions of sex, slow burn friends to lovers

☾ wc: ~4100

Clay pulled the strap of his backpack further on his shoulder as he wove through the mindless sea of college students, eyes scanning the crowd for you, his best friend and the only person he could stand at the early hour. His knuckles flashed white as he sighed, taking the blunt impact of someone walking into him. He removed one of his headphones, mumbling a quick apology and swatting off the enthusiastically apologetic sophomore girl. All he could focus on was how much she bit her lip as she stammered on about not seeing him. It wasn’t alluring to him when most girls tried to sway his affections by looking at him with a puppy dog expression; all his mind drifted to was the dead skin across the body of her lower lip.

He finally nodded and reinstated his headphone, turning on his heel and heading for the front of the building. He received a few greetings from his peers as they crossed his path, people who shared past lectures with him and who had cheated off of him during exams. He wasn’t popular by any means, but he stayed out of people’s business and didn’t express his opinions loudly, so people tended to like him. The autumn breeze picked up as he stood in the dwellings of political science majors on the front lawn, acting as if they hadn’t seen one another in years when it had been only a few days. Clay absent-mindedly looked down at his cellphone, flipping through music as he leaned against the cool brick of the hall’s facade, waiting for you to find him.

Clay’s usual brooding manner was often off-putting to outsiders, with the careless-hollow look in his eyes giving bystanders the impression that he was nothing but a machiavellian. But you always saw the brightness in him; the side that you always experienced was specifically for you, and he made sure to keep it that way. You had wedged herself into his life and he was ever grateful for the love you had given him.

Despite the understood truth between the two of you that nothing was to be left unsaid, Clay still found himself keeping one of the most important aspects of his character unknown to you. His bloodcurdling secret was his own curse, something that would only be poison for another soul to know.

“What’s up, stud?” Somehow a flush of relief rippled through Clay’s body as his eyes locked to yours, pulling him from his isolated shell. Your hair looked brighter today against the dark hoodie peeking out from beneath an all too familiar bomber jacket. The wind fluffed your locks slightly as you continued towards him.

His eyebrows perked up as if to signal he was attempting to downplay his excited demeanor. “Stud, huh?” You smirked at his response, taking one of his headphones and putting it in your own ear, her face angled up to Clay as you waited to recognize the song, swaying slightly.

He chuckled as you shrunk away from him after muttering the song’s artist disappointedly and rolling your eyes, pulling on his hoodie pocket to follow you. As chaotic as his life often felt, he could always rely on the consistency of you. You usually attached yourself to one of his backpack straps, handles, his belt loop, or ended up under his arm, wedged against his side. It had gotten to the point that he felt naked if you weren’t within arm’s length of him, which was rare for the two of you. “So, I have something for you.” He smugly looked down at you, green eyes masking a hidden sparkle as you handed him a can of root beer, making him chuckle.

“Aren’t you sweet?” He popped the tab, taking a sip as you waved at a group of girls passing the two of you before slipping your hand against the crook of his elbow where his hoodie sleeves were pushed back.

“Actually, I was hoping it could be payment for later. I need to head over to the cemetery for some rubbings. History 270 has me getting into some weird shit, huh?” He laughed again at you, offering you the drink.

“And you need wheels?” You nodded and smiled politely at him, beaming at his words. “Yeah, alright. I have to sketch something for art anyway.” He thought about the week’s assignment and then about your little project he had dealt with the prior year. You had acted like the two of you hadn’t been to the cemetery on a regular basis, but he was grateful that you wanted him to come along with you.

You quietly jumped once. “You are my hero in faded denim, Clay. You know that, right?”

The two of you parted ways to your select destinations, one of Clay’s least favorite parts of the day, which was only solidified as he sunk into his seat and attempted to look equipped for the lecture. He spotted an unfamiliar kid shaking his knee in a distant section of the classroom. In any other circumstance, he wouldn’t have thought twice, but the sie of the class had given him the pleasantries of getting his own personal curse out of the way on the first day.

He carefully watched the boy speak smugly to a few of the more athletic kids in the room. One of the athletes pointed to the general direction Clay was sitting in and they all moved towards him. He, yet again, took out his headphones, knowing full well that they would be talking to him for the rest of the class.

“Oi, Shaman,” one of the main guys greeted Clay like they always did: a strange pattern of slapping and shaking his hand. He was thankful he had gotten all of their first impressions months prior and didn’t have to worry about getting their scenarios again, but he geared up to meet the new kid.

“How are you, Punz?” Clay took a deep breath as the new kid was gestured to and brought into the light.

“This is Mark. He’s a transfer from one of the commuter campuses. Mark, this is the mastermind you pay for notes.”

Clay sarcastically smiled at Punz. “My, you flatter me more than any girl. Nice to meet you, man.” As soon as he touched Mark’s hand, Clay’s mind flashed to a dingy-looking barn out in the middle of nowhere before an older man in his mid-thirties came into view with a lever-action rifle in his hand. In another flash, Clay was in front of the man, now kneeling with the gun in his mouth, red, blurry eyes looking straight through Clay. A pang of guilt broke open in Clay’s stomach as he pushed against the handguard lever and pulled it back into place, squeezing the trigger and sending Ckay back to the class. He let out a sigh and fought to plaster one of his less absent smiles.

“Speaking of our lovely girls, Mark here has a question about her.” Clay’s head tilted towards Mark, not exactly squaring up to him, but sending him an amused look as if to warn him not to cross a line, knowing full-well this conversation would somehow involve you. “We all know that no guy would ever intrude on her without your blessing, but Mark sat near her on the bus before his first class and was thinking about asking her out.”

Clay bit back a laugh, feeling like the Vito Corleone. “Well, you know her, Punz, and you know she would be mortified if I told some guy to fuck off, so I would just ask her yourself?” Oh, how desperately Clay wanted to bash Mark for not even telling Clay himself and the fact that the boy before him was nowhere near your type, but Clay knew better than to burn bridges and he felt bad for the way Mark would meet his end.

Nobody, not even you, knew about Clay’s gift. In the going-on-five years of knowing you, he came breaths away from letting his secret slip but has always kept it hidden, hoping to bury it with him after being married to you for forty happy years.

The visions started around his fifth-grade year, beginning with vivid dreams of dying in the midst of the Civil War, feeling the warm gushing of blood leaving his system, and the stabbing pain of being shot multiple times beside a woman who oddly looked enough like you that he almost called out your name. He had lived what he presumed to be his death in the life before this one several times, each vision taking him a few clicks further.

Soon, he found himself catching glimpses of others’ deaths before they happened as soon as they touched him, but thankfully it was usually over with no time passing and he only endured the visions once for each person, fate having already sealed itself. The only person who seemed to mix him up was you.

It was love at first sight for him, but as soon as you touched his arm, bleak snapshots of a boating accident raced into his mind, only to have to re-experience the scenario a few months later with you stepping in front of a train. Even as a measly high school freshman, he promised himself that there was no way he was letting you die in the gruesome manners being predicted to you. He didn’t think changing fate was possible until he witnessed you in action. He hated seeing you so young in each of the glimpses, tearing him to shreds as he knew time and time again that there was no way he could change what was meant to be.

There were even times when he quietly promised you that he’d die by your side if he couldn’t stop it.

As his lecture let out, Clay found you tucked into a corner of the library, smiling to yourself silently as knew you had finally found what you were looking for in one of the massive books before you. There were many moments like this that Clay wished he could pause and remember for the rest of his life. He was proud that you were there for him even though you could have left instead of playing your own little game of library scavenger hunts.

Since knowing you, he had taken note of how you treated other boys, usually as first dates and never true pick-ups. You didn’t care if they called you the next day or not and he was sure you had never even been kissed before. Something about your guys’ relationship gave others the nod to leave it the fuck alone, and that your heart truly belonged to Clay; a responsibility he wished didn’t plague you with. Despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to be with you, only worried that what you had would be destroyed because he knew that as soon as he told you about his gift, you might leave.

You always brought a bag of marbles and a bouquet of flowers to the cemetery. You loved to find the tombstones that looked neglected or ones with older dates, knowing that the possibility of having family members who remembered the person was lower. The trees in the graveyard were reds and yellows with the changing season, leaves scattered over the grass, naturally piling in large masses. This was your favorite for how neglected it seemed to always be. You had a knack for making inanimate objects and lost souls feel loved; Clay often feeling like he was one of these disembodied figures.

Clay leaned his back against one of the massive trees a few paces from the tombstone you had picked, smiling as he watched you carry out her routine. He flipped to a clean page in his sketchbook as you sat cross-legged in front of the great stone resting place, pulling the long-dead flowers from the concrete gauntlet and replenishing a few flowers in their place while setting an equal number of marbles along the grass line of the stone. A daisy was tucked behind your ear as you ran her fingers against the worn chiseling of the dates, smiling slightly. He began to sketch you out. Your eyes drifted to him before the corners of your mouth curled up into a smirk and you returned to her previous position, straightening your shoulders. “Who is it?” He asked, blending a rough edge with the pads of his finger as you tilted your head at the script carvings.

“George McAfee. Born 1926. Died 1963.” The wind picked up, blowing your hair away from your face as you pulled your jacket closer around you. “What was happening in 1963?” You turned your head to him momentarily before looking back at the lucky man. “I mean besides Beatlemania and JFK’s assassination?”

Clay outstretched one of his legs, swallowing as he thought, his eyes fluttering from the page in front of him to you. “Well, Alcatraz was shut down, Studebaker stopped production, the USSR sent the first woman into space…” he trailed off, watching you as the gears began to spin in your head.

“Do you think he died in the Coliseum explosion?” You wet your lips and he couldn’t help but smile at you.

“Maybe he died in the USS Thresher sinking?” He was thankful that he could capture your thoughtful gaze in this picture.

“You’re smart, Dream. Have I ever told you that?” He chuckled at the sigh in your voice. He detailed the bomber jacket you were wearing---which you’d stolen from his closet god knows when---a bit as you placed a piece of paper over the engraving and rubbed a crayon against the stone, his name coming to life on the paper as you came to life on Clay’s. It didn’t matter why you two would be in the cemetery, you always had a type of bond with the dead, surprising Clay due to how bright you were and your power of holding onto so much compassion. He threw his sketchbook into his backpack and slug in over his shoulder, moving to help you up. You decided to give the rest of the flowers to George as Clay stood next to you, gazing down at his grave.

A high-pitched moan startled the two of you, snapping your heads to look over the hedges separating your section of graves and the one beside it. Clay’s eyes widened as they fell to a girl in all black with porcelain skin propped on top of one of the tombstones. You clasped your hand over his mouth pulling him onto the ground next to you as you peered through a hole in the bushes. His mind noticed your arms first. One of them was secured over his chest and the other wrapped around his shoulder from beneath his arm, holding onto him as he steadied himself in the weird crouching position. “Are you enjoying this?” He jeered, looking over his shoulder slightly as he heard you snicker. The girl began to ride the stone harder.

“How many times in your life are you going to see a girl humping a gravestone? Honestly, Clay, how many?” He shook his head as you both looked at the girl, giggling to yourselves. You dug her face into his shoulder trying to stifle the next laugh trying to rip through your body as the gothic girl moaned, letting out more labored breaths. Clay’s face contorted into a twisted look of disgust as the girl tugged on her own hair. “Oh, do you think that hurts?” You took the words out of his mouth, tightening your arms around him as he shrugged.

“I doubt it’s any rockier than sex with a human.” He bit his lip, a hollow sound interrupting him quietly laughing at his own joke as you thumped him in the chest. The girl moaned louder. “Alright, she’s climaxing. I’m uncomfortable now.” Clay stood and Willow popped up next to him, lacing your fingers with his, bringing color back to his cheeks as you slipped the remaining marbles into his pocket.

“Oh, hi!” In the midst of holding hands with you again and trying to slink back to his car, he hadn’t even realized that the moaning had stopped. The girl now stood near the two of you in what seemed to be a black slip. Clay found it hard to make direct eye contact with her. “Are you guys looking for someone?”

“We were, but we couldn’t find him so-” you began, gesturing for Clay’s car and pulling him next to you.

“Well, I can help. Who are you looking for?” A thousand sarcastically vulgar comments ran through Clay’shead but his eyes flickered from her face to the tombstone she was on previously.

“Uh, my grandpa. His name was Rupert Daniels,” Clay managed to choke out. Your nails dug into his arm while your hand squeezed his. The girl looked around at the surrounding stones.

“I don’t see him right now, but I can look?” You both shook your heads quickly and muttered various responses before finally slipping away from her and getting into his car. Neither of you said anything as you pulled off the gravel driveway until crossing the railroad tracks when Clay burst out laughing.

“Do you think she even knew who it was she was gettin’ it on with or did she just pick somewhere random?” Clay laughed harder at your stunned response. “I’m serious. Clay, what the fuck. How can someone even get off in a cemetery?”

“I don’t know, man. Would you hook up with someone in a cemetery?” Clay quipped, wiggling his eyebrows at you, causing you to laugh. You dug into his console, pulling out a bag of M&Ms you had stashed in there last week, popping one in your mouth.

“Only if it was you.”

He giggled. “Excuse me, what?”

“There are just some things you do with certain people, Dream. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered I’m the only one you would have sex with in a cemetery, or like, disgusted?” You laughed at his reaction.

Within ten minutes the sun had begun to set and Clay sang loudly with you to the song playing over the radio as Clay sped along one of the county roads near your apartment complex, not wanting the night to end. He loved these moments with you. You turned down the radio and threw your hair back into a ponytail. “So, what do you think of that new kid, Mark?” Something in Clay shifted, taking away the free feeling he had recently possessed next to you. He thought carefully.

He chewed his bottom lip. “Depends on what you think?”

“Well, he seems like a wannabe Punz. And he asked me out. Naturally, I said ‘yes’ because maybe he’s different?” Clay chuckled at your sarcasm, putting his car in park on the side of the street your flat was on and getting out with you. The radio still hummed in the air lowly. “He insisted on Friday, though.” Clay dramatically acted like you had stabbed him in the heart, even though it did hurt. Friday night was their night. It had been a running tradition for movie night every Friday since your freshman year and you had never canceled on Clay for a date. “I know, I know. But I figured that I’d tell him I had diarrhea when it hit eight o’clock and be over at your place with an extra pizza? Your roommate’s working right?” He chuckled with a nod, walking you up the first three steps to your place as you made it to the concrete landing. You turned to him. “And he said he was taking me somewhere fancy, so I’ll snag you some breadsticks.” He tilted his head at you as you winked at him.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Wanna be Punz might be fun. Maybe I’ll call up Minx and hang out with her?” He joked. Minx was a friend of yours that hung out with the two of you sometimes. He had never really liked her, but she was friends with you and thus he was always civil.

“You’re still my number one, babe.” You pushed him slightly as you climbed a few more steps, leaning on the railing as he waved to leave. “Hey, Dream?” He turned on his heel as you forced yourself to make eye contact. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. “You could kiss me, you know? For science.” You smiled softly at him from where you were perched. He wet his lips as his heart hammered in his chest. He wanted to scale the steps and close the space between you, to knock you off your feet and show you just how much he was in love with you.

He hated himself. “A first kiss should have more magic in it than just for science. As a romantic, you should know first hand.” You smiled at the ground in front of you.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” The two of you seemed to shake off the serious moment as you stuck your tongue out at him and slipped inside your house as both giggled.

“I love you,” he murmured as you left, punching himself in the shoulder as he got back into his car.

Clay’s heartbeat pulsed in his ears, making him truly believe he was going to pass out. He had lost his gun at least a mile back. He was running mindlessly now, not knowing how long or where he was going. He trudged through the forest, hearing dogs barking and gunshots erupting around him, the ringing in his ears building with every step he forced himself to make. He wanted to rip open the front of his jacket to release the body heat drenching his collar, but he didn’t move other than propelling his body further and further away from the soldiers. You ran beside him, holding your skirt up while your hair danced around your shoulders like a great waterfall. As soon as his body felt like it might just give out, he would look at you and somehow find more of a drive to pull forward. His breaths were brittle and hoarse as he drew in borrowed oxygen. His lungs felt shallow like they were giving out on him.

You reached back, grasping his hand and pulling him into a sharp corner, hoping to lose the group. You both had managed to weave into the forest, but the dogs were somehow still picking up on your scent. The pair of you finally came upon a clearing and kneeled down out of sight, spotting a house in the middle of a glen. Bullets were streaming through the air. The forest was catching fire and cannons were echoing through the distant air. You squeezed his hand tightly, looking at him with terror in your eyes. He had gotten the two of you into this mess, but he was glad he was beside you.

He pulled you to your feet as the pair of you sprinted for a distant house. A sharp pain stabbed into Clay’s back, making him drop to the ground. How did he not hear the gun? You dropped to your feet, your eyes welling with tears, ripping at his jacket, but he pushed you off, telling you to leave quickly. He leaned forward, eyes locking on the soldiers in gray coming towards them, reloading their rifles. He groaned, pushing himself up, but only having the same stabbing sensation two more times in his chest. He heard you scream, but he couldn’t see you.

His hands were going numb as he touched where the bullets entered, feeling the warm and sticky crimson substance seep between his fingers. The soldiers reached you before you had made it to the house, pulling you to the ground next to him. You were crying heavily as you looked at him. Everything began to run quiet as you held onto him tightly. You were saying something to him, but he couldn’t hear you. He was only aware of his jacket soaking with blood. He coughed, wanting to tell you he loved you one last time, but you were tugged away from him, pressed to one of the men in gray. He raised a hand to you as you fought against the man. And then everything went dark.

Dream Tag List: (hopefully this works)

@karlkitten @pluto-dizzz @more-like-reyna @honk-izzie-was-taken @marrymetheonott @froggyy06 @ghoulandghost @savingpluto @marshmallow-babe @drunkpumpkincake @unstableye @tinyegg @behzzyboo @twist3dtinkerbell @sparkletash @shroomieissmall @clubfairy @camerondiaz48104 @victory-is-here @rat-poisin @alm334 @acidluvs @pachowpachowbucket @bbigbbrainn @cdizzlevalntyne @idiotinnit @generallysleepdeprived @sacvf @phsychopathetic @froggerrrr @robinslie @essencee @jemalovesmarvel @sbi-is-my-onlysanity @jenlouvre @victoria-a567 @miilliiie @bunnylotl @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t @carlyferrell @dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @nyxieahh @quivvyintheclouds @sarcasticmichelle @book-of-anarchy @millavalntyne @lightdreamy @baddiesforcorpse @sunnynapp @fantasy-innit @rat-poisin @wreny24 @deepestofwaters @exenestea @indecisivehusky @fallxnly @alm334 @skaratjung @punzcanrailme @sap-naps @denki-exe @angeltears18 @silvemistxe33 @andreamalik6 @kris-stuff @sun-fiower-seed @where-thesundoesntshine @dilfdream @esmegregory04 @itsparasocial @mlqcool @mcgoddess404 @rinatdawn @chaoscait @peppermintkisses @libbynotfound @speedrunningtherapy @lunxramour @aoonai @loraleiix @ghoulpixiie

[hongism]

touch of the devil - k.hongjoong 18+

↣ pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader | ao3 version (mxm seongjoong) ↣ genre: angst, fluff if you SQUINT, nsfw, fantasy, supernatural, demon!hongjoong, emo rocker!hongjoong, there do be plot tho. ↣ wc: 9.0k ↣ summary: you came to make a deal with a devil sure, but this is the last thing you were expecting out of a night in a dingy bar. ↣ warnings: explicit smut, mention of death, demons, it’s actually really heavy on plot and angst and less focused on the smut ↣ a/n: again i know it’s my birthday but this is my present to you guys, i am a person who prefers to give rather than receive on my birthday and this was the first thing i wanted to work on during my hiatus!! i’ve got so much inspo and motivation rn that it’s crazy and i can’t wait to have everything all set out for you guys when im back :3

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Everything about the air around you is heady and thick in a way that chokes you as you step through the fogged bar. This isn’t your sort of scene – not one you would typically find yourself frequenting on a Friday evening without even so much as the company of a friend – and yet here you stand with hands pressed into the pockets of your black leather jacket. There remains a dull thrum in the atmosphere of the club, a steady rhythm of bass and vibrations that makes your ears ring but you do your best to ignore it in favor of reaching the bartender.

“Just a rum and coke please,” you murmur, hand sneaking out of your pocket to lay a few bills flat against the wood counter. You tug your ID card out as well and flash it in the man’s direction when he raises an eyebrow at you, but upon seeing it, he relents and steps away from you to get the drink.

The question remains of why exactly you are in such a dismal and hopeless scene full of people too drunk off their rockers to even fumble around the bar with some sense of dignity. You, who is neither dismal or hopeless yourself nor are you drunk in the slightest (at least not yet).

The answer is simple. This is a breeding ground, a festering cesspool of desires and greed, and it is the prime place to find what you are looking for in terms of deals with the devil. Maybe not one specific devil, but certainly whatever demon you can get your hands on tonight. And you have quite the lot to choose from it seems, because as you glance around the neon-lit building, you can spot many pairs of red eyes glinting under the lights. You know you have no right to be picky — any and all of them will get the job done — but you can’t help but to note that none of them are as appealing as you imagined they would be. When your friend said that these demons thrived off of lust and appeal, you figured that meant they would purposefully up the ante in terms of physical appearances.

The disdain must show on your features as the bartender begins to speak again as he sets your drink down before you on the counter.

“None of them are for you,” he utters, and you twist back to look him in the eye.

“What do you mean?” You inquire, chin tilting to the side in question, and the man huffs out a small laugh.

“They have their prey already. Picked ‘em the second they walked through the door. All it takes is one look to figure out what these needy people crave from them, what appearances they need to take, what voices to use, what outfits to wear. For people like you, though, something more is required before the real games begin.” He points a single bony finger at your face, staring you down over the length of his digit like it’s the barrel of a gun, and that has you shifting in your seat a bit.

“Something… more?”

“One must have a particular level of certainty before coming to make a deal with a demon, ma’am. But you — you don’t seem to truly know what it is you want. And for that reason, the King will see you with no ruses or deception.”

On the contrary, I wouldn’t have dared set foot in here if I didn’t know what it is I wanted, you want to say. However, your attention is held rapt by his final sentence, the one that held unspoken promise to it.

“And by that you mean physical alterations?”

“You catch on quickly, Miss.” The man leans forward, tongue darting out to swipe over his lower lip, and you glance over the motion only once before pushing away from the counter. He notes the slight annoyance in your features a moment later. “The King will like you quite a bit.”

“When can I expect for this ‘King’ to present himself?” You prop an elbow up on the counter and give one last forlorn glance around the bar in the hopes that someone will come over your way, but it’s to no avail.

“Patience, human. The show hasn’t even begun yet.” He motions towards the middle of the bar, the starkly empty space with a glossy stage set in the center with only a microphone held delicately in its stand and nothing else. You had been hoping to make this a speedy trip — a quick in and out with your deal made and nothing else — but it seems you won’t be having that luxury. And it is a bit frustrating, honestly, to come to this place with the expectation of having a demon cater to you and your wants only to be told that you aren’t certain enough for these supernatural beings, so you’ll have to wait on a demon who won’t cater to you or come to you immediately.

You take a quick swig of your alcohol with the desperate hope that perhaps drinking will make you more certain of what you want, although you already know it won’t. The bartender offers a shrug in response to your annoyance then pulls away to tend to other customers, and you take it as an invitation to swivel in your stool and face the stage. It’s still fucking empty, but at least it gives you a better view than the old wood of the counter that now sits under your elbows.

“Leave it to men to make me wait on them, demon or not,” you mutter under your breath, breath fogging the side of your glass a bit.

You nearly choke on the liquid inside in your next breath because the swirling red neon lights come to a halt on the center of the stage, and the suddenness of the shifting lights startles you so much that you have to sit up straight and inhale deeply to keep from coughing on the alcohol in your mouth. The hazed mist hovering above the floor of the bar seems to swirl towards the stage under the beams of light. You watch the movements as though in a trance, slowly leaning forward until your elbows come to rest on your knees. Out of everyone in the bar, you seem to be the only one interested in what’s going on at the center of the room. Mind you, everyone else is preoccupied: demons with their humans, and humans with the mask-wearing demons who cater to their desires. And while you have no reason to be so intrigued by the scene before you, you truly cannot bring yourself to look away, especially as the dull thrum of music in the bar heightens and gains momentum.

There is no way of describing the sounds rumbling around you. Perhaps if you were fully in your senses, you would be able to distinguish the instruments and beats of the song, but the bass clogs your mind and leaves you squinting at the hazy stage. It could be poetic, the way a lone figure pushes his way through the crowds of the bar like he holds all the power in the universe, studded black leather jacket slung around his shoulders. And as the red lights come over him, you can see his features better. Dusty brown hair that shines a bit, one side exposed and cut shorter than the other, which has bangs that hang loose over the side of his face. Metal bars line both ears, another near the end of his left brow, and a final more intricate one that loops around the middle of his lip and connects to two long metal chains. You follow the path of those chains with your eyes, watching them trail downwards until they loop around his chest and disappear behind his jacket. It’s just a black turtleneck that he wears underneath the dramatic leather regalia and chains but somehow he makes the garment look expensive. You dare glance a bit lower, just enough to make out the frayed and distressed jeans that cling to his skin like a vice, leaving hints of enticing skin underneath to peek through. You can’t see his feet thanks to the fog, but you can practically hear his footsteps drumming in your ears with the rise and fall of his shoes.

Simply put, you are entranced by the sight of this man — if he can even be called that, because you wouldn’t find yourself at all surprised should he reveal himself to be a demon on the tail end of this encounter. He barely looks up from the floor on his trek to the stage, only stopping when he comes before the mic stand and exhales against it in a way that sends shivers down your spine. It’s hardly reasonable for any creature to hold your attention in the palm of his hand the way this one does, but there is no chance of you looking away now, especially as his voice begins to drawl through the microphone and coat your ears like honey. There are words, you recognize enough in the music to know that it should be a song you’re familiar with, but none of them truly process in your daze.

It’s all you can do to just sit there and watch his performance. Between the gentle sways of his shoulders and hips, the teasing drag of his tongue over his lower lip whenever there is a break in his lyrics, and the overall intoxicating nature his aura exudes, you are hooked on every breath he takes. You don’t realize how relaxed your body has become under his spell until it’s too late, and that happens to be the last note of the song as well. It is accentuated with the drop of the glass in your hand and a sharp shatter of the cup against the floor. And just as you inhale a startled gasp and break out of your reverie, his deep crimson eyes flicker over to find yours across the bar. Those twisting lips churn something ugly in your gut. You can’t find the strength in your body to move.

“Mine.”

Your heart leaps in your chest as the word leaves his lips, and while you can’t hear it grate against your ears, you can clearly read his lips enough to know what he’s saying.

His eyes glint a bit in the darkness. It shouldn’t leave you wanting more, but that bitter taste of curiosity is nipping at the back of your throat, and you are far too intrigued to turn back now. You just want more. If he seems to understand that at all from the gleam in your eyes, he makes good on it, stepping off the stage and letting his hand drag over the mic in a way that is almost tantalizing. Step after step, he comes closer to you with his lips still curled into a smirk, and the way the lights hit him makes him seem to glisten and glow in the darkness. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until he breaches your personal space and you release a shaky exhale that seems to fog in the air between you. He stretches a hand out to close the space between your bodies and curls his index finger under your chin. The touch is simultaneously hot and cold — your whole body seems to light on fire under it, yet at the same time, the chill in your bones deepens to an alarming degree.

“What is it you desire above all other things?” You can hear him now, loud and clear, and whilst you heard his singing beforehand, the simple rasp and lilt to his regular tone is something that has you unashamedly weak in the knees. “I can give you everything,” he whispers as he presses closer to you. Your knees brush against his form but he keeps on pushing forward until he’s slotted himself between them. The chain hanging from his lips rattles like a chime, singing its unknown song like church bells in the night, although you are far from God and heaven now. “All you need to do is ask.”

You cling to some semblance of reason while you can, knowing full well that it will all leave you soon enough, but for now, it lets you choke out a single statement that has the demon before you laughing under his breath.

“That’s not how it works.”

“And who are you to tell me how it works?” His finger curls a bit harder at your chin, and you can feel the blunt of his nail scraping over your skin. Your eyes are glued to his, so enamored and consumed that you can’t even think to look anywhere else.

In that moment, it is as though the universe is nothing but a speck of dust in the corner of your vision. Something so raw and whole like the man standing before you is all-powerful and vigilant in a way that has every nerve in your body at full attention, ready for whatever his next step might be. And that turns out to be quite the curveball as it seems because he leans closer to you, breath intermingling with yours, and you subconsciously curve your back into his touch to reach him closer. Still, even though you physically show how ready and desperate for the touch you are, he waits and glances over your features.

“What is it you desire from me, human?”

You have to vehemently restrain yourself from simply saying ‘you’ and getting on with it.

“Your name.”

“Is that all you would have from me?” As a demon, it is his life’s work to know the inner-workings of the festering desires of humans. You have no doubt in your mind that he knows exactly what is it you want, even if you are not sure of it yourself, and you do not doubt that he won’t use that to his advantage either. But that’s what you asked for in coming here, and that is exactly what you both expected and wanted out of this.

Perhaps it is shameful, but just for once, you wanted to surrender control. Too often are you asked to have everything set out and planned and under control, and too often do you find yourself wanting someone to just tell you what it is you should do. That could be why the bartender labeled you as ‘uncertain’ because even in this moment of vulnerability, there is still the thinnest thread of thought tethering you to that control. And as of now, you want nothing more than for this demon before you to break that thread.

“I would have your name before I asked for anything else from you. Calling you demon over and over would certainly wear out its welcome, no?”

“That all depends on the context, my dear. But… you can call me Hongjoong, if that’s suitable to your tongue.”

“Hongjoong,” you try, testing the way the name rolls off your tongue in such a delicate manner that the demon before you flutters his lashes a bit.

“Sounds so pretty coming from lips so innocent.” He tilts his head to the side, and the movement flashes the pretty expanse of skin below his jaw. You aren’t shy in the way you let your gaze slip over it before trailing back up to meet his eyes again. “Would you close your eyes for me, doll?” He doesn’t have to ask. He could just make you do so with no resistance but still, he asks as though you could say no if you wanted to. You don’t though, and as such, your eyelids fall shut and your vision turns to black for the time being. “Do you know who I am?”

“Th-The bartender called you the King.”

“And do you understand what that means? Truly understand with every fiber of your being?” The question is heavy on your bones, and it is one that you feel like you should know the answer to yet you can’t find any response to his inquiry. Perhaps he means to confuse you because you hear the soft huff of a laugh fall from his lips. “King of the Underworld, Lord of the Dead. Some would call me Pluto, others Hades, it varies from religion to religion and in every culture. Sometimes I pick up rather banal and common names, other times I find myself seeking something extravagant and luxurious. Now… Hongjoong will be a good middle-ground for us.”

You should be falling to the floor in absolute shock due to his words, but the steady finger under your chin keeps you steady. That and the growing fear in your gut as you come to realize that this man holds so much power in just his pinky finger and could absolutely crush you under his heel whenever he wishes. What are you to a god besides an insignificant fleck of dust on the pavement?

“And what of your appearance? Is that… manifested as well?” You dare to ask.

“I have many faces, yes, but this one is one I wear boldly and frequently. You could say it is my natural form. After so many millennia of fantastical myths and legends, however, I’m sure that would seem odd to you.”

“Are you truly a demon then?”

“King of demons, yes. Whether I am truly a demon myself is something that could be ambiguous, I suppose, but if they are all part of my creations, then would that not make me one myself? Though you could say they are all fragments of my own being, making them all mythical gods. It’s all a matter of perspective; however, I doubt that you came searching this place for a lesson on perspectives.”

“No, I came for…” You trail off, and that blossoming uncertainty from before presents itself again.

“There are two things your heart wants right now. One, I can give you with ease and grace, only if you would allow it. That desire is a fleeting one, however, and I do not think it is what you are truly after in being here. The second… that is a wish I cannot deliver, and I think you are more than aware of that. The reason everyone left you to me is because of what you want. It is a domain only I could ever touch.”

You blink your eyes open in haste, searching his deep crimson gaze for some sort of confirmation of the words. The demon dares to look forlorn and lets his stare drop to the floor rather than looking you directly in the eye. Confusion blossoms in your gut. Yes, you figured there was a slim chance that your wish could not be granted, but still you clung to the desperate hope that maybe there was just a small window of opportunity for such a wish to be granted.

“Death is irreversible,” the demon, Hongjoong as he wishes to be called, says in a quiet tone. “I cannot give that which you want more than anything else.”

“Then what can you give?” You ask, squeezing your eyes shut as tight as possible to keep your emotions from slipping out the corners.

“One of two things: I can give you time to speak with him once more or I can make you forget the pain.”

“And if I choose the latter?”

“It would make you forget everything about him and leave you with no memory of him at all.” Hongjoong exhales a small sigh, the bouncing rhythms of the bass rumbling against your ears along with the sounds of his breaths. “You need not decide right this instant. The payment will be the same either way, so we can settle that first if you’d like.”

“W-Wait,” you stammer. You dare to open your eyes once more. “How would I be able to speak to him if you can’t bring him back?”

“I cannot bring him back the way you want. He… he is gone, and though I am the King of the Dead, there are powers even I do not have. Bringing him back to life is impossible, but I can create a doorway for the two of you to speak through for a short period of time. I have no control over how long it would be, just a forewarning. That is all up to him and his willingness to see you.”

“I can’t imagine he wouldn’t want to see me,” you murmur, but the pang in your chest tells you otherwise.

“Sometimes, death and the underworld change fundamental parts of people. They are no longer alive, after all, and as such, those human vices and personality traits dissipate. How you knew him in life could be vastly different than the spirit who now resides in my domain. It is all a matter of weighing risks, my dear. What matters most to you? Remembering him or him remembering you?”

“So if I ask to see him, I would remember him but there’s a chance that he would have no recollection of me? And should I ask to forget, there will be no way of knowing whether he remembers me in the afterlife or not?”

“Precisely.”

That is a hefty bargain to weigh. It is almost too much for your shoulders just to think about it. One is starkly more selfish than the other, but if he’s dead, what good will selflessness do you? It won’t bring him back, that’s for sure. Either you are left with the painful realization that he does not have any memory of you in the afterlife, or you forget it all to avoid that pain. Maybe thinking about the payment before deciding would be a good idea after all.

“As for the payment? How many years do I owe you?” Demons have no use for human currency or trinkets that could be traded for favors. You can barter the only thing you have — years of life. Whether it shortens your lifespan or turns you into a personal slave for a certain amount of time, that is a price you must be willing to pay for such services. You are more than prepared to barter it all off right now if need be.

“None,” Hongjoong answers coolly, and you quirk a brow upwards at the nonchalance in his tone. “I do not deal in years of life. Not often, at least. My abilities are bound in… passion. Lovemaking, fornication, sex, fucking – whatever you wish to call it. Of course, it wouldn’t have to be that exactly, should you not desire that. The other option is a blood pact, a ritual that would take hours to complete, although both could take quite some time depending on your stamina.” There’s a breath of silence that allows Hongjoong’s lips to twist into a suggestive grin, and heat brushes the base of your neck as you fight off waves of embarrassment. “I cannot guarantee that the blood pact would be painless. With sex, I could at least provide some comfort that the pain would only be temporary; however, the choice is yours. Both are binding and would mean that you could never make a deal with another demon again, and you would be marked as mine for eternity.”

“What does being yours entail?”

“Nothing diabolical or unsavory, I promise. Just… when the time comes for you to pass on and join the Underworld, you would take a place at my side.”

“How many people have you laid claim to? Did they all agree to the same terms? How can I trust your word?” The questions tumble from your lips without relent.

“For what you desire, the cost is far less than what I would usually ask for. Those lucky enough to deal with me in the past paid less for their debts. The blood pact… the fornication… both are binding elements. The real cost is your service. Most have agreed to give me their servitude in the afterlife, all with their own places in my domain. That is what you would be offering as well. You will live just as long as you would without making this deal but make up for it after your death.”

“And that’s it?”

Hongjoong’s eyes twinkle a bit under the lights above your heads.

“What did you expect from me, doll? Savagery? Unfairness? Everyone deserves a fair price for what they want, regardless of station in life or status in society.”

“Deal,” you utter without any more hesitation, blinking up into Hongjoong’s dark orbs. There lies a lingering sense of regret in your gut, one that you cannot chase away no matter how hard you try, but you do not need to dwell on it any longer.

“And how would you like to bind our deal, my dear? Neither can be handled immediately. The blood pact requires special preparations for the ritual, but the other — I would not have you in such a place as dirty as this.”

“I-I, um, sex will work just fine,” you bite out, the skin of your cheek caught between your teeth.

“Then when the time comes that you are ready with your decision on what it is you truly want, all you need to do is take this—” Hongjoong retracts his hand from where it rests gently against the column of your throat and digs into one of his pockets. He pulls out a gilded card, one that is black and gold with flecks of red across the surface, but there are no other adornments to the material. “Tear it in half and it will bring you to our meeting place, and I will join you there to seal the deal. Should you decide that you do not want this after all, then all you need to do is burn the card. The decision lies in your hands, and yours alone.” He has to lift one of your limp hands and forcefully place the card into your waiting palm, closing his fingers around yours to make you cling to the item.

“I – th-thank you,” you stammer as you blink from your closed hand to Hongjoong’s features.

“The pleasure is all mine, doll.”

Those are the last words you hear from the demon before he slips away from you, the dense fog lingering in the air swirling up around his body, and within moments, his shadowy form disappears entirely from sight. The air grows cold around you once more. You are left with only the fleeting desire for that warmth to return, for you to feel less alone than you are in that moment, and even if it’s the briefest visit ever you just want one last chance to tell your lost lover how you feel without mistakes this time.

///

The night, as per usual, is cold and unforgiving. It allows for too many opportunities to be alone with lost feelings and thoughts. It has been weeks (if not months) since you visited that dingy club and your fateful meeting with none other than the King of the Dead. Yet you are still here, wallowing in the memories that you’ve been left to suffer with alone, and the gilded black card sits in your nightstand untouched. You open the drawer just to stare at it from time to time, when the nights are particularly rough, and it already had begun collecting a thin layer of dust the last few times you looked at it.

It isn’t that you haven’t made your decision about what you want from your deal with Hongjoong. The more terrifying fact is that you are fully aware of what it is you want, and you simply cannot rectify the guilt that comes along with the pure selfishness of your decision. The feeling is so potent that it swarms your every thought. You know it wouldn’t be an issue once you meet with Hongjoong; the demon will take it all away and leave you with nothing. You won’t even know enough to be guilty any longer, but the pain of committing to the decision is strong enough to make you sick to your stomach.

Wooyoung — the one who suggested you go to the club and make the deal in the first place — will not shut up about how worried he is about you. You won’t recall the deal or why you made it, so what’s holding you back? A temporary guilt that won’t exist longer than a few seconds once you’re actually in Hongjoong’s presence? As he said, you just need to swallow the feeling and get on with it. Prolonging the regrets any longer won’t do you any good.

You huff out a quiet laugh in the silence of your darkened room. The black gilded card taunts you again now, gleaming up at you through the shadows with its faint hints of gold and red. Maybe Wooyoung is right and the only way to get rid of missed opportunities is to forget about them entirely. Yeosang was but a chapter in your life, one that is past and gone now, and as Hongjoong said, there is no reversing death. Seeing him one last time won’t give you anything but pain.

You stretch a shaky hand towards the card in the drawer. It’s cold to the touch, dust billowing up with even the slightest touch of your fingers. You have to dig your nail under the material to pull it up, and once it’s safely set in your palm, you drag your thumb over the surface to brush the dirt away. No words on the surface, no sign that it has been touched by a demon, and not even a hint as to what it could possibly be for.

It is surprisingly flexible, at least moreso than you would have imagined, and you give it a few testing bends to see how easy it would be to break. Hongjoong simply gave you the instruction to tear it in half and that was all. You don’t expect him to suddenly materialize before you on a whim, but surely such a creation is bound by some sort of magic on his part. It is hard enough to believe that demons are real living creatures, but magic as well? Maybe you’ve passed on and just don’t realize it yet. Still, you exhale one last huff of air into the darkness before letting your eyes flutter shut. Taking the card between your hands, you begin to slowly rip the material until it separates with the force, torn in two mismatched pieces.

Nothing fantastical happens.

That fact alone is so overwhelmingly disappointing that you really think for a moment that Hongjoong was just some goth rocker in a stoner bar who pulled an elaborate trick on you. It can’t be too difficult to get your hands on some weird red-toned contacts and weave some elaborate story about being the King of Hell. You could do that yourself. Why did you think he was incapable of such a charade?

Because he knew what you wanted without you having to say it.

Yes, well, Wooyoung claimed that your regrets and grief were evident in your features every time he looked at you. Maybe Hongjoong could see it as well.

You fall back onto your bed, flattening your back against the mattress with a small shout of frustration. The urge to cry is strong; if you’ve spent all these weeks uselessly worrying over something that could all be a farce, you don’t even know how you would react. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, blinking away the tears that blossom in the corners there as best you can. The rolling emotions in your system distract you from the sudden shift in temperature, and before you know it heat washes over you and fills the void of cold in your body. You jerk but refuse to sit up quite yet, eyes flying open in your shock only to choke on air as a bright golden light fills your vision and swarms you with warmth. The cushion under your body doesn’t feel the same either; it is not your bed, it’s too plush and soft, too warm under you, and you feel like you are absolutely drowning in the sensation.

Gold flickers above you, twinkling lights that glisten like small stars above you, and the ceiling is so dark that you nearly think it’s just an opening to the night sky. You sit up in a mad panic. The gold and red decorations littering the far too lavish room barely process in your vision as you look for a way out, and you don’t even see the figure coming up along your side until he’s upon you. A hand stretches out to brush over your forehead. You nearly shriek in your state of terror, but the sound is all but stolen from your lungs instead.

“It’s only me, doll. You’re safe.”

Hongjoong. Ah, Hongjoong. Then… he was telling the truth. It wasn’t a farce or a deception meant to be a game. He claimed to be the Devil Incarnate, and here he stands before you in a room too rich and exquisite for words. You can’t find it in you to think he’s lying now.

You dare to glance up and meet his gaze, finding it so soft on your face that you have the audacity to blush under his stare despite the things you’ll be doing with him soon enough.

“Have you made your decision then?” He asks, tone soft and light. It isn’t one that demands an immediate answer. You know he could ask what took you so long to decide, complain about your hesitance, say that you kept him waiting for far too long — instead, he exudes patience with you, hand slowly combing over your forehead down to your cheek and brushing over the skin there with a touch so featherlight that you almost don’t realize it’s there at all.

“I-I have,” you whisper like the two of you aren’t the only ones in the room and it’s a secret meant only for your ears.

“What would you have from me first then? As I told you before, the payment is the same regardless of your decision, and as such, we can bind the deal first if you’d rather.”

You swallow around nothing. There is no harm in going through with the decision now, but your nerves are so frazzled and out of sorts that you almost desire the sex simply as a means of stress relief. Hongjoong steps in front of you, fully coming into view, and you are shocked at how… mundane he looks. You blink fervently at the man — demon, rather — and take in the gentle part of his hair, the soft glow of his skin that makes him look simply ethereal under this light. He hardly looks like a demon to you; his features are too smooth and perfect for that, from the curves of his lips to the even line of his nose. Although you suppose that’s all he wants you to see, yet it still seems oddly intimate to a certain degree.

“You aren’t worried that I’ll try to run away after my wish is fulfilled?” You ask. Hongjoong arches his brows at you, and his neutral expression slips into one of momentary shock.

“Where are you going to go, my dear? I brought you to this place, and you will need me to send you back once we’re done here.”

It sinks in at that moment how you are completely at his mercy right now. Not that you had any plans of running away, but the question was moreso just to test the waters, see if he is truly as merciful as his features make him out to be. The underlying danger in his tone proves your point and sends a chill down your spine.

“Is that something I ought to be worried about, doll? Should I claim you now to make sure you keep your end of the bargain?” The question sits on your ear like warm honey. It chokes you, fills your senses with Hongjoong’s scent, and you almost find yourself leaning into his curling lips before catching yourself. That seems to pique his interest in the very least, and his smile twists a bit more. “The decision is in your hands as always. I won’t do anything you don’t give me explicit permission to do.”

“Permission granted,” you mutter before catching a hand on Hongjoong’s collar. “Do it all.” You aren’t too worried about damaging his clothes as he’s not wearing anything drastically fancy or expensive-looking, and thus you twist your fist into a ball around the fabric of his black tee and yank him down to your height. He bends at the waist, hands catching on the mattress before his forehead can smack hard against yours. There’s a bit of tension in his neck, and that keeps him far enough back so that he doesn’t kiss you quite yet. It’s almost as though he is waiting for something else, eyes carefully tracing your features with great care before he settles on your lips, and a sharp inhale of breath follows before that thin line in his composure snaps.

His lips hit yours with a surprising amount of force, and the kiss isn’t at all what you were expecting — well, to be more accurate, you aren’t quite sure what you were expecting in the first place. It’s much more pleasant than you could have imagined though, and Hongjoong isn’t shy with the touch at all. His tongue is quick to swipe over your lower lip, hands darting upwards to brush over your sides before reaching your face, and he brings a knee down on the mattress to support his weight as he leans over you. You follow the motion when he pushes forward and lean back until you have no choice but to scoot back on the bed. Hongjoong moves with you with the same amount of fervor, still pressed to your lips without relent, and you don’t even think to stop as he completely drapes himself over your body, knees still up and supporting his weight. The cushion of the mattress dips by your head, a telltale sign that he’s placed his hands there, and you use that as your opportunity to stop for air. Hongjoong surely has no need to breathe like you do since he is undead, but he still pants above you, chest heaving as a pretty flush rises to his cheeks.

“Putting that much power in a demon’s hands is dangerous, is it not?” He mutters. You let your lashes flutter shut as he moves back to your lips, hot breath ghosting over your skin. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“I’ll tell you if it’s something I don’t like,” you murmur, opening an eye to peek at him. He meets your gaze with a soft laugh, but your answer seems to please him enough to bring his attention back to your lips. You inhale as his tongue breaches your mouth and pushes into the wet cavern inside. There’s no chance for you to fight back for any sort of dominance because he only thrusts deeper and coats the inside of your mouth with his taste until you can feel his tongue brushing over your palate. A quiet moan reverberates through your throat and against his lips. You feel the barest hint of a smile in the kiss, then his lips are suddenly gone from yours. You gasp for air with the freedom. Heat pools in the depths of your gut, a pleasant one that leaves you wanting more, and you aren’t sure if it’s simply been so long since you last had sex or if Hongjoong truly has that effect on you.

He returns to touching your body a moment later, hands trailing to the row of buttons on your nightshirt, and one by one, he pulls them apart until the material is barely clinging to your skin. His lips replace his fingers then. First at your jaw placing a wet trail of kisses and soft nips that leave you with goosebumps. Then he reaches the midpoint of your sternum and rests the flat of his tongue there, tasting and teasing your skin until you can do nothing but writhe under him because he is taking so damn long. Your impatience is laughable to him, as evidenced by the quiet huff of air that leaves him next.

“I want to taste every inch of you,” he mumbles against the skin of your stomach, hands pulling your nightshirt away to expose more of the skin underneath. He makes good on his words, and that damn tongue traces lower and lower until he reaches the band of your pants and underwear. You instinctively dart a hand down to tangle in his hair. “F-Fuck.” The curse slips out when you give an accidental tug to the hair close to his nape, and you nearly think that you’ve hurt him in some manner until you catch sight of the blissed-out expression on his features.

“D-Do you — can I…?”

“Do it harder while I eat you out,” he growls. His fingers close hard around the remainders of your close, and you don’t even have time to nod before he’s yanking both your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop. It leaves you more than a little exposed — you’re suddenly nearly nude before the demon who is still fully clothed, and that realization draws your thighs tight together in a sudden rush of embarrassment. You swallow hard around nothing, eyes darting away from Hongjoong’s prying gaze.

All of a sudden, he shrugs your hand off his hair and sits back on his heels. You don’t understand what his reasoning is until you settle your eyes back on his body. He’s leaned back to start stripping layers of clothes off in a rush, hands fumbling and struggling to pull them away in an orderly manner. There is no composure to his actions, only a hastened fervor that has him tossing his shoes far from the bed along with random articles of clothes until he’s laid fully bare before you. You really try your hardest not to glance down at his… you know, but the urge is overwhelming. Before you can even catch a glimpse, however, Hongjoong is on you again, hands latched around your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed as he kneels before you on the floor. The sudden movement has you squealing in surprise, and that noise is broken off into a startled moan when Hongjoong’s lips brush through your folds without warning.

“O-Oh god,” you gasp out. Hongjoong’s tongue gives a long and dragging pull through your heat, teasing some of the juices out of you with little restraint.

“Far from it actually,” he replies against your clit. A cheeky grin eats away at his features, but it quickly disappears as he returns his focus to your cunt. Your hand finds its way back down to his hair once more and tugs hard at the strands. Each tweak of his tongue through your folds has your legs jerking a bit, and he has to tighten his grip on your thighs to keep you from moving so much under his touch.

“I’m not — I w-won’t last, pl-please, I–” You can’t even finish the sentence as Hongjoong flicks the tip of his tongue right over your clit and cuts you off. He repeats that same motion, again and again, brings you right to the precipice of an orgasm only to tear you back down from it with soft kisses pressed to the outside of your folds. You can’t keep track of how many times he repeats that process, but it is more than enough to have you shaking from exhaustion and desperation even though you haven’t even been able to come yet.

“Are you going to beg for it, doll?” Hongjoong hums after what feels like hours of pleasurable torture. “I promised to make you feel good, did I not? You just have to tell me what you want.” His words are so taunting that it burns you with embarrassment. The need for that orgasm hangs on every nerve ending of your body, and you could cry just out of the need to come.

“Please,” you whisper in a tone broken from constant moans and cries.

“Be more specific.” It’s so cruel. He dangles the promise of pleasure before your eyes again, this time nipping ever so gently at your bud, and you really do cry this time, fingers digging harshly on his scalp. That draws a prolonged growl from his lips, and it reverberates against you so nicely that you could come from that. Hongjoong pulls his head back too soon though and the sensation is dashed away.

“N-No, no, please. P-Please, Hongjoong, I — please let me come. I need it, I need it so badly. Shit, just – just please let me come,” you wail as tears slip out the corners of your eyes and spill onto the sheets under you. That’s the breaking point for him as well, or so it would seem, because the next time his mouth brushes through your cunt, he doesn’t relent. You come undone on his tongue, riding out the waves of your intense orgasm as he fucks his wet muscle into your heat. He won’t stop chuckling either — a low noise that just prolongs the pleasure and makes you quiver from overstimulation. He doesn’t let up until a dry and choked sob pushes past your lips.

Suddenly he is back up on the bed, bent over your body to be eye to eye with you. His fingers trace over your wet cheeks then clasp hard around your jaw.

“Too much?”

“N-No,” you stammer through the wet cries. “So good. So so good.”

“Mm, can you take my cock too, doll?” He all but purrs the words against your skin. His soft and trailing kisses return to your skin, peppering the line of your jaw just past his fingers.

“Yes, please, I c-can. Please. I want i-it all.” You never thought you could sound so overwhelmingly desperate, but the tumbling sensation that swerves through your stomach as Hongjoong’s demeanor shifts has you falling into absolute shambles. He shifts your position, pushing you up higher to rest against the pillows, and you start to drape your legs around his waist. That must not be the position he had in mind though, because his hand clamps down hard on one of your calves and pushes it to the top of his shoulder. Before you can even blink, he does the same with your other leg, effectively folding you in half and into a position you weren’t even aware that your body was capable of. That shock is momentary as you feel the tip of what must his cock rubbing over your pulsating hole. You can’t do anything but ball your fists around the sheets under you and cling to them like a vice. It’s the only thing that can prepare you for his girth; the stretch may not be as much as you thought it would be, but it still stings like a bitch even after he bottoms out in you. That pain must be showing on your features – in the way your brows are tightly knit together and your eyes are screwed shut so that excess tears from earlier slip out.

The soft caress of lips touches your forehead. It’s so gentle and delicate that you nearly miss it in your efforts to grow used to the sensation between your legs, but Hongjoong repeats it time and time again until your breathing steadies and your chest stops heaving as much. It’s only then that he dares to resituate his hips. You crack an eye open to look at him, and it’s abundantly clear that he’s trying his hardest to hold back and keep from fucking into you with reckless abandon.

“I’m okay now,” you whisper, pulling a hand off the bedsheets to brush some loose strands of hair out of Hongjoong’s vision. “Please fuck me as hard as you’d like.” You snake the same hand around the back of his neck. When he still doesn’t move, you offer a sharp tug to the hair that falls over his sweat-slick nape, and that spurs him into action. His hips snap roughly against yours, pushing your back further into the crude curve it’s already in. Now that the dull throbbing pain has dissolved into a sensation of pleasure, you drown yourself in the drag of his member inside you. It’s quite possibly the best feeling you’ve had all night with the way his tip rubs over your bundle of nerves at just the right angle.

Hongjoong drops his elbows to the pillow under your head, and you greet him with a kiss that is mostly just an awkward clash of teeth for the most part. He gains enough composure to shift the angle to one that’s easier for both of you, hips still working hard as he rocks into you with the same force and speed as before. You are so lost in the euphoria that you can’t even feel your next orgasm sneaking up on you, but when it does, it pulls a noiseless scream from your lips. Hongjoong mouths at the corner of your lips as you ride it out. He still seems far off from his own high, even as he slows the pulses of his thrusts. You claw your way back from the high of your orgasm to grip his hair tighter and pull him closer to you.

“In me. I need you to come in me or not at all,” you demand through a huffed out sigh. It’s a moment of throwing caution to the wind, one that is quite worth it thanks to the expression of hunger and lust that fills Hongjoong’s face.

“You can’t just say things like that, doll,” he growls into the shell of your ear. You try to laugh but he interrupts you with a thrust harsher than any of the ones before. Every sound that falls from your lips now is stuttered and broken at the seams, and you let him fuck you with that same level of passion until he finally seems to tire and lose his rhythm. The only warning you have that he’s about to orgasm is the slight whine to his tone when he moans next. You push what strength you have left into clenching hard around his cock, and that is ultimately what tips him over the edge and pulls a delightful moan from his lips as he spills into your tight heat. He releases his hold on your legs, letting them slip away from his shoulders and back into a more comfortable position on the bed, but he refuses to move off your body.

You aren’t sure how long the two of you stay like that: with Hongjoong continually mouthing small kisses to the underside of your jaw and you just staring blankly at the glittering ceiling with a mind nearly empty. However much time passes doesn’t quite matter because once you recover your senses enough to be coherent again, you recall what is supposed to come next. Shaky hands find their way to Hongjoong’s arms and trail up to rest atop his back.

“Take it all away,” you exhale through a pant, hands clinging desperately to the milky skin of Hongjoong’s shoulders. “I don’t want to remember him anymore.” His chest heaves against yours, and a few loose strands of dark hair fall forward to stick to his sweat-slick forehead. This time when he kisses you, it is hot and searing, a brand against your lips, one that burns the inside of your mouth and sets your tongue alight. The sensation slips down the back of your throat, fills your gut, burns you from the inside out, and all your thoughts go hazy under the touch of his lips. With that one kiss, Hongjoong takes it all away. He gives into your desires, heeds your wishes, and grants you the ultimate peace and serenity you so deeply craved. He continues to cling to you like he’s never held something so desperately or lost in his infinite existence. You return the embrace in full while you can, strength already leaving you in the afterglow of your fornication, and you rake your nails down over his back if only to leave him with some sort of trophy to leave with. He is already leaving with your memories though, a trophy to hold close to his heart should there ever be a time when you ask for them to be returned to you. Perhaps in your afterlife, you’ll ask for them back, and Hongjoong would gladly give them should it be what you desire.

That is what he is, after all. As much as he takes, the Demon King of the Underworld gives in return, where he can with what he can. His duty, his bond, the sole purpose for his existence is to maintain that balance between giving and taking. But if it’s for you — a creature so lost, dismal, and hopeless — perhaps he can tip the scales a bit further in your direction.

At least, that’s what he thinks as you curve your body into his and press your lips with more fervor than before. That maybe, just maybe, endless years of his own hopelessness and confusion were all meant to lead him to finding this: a purpose in his undying life.

﹎    ﹎    ﹎

[mianavs]

half agony, half hope

“you pierce my soul. i am half agony, half hope.” - jane austen

Oikawa x f!reader, regency!au, angst, romance, hurt/comfort

for @sakeomi​’s the chosen one collab

a/n: fueled by my love for jane austen and a bridgerton binge. some regency/nobility jargon but nothing too fancy. hope you like it :)

a huuuuge thank you to @tetsunormous​ for taking the time to look this over. you’re a gem!

wc: 9k+

Peering out the small window of your family’s carriage, you couldn’t help but scowl at the ridiculously nice weather you were having en route back to the ton. The weather had also been lovely the day you left society which you took as an affirmation that you’d made the right decision in leaving. Now, you didn’t feel that same hopeful sentiment you did back then and had hoped lousy weather would delay your return, but it seemed that your luck with the weather had run out.

The sun shone brightly and was accompanied by the perfect amount of white fluffy clouds amidst a beautiful blue sky. There was a light breeze that kept your bonneted head cool enough to prevent beads of sweat from trailing down your brow, and you were also positive that Henry, your footman, was enjoying the mild weather outside on his box seat as he escorted you from your family’s country estate back to town.

You drew back the small curtain and leaned back onto your cushioned seat before picking up the stack of letters beside you and thumbing through them until you found the first of many unopened ones. Setting aside the others—all mostly from your father demanding your return—you examined all twelve letters that bore an unbroken turquoise seal and were addressed to you from Toru Oikawa. They all had a date scribbled on the bottom right corner, with the first one dating back to six months after you left town. You successfully fought off the urge to open the letters and piled them up with the others before putting them away in a wooden box—a present from your late mother.

 It was hard to believe that a year had passed since you begged your father to let you retire to the country after witnessing an immoral scene no respectable person should ever witness—let alone the fiancée of one of the perpetrators. Looking back, you could firmly say it wasn’t the shame that drove you to abandon society and your fiancé but the heart-wrenching agony you felt from seeing the man you loved with another woman.

While love matches were a rare thing between members of the aristocracy, you had truly believed yours to be one of them, and it all started from the moment you first beheld Toru.

It had been the annual debutante ball hosted by the monarchy, and you, along with a dozen other seventeen-year-old ladies, were making your debut into society. The ball was strictly for the aristocracy only, and, as a result, only members of the nobility were able to mingle with each other.

While on the surface, it was meant to start the matchmaking season by introducing the newest line-up of ladies to the ton’s eligible bachelors and their mothers, there were other activities taking place simultaneously. Racy affairs took place under a cover of darkness in hidden corners or outside in the gardens, and business deals of all sorts were struck up in gambling rooms between men as they dealt cards and downed glasses of brandy.

Of course, being the naïve debutante that you were, thoughts on the covert activities taking place were beyond you. All you could think about was keeping your head held high, back straight, and minding your step as you walked to the dais where the royal family sat, to not trip over the hem of your new silk ball gown.

After a satisfactory curtsy and subtle nods from the King and Queen, you took your place next to your father, the Count. The butterflies in your stomach settled as you watched the debutantes with better curtsies, looks, and family backgrounds get asked to dance by eligible young men. After a couple of songs, apprehension ate away at your calm demeanor as you wondered if standing at the sidelines in the balls to come would be your fate. Beside you, the Count shifted uncomfortably, and you took notice of his knitted brows as he scanned the room for someone before excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd.

Just when you’d resigned yourself to a dance-less evening and twiddled with your dance card, a pair of black boots stood before you and captured your attention. You looked up to find yourself face to face with the man that would become your fiancé—Toru Oikawa, the Duke of Seijoh.

He was everything a young man should’ve been and more. He was effortlessly charming and handsome with his velvety brown eyes that remained fixed on you throughout that evening, tousled brown locks that added to his boyish looks, and a roguish smile that never failed to take your breath away.

Toru remained by your side that entire evening. The two of you spent half of the evening dancing and the other half talking about your interests and hobbies. It didn’t take much for an innocent girl like you to fall for the first man that spared you any attention, so by the end of the evening, when Toru placed a gentle kiss on your gloved hand, you were already half in love with the man.

Toru spent a considerable amount of time wooing you during those two months prior to your engagement in your defense. He called upon your home at least three times a week, during which the two of you split your time in your drawing room conversing over tea, admiring your estate’s gardens, or promenading through the town.

It was during those times that you realized just how popular your suitor was simply from the jealous stares that ladies would send your way. At first, it was easy to ignore them, but as time went on and they grew bolder in their actions, you often found yourself biting back tears during assemblies or rejecting tea invitations to avoid subjecting yourself to their snipes.

While being the object of the Duke of Seijoh’s interest did ostracize you from the other ladies, you found that it was worth it as long as Toru’s charming smiles and warm words continued to fill your dull life with love. That was the belief you held onto up until that fateful morning when Toru arrived with flowers and an engagement ring before getting down on one knee. Besides your initial meeting at the debutante ball, the day of your engagement was the happiest day of your life, made even more special by one of the Count’s rare smiles and an albeit awkward embrace.

Unlike the fantasy you had already concocted in your mind, the reality of your engagement was disheartening to say the least. Toru stopped visiting your home altogether and avoided you at balls and other social events. While you hid away in corners, sipped on a glass of port, and made-up excuses for him, Toru fluttered about the assembly rooms chattering away with friends and dancing with ladies that never failed to mock you afterwards.

During those rare occasions when he graced you with his presence, any complaints you took up with Toru were shot down as petty jealousy. His smile would disappear from his handsome face, and his eyebrows would knit together as if you were submitting him to a torture session by just speaking with him.

“What other proof of my love do you need?” He would ask and raise your ring-clad hand for effect. “You will be my duchess and the mother of my children. That is all that should matter to you.”

You spent the majority of the fall and winter seasons planning for your wedding with only the guidance of the Marchioness of Niiyama. She had been widowed at the young age of twenty and had inherited her husband’s title, but above all, she was Toru’s childhood friend. While you found the Marchioness witty and extremely helpful when it came to wedding planning and understanding Toru, you found yourself missing your deceased mother more than ever and wondered what sort of advice she would give regarding your relationship.

The only time you saw Toru was during the Christmas celebrations and official events where the two of you were expected to attend as a couple. Other than that, you didn’t see or hear from your fiancé and spent your days wondering what went wrong while ignoring the conclusion you came to every time.

Those thoughts would continue to plague your mind until the last ball of the spring season when you decided to take a stroll in the gardens only to find Toru and the person that had been your confidante over the last couple of months—the Marchioness. Her long willowy arms were wrapped around Toru’s frame with her gloved fingers tangled in his brown locks as the two shared a lover’s kiss.

The sight was like falling into frigid waters. A numbness washed over, and you stood frozen in place while the air around you thickened until you couldn’t breathe. There was a disconnect between your body that remained still and your mind that was full of screaming thoughts demanding you move, confront them, or leave the premises altogether. It wasn’t until you locked eyes with the marchioness that the spell you were under broke, and you fled the scene with hot tears stinging your eyes.

That night was the first time you cried in front of your father since the death of your mother. It was also the first time you personally asked him for anything and, to your surprise, he acquiesced.

For the remainder of that night, the house was abuzz in preparation for your departure at dawn. You also didn’t sleep a wink that night and instead gathered all of the letters, dresses, bonnets, and gloves Toru sent and tossed them into the fire. With swollen eyes and still in your ball gown, you sat in front of the fire and watched the items you once treasured burn until the flames died out and only ashes were left.

In the end, you left for your family’s country estate before the rays of the sun peeked over the horizon but not before taking off the ring on your left hand’s fourth finger and leaving it on the windowsill of your bedchamber.

“Apologies for the delay, my lady, but we’ll be arriving in the evening.” Henry called out to you from his seat at the front.

“Thank you for letting me know, Henry.” You replied and continued to flip through the documents you’d prepared prior to leaving your country estate.

When your sorrow turned into indignation, you decided to do everything in your power to put an end to your engagement. What started as a simple letter asking your father to end things with Toru on your behalf snowballed into endless hours of research and lessons on all matters relating to your family’s properties, business ventures, and finances. The catalyst? Your father’s curt reply explaining the details of your engagement contract.

The engagement also includes a business deal the duke struck up with me that will save us from ruin. It cannot be broken off simply because you’ve fallen out of love with him. Stop this nonsense and come home immediately.

Your Father,

Now a year later, you returned with a vast amount of knowledge on your family’s businesses and the large debt accumulated from decades of bad business moves. It was a sheer miracle your family hadn’t lost your properties yet, and it was easy to see why your father had readily agreed to an engagement with someone as powerful as Toru Oikawa.

He had offered your father enough money to settle your family’s debts and then some to invest back into Seijoh’s multiple businesses. While it was a fair enough deal on the surface, you couldn’t help but wonder why Toru had chosen you. If it was purely to find a wife and gain a life-long investor, there were plenty of other families in dire situations with daughters of marriageable age that would’ve fit the bill. Whatever his reasoning, you made it your mission to find out during your inevitable encounter with him.

The tired whinny of the horses woke you from your slumber to an almost pitch-black carriage. Henry rustled outside while you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and straightened your bonnet. The door opened a moment later, and your footman greeted you with a weary smile and an extended hand.

“Welcome home, my lady.”

You took his hand and stepped down in front of your family’s estate, illuminated for the night. Although smaller than your family’s country estate, the imposing white stone building had been your family’s ancestral seat for generations and held memories that you either held near and dear to your heart or buried in the darkest corners of your mind.

“Rest well, Henry.” You said and gave your footman a small smile. “You’ve worked hard.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Henry replied with a low bow before returning to the carriage.

Turning to face your home, the front doors opened, and a blanket of light from home illuminated the pathway before you. Almost immediately, a flurry of maids exited the building and made their way to you, wearing sheepish looks and emitting a cacophony of apologies for not greeting you properly. Walking into your home surrounded by bustling maids and butlers carrying your luggage, you took a deep breath and braced yourself for the mess that awaited you.

While a year ago, the sight of hundreds of lilacs would have brought tears of joy to your eyes, the pungent fragrance of your favorite flower that filled your bedroom made you nauseous the longer you remained. You raised a handkerchief to your face and picked up one of the dozens of turquoise name cards attached to the bouquets that, sure enough, had Toru Oikawa printed in gold.

Crumpling the name card, you turned to your maids. “Get these out of my sight. The smell is making me ill.”

The maids exchanged a confused look before one of them spoke up. “But, my lady, His Grace delivered these himself—”

“I’m well aware of that fact,” you replied, tossing the crumpled name card onto a bouquet. “But I still want them taken out immediately.”

“Y-yes, my lady, right away!”

As the maids went to work, a knock on the door caught your attention, and you found the head butler standing at the door. The sight was one you were accustomed to and, wordlessly, you approached the elder man already knowing what he’d say.

“Greetings, my lady. I hope your trip wasn’t too tiring.” He said with a slight bow

“I’m assuming father wants to see me?” You replied curtly.

“Yes, Lord L/N is waiting for you in his study. Please, allow me to escort you there.”

“There is no need for that. I will see myself there.” Noticing the weary look on his wrinkled face, you softened your tone. “You may retire for the night.”

After dismissing the butler and removing your travel coat and bonnet, you made your way to your father’s study on the other side of the manor. Standing outside the study, you straightened your dress and took a deep breath before knocking once on the large mahogany door.

“Come in,” a low voice rumbled from the other side, and you opened the double doors to reunite with your father.

The Count sat at a table instead of his desk and upon closer inspection, you noticed the array of pastries accompanied by a teapot and two cups. The refreshments caught you off guard, and you stood awkwardly trying to process the situation that was unlike any of the other meetings with your father.

While you were sure some fathers excessively doted on their daughters, the Count wasn’t one of them and only grew more distant after the death of your mother. He either remained locked away in his study or went on business trips. Family dinners happened only once a month, and even then, they were stiff affairs with him asking about your education and you replying with short answers. The only semblance of affection from him came in the form of gifts with short notes delivered to you by the head butler. It was in those notes that your father would awkwardly convey his affection by congratulating you on an academic achievement or wishing you a happy birthday.

“Sit, Y/N,” the Count stated gesturing to the chair across from him. “I had them prepare this fresh for your arrival.”

“Thank you,” you replied and took a seat, settling your hands on your lap.

The Count took a sip from his cup, and when you didn’t partake of the food, he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Must you make things so complicated from the get-go?”

Any fondness you felt at the sight of your father and the display he prepared for you dissipated the moment he uttered those disgruntled words.

“I apologize if my wanting of a respectful husband complicates things for you.”

Your thinly veiled anger was somewhat of a shock to your father, who had never been on the receiving end of it. He cleared his throat and replaced his surprise with a look of disapproval.

“Whatever happened a year ago, I am certain that Oikawa has thoroughly repented. He’s been visiting me over the past six months for news of you since you never replied to his letters. He even spent the entire day waiting for your return.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest while a harsh, derisive laugh ripped from your throat. “Yes, I’m sure the lucrative deal the two of you made had absolutely nothing to do with his visits. Tell me, father, how much more did he offer you?”

The Count averted his gaze and lightly shook his head. “You’ve changed so much I hardly recognize you. Was his transgression so great to turn you into this?”

“I doubt whatever I say will change your mind on the matter.” You replied coldly and took a bite from a cookie. “I just hope whatever he offered didn’t affect our agreement.”

He took another sip from his tea and fixed his gaze on you, his own face undecipherable. You steeled your resolve under his scrutiny and held your breath waiting for his answer.

“If you can find another alternative, be it via marriage or not, that will provide our family with the funds needed to get us back on our feet, I will do everything in my power to annul the engagement.”

You exhaled. “Thank y-”

“But you must receive him when he comes tomorrow,” the Count concluded, setting down his teacup.

You finished your cookie and stood up. “I already planned on it. Thank you for the dessert. I shall take my leave now.”

The Count nodded his approval and you sank into a curtsey before turning your heel and leaving your father’s study. Once outside, you leaned back against the large double doors, relishing your small victory against your father.

Despite being completely worn out from the trip, you tossed and turned in bed only managing a couple hours of sleep as thoughts of Toru filled your mind. While it was relatively easy to occupy your mind with other things during the day, he was a constant figure in your head at night that  always invaded your dreams.

Toru Oikawa still resided within your heart, whether you chose to admit it or not, and your father’s revelation of his visits during your time away proved it. It had been a fleeting sensation but your heart had wavered in that moment.

By the time the sun rose over the horizon, you had already bathed, dressed, and sat on your room’s balcony nibbling on a plate of fruit. It was all you could stomach while you waited for Toru’s impending arrival.

“Would you like me to style your hair, my lady?” The outspoken maid from the day before inquired hesitantly.

Raising a hand to your hair, you considered her suggestion for a moment before deciding against it. A year ago, you would have spent all morning primping for Toru’s visit, but the situation was different now, and there was no need for elaborate hairstyles.

“That won’t be necessary.”

You’d just finished your breakfast when you heard the faint whinnies of a horse that only grew louder. Rising from your seat, you were able to make out a male figure on horseback wearing a navy-blue tailcoat that approached your home. As the gentleman drew closer, his wind-swept brown hair came to view, and that was all you needed to verify his identity.

You wrung the cloth napkin in your hands before dropping it on your plate. “It seems we have a visitor to greet.”

The reunion between you and Toru was one that you’d played out in your mind many times over the course of the year. You’d memorized impassioned speeches and even practiced storming out of the room, yet nothing could have prepared you for the torrent of emotions that washed over you the moment you stepped into the drawing room where Toru waited.

He was on his feet as soon as you entered, tugging on his silver waistcoat as his eyes swept over your form. It had only been a year yet Toru seemed to have aged five. While still handsome, his boyish looks were gone and replaced with a weariness beyond his twenty-three years. Instead of the air of confidence he once gave off, the Toru before you appeared hesitant and—dare you say it—ashamed.

It wasn’t until his brown eyes locked onto yours that a glimmer of the light that used to radiate within his orbs appeared, and you felt your legs tremble with every step you took. A ragged breath left his lips that broke into a hesitant smile before he took a step forward that turned into another until he was able to take you into his arms.

“My love,” he breathed into the crook of your neck. “You’re back.”

You couldn’t breathe or move, as he tightened his hold around you. All you could do was stand there and feel every shallow breath he took as his entire body trembled against yours. He held you with a desperation that made your chest tighten and throat close up.

“I-I thought I lost you, Y/N,” Toru murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you that I’ll do everything in my power to make it all up. I’ll make you the happiest woman alive and you’ll never regret giving me this second chance. Oh, my love, I’m so happy you’re back that-”

Every word he spoke was like a needle poking and prodding at you until the pain became too much and you broke free from the trance you were in. A snarl ripped through your throat and you pushed Toru away with all of your strength.

“Let. Go!”

He stumbled backwards, steadying himself with a chair, and looked back at you as if you’d struck him across the face instead of breaking free from his suffocating hold. For a moment, you almost felt guilty for rejecting him when you saw the distress in his eyes, but the memory of his betrayal resurfaced and anger took ahold of you once more.

“You’re gravely mistaken if you think I have forgiven you, Your Grace. You and the Marchioness have shamed me in the worst possible way and I refuse to submit myself to a life of misery by your side. If I am meeting you today, it is only to put an end to this engagement. I’m sure you and your lover can find another girl to fool.”

Your voice quivered and tears stung your eyes, but you kept your head held high as the words tumbled out of your mouth like water bursting from a dam.

The color drained from Toru’s face as he stared at you aghast. His mouth opened and closed a multitude of times before it settled into a thin line. He tore his eyes from you, running a hand through his hair before a defeated sigh escaped him.

“You didn’t read my letters, did you?” He asked, facing you once again with the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes.

Your throat constricted painfully but you answered him anyway. “No, I didn’t and I refuse to do so. I’ve had enough of your lies and false proclamations of love-”

“I do love you!”

Toru’s declaration came out hurried, ragged, and desperate. It reverberated off the walls of the drawing room and echoed in your ears eliciting a shallow gasp from your trembling lips.

“I fell in love with you over the course of our courtship.” He admitted, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “It wasn’t what I expected. You...weren’t what I expected. Before I knew it, I found myself wanting to be by your side. You’re so beautiful, intelligent, and devoted and the moments I spent with you were the happiest I’d ever been in my entire life.”

“Why me?” You asked the question that had been on your mind for months, unable to wait any longer. “Why did you pick me?”

Toru’s shoulder’s drooped and dejection replaced desperation. “Your father’s title, your family name that is as old as the royal family itself, and your financial situation were all factors that singled you out as the best candidate.”

“Did…the Marchioness have any say in the matter?” Your voice was so quiet it wouldn’t have surprised you if he hadn’t heard it at all. There was a long silence and all you could hear was the drumming of your heart against your chest. Just when you were about to repeat the question, Toru spoke.

“She was the one that brought up your name.”

His words were like a slap to your face.

“Leave! At once! I cannot stand being in the same room with you.” You glared daggers at the man not caring if he was a duke and you the daughter of a mere count.

“Please allow me to explain the situation! It’s not what you think—”

“There is nothing to explain, Your Grace. Our relationship is over and if you don’t annul our engagement then I will find a way to do it myself.”

Your threat washed away the obstinacy in Toru’s eyes and a haunting hollow look glossed over them. His hand released the chair he’d been holding onto for the majority of your encounter, and he dragged his feet towards the door.

He surprised you by stopping beside you, and for a moment, you believed he would take you into his arms once again and beg you to forgive him. Only, he didn’t.

“Read the letters I sent you. They contain everything I’ve ever wanted to tell you. Only then will I agree to put an end to our engagement.”

His words haunted you throughout the day up until the evening when you sat at your desk and traced the turquoise seal on one of Toru’s letters. It would have been so easy to break the seals and read through the letters but the thought of falling prey to his pretty words stopped you.

The following morning, the plan to end your engagement and save your family from ruin started with a package from the investigator you hired back in the country. Within it you pulled out pages and pages of information on all of the families of the aristocracy. The reports included the names and ages of the members, the business endeavors of each of the families, and the properties they owned. Other details were also included like their financial status, list of acquaintances, and town gossip.

Over the course of a week, you were able to go through each report and compile a list of potential families you could strike up a deal with. The longer you delved into the background of every family on that list, the shorter said list became until one last name stood out amongst the rest—Kageyama.

According to the report, Viscount Kageyama had been successful in his business endeavors over the last couple of years and it was all thanks to his prodigal son. At the young age of twenty-one, Tobio Kageyama was racking up accomplishments left and right with no sign of slowing down. With a military background like his father, he was an excellent athlete and hunter and won almost all of the competitions he participated in. It was his eye for business ventures and investments, however, that caught your attention and made him a possible marriage candidate.

Over the past three years, he’d managed to turn his family’s failing businesses into prosperous ones and used those profits to invest in other groundbreaking ventures. That was the sort of advice you and your father needed to turn your debts into profits and it just so happened that Tobio wasn’t engaged to anyone.

You found that odd.

For a young man of his age with an acceptable family background and a natural talent for business to be without a fiancée was unheard of. The mothers of society would never let a man like him slip past their radars so you sought to find out why.

Rummaging through his family’s report, you searched for the list of acquaintances hoping to find a mutual one that might give you more information on him. Your eyes stopped on a last name that you’d recognized from an invitation to a tea party that would take place in two days’ time.

Turning away from the document, you called out to the outspoken maid that always seemed to be in the room when you needed her. “What is your name?”

“It is Akane, my lady.” She replied with a deep curtsey. “How can I be of service?”

You smiled, thoroughly pleased with how quick-witted she was. “Send word to the Yachi estate letting them know I will be attending Lady Hitoka’s tea party.”

Akane’s eyes flitted to the table then back to you before a small smile played on her lips. “Right away, my lady.”

Hitoka Yachi was somewhat of an outcast in polite society despite her caring and gentle personality. Her mother was an outspoken countess in her own right that had married for love and, and as a result, Hitoka was an heiress—something that was frowned upon by most. The two of you had bonded over the fact that you both had lost a parent at a young age; she had lost her father and you’d lost your mother.

Over the course of the year, you’d exchanged a letter here and there with Hitoka, and she’d been kind enough to reach out when you returned. While you initially hadn’t planned on attending social events until you’d broken your engagement, you figured rekindling your relationship with Hitoka while garnering information on her friend, Tobio, wouldn’t be too bad.

The day of the tea party, you dressed in a simple cotton dress with small flowers printed on the fabric and had Akane sweep your hair into a simple updo. Since the death of your mother, maids had come and gone under the head maid’s strict supervision, but none of them had stood out like Akane. You found her a smart and observant girl that worked as your eyes and ears around the estate. For that reason, you decided to keep her close and had her accompany you during your outing.

The Yachi’s manor was located in the outskirts of town and gave off the appearance of a large country home while less than an hour away from town. It was a beautiful home surrounded by gardens that, in the spring, bloomed exquisite flowers of all shapes, shades, and sizes.

You were escorted to the rose garden by one of the manor’s butlers where Hitoka and another young woman were already seated at a table filled to the edge with pastries, bite-sized sandwiches, fruits, and a porcelain teapot with matching cups and saucers.

“Y/N!” Hitoka exclaimed and leapt to feet and took your hands into hers. “Oh, it’s been far too long!”

“It’s nice to see you again, Hitoka,” you replied earnestly. “Thank you for your wonderful letters this past year. They were a great comfort to me.”

A pretty blush dusted her cheeks. “I’m glad my silly letters had such a wonderful effect.”

She drew you to the table where her other guest was standing by. Upon closer inspection, the young woman’s distinct black shining hair and stormy blue eyes triggered your memory and her name resurfaced just as Hitoka introduced you.

“Kiyoko, this Y/N L/N.” Hitoka said, gesturing to you. “Y/N, this is Kiyoko Sawamura.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kiyoko.”

“Likewise, Lady Y/N.” She replied, her voice quiet but firm.

The three of you took your seats and Hitoka took the lead in the conversation cluing you in on what they’d been discussing. You caught a couple of words here and there but your main focus was on the woman to your left.

Three years ago at her debut, Kiyoko Sawamura had been declared a diamond of the first water by the Queen herself and had caused quite a stir amongst all of the eligible bachelors at the time. As the only daughter of the Duke of Karasuno, not only was she stunningly gorgeous but she came from a noble family whose wealth and power surpassed even that of the Oikawa’s. Her engagement to Yuji Terushima, heir to the Marquess of Johzenji, had been the announcement of the year—at least until the annulment three months later.

Rumors ran rampant that summer over what had actually happened but they all lead back to a cheating scandal involving Yuji and a maid from his household. Of course, Kiyoko faced the brunt of the ordeal since Yuji fled society like a coward along with his maid who ended up pregnant with his child, but she never succumbed to the pressure and kept her head held high with the support of her family. The last piece of gossip you’d heard regarding Kiyoko was that she’d found love with the son of Baron Tanaka.

To say you admired the woman was an understatement; she was everything you wanted to be but never could. Where she had braved society, you had fled to the country for a year like a coward.

Hitoka’s cheery voice broke through your cloud of dark thoughts. “…he’s been trying to get Tobio to attend more social events for the past two years, and he finally succeeded! Tobio will be attending Viscount Udai’s ball this Saturday.”

“I told you if anyone would be able to convince him it would be Shoyo. After all, they are best friends whether they admit it or not,” Kiyoko replied before taking a sip of her tea.

“Tobio Kageyama will be attending a ball?” You muttered, mostly to yourself but Hitoka heard you and responded.

“Yes! Are you acquainted with him, Y/N?”

“No, I am not,” you admitted sheepishly and made up an excuse on the spot. “My father mentioned him the other day and spoke of his achievements.”

“He is very talented when it comes to making money, but I just wish he would let people see the other sides of him. He’s actually a kind person underneath his gruff exterior,” Hitoka lamented before changing the course of the conversation.

“Will you also be attending the ball with His Grace?”

You plastered a smile on your face and prayed it looked genuine. “I’m not sure if Toru will be able to attend but I certainly plan on it.”

Despite your relationship with Hitoka, the real reason behind your leave wasn’t something you disclosed to her or anyone else for that matter. You had already dealt with enough ridicule from being Toru’s slighted fiancée and had no desire to add more fuel to the fire by revealing the details behind his betrayal.

“He must be awfully busy these days. It’s been months since he has attended any large social gatherings.”

Your friend’s revelation was shocking to say the least, and the smile on your face faltered. Kiyoko’s sharp gaze immediately zeroed in on your face, but her scrutiny only lasted a second before it was gone.

“Ruling over a duchy is no easy feat. My father is very strict with my brother’s education.”

“Oh, how is Daichi these days? I saw Yui the other day at the modiste and…”

Hitoka’s chatter faded into the background and her revelation of Toru’s absence in society echoed in your head. You had expected Toru to take advantage of your absence to the fullest and yet he hadn’t. A single thought amidst the storm in your mind stood out amongst the rest, and your heart wavered.

Maybe he’s truly become a changed man.

And yet, the cursed image that had been branded in your mind returned and dashed away that hopeful thought, replacing it with a more cynical one.

Or maybe he’s just showing his devotion to his true love, the Marchioness.

For the remainder of the gathering, your mind continued to drift to and from the conversation until the refreshments were cleared and the sun began to set. After bidding the ladies farewell, you returned to your carriage with Akane following closely behind you.

“Akane, do we still have some of the tea leaves I brought with me from the country?”

“Yes, my lady. I daresay there is enough to give away.” Akane replied and you smiled before turning to face your perceptive maid and ally.

“Good. Have some packed and sent to Lady Hitoka and Lady Kiyoko.” You paused before adding, “and save some for yourself. You’ve earned it.”

While you could have easily waited until the Viscount’s ball to be introduced to Tobio, time was of the essence and you needed to set your plan in motion prior to meeting him. If everything went as planned and Tobio proved to be receptive to an agreement—be it one of marriage or not—then the ball would be the perfect place to present your terms and come to a verbal agreement.

With that in mind, you started drafting a letter to Tobio introducing yourself as Hitoka’s friend and provided him with a brief outline of what you wanted, offered, and how it would benefit him and his family. You reread the letter thrice and debated including the possibility of a marriage between the two of you. From what you’d gathered, Tobio Kageyama was a straightforward man that valued honesty, so you added it in while making it clear that it would be one of mutual respect. You knew it was risky sending a letter to a man who was no better than a stranger but it was a risk you were willing to take.

The couple of days prior to the ball you spent preoccupying your mind with business and family matters to steer your mind away from Tobio’s pending reply. It wasn’t until a day before the ball that Akane interrupted you to bring you your correspondence. There was a sealed letter and one short message that you picked up and read without a second thought.

 I will not ask to escort you to Viscount Udai’s ball as I do not deserve that honor. I only ask that you not deny me the first dance as your fiancé.

Yours,

Toru

 As much as you dreaded the idea of being in the same social function as Toru, let alone dancing with him, you had appearances to keep up and would have to permit it for propriety’s sake. You tried not to dwell too much on his intimate farewell address and shifted your gaze to the sealed letter, which upon closer inspection, had the Kageyama family crest pressed into the navy-blue wax. With trembling fingers, you broke the seal and unfolded the paper, ever eager to read its contents.

 Lady Y/N,

I was very surprised when I read your letter simply because I did not know who you were. Now that I am more familiar with you and your family, I am interested in your offer and would like to speak with you more at Viscount Udai’s gathering.

Until then,

Tobio Kageyama

 A sigh of relief left your lips. Your gamble had paid off and Tobio was considering your offer. If you played your cards right during your meeting then it would only be a matter of time before you would be free of Toru Oikawa while saving your family.

Your eyes stole a glance at Toru’s note. While you should have tossed the note into the fire, your fingers ran over the dry ink until they stopped at the word before his name. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you took his note and placed it inside the wooden box that contained his other letters.

According to Akane, Viscount Udai’s ball was rumored to be the grandest event of the season and when you stepped out of your carriage with Henry’s help and peered up at the bustling and glowing manor, you found no fault in her statement.

The ballroom was brightly illuminated with chandeliers of glass. Curtains and elaborate tapestries of white and gold lined the walls. White flowers of all sorts hung from the ceilings, lined the doors, and wrapped around columns. The room was something out of a fairytale and the people that filled it had all dressed the part. Glancing around the room, you searched for a familiar face only to hear your name called.

“Y/N!”

Hitoka stood on the other side of the ballroom surrounded by Kiyoko and other gentlemen you didn’t recognize. One of the gentlemen turned his head in your direction and stopped when he saw you. Approaching the small party, your attention remained fixed on the man whose midnight blue eyes were glued to your face with an intensity that unnerved you.

Hitoka’s gloved hands reached out to yours and drew you into the circle of people. Now facing the gentleman, his gaze softened slightly before it shifted to Hitoka.

“Y/N, this is Tobio Kageyama. He’s the man I was telling you about the other day.”

Hitoka’s hand patted Tobio’s upper arm before addressing him. “Tobio, this is Y/N L/N. She’s the friend that just arrived from the country.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.” You replied demurely and sank into a curtsey.

“Likewise, my lady.” Tobio’s reply was stiff but his bow was even stiffer and earned him an elbow to the ribs from the shorter man beside him.

Introductions to the other two gentlemen were made and you learned that the shorter man next to Tobio was none other than Shoyo Hinata, a famous jockey and son of a Baron. The man with a roguish grin next to Kiyoko turned out to be her fiancée, Ryunosuke Tanaka.

At that moment, the musicians took their seats and readied their instruments while the room exploded with young men and women finding their partners for the first dance. Your eyes swept over the room in a cursory glance, and to your relief, Toru was nowhere to be found.

Kiyoko and her fiancée left to the dance floor first. They were soon followed by Shoyo and Hitoka but not before the former shot Tobio a pointed look and gestured over to you with a tilt of his head. You found the jockey’s not-so-subtle indication amusing but played off having seen anything. Tobio cleared his throat and you turned your head to face him.

“May I have this dance, my—”

“No, you may not.”

Toru’s voice rang out from behind you. It had a hard-edged quality to it that you’d never heard and sent shivers down your spine. Before you could turn around, his hands settled on your hip and hand. The intimacy of the gesture left you stunned and unable to reject him.

“My fiancée has already promised me her first dance.”

Toru’s warm breath tickled your exposed neck and set your face aflame. Tobio shifted his weight and the action garnered your attention. His brow was furrowed as his eyes searched yours for an explanation you couldn’t give him.

Still in your stupor, Toru drew you away to the dance floor. You opened your mouth to say something but the music started and the couples around you bowed and curtseyed in greeting before they began to move.

The muted chatter around you, the soft music in the background, and Toru’s eyes, darker than usual, drinking in your appearance left you speechless. He looked as handsome as ever in his black tailcoat, golden waistcoat, tousled chocolate brown locks, straight nose, and a pink inviting mouth. Completely mesmerized by him, any ill-will you bore him became non-existent. You drowned in his dangerous pools of brown that disarmed you and left you bare. His touch burned through the fabric of your dress and gloves, branding you with his hands.

It was like the first time you ever danced with him only it wasn’t. Where butterflies had once fluttered about in your stomach, waves of something now swirled within you and pooled at your core. It was terrifying and yet you wanted more. So when the piece came to an end and Toru’s ragged breath fanned on your face, you tilted your head hoping he would close the gap.

Except he didn’t. You didn’t let him because across the room was the face of the last person you wanted to see—the Marchioness.

Her face held no malice as she watched you but she looked almost relieved and it shook you to your core.

“My love.” Toru’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “W-what is it?”

You didn’t answer him. Your eyes remained fixed on the marchioness. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly before turning towards one of the doors. She took three steps before turning back to face you and then she continued until she disappeared from the ballroom.

Toru reached for your hand but you side-stepped him and dashed out of the room; your name blending in with the music and chatter the further you got.

The corridors were dimly lit compared to the ballroom but you could still make out the marchioness’s silhouette in the distance. Her pale face turned to you before walking further away and entering a room. You bounded down the hallway until you reached the room and found the marchioness standing before a large French window. The room was dark except for the moonlight that spilled in and illuminated the center of the room.

“Close the door.”

You hesitated before reaching for the double doors and pushing them until you heard a click. Turning around you found the marchioness already watching you. She was as beautiful as ever with her porcelain skin, golden curls styled fashionably, and rosebud mouth. Her cat-like eyes softened in a way you’d never seen before—not even when she pretended to be your friend and ally.

“Why did you appear before me? What do you want?”

“Technically you appeared before me. This is my home after all,” She replied, a hint of mirth in her voice.

You staggered back. “W-what do you mean?”

“I remarried and am now Viscountess Udai.”

“I-I don’t…why?” Your feet took you forward until you were an arm’s length away from her. “What about Toru? I saw you with him…the two of you…that day.”

She sighed and turned her head, fixing her eyes on the wooden desk beside her. “That is the reason I had you follow me here. It’s high time I confess my sins to you.”

Her eyes looked back at you and the whirlwind of emotions swirling in them left you stunned. In the months you got to know her you knew her to be a charming but cold woman, so seeing her so vulnerable shook you to your core.

“Since I was a girl, I had always envied Toru. He had two parents that adored him and did everything in their power to ensure his happiness. My parents were the exact opposite and sold me off to the highest bidder when I was just sixteen. My late husband was a beast of a man that was forty years my senior. He had poor health but an even worse temper and wouldn’t hesitate to beat me until I passed out from the pain. It was then that Toru lost his parents in an accident, and I started to use him to make myself feel better. I tried manipulating him into thinking I was the only person who could be by his side. That I could be his friend, lover, and family. It worked for a while but when Toru started drifting away from my hold…”

Her voice that had been growing thicker with emotion broke down. Sobs wracked from her body as she slipped off her black lace glove. Under the moonlight you could make out pale scars on the underside of her forearm.

“I started to hurt myself and that kept him by my side until he met you.”

Your chest tightened painfully and tears stung your eyes but you didn’t let them fall.

“He needed a wife to fulfil his mother’s wish and I picked you for him. I believed he would remain loyal to me, but I was wrong. Day by day, Toru fell more in love with you and left me behind. When he received your father’s blessing to officially propose, I was so desperate to hold on to him that I lied to him. I promised to let him go after your marriage if he neglected you during your engagement. But that night in the garden, he declared his unyielding love for you, and I did everything I could to kill that love.”

She wiped away her tears while you let yours fall. She took a couple of deep breaths whereas a ball lodged itself inside your throat and blocked the air.

“I dare not ask for forgiveness. I only ask that you not blame Toru for my sins.”

Unable to utter a word, you managed a solemn nod before turning your heel and leaving the room. The darkness of the corridor left you hollow, the noise from the ballroom rang painfully in your ears, and the air around you was stifling. Everything about the place was suffocating, so instead of returning to the ball, you rounded the corner and left.

Upon exiting your carriage, you ignored everyone and bounded up the stairs to your bedroom before locking the door and forbidding entry for anyone. Heaving from the exertion, you lunged for the wooden box on your nightstand and set it on your desk with a thud. After taking a seat, you lit a candlestick and took out the first of twelve letters.

With trembling hands, you finally broke the turquoise seal and unfolded the paper to read Toru’s side of the story.

After you read the letters once, you sobbed into your hands until the candlestick burned out. You reread them and cursed yourself for being so oblivious—so blind—to the pain in his heart. The third time, your heart swelled with affection for your father who did everything he could to ensure you would be happy with Toru prior to allowing the proposal to take place. The fourth time, you pulled out a piece of paper and wrote to Tobio rescinding your offer and offering your most sincere apologies. By the time you finished rereading the twelfth letter for the fifth time, the birds outside were chirping signaling dawn.

You stood up abruptly and glanced out the window to find the rose-colored light of the sun’s rays peeking over the horizon.

I have to see him.

After washing your face, you discarded your ball gown in favor of a simple cotton dress and a woolen shawl. You picked up the letter addressed to Tobio and opened the door.

Akane, who had evidently been sleeping at your door, tumbled backwards and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Oh! A-apologies, my lady, but I waited to see if you needed anything and…”

You crouched down and helped the girl up to her feet. “Thank you, Akane, for everything you do. You are my most treasured ally.”

Her caramel-colored eyes welled up with tears that she wiped away with her sleeve. “H-how can I help you, my lady?”

You handed her the letter. “Have this sent to the Kageyama estate as soon as possible. Also let my father know that I will not be cancelling my engagement.”

Akane’s eyes lingered on your coat and a smile played on her lips as she replied, “right away, my lady.”

Outside the confines of your home, you breathed in the cool morning air and bolted down the white stone steps, setting off for Toru’s estate. Trudging through the grass and kicking up the rocks of your front lawn, you were full of energy despite not having slept a wink. The negative emotions that had weighed you down since your engagement were lifted and all you could think about was Toru. You wanted to drink in the sight of him, touch his face, run your fingers through his hair, and wrap your arms around him never to let go.

Your front gate eventually came to view, but before that, the backside of a man standing near your family’s fountain appeared and your breath caught in your throat.

Tall, broad shoulders underneath a black coat, and wind-swept brown hair, you knew who it was before he turned around.

Toru’s velvet brown eyes widened and his lips parted at the sight of you. He looked perfectly disheveled in his plain white shirt, unbuttoned, and exposing his chest, and grey trousers that looked like they’d seen better days. Like a moth to a flame, you drew closer until he was in front of you.

“I-I had to see you,” he admitted. “You disappeared from the ball and—”

“She told me…what actually happened.”

His eyes widened. “I must tell you—”

You reached for his hands, not able to hold back any longer. “You already have.” You brushed your thumbs against his knuckles and felt his pulse quicken. “I read your letters…multiple times.”

“I’m sorry, truly,” he breathed.

“I know, and I’m sorry as well. I should’ve given you a chance to explain. I should’ve read them sooner.” You released his hands and stared into his eyes, lips trembling. “If I’m too late an—”

His mouth descended upon yours in a kiss that silenced the words on your tongue. His oh-so- soft lips felt like satin on yours and you melted into his arms that wrapped around you and drew you closer to him. The swirling heat in your core returned and you wrapped your arms around his back, eager to see where the sensation led you.

Toru broke away from the kiss first, leaning his forehead against yours and taking in shallow ragged breaths. A whine escaped your lips and the embarrassing noise set your cheeks aflame. Toru laughed and pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Patience, my love. We have the rest of our lives for this.” He assured you and drew you into a loving embrace.

His sweet words sounded like a promise to your ears and tears of joy prickled your eyes from simply imagining your future with Toru, the man you loved and had never stopped loving.

[sneezefiction]

answers

oikawa x reader

desc: oikawa changes some lyrics in taylor swift’s song “love story”

a/n: please keep in mind that most of this is just humorous & there’s no serious characterization in this particular story. i laughed a lot while writing it :,,) for @cutiekawa because you gave me the idea; thank you for that! and also for @seroto-rin because this is very similar to your husband’s lyric changing habits lol – i still laugh whenever i think about it <3 warnings: language, mentions drinking/being drunk

wc: 3k

— It’s 2 am when you hear Oikawa pattering down the hallway and past your room. From the gentle footsteps and the occasional whisper of “shit” when the floor creaks, it's obvious that he’s trying to stay quiet.

But his attempts are in vain because, one, you’re wide awake and, two, he’s just knocked over an empty beer can from earlier. It was probably the one he’d left on the hall table – you’d told him to throw it away but he’d refused saying that he’d “throw it away in the morning when his arms weren’t so tired.” 

This is just karma.

The clatter of the aluminum on wooden floors echoes throughout the dorm. A much louder, especially frustrated, “fuck” follows right after it.

The word, though crass, sounds deceptively attractive on his tongue. But most things Oikawa-related just happen to be attractive. 

You muffle your laughter with a blanket. He’s probably disoriented from the alcohol – it’s only been an hour and 5 drinks each since you both called it a night. You’d headed straight to bed but he’d fallen asleep on the couch where you left him, hair a-mess and lips parted.

But, for someone who used to stay out till daybreak on weekends, he’s spent most Fridays hanging out with you instead.

This weekend was no different.

Oikawa ordered Thai takeout, you found a mindless Netflix series to binge, both of you had a little too much to drink, laughter ensued, the doe-eyed boy found his head in your lap, and…

You pull a face – one that goes unseen because of the dark, but you make it anyway.

Okay, that last part was a little different.

He’d had his head in your lap.

His head… in your… lap.

And, if you’re not mistaken (or delirious), you’d had your hands in his hair, twirling strands and tracing circles at the base of his neck. A foggy image of him gazing up at you with softened eyes, deep chocolate in color, begins to solidify. 

That lazy smile, a hand on your thigh, tresses tickling your skin...

You turn over in your bed, bunching up your sheets and holding them close to you like a shield of fabric — a flimsy, make-shift defense against tipsy mind-wandering. It isn’t very effective.

Your brain is not wandering but racing around this hand-in-hair realization.

Like an iron rod poking at hot embers, these prodding memories make your cheeks grow hotter by the millisecond. You bury your face in your pillow, embarrassment tight in your throat. 

Somehow you’d forgotten that he’d practically climbed into your lap. You’re not in the clear quite yet, but your brain is functioning well enough that it wishes you’d had a little more to drink – just enough to forget about it entirely. You starfish out on your bed, arms and legs dramatically splayed across the mattress.

Do (hot, charming, charismatic, windswept) flatmates usually get this... cuddly? Is that normal?

Does Iwaizumi wrap his arms around his roomies after a long day and a few bottles? How about Mattsun? Makki…?

Okay, no, none of them really seem like the type to get up close and personal with their roommates without good reason. Well, maybe Makki, but he’d do it to be a pain in the ass – not to charm the living-hell out of someone.

You try to take in a deep breath and wrap your head around what this means for you… but end up inhaling a feather from your pillow instead. As you hack and cough, you try to smother the noise in more cloth material – you really didn’t need him coming into your room, much less leaning over your bed to check on you.

Oikawa is messing with your head. 

If you knew any better, you’d have run away screaming the moment he’d asked you to room with him. No one that pretty and charismatic is good news. At least, not when it comes to shared housing.

But, here you are, writhing under the covers and hot like a fever all because he couldn’t keep to himself. Screw him and his charming smile for putting you in this position.

He either knows you’re crushing like he’s the last man on earth or he’s blissfully unaware and way too physically affectionate for his own good. 

You don’t dare consider that he likes you back though. Only deer and Olympic athletes made leaps like that. Oikawa had too many admirers… an irritating amount.

The blankets scrunch even tighter between your fists, likely thanking their maker that they don’t have nerve endings.

Every fiber of your being is begging to know if these feelings are reciprocated. You’d hate to live out the rest of this semester knowing the boy down the hall may not like you back. Worse, that he finds out you think he’s hot shit and doesn’t like you back – that would be unrequited love at its finest.

But, with a degree and your mental health on the line, why should you care about such minor, itty bitty, pointless details. 

This isn’t that big a deal.

And even if he did like you back? Well, Oikawa isn’t someone you can simply “pin down.” He comes with a distinctive, dramatic personality and a meddling side. Not to mention, he’s already the embodiment of chaos – he’s proven this to be true over the past 4 months he’s lived with you.

There’s a familiar squeak of the shower faucet handle and the hiss of hot water. You jump at the sound.

Maybe he’d forgotten, but your bedroom shares a very thin wall with the bathroom. Though you recall him saying he wanted to take a shower earlier, so you guess that he’s only just remembered.

You pick up your phone, blue light casting a less-than angelic glow on your sleepy face. You pray that TikTok will have some sort of life-changing “I’m in love with my hot, crazy flatmate” advice. Or that it will distract you from your inner turmoil. Either would be appreciated but the latter seems more likely.

Scrolling slowly, you get through about 3 videos before something else catches your attention.

There’s a deep reverberation buzzing through your wall. A gentle hum, much like a shower-concert lullaby.

But the noise is getting louder. And the humming? A lot more lyrical.

You shift into a sitting position, propping yourself up with your hands. With your side sunken into a pillow, you press your ear against the cool drywall. Your ears tune into the sound.

Oikawa, voice confident and free, is… singing.

“...But you were everything to me, I was begging you ‘please don’t go’…”

But he’s not just singing.

“And I said…”

He’s belting Taylor Swift with the enthusiasm of an 11-year-old Swiftie super-fan. Like the world would end if he didn’t put enough passion into this performance. Like the showerhead is his microphone and the surrounding tiles are his adoring audience.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting; all that's left to do is run...”

Most people would be pissed if their friend were singing in the shower at 2 am… but you can’t find it in yourself to be anything but enamored.

God, you hate him for doing this right now. Hate that he’s inadvertently endearing you to him. Hate that, no matter what you do, he’s somehow always there.

Pressed up against you on the couch, meeting you for dinner at his favorite restaurant, fussing at each other over a shitty cup of coffee in your even shittier kitchen, calling you when he needs somebody to keep him company at the library… 

“You'll be the prince & I'll be the princess…”

And now he’s accidentally serenading you with Taylor’s “Fearless” album. In the shower.

You facepalm, sinking into your hands, exasperated and just so… done.

You sink back down into the bedsheets, wishing your earbuds were nearby to drown out the regrettably adorable performance. 

“It's a love story y/n, just say ‘Yes.’”

And your heart drops, panic setting in like the touch down of a whirling tornado. A fire tornado. A fire tornado with frogs and lizards and sharp objects spinning around inside of it.

What… did he just say?

The lyrics… they were muffled. You definitely heard them incorrectly. You… you just need to get your ears checked. Yes, that’s it. That’s all there is to it. You’ll schedule an appointment first thing tomorrow morning.

Because who the fuck sings like that at 2 am in a shared dorm? And who the fuck puts someone else’s name into a song like that? No one? Yes, no one.

Especially not the Oikawa Tooru.

And especially not with your name.

Because that’s just... weird.

The grip on your phone is mighty – thank God for durable glass because any other material would’ve splintered or shattered in your hold. 

But what the hell.

“Y/n, save me, I've been feeling so alone,” he sings as though he were Beyoncé’s son.

This time it’s clear as day. Oikawa is definitely still out of it and he’s undoubtedly singing your name.

No, no, no.

“I keep waiting for you but you never come…”

You bolt out of bed, feet hitting the floor at lightning-strike speed.

“Is this in my head? I don't know what to think,”

In one swift movement, you fling the bedroom door open and rush down the hall. You shouldn’t be listening to this. 

“He knelt to the ground & pulled out a ring, and said...”

And before you can stop your hand, it’s knocking rapidly on the bathroom door.

There’s a gasp, what you assume to a bar of soap hitting the shower floor, and an abrupt silence that follows.

You’d only wanted to stop him from singing.

However, you hadn’t thought through what you were going to say to him about this whole... lyrical mess. Your face feels like the surface of the sun, burning and flaring and flushing. What are you supposed to do now?

Oikawa speaks up, voice quiet, “Hello?”

Shit.

Maybe if you’re careful you can get yourself out of this. Just act like you didn’t hear anything and bring it up tomorrow when you’re both thinking straight. A thorough and sober discussion would be needed.

You had questions. Questions that needed answers.

Why did he have his head in your lap? Had you said anything to him that you’d regret later? Does he like you? Where should you two place your boundaries if he doesn’t like you back? And why Taylor Swift?

“Y/n, is that you?” He asks, nonchalantly.

Who else would it be?

The handle squeaks and, with that, the water stops. Only the gentle swirl of the drain and the occasional drips and drops from the showerhead are audible.

It’s too late. You’re already there. You’ve knocked and, in doing so, you’ve sealed your fate.

“...Yes,” is your whisper of a reply.

“What’s up? Was I too loud for you?”

You’ve got the entire building on high-alert singing that loudly.

...is what you would say if you weren’t currently imploding. This is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. And nothing you ever want to experience again.

“Um, yeah, sorry.” You look down at your shuffling feet.

The hallway is pitch black, hardly allowing for even a mere shadow. Rushing out of your room, you’d forgotten to turn on even a single light.

You hear him step onto the tile floor and the rustle of a tower from the bathroom closet.

“Wait, can we talk?” He asks as though it weren’t the question of the fucking year. “I mean, preferably after I get out of the bathroom.” There’s a lack of tact to his words.

This isn’t the charming Oikawa you’re used to. This is a blunt… confusingly straightforward Oikawa.

His tone wavers like maybe he’d had a little more to drink than you’d last remembered. Your memory was proving to be disappointingly unreliable tonight.

You swallow thickly, “Sure.”

Because what else can you say?

“Can I stop by your room in a minute?”

You take a deep breath, “Yeah.”

And you patter back to your no-longer very safe haven. Oikawa is about to infiltrate your space… with your permission. And the weapons he’ll bring will either harpoon you or leave you emotionally paralyzed – whether that emotional paralysis is a good or bad thing will be decided in the near future.

Your bed, though soft and blanket-covered, looks far less appealing now. It may as well be a bed of nails because you would rather hide beneath it than sit atop it.

But you sit anyway, letting the mattress dip and the springs twang.

The bathroom door cries as it opens, putting you on edge. Your heart is pounding like a drum at a summer festival – hotter and louder with every beat.

The trod of footsteps tells you he’s approaching and, sure enough, the open door reveals Oikawa.

With only a lamp to brighten the space, he’s more contoured than usual. His hair is wet and heavy against his head, taking on an even darker brown than before. You’ve seen him fresh out of the shower before, but this… is different. Oikawa’s shirt sticks to his chest slightly – he must’ve thrown it on without drying off fully to get to you faster.

He takes a few steps into your room, choosing to lean his back against a wall next to your work desk. Oikawa brings his hands behind his back, pressing his weight into them. Brown eyes flicker from you to the wall behind you and back again.

Naturally, tension lays thick as a fog in the air space. 

“Hey, I’m…”

You cut him off, “You don’t have to say sorry! It’s… it’s okay.” 

Oops, you’d said that a little too loud. Not that it mattered much after Oikawa’s passionate performance.

An eyebrow raises and confusion sparks across his face. Your body freezes.

He brings a hand behind his neck. “Oh, I was just gonna say that I’m still kinda drunk.”

You knew that much. Though you really thought he’d say something other than that. Preferably something about the, uh, devoted love-song?

Why is he acting so casual right now? Is this even Tooru? Had he read too many alien conspiracies and been abducted for learning too much about extraterrestrials? 

Maybe he doesn’t realize you’d even heard him say your name in the shower.

“Oh... right.” You say slowly, lips staying parted at the end of your sentence.

“Which… probably isn’t good for either of us,” Different words drawl out and there’s a soft slur to some syllables, but at least he’s easy to understand, “me drinking too much, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you mutter.

“I think we should both just go to bed then.”

Your chest tightens. Of course, you want answers.

They’re likely embarrassing, face-reddening, Taylor Swift-centric answers. But you want them, nonetheless.

Although, it’s probably for the best that you don’t bring this up tonight. It was all probably a joke or a harmless accident – and, anyway, he admitted to being drunk.

“Right.”

“But I think you should know that I like you. A lot.”

“Yeah,” you respond again, automatically.

There’s another heavy silence. The pretty boy just stares at you, cherry colors tinting his cheeks but showing no expression of fear or embarrassment. You stare back, processing his words at turtle-like speeds.

The words tumble out, “Wait, say that again?” You double back, your own face reheating to its earlier temperature.

“I’m gonna be mad at myself in the morning if I don’t leave right now. And I really need to stop listening to that stupid song,” Oikawa says to himself. 

“But I wanted to see how you would respond if I changed the lyrics,” the words are pointed back at you again.

He stands up, feet moving slowly toward the doorway. Did he just… completely ignore your question?

Your jaw drops, “Did…” you can hardly speak.

Clearing your throat, you try again, focusing intently on your words, “...did you mean for me to hear you?”

“...Maybe.” He draws out the “e,” looking back at you.

That’s it. He’s lost his fucking mind. You’re going to strangle him. 

No TikTok advice could have prepared you for the monstrosity that is Oikawa Tooru. How Iwaizumi put up with that... that child for all these years, you have no idea.

You have to make a note of sending him a “get well” card, because nobody could be mentally okay after dealing with him for that long.

“B- but… why? What?” You stammer out, back stiff as a board.

“You like me don’t you?” He tilts his head, hair flopping cutely with it.

You gape like a fish, mouth opening and closing.

And it’s not that you don’t want to respond.

It’s that you can’t. You have no words. You vocal chords are on a panic-induced lockdown.

Because he knew.

He knew this entire time. Which you thought he might, but that doesn’t make the situation any less infuriating.

“And I like you back.”

You’re dumbfounded. You can’t think. This is ridiculous.

You open your mouth once more but he has no intention of continuing this conversation.

“Sleep well!” Without further comment, Oikawa flashes you a sleepy smile and begins scampering back to his room after having wreaked havoc on your poor heart.

Your voice comes back just in time for you to wake up the entire building once more,

“No, you get your ass back here and explain yourself!”

[risjime]

WILD AND FLUORESCENT

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

with: iwaizumi; gn!reader; alisa as your roommate

content: slightly nsfw content (18+), fluff at times, literally about meeting and having sex, reader receives oral (but it’s not super descriptive)

wc: 1.9k

a/n: i truly hope you enjoy reading this, i’ve been writing it for a little while now! feedback, reblogs, comments and anything of the sort is always appreciated!

it wasn’t a fairytale beginning. not that you ever really wanted that, but a meet-cute, an accidental encounter, perhaps? no, not the way you met iwaizumi hajime. meeting him was wild. it was fluorescent.

you had a shitty week, and you were nothing short of ready to let loose this friday night with your best friend, alisa. the two of you had plans to hit up your favourite club, which wasn’t too far from your shared apartment. VIVID was new and growing insanely popular in the area, it quickly bested all of the other clubs you’d previously frequent. luckily, you had close ties with the owner, so getting in was never an issue.

as you walked up to the entrance, you could already feel the distant bass radiating through your veins, reviving you instantly. you needed this more than anything today. you let yourself relax as the music grew louder, before alisa grabbed your hand, running with you toward the building.

you made your way to the front of the line, the bouncer greeting you with familiarity and allowing you to pass the velvet barrier. bright, neon streaks of light were immediately visible, flooding your vision, but all the same exciting you as if it were the first time you were coming here. alisa headed straight to the bar, looking back to you with a grin. it was practically tradition for the two of you to share a quick round of shots before jumping to the dance floor.

when you moved to the floor, you really felt yourself letting go of the pent up stress that bottled inside of you throughout the week. you watched as your best friend started dancing with another girl nearby, and you shared a knowing look, followed by bright smiles. you knew you’d be getting that "don’t wait up!" text later in the night, judging by how close to two were getting. deciding to give them some space, you moved to the centre of the floor. you let your head fall back, as your body became one with the pounding music.

then, you saw him.

he was already looking at you. you watched as his grip tightened onto his drink in hand, completely ignoring the words of the man standing next to him. he breathed in a visibly sharp breath, daring to hold your gaze as your eyes raked over his appearance. he was dressed casually with dark denim jeans and a simple white tee that clung tightly to his body. like several of the others inside of the club, there were two neon stripes painted on his cheeks, yet his appeared to shine brighter.

he looked like he wanted to approach you, but his eyes revealed hesitancy, so you decided to move a little closer in hopes he would get the hint.

he smiled, biting his bottom lip as you neared. he passed his drink to his friend, whispering something to him, earning a smile and look in your direction in return. you turned around, resuming your motion in harmony with the pulsating music, wordlessly inviting the stranger to dance with you. and he did.

you felt him carefully approach you from behind, and when you pushed closer into him, he allowed himself the luxury of moving his body with yours. you pressed against him as one of his hands wrapped around your waist, the other coming up to cup your ear so that his honeyed words could be heard clearly, "you’re breathtaking."

heat rose to your cheeks as you turned around to face him. he looked at you with a wide grin, your faces only inches apart, working in an effort to single each other out amongst the crowds surrounding you. when he leaned in again, his breath tickled your ear, sending a chill down your spine despite the feverish temperature, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

you angled toward his ear, telling him your name before boldly placing a trail of hot kisses along his neck. you could hear his soft sigh as he melted into your touch, his hands reaching to rest against at the back of your head. you moved up to his ear, asking sweetly, “yours?”

he could barely remember the question he asked you as you pulled away, your face coming into his field of vision once more.

“hajime,” he spoke loudly against the music.

“hajime...” you repeated softly. it was nearly inaudible, but it sounded like sugar coming from your lips, and he wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

you looked up to his eyes, which were trained on your lips. you’d pulled away much too soon, both of you were thinking it. he craved more of your touch. so when he leaned in, pulling your body against his, as his lips drifted toward yours, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him close, catching his lips on your own.

you could feel his smile as he kissed you back, racing his hands along your body, the kiss only making you feel hotter.

sure, it wasn’t the first time you made out with a stranger you met on a night out. and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time you took things further than that. but you hadn’t felt this immediate of a connection before him.

hajime felt beautiful.

you pulled away, resting your forehead against his chin, the two of you steadying your breathing. he let out a gentle laugh, “wow.”

you moved back to look at him, raising a brow, a smile teasing at your lips, “wow?”

he cupped your cheek, eyes looking into yours, “a good wow.”

the music came down slightly as the song transitioned. it was your one opportunity to continue your night with the handsome stranger, before he became nothing more than a distant memory.

“do you-” you laughed a little, suddenly shy at the thought of being alone with him, “would you like to-”

he caught on to your proposal, and decidedly made things easier for you, “i’d love to.”

you headed outside, hajime’s hand in yours as you texted alisa your whereabouts. “i’ll call an uber, just one second,” you told him as you switched apps.

“or i could give us a ride?” he looked at you with a grin.

“oh sure! where’s your car?” you asked, following behind him.

“this would be my... car,” he emphasized the last word with a laugh, as he stopped in front of a motorcycle.

as if he couldn’t get any hotter.

“but if you’re uncomfortable, we can always take an uber instead-”

“no, this is perfect,” you latched onto his arm excitedly, and he rewarded you with another wide grin in response.

hajime, simply put, grew more interesting with every second you spent with him. and even so, you felt secure, so you wrapped your arms tightly around his torso when he asked you to. you gave him directions to your apartment, after he made sure several times that you were okay doing so. he was thoughtful, which was something that set him apart from all the other guys you’ve met in the past few months.

as you soared through the streets, tucked safely behind hajime, you found felt even more electrified than you did at VIVID. he drove the motorcycle like a pro, and you were captivated by the sight. surely, the image would be etched in your memory forever.

the closer you got to the apartment, the more your mind drifted. you were itching to feel his skin against yours. so was he.

you hardly shut your front door before hajime had you in his arms, lips already on yours in a heated kiss. he leaned you back against the door, delicately but determined. you stretched your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly close, flush against your body. he started working his way down your neck, lips settling at your collar bone. his arms traveled down to your thighs, hands prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he lifted you up.

“second-” you let out between heavy sighs, “door on the right.”

you felt his smile on your skin before he lifted you off the wall, carrying you to your bedroom.

he gently set you down on the bed, crawling on top of you as he pulled his shirt above his head, and you took the opportunity to do the same. he gravitated towards your heat as you ran your nails along his muscled figure. his kisses trailed further down your body, eliciting a soft, appreciative moan from you. he stopped to admire the noise briefly, before returning his lips to your skin, sucking sweetly at the same spot in hopes of hearing you again, his eyes looking up to you every few seconds. he didn’t want to miss anything, this moment with you, the only thing on his mind.

when he neared your waist he stopped, looking at you for approval, and with your eager nod he quickly worked to strip you completely. his mouth protruded into your space, sucking you, now desperately as he wanted more of you. you rewarded him, cursing his name through heated pants. he only worked harder the more you praised him, chasing the sound of your voice.

he removed himself all too soon, causing you to whine at the new distance. haijime flipped you around so that your front laid on the bed, his body following behind yours. his lips found their way to your ear, “don’t worry, angel, i promise i’ll make you feel amazing.”

you woke up to a half-empty bed. last night was unbelievable, hajime made you feel things you didn’t know you were capable of feeling. but the short story was that you met at a club, you had sex, and that was all it would be. you quickly pulled and oversized tee over your body before exiting your room, greeted by a luscious aroma coming from the kitchen. curiously, you peeked across the hall, and when you heard two voices speaking, your wonder only grew. you tiptoed to the kitchen, spotting alisa’s blonde hair and...

“hajime?”

he turned around, greeting you with a smile, “good morning, sweetheart.”

alisa quietly stood up from her seat at the dining table, a teasing smile on her face, “i think i’ll give you some time alone.” she pulled her coat on and walked out your apartment door, leaving the two of you in silence.

“i didn’t think you’d still be here,” you sputter out, a little abrasively, but you were genuinely surprised.

“i’m sorry if it’s an overstep,” he moved to lean against the counter, “but i couldn’t find myself able to leave without saying something.”

he looked down for a moment, pondering carefully over his next words, “i couldn’t forgive myself if i didn’t at least give it a shot.”

you crossed your arms and raised a brow, asking him to elaborate.

“i’ve never felt a connection so strong with anyone before,” his eyes moved back and forth between the kitchen tiles and your eyes, a pink blush creeping across his cheeks. “i was wondering if you’d, maybe, like to go on a date sometime?”

your eyes trailed along his body, thinking over his question. here was this wonderful man in front of you, he was thoughtful, sweet, and passionate. and he wanted to take you on a date. there really was only one thing you could say.

“i’d love to, hajime.”

taglist (open): @readywhorenot @ilhvm

© risjime | do not repost! reblogs are appreciated ♡

[meraki-kintsukuroi]

a star is dying, but the universe won't let it.

(or alternatively: you're burning out like a dying star but these hands that have loved you even long before will never let you go, even if it means getting burnt along.)

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, light angst, soft fluff, references to depression and to the pandemic, and maybe probably a bit of child abuse it doesn't happen though its just mentioned, implied long-distance relationship, space, morbid, and colour metaphors, discussions about death and dying, shit writing and word vomit (bc im rusty as hell).

pairings : kindaichi yuutaro/reader (gn! reader & ambiguous relationship bc ytf not)

wc : 1, 755

a/n: dedicated to @haru-senji for being in the same situation as I and to all the other people who are as well, hang in there you guys, love you and please stay safe <3.

"Hey 'tarou are you up...?", Yuutarou hears you call out to him in the dark, breaking the silence in the night with your voice faint and small, almost lost against the loud howling wind of the dim sky.

He shifts, twisting his body to where you are, and in the dark--despite of it all--reaches for you when you don't pull or push him away and squeezes the hand you let him hold.

(Intimacy between skin has always been a line you jump in and out of and yuutaro wonders if there ever could be a day where he can hold you without you flinching or shrinking away, and without him saying that its okay despite the hurt in his heart or the deep open scars in yours.)

"Mm, yeah..?", he asks, voice a deep low rasp from the silence that had long been stretching between you, "What is it?"

There is a pregnant pause before you speak. It stretches long and wide much like the ones before and he can't help but be reminded of sea and the sky and he thinks that even in the vastness of it all with you besides him, your backs against the grass of some far away place, underneath all the darkness and twinkling nights, and far away from all uninvited eyes. He thinks that if you were to say anything here and now he would keep it lock in his chest until the day he died.

(Because happiness is limited in a world that is almost at its limit, only holding on to whatever thin silver lining there was to just not fall into the void of nothingness and cease to exist.)

"Do you know how a star is born?",

The ex-volleyball captain blinks once and then twice, and thinks of a grand king who he had served for three long years, of a boy turned king-enemy, to a friend that he had found once lost, of a gymnasium so big that it had to be the whole universe with how many stars, planets, and other celestial bodies there had been, but no matter how much he had thought of it, those astral objects that he had thought of was only at their prime and not at their beginning.

(Those people, those upperclassmen, those players, those rivals, his teammates, had been and always been stars--the moon, the sun, the planet--his universe.

He wonders how proud, those who have seen them at their very beginning feel? To see the rock with no fuel burn with utmost energy along with others who are just as bright as them.)

"No, I don't.", He says, a quiet thing and hears you hum, before feeling you twist and turn before finally settling again, not once letting his hand go as you did so.

(He does not comment on how closer you are to him now, afraid you'd pull away and distance yourself from him again.)

"How about when they die?", you ask him instead, and across the vast meadow he hears the crickets chirping this season's song "Do you know how they die?"

Yuutaro closes his eyes, and thinks of an explosion, of bright colours and a supernova exploding in the expanse of space, of the destruction that follows the grief that comes along with the loss of something as bright as a star.

He thinks of the king-prince-boy and how he had exploded into nothing but colours of red, black, and blue of the grand king who had burst out crying hues of green, grey, and teal, of a dark black empty gym with no bright light or palette in sight.

"They, uh, collapse i think...?" He says trailing off, trying to rack his left part of the brain of the lessons he hadn't slept in science class, "Yeah they do--And then they, they, uh... explode into supernovas? Yeah they explode into supernovas." He finishes unhappy but accepting all the same.

It's not like he was as blunt but smooth with his words just like his best-friend, not sweet like honey, or rough but straight to the point. He was still an awkward, tongue tied, and still fumbling idiot even after all this time. Even when he had hit a growth spurt or even after hitting a major milestone in his life, He was still the tall awkward boy people know who had just grown into an adults body to fit an adult's clothes.

You hum again, and he feels you inching closer, but not close enough to hold you the way he wants to--needs to--

(He pushes the greed--the fear of loosing you--letting go of you away. He can't, does not, will never be selfish, he can't allow it, not when he knows all too well what happens to you and the people around you, suffer through all too well.)

"Do you think we'll go out like that?", you ask him again, voice almost like a child afraid, "Like a supernova exploding in colours?"

He feels you shift again, and this time he thinks you're much closer to him than before and he thinks that you might be facing him this time too, he doesn't know it's too dark to see (but even so, even so, even so please come closer so I can hold you so--)

"Or do you think, we'll go out like a daisy crushed by the one who's supposed to take care of it?"

And something about that question, something about the way you say those words, makes his heart scream and mind twist in agony.

Because he thinks of the world, and how its marching to an unknown point and how much its scaring people. Thinks of you and your home that's only getting so much colder with each day passing. Thinks of himself and how he's just like a ghost wandering with a lover that's slowly collapsing--dying underneath the weight, of the pain of it all, that's too much for them to bear and not being able to do anything about it because-- "the only person who can save you is yourself, and you know that better than anyone else Yuutaro." His mother had once said.

And he knows, he knows, he knows, he goddamn knows, that things are getting worse for you--for him-and for everyone else, but he will fight God and his angels if it meant at least being able to carry some of the burden you had to carry all because the people who was suppose to do it but couldn't so you had to learn how to carry it all by yourself even after all this time.

Because Yuutaro with all his awkwardness and flaws had never been alone.

You however, have been painfully all by your lonesome.

And you meant to him that much to say the least.

"I don't know really." he murmurs truthfully, and squeezes your hand as an I'm sorry that i can't help you lift your pain that I was years too late to even try to do so and now you're hurting so much that you're almost at you're breaking point, and even if you don't know why or what, he still tries to.

Because he was just a ghost with no body or home wandering around this world, trying his darn best to find himself again for a lover that's slowly collapsing and loosing the brightness that they once were.

"Lots of people die in many ways you know?", He says not having one single clue about what's he saying but continues on because happiness is a fickle thing and is it selfish of him to hold your hand and keep you safe from the monsters that was supposed to love you for a bit much longer?

"We're not stars or flowers or anything,", He says with a finality he didn't know he had.

"We're people and we die when we die.", he goes on to say, and he thinks of an accident on the news, a tragedy in a script, and a genocide written on the history books, and thinks that for all the fire and hydrogen or whatever that makes up a star, planet, comet, or whatever. They were all still painfully human even on their last moments.

That they'd all bleed, cry, turn ugly, and at the end of it all die in more ways than one, because humanity is a fickle thing and they were no different.

That he was still human despite being a ghost of he once was, that you were still human even if you were a rotting corpse murdered by the monsters that were your own flesh and blood by the burdens and self-projections that they always had.

That the tyrant he had hated so much was just a boy underneath all the gore, grime, and blood, and that the grand king he had served underneath all the gold and silver and bronze was just human too.

They all were.

"But what if someone wants to go already and the people around them don't want them to...?" He hears you mutter softly, and he squeezes your hand again replying.

"Then don't.", He mutters tiredly just as much you are to the world, the monsters, and at yourself, "Live."

"Do you think we'll ever...", you trail off, and he knows from your tone that you must be struggling with what words to say so he squeezes your hand again because this is the only way you'll let him show his love for you other than his presence (because you're so, so, so scared and he is too, for you and for him as well.)

"Live again?"

Because he's a ghost of a star cluster once formed and you're a rotting corpse of a white dwarf floating in space with no way or direction to what home once was.

"I don't know really.." He says again, and crosses the gap between you deciding fuck it and presses his forehead against yours pushing on as he goes on, "But we'll cross the bridge when we get there all right?"

You don't pull away nor you push him away, instead you tense before relaxing again, and this time instead of him you're the one who squeezes his hand instead.

"Yeah we'll cross the bridge when we get there."

And in the dark--despite the dark, he thinks that maybe you're smiling in what it seems for a long while now, and he thinks that maybe, maybe he is too.

(And when morning comes maybe you both start trying to live again.)

[sideblog-666-thousand]

Euronymous Interview in Decibel of Death, ‘87. English Translation. Ft. Euronymous’ depraved torture fantasies involving Coca-Cola.

‘Decibel of Death’ was a French fanzine from the 80s. It’s first issue was released in ‘86, and by the summer of ‘87, it switched over from French to English-language. This has been my favourite interview of Euronymous for a long time now, so I decided I’d translate it to English so that other, non-francophone, people could enjoy it too. This issue in particular is from February of ‘87, and was their fourth issue overall.

I’ll add a link to where you can find this, and other D.O.D scans, below. If anybody wants me to translate more French, or Russian, interviews, feel free to PM me.

Note: NDLR is the editor’s notes. Any commentary or context by me will be in bold and in parenthesis, so feel free to totally ignore it. If something is between “« »” it’s because it was already written in English to begin with.

Disclaimer: if some of the sentences sound like the energizer bunny is hooked on an iv rig full of pure meth, don’t blame me, I did my best. Take it up with Euronymous himself. Also, I’m not excusing Euronymous’ poor behaviour, I’m just saying his poor behaviour is kind of entertaining.

Without further ado...

D.O.D: And once again, here’s Norwegian Mayhem. If you remember, we presented them to you back in the May issue of D.O.D. Since then, they released a new demo titled “Death Crush”!! Because of this event, we decided to ask the guitarist of this rather sinister band a few questions.

D.O.D: Okay, there’s been more than a few line-up changes in Mayhem. Can you tell us what the current one is?

Euro: Alright, there’s me on guitars, Manheim on battery, Necro-butcher on drums, and our session vocalist, Maniac.

D.O.D:  And what is the medium age of the group?

Euro: We are all 18 years old.

D.O.D: How long has Mayhem been around for?

Euro: Mayhem has been around since August of ‘84 with this line-up, before that, I played in another shitty metal group that was also called Mayhem. The other members also played in a crappy band before we all met.

D.O.D: How would you describe your music?

Euro: Ah, well, it’s like a wall of sound played at extreme speed all mixed with the sound of a chainsaw!!

D.O.D: In your opinion, who are the biggest posers on this planet?

Euro: That definitely has to be the Swedish group ‘Europe’. «Fuck them!!» I hate this band!!

D.O.D: Ha ha, what would you like to do to make them suffer?

(This is the exact moment where the interviewers realize that Euronymous is literally fucking insane. The editor censors some of the things Euronymous says because he has a very vulgar manner of speaking, so, brace yourselves. To make it abundantly clear— I didn’t censor any of this, if it was me, I’d let him continue swearing ‘til next year if he wanted to. Take it up with D.O.D!)

Euro: First of all, I’d cut them and make them eat their own (bleep)!! Then, I’ll fuck them in the ass with an empty bottle of Coke, and if they’re still alive somehow, I’ll drown them in their own piss!! (NDLR: I’d do the same to a few guys in Germany and Switzerland!!) But all of this is reserved for their guitarist, drummer and bassist, I have a far crueler torture for their singer, for him, I’m simply going to break his mirror and steal his perfume!! Haaaaafuckinghah!!! (NDLR: ahahahaha, this is so much fun!!)

D.O.D: Okay, Euronymous, onto more serious topics, who composes the most in Mayhem?

Euro: It’s me and Necro, but sometimes Manheim comes up with good riffs, he actually wrote most of P.F.A (Pure Fucking Armageddon)

D.O.D: I believe thrashers reacted pretty well to your first demo, right?

Euro: Despite the zero sound of this demo. It's true that it's actually the hardcore thrashers that appreciated it, although it was the others hating it that gave us an enormous promotion like with 'Metal Forces'.

D.O.D: Has there been groups that have influenced you?

Euro: Of course, early Venom has really inspired us, although we don’t sound like them in any way. We’re also influenced by bands like Hellhammer and Sodom.

D.O.D: Mayhem is a common band name, what do you think of other Mayhem (such as NYC Mayhem, Mayhem (WC), Mayhem (Oregon))?

Euro: NYC Mayhem* are excellent, I adore them! (NDLR: me too!!) and they call themselves NYC Mayhem. But as for the other Mayhems, they stink, «fuckin’ shit»,  like the Mayhem that’s on Metal Massacre VI*, they really stink, their music isn’t destructive like ours is at all, they don’t deserve this name, I hate them!!

D.O.D: I heard you guys played a show, how did that go?

Euro: It was really «cool», it was at a small rock festival that had around 3-400 «discofucks» (NDLR: this is the censored translation) and when we went on stage with our first session vocalist “Messiah”, we broke a bass over their mouths!! We gave these idiots hell!! Ha ha!! (I’ll link the show he’s referring to below)

D.O.D: And how did your other gigs go?

Euro: For now this has been our only show!! And we don’t know how the crowds will react at the prospect of future gigs.

D.O.D: Fair. Since we’re talking about future gigs, what will those be like?

Euro: They’ll be full of occult things, we’ll play in complete darkness and there’ll be red blood spots, chandeliers, smoke, and pig heads on stakes, it’ll be totally thrashing!!

D.O.D: How’s the Norwegian thrash scene? It’s pretty dull, no?

Euro: Right now, «it sucks», there’s no audience, but it seems to be going in the right direction with bands like Vomit*, Septic Cunts, Decay Lust, and Flowers in The Dustbin.

D.O.D: And what kind of things are your lyrics about?

Euro: depravity, like tearing someone’s (bleep), eating worms, and all those fine things!!

D.O.D: What are your favourite bands?

Euro: Really hard question, there’s so many good bands coming out but I think the bands I like the most are old Venom, Deathchamber, Sodom, Necrophagia, Destruction, Death, Kreator, Poison. (No, not THAT Poison)

D.O.D: Do you ever listen to hardcore?

Euro: «Yeah» I like Chaotic Discord, Septic Death, UK Subs, and others. It hasn’t been that long since I went to see Disorder and it was awesome!!

D.O.D: Are you considering going on tour?

Euro: No, not exactly. But soon we’ll play at a Norwegian thrash festival. We’ll also play at a thrash festival in Copenhagen, and probably do a few shows with Kreator/Necrophagia in ‘87.

(No, this isn’t a typo on my end, it actually says ‘87. There’s two reasons why this might be the case. One, it could be an error on the part of the editor, who deserves an interview of his own, or two, it could be an error by Euronymous himself since the interview might have been conducted in January. Euronymous could have mixed the years up as one sometimes does. However, ‘Death Crush’, the demo, actually came out in March of ‘87. What the interviewer and Euronymous are referring to as ‘Death Crush’ is likely ‘Death Rehearsal’, which is exactly what it sounds like, and was taped back January of ‘87.)

D.O.D: I heard you guys are recording a new demo, is it ready?

Euro: We just entered the studio to record the second “Death Crush” demo, but at the moment, we only have three songs. I’m also unsure of whether or not we’ll have enough money to record anything else, and the vocals still haven’t been put to music!!

D.O.D: There’s some rumours that you guys were contacted by certain record labels, is this true?

Euro: It’s true, we got a letter from Axe killer records saying that they were interested in us but they never listened to our music and I also sent them our demo tape but I don’t believe we’ll be receiving any letters from them now!!

D.O.D: Do you have anything to add?

Euro: Of course, «fucking ARGHHHH!!»

There, that’s all :)

If you’re interested in some of the asterisks I put in, here they are in order of their appearances:

*Unlike most of the bands Euronymous named in this interview, NYC Mayhem (and later as Straight Ahead) never released more than a few demo. They were a straight edge band from, you guessed it, NYC— Queens to be exact. Despite never releasing a full album, their sound inspired some grindcore and death metal bands, notably Carcass. They were also straight edge, which makes Euronymous’ mental breakdown over the Mayhem that was on Metal Massacre very, very ironic. Especially considering he was pretty straight edge himself, especially back in 1987– outside of maybe smoking some pot.

Here is their 1985 demo, https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=t-3geR1JbY4

*Metal Massacre is a series of compilation albums starting in 1982, released by Metal Blade records. Typically, these were independent and unsigned bands. Some notable ones include Metallica on the first edition with ‘Hit the lights’. Slayer in ‘83 with ‘Aggressive Perfector’. The ‘84 edition had Voivod, Overkill, and Hellhammer.

The one which Euronymous is referring to, however, is the one from ‘85. Here it is, the timestamp is 14:19 https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HqwfsLvLvuY

It’s really not that bad— certainly not worth the double exclamation points.

*If you don’t know who Vomit are, you must not know much about early Mayhem. They were another thrash band who shared rehearsal space with Mayhem. Torben Grue and Kittil Kittilsen (what a sad fucking name) were also ‘in’ Mayhem at some point. Kittil once shaved off his eyebrow, but I don’t know why. Here is a picture of the dork:

The show Euronymous is talking about: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=mjay2Lmj9C8 yes, this is the show where Euronymous flashes his ass. I think it’s funny because he talks big but he seemed very hesitant to do it, and practically ducked backstage afterwards. Necro, on the other hand, was very proud to have broken his bass.

Well, that’s all I have. If you read this far, I hope you enjoyed the additional notes I left. Outside of a few more interviews of Mayhem, I also have a few obscure Emperor interviews that were posted to the internet in late 90s. There’s an especially funny one where Faust is allowed to interview Ihsahn and Samoth from prison. He’s sarcastic the entire time, refers to the readers as ‘morons’ and proclaims everyone should all die in a nuclear war with the same energy you cross yourself with. Overall, it’s a funny read. I also have one where he interviews Varg, and Euronymous (separately) for his own ‘zine back in the early 90s. Actually— I have A LOT of interviews of Faust for some reason, including two where he’s actually on camera. I might post them if I feel like it, or if somebody wants them. Is anyone here an especially big fan of Faust?

Last but not least, here is the link to the ‘zine:

http://france.metal.museum.free.fr/revues/fanzines/decibel_of_death/04/page_03.htm

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings, pt. 21

Description: The Hanging Gardens of Babel

Notes: there is an innate human need to be remembered for both accomplishments and person; for those thousands of years from now to look back and know that people have always been human. WC: 6.9k

+

He'd trained before, but this was different.

For one, he didn't usually have an audience, and second, he didn't usually have to respect his teacher, either. Tall buildings and their shadows that once surrounded them were now turned to dead gardens outside the manor of his employment, acting as a 'private' circle of study surrounded by the half-wall around the property.

He panted as he lifted himself to his feet, taking up his staff once more. The trainer was the head guard, Urtak, a man who Ahk was pretty sure did not like him, and who did nothing to try and negate that belief. Sometimes Ahk would complain about this to you and you'd try to comfort him, but now you just laughed whenever the guard knocked him to his back.

"Come now, Aganu," Urtak said, pacing and slamming the end of his staff against the hard ground, crackling into the dry earth. "Can't expect to protect Ukani's home and guests with this technique."

"I do not speak Akkadian," Ahk repeated for the fourth time that day, grunting as he jumped up again.

"He is saying you are a pussy!!" You yelled in Egyptian from the servant's quarters' roof.

"Thank you, Yogi," Ahk called sarcastically, a bitter smile on his face.

Ahk cast one annoyed glance in your direction before Urtak's staff was hooking behind his knee again, forcing him to the ground, again. His hands were scratched, red, and dry, irritated further by the rough ground and spiky plants below him. He took a deep breath––or as deep a breath as he could in the dust cloud––and took up his spear once more, facing Urtak with a malice lacing his parted lips. Years spent training would aid him now, but he drew a blank on how to approach his opponent.

Urtak's staff came whizzing down from above, aiming directly for his skull. Instinctively, Ahk whipped his own spear up, dislocating the staff's projectory. The guard tried a couple more times, coming down upon his midsection or legs in hopes of knocking Ahkmen back down to the ground. This time he blocked––though, it did take him a few more moves before he realized he could now parry in return.

Before attempting to strike at his side in any way, or to knock his balance off kilter, he stabbed the blunt end of his staff into Urtak's stomach, punching the breath out of him.

A distant 'WHOOO!' came from behind him and he laughed, glancing to you in time to see your grin and a lute swinging about in your hand. It gave ample distraction that led to Urtak taking revenge in an unconventional manner when it came to staff fights; he punched him in the face.

Ahkmen groaned loudly as he stumbled back, still on his feet but with his hands covering his nose and mouth. Something warm was dripping from his nose, and as he pulled his hands away he found blood, coating his skin in thick drops.

"Aaaaaand," your lute began to play a joyous little tune as you sang, "he get fuck in the face!"

"Those aren't even words!" Ahk yelled back through his laughter.

"Pay attention," Urtak said stiffly, bringing his staff to backslap Ahk's head.

Of course training had to come just when his bruises and aches were healing from falling over a tarp fence taller than his whole body. Now everything was back tenfold, aching from old pain and biting from new. The only good part was that now you were both being paid, meaning you could afford a couple luxuries, such as a lavender healing ointment you found on your way home from the brewery that day.

Ahkmen spent a good deal more of his freetime sleeping than you did, napping beneath the warm, mud roof, but safe from the burning rays of the sun. Birds tweeted about outside, their songs muffled through the thick walls. Flies managed to get inside. To his fortune, no one else was in the servant's quarters, and he could splay out on the biggest bed. He continued to doze in the warmth, resting his creaking joints until footsteps sounded through the dry underbrush, crunching beneath small feet.

"Aganu?" Came your soft voice, your knuckles knocking against the cool, clay doorway.

He let out a muffled moan, regretfully moving himself to sit up straight.

"How've you been, my dear?" He asked, sniffing to clear his still-bloody nose.

"Better than you," you said as you knelt beside him.

You carried several different things in your hands, including a damp cloth, a bandage, a small bottle of honey, and the ointment you bought without him.

"What's that?" He asked.

"For the scraping," you said, taking his hand and resting it in your lap palm up.

The cork popped out of the jar, tossed onto the bed as you poured some of the ointment onto your hands. Ahk watched in interest as you took his hand, washing his skin with the cool mixture, and partially burning the more sensitive cuts. He hissed as you passed over the largest.

"Do you think that this is good for you?" You asked as you looked up.

"What, the ointment or –"

"The fighting," you chuckled.

"Ah. Well, it has been good to rehearse some of my moves," he said with a shrug.

You nodded, continuing to massage the red marks.

"Then I can protect you better," he said.

"My little boy," you grinned, pinching his cheek with your lotion-clad fingers. He scrunched up his face, wiping the treatment away.

"I'm not a little boy," he said flatly.

"But you are my – or, mine," you said.

"A little." He nodded vaguely.

Your affections had been switching unpredictably the last few days, since around when he snuck into the King's garden, so he never knew how to react to certain things you said. Sometimes you would snap at him for things he hadn't ever considered, but other times, like this, you tied him to you, caring for wounded muscles and mind.

Once you were done with both his hands, you moved on to his scuffed knees, and gently rubbed the ointment in there. Again he flinched back, but you held him tight in place.

"What are you going to be doing for the party?" He asked after a few minutes of silence, spent convincing himself it'd be odd to reach forward and tangle his fingers in your unkempt hair.

"I am with the beer, and the food," you said, glancing up sparingly. "I am one of the people who does not talk the whole time."

"Oh, don't worry," he sighed, sitting back. "So am I."

It'd be the first event Ahk ever attended where he wasn't expected to look like a God, or to perform some heavenly speech that assured the listening people of his nation.

Later that same day it would be announced to the staff at large that a member of the royal family would be attending as an honored guest of the estate owner's––whose name was Ukani––three, triplet daughters. It was the first time Ahk had seen the identical girls, though you had clearly met them before judging by your glazed over expression. It was also announced that because of this, all the servants and guards would have to be wearing proper attire––something that fit a nobleman's party better than plain skirts and dirtied dresses.

Every servant in line let out a long groan, though most were subdued in the face of the stewardess. She glared down each of you thoroughly.

"I'm sure you'll be glad to learn these will be supplied for you. You won't need to get anything on your own," she said, and everyone seemed to fare much better with that.

She drilled into the eleven of you standing in that line––including yourselves and the other four new recruits–-that respect of the family and their friends was vital, and that employment would not last should that respect be breached. Ahkmen wondered as he watched her steely eyes if guards and servants were treated like this in his own home by the overseers; his personal servant, Naguib, hadn't said anything about it. Then again, Ahk never asked.

You were soon dismissed, and you and Ahk immediately went to each other.

"I do not like this," you said, crossing your arms. Clearly the dress code bothered you, even if it was financially stable.

"Don't worry," he chuckled, "I'm sure you'll look fine."

"I am not a doll."

"Really? You're small enough to be one –"

Before he could laugh at his own joke you punched him in the gut, laughing when he clutched his stomach. Of course, it didn't hurt all that much, but it did take him greatly by surprise.

Steaming buns filled with mashed dates smelled more heavenly than he ever could've imagined. The shop was only across the plaza from the brewery, as well––it gave him an ample opportunity to dash over, purchase a couple, and run back before you finished preparing the same batch throughout the ten you were starting today. Experiments never ended with you––continuous tests and studies had to be conducted.

He jogged down the steps, ducking beneath the tarp doorway with a cloth sack in hand; within it, the buns. The scent of broiling beer wafted thick in the small stirring room, the many fires of different bubbling pots warmed the area as well, and the heat remained trapped beneath the tarp ceiling. Sunlight poured in through gaps between the ceiling and the wall, illuminating wisps of smoke rising from a small plate of incense burning opposite the entrance. A few of the brewers discussed things quietly among themselves as he passed. Familiarity became this room; humid, almost unpleasantly warm, and smelling of nothing more than sweet, honeyed beer. And you.

"How's it coming?" Ahk asked, stopping in front of your stand, the warm desert in his hand clutched to his chest.

"Good, I am with the, uh..." you paused as you pumped the stir stick up and down through the thick malt, "the saffron."

"Smells nice," he said, earning a smile from you.

"Thanks many," you said.

He chuckled, shifting his weight as he looked bashfully down.

"Oh, I got you something," Ahk said after seeing the pouch again. He released the drawstring, pulling out one of the buns.

"Oooh," you said as you took it. "What is it?"

"Some sort of date dessert, I don't think I've ever tried one of these before."

Within the date paste were chewy nuts which, after a moment, tasted distinctly like pistachios. You hummed pleasurably with your first bite, your cheeks puffing out with how massive of a bite you'd taken.

Conversation continued throughout the couple rows of stirring pots, must of the words muffled beneath the churning of beer. Ahkmen finished his bun quicker than you did, and spun slowly round to scan the room before his attention fell back to you, watching as you finished.

"Good?" He asked with a chuckle.

"Very," you assured him.

More murmurs and whispers had him turning around again, trying to look for who was speaking in such noticeable whispers.

"What do you talk about all day with these people?" Ahk asked as he spun back round to you, his hands on his hips.

"I do not talk much," you admitted. "I do not talk good in Akkadian, but I do hear what they say."

"So... what do they talk about?"

"Oh, they have parents, and children, and lovers... and they have the beer, also. They, uh.. they do talk about you," you added hesitantly.

"Me?" He asked incredulously.

He turned around and, sure enough, two women's eyes darted from the back of his head down to their work.

"Wait, why?" He asked, suddenly horrified by the products of his imagination. So much so that he didn't notice his hands gripping the lip of your pot, soon to be burned by the heat. Once he noticed, he ripped his hands away, scanning the red marks on his palms

"Aganu, do not do that," you said in a tired sigh, clunking the spoon down in the bowl.

You stepped down from your stool, taking him by his wrist and leading him over to a corner of the brewery stocked with shelves. The class and clay bottle clinked together brightly as you shuffled through them, expertly finding a small, black bottle with an equally adorable cork. A pop came from it as you pulled it out, placing your finger over the mouth and shaking it upside down.

"What is that?" He asked quietly as he looked over your shoulder.

"It is an oil, for burns," you said, concentrating greatly as you organized the cork, the bottle, and your oil-covered finger onto one hand.

"Oh. Does it happen a lot?"

"Yes," you said with an irate groan that had Ahk chuckling. "Harmu come in here and make love words with the women, and – and take them off the beer, and that makes the batch fail. That is a lot of barley, gone."

"Ah," he breathed out.

While you talked you took his hand, displaying the burnt palm and coating it with the oil on your finger. Since there was only a little bottle of it, you used very little with each dip into the oil, and thus had to flip the bottle much more frequently over your finger.

"It is still okay to eat, but it is not good at all," you said, shaking your head.

"You've tried it then?"

"I have smelled it," you said.

He belted out a laugh.

"Am I one of the... what did you call them? Harmu?"

"Yes, uh... fuck, what is it in Egyptian?" You closed your eyes, your face screwed up in a frown. "I can only remember the Akkadian and the Harappan."

"But am I one of them?

You looked up, almost surprised by his question.

"Oh, no, you do not make love with women here," you said.

Ahkmen sighed very, very deeply, just barely staunching the circus of laughter in his chest.

"Please don't say that again."

The whole of the incident was forgotten by the time you were walking home, bathed in the shadow of the tall city walls. Most of the stores you passed were now closed, making way for warm nights and a hot meal, the latter of which you looked forward to. It took a little getting used to, but eventually the porridge-type beer served at the estate rubbed off on you.

Until then, you wandered through the streets of Babylon, absorbing the colors bursting around you, before sinking into the quiet of night once more.

By the time the stone walls of the estate came into view, life around you had dimmed into such quiet moments resigned to the windows of nearby houses. Crickets chirped in the absence of thundering footsteps.

Neither of you spoke much––sometimes commentating on stray cats or dogs, or the bugs that jumped in and out of view, but little more than that. Part of it was Ahkmen's doing, as he was usually the first to say something, and as of right now he was far too absorbed in his own thoughts to make any such conversation. But, like usual, he was still engrossed in you, dreaming of something that came to his sleepy mind a few hours ago.

"Husband!" You suddenly exclaimed, your eyes widening as recognition washed over you.

"What??"

"That is the word I did not know, harmu, it is husband," you said with a grin.

"Ohh," he said. "You scared me."

"Sorry," you said, and leant into him, holding his arm to your chest.

Ah, right. That's what a heart palpitation felt like, beating wildly in his chest at the feeling of your heat. Even in the warm evening he revelled in the touch. So maybe it was alright, he reasoned––maybe you really had forgiven him, and done readily so, leaving Ahk himself to build this discomfort in your presence that fed off his uncertainty.

Perhaps he should live more in the moment––that is what he thought, and he debated it greatly during your small dinner atop the servant's quarters roof.

The two of you chewed in silence for a little while, enjoying the warmth of the porridge as quiet murmurs below you broke the creaking of crickets. Someone down in the quarters was plucking at a lute, but made no particular melody, and Ahk imagined them leant back on their bed, their head pressed against the wall and their eyes closed as they played. It'd been a while since he'd heard you play, and he'd never heard you actually sing before for purposes other than making fun of him.

While he listened he stared ahead at the city's silhouette, from the dips marking streets to the towers reaching the Milky Way. He squinted to see the steps of a pyramid––not entirely unlike the step pyramid of Djoser––and frowned when he couldn't identify its' use. Temples were built in the form of ziggurats in Babylon, not pyramids.

It hit him after a few more seconds of staring, and before he could think it through he blurted something out that he couldn't quite hear.

"I think we should go see one of the gardens here," he said, recogniing the vines and flora that draped from the steps of the tower. "They've been taunting me lately with their grandeur."

You chuckled, leaning back and saying, "okay... but I have garden work, here, tomorrow."

"Of course. Can I ask you something?"

"Yes, always," you said with a nod.

"You said the women talk about me. What do they say?" He asked.

"Oh," a smile spread across your face as you looked away, "oh, not any words too bad. It is... you do not speak Akkadian, that is not right for them, you know? And you do have clothes a little... um, not Karanduniash. You speak only to me and all you say to them is I do not know Akkadian in Akkadian. That is also a little..."

"Strange?" He offered.

"A little," you nodded, shrugging in hopes of lessening the blow.

"I've never been strange before," he said quietly.

"What?" You looked up from the floor to meet his eye.

"Well, my father was rich so a lot of people treated me with great respect. If I wanted to I could have had hordes of friends and followers, so it was definitely my own choice to stay to myself," he said, gesturing vaguely with his hands as he spoke and you nodded along with him.

"I had thought people did not like you," you admitted.

"What, why??" He said, suddenly horrified. His reaction had you belting out a laugh.

"You had one, mean friend, and Panya did not like you, too," you said with another apologetic shrug.

"Well when you put it like that," he said, and the both of you devolved into giggles.

When you calmed down there was less space between you, your dishes set to the side as you inched closer.

"Did Panya ever talk about me?" He asked, inquisitive eyes scanning you thoroughly.

"A little," you nodded. "She says... you did mean things when you were.. young. Piye did, too."

"Piye said I was a bad person?"

"No, only that you had things when you were young," you assured him. "But good things, also. You are... kind, in heart."

Your attention glazed over, and Ahk watched with uncertainty as you reached forward, setting your hand over his trembling heart. He could feel your hand moving with how hard his heart beat, trying desperately to calm himself as skin met flushed skin.

Fingers trailed down his bare chest until you withdrew your hand entirely, finally looking back up at him with gleaming eyes.

"I think you are good, still if you say the words wrong, you are good at heart," you said in a sudden need to assure him of his own humanity.

It acted as an apology in your eyes, but to him he saw nothing but love, and his heartbeat increased tenfold. What summer nights brought about amidst the bugs and acquaintances murmuring below.

Coins jingled in his pocket as he made his way through the streets, weaving through thick crowds to reach the center marketplace. He bid good-bye to you several minutes earlier, leaving you to work on the estate's garden, while Ahkmen enjoyed his freetime away from the masters. His clothes, perfectly suited to blend in with the locals, also hid away his various bags of grain and coins that he would use as payment, and the dagger strapped to his hip.

There was no particular aim he had in mind as he walked, eyes darting from the indecipherable shop signs to the various people spending their morning out on the streets. He would, at times, come across small trios or couplets of musicians who filled up the space between loud conversations, bringing to the chaos a sort of art. High flutes played in tune with deep lyres, the instruments made of a cheaper wood more easily afforded by the lower classes. But the bustle of traders and merchants could still be heard clearly throughout the noise, calling out prices and wares, and advertising the many products sold within the streets of Babylon.

Babylon had, like Egypt, somehow retained much of its' prosperity despite the trying times. Rapiqum and the cities of Canaan––Jericho and Jerusalem––suffered much worse; a lack of water befalling the people who resided in the starved cities. But the river Euphrates never strayed from Babylon, and had continued to run through the city in plentiful waves.

The water of the Euphrates was said to be tears. Tears from the primorial Goddess, whose name Ahk couldn't recall. He frowned as he looked over the edge of the terrace, leaning on a white stone railing that separated him from a ten foot drop into the swirling waters below, lined with the blue tile of the city's gates. From the even decorations on either side, Ahk correctly assumed that it marked the water level of a typical year; the water currently ran an arm's length below the mark. He let out a long sigh, his fingers digging into the railing.

At the sight of this Ahk couldn't help but imagine the Nile falling to such depths. Each year brought forth a differing inundation, making it hard to truly worry about the water level. But years of this would dry the farmlands, polluting the cities with dry, infertile dirt, and ridding of the already scant shade along the Nile's shores. Birds would leave in droves, and antelope would follow the scent of water to more fruitful lands.

He didn't notice how tight his grip on the rail grew until the plaster cracked, the pop drawing his attention back to his intense glare and gritted jaw. A couple of the people stopping at the riverside gave him odd looks, some of them scooting away from him, at which point he released all the tension in his body and stepped quickly away, heading back into the western city.

He once again found himself in one of the city's many center circles, allowing shopfronts to spread out in multitudes to present their wares. Nearly all the shops were open at this time, since it was around noon, and Ahk could hardly hear his own thoughts with the rampant conversation and shouts surrounding him. A headache sprouted in his knotted brow from the confused––or irritated––expression on him.

"Lost, are you?"

"Who the f–"

Ahk whipped around to see who had spoken, mostly because it was in Egyptian, only to find a dissapointingly familiar face.

"Oh. You," Ahk said stiffly, crossing his arms as he stopped dead in the center of the moving crowd, the Kassite Prince standing across from him with a smile.

"I thought you looked a little lonely out here," he said, taking several, leisurely steps forward. "All by yourself."

"Listen, you and I do not know each other," Ahk said, taking his movement as a challenge and stepping forward till he truly faced the shorter prince. "Stop talking to me in public."

"You should feel honored I ever speak to you at all," he retorted.

Ahkmen internally groaned. Did others feel this way when they spoke to him during his childhood? The Kassite Prince did seem to be a little younger than Ahk, though not by much.

"Don't you have Kings in Egypt?" the Prince continued.

"Pharaohs. And I'm fully aware they do, I just never liked them," Ahk lied sourly, his lips pursed tight together.

"That gold on your arm says otherwise," he said, gesturing with his chin to the gold band wrapped round his bicep.

"Who even are you?"

"The Prince, you –"

"I know that," Ahk interrupted him. "I meant your name."

The Kassite Prince hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the question.

"You know what? I don't care," Ahk said after another second of silence, throwing his hands up in the in defeat, and turning round and walking away.

"Hey!" The prince called out in a whine, but the crowd already welled up in the space between them. "My name's Rimush!"

"And my name's Fuck You," Ahk muttered beneath his breath.

Incense from Elam. Considering your interest in other cultures, and the magic ongoings of said cultures, Ahk took the guess that you would enjoy a hint of the travel yet to come. You still had beer batches you had to finish, and Ahk was enjoying his time returning to combat training, eagerly memorizing each move and doing it thoroughly as he imagined besting any creature that dared to hurt you. There was no need to hurry yourselves to Elam, but there still lingered a curiosity in you and Ahkmen. Priest teachers in Egypt never spoke much about Elam considering the distances between the two countries. Imports reached further than power, however, so Ahk actually had used Elamite incense before, and recalled it as being pleasant. You'd like it, he thought.

Incense progressed into talismans and tools, till his poor money-managing skills led him to carrying three bags worth of things, some for you, and some for himself. Most for you, though. He burned a bright red as he walked back to the estate, already knowing how you'd laugh, rocking back in your seat as he revealed your effect on him even without your presence. But it would be worth it to see the hidden delight in your twinkling eyes.

"Aganu, do you know how many necklaces you have give me?" You asked, about ten minutes after you asked what the thing in your hand was, and he answered 'necklace'.

"No, I wasn't really counting," he said, lifting himself out of his own bag to look over your shoulder.

You sat on his bed, you at the head and him on the side, his legs still planted on the ground. Two of the bags were now empty, their contents scattered in piles around the sheets, all of which belonged to you. Ahk kept his own belongings in a separate bag on the floor.

"This is ten and six necklaces," you said as you held up the mass of necklaces, looking more like tiny, black and brown worms rather than jewelry, the sight of which had giggles bubbling up in both of you.

"Sorry?" He said through his chuckling.

"No, no, I love," you said, setting to untangling them.

It took nearly ten minutes but eventually the two of you untangled all of them, only for you to put every last one of them around your neck, tangling them back around on your chest. You flashed a dizzying grin once you wore all his gifts.

"It's still early," he stuttered out, his face slowly warming with blood as he found himself unable to look away from you, or the sunlight streaming through the door that illuminated your soft skin. "Do you think today'll work for the garden?"

"Oh, yes," you said, straightening your back. "Yes, that is good!"

He chuckled, averting his eyes to his fidgeting fingers.

Tamarisk trees flanked the entrance of the tower, still scraping the sky with the tallest terrace overflowing with leaves of green. The throes of a dying sun painted the white pillars red and orange, burning like flames that would surely overtake the city, but still cooled by the high-up winds that brushed against the hanging trees and flowers.

A wide arch greeted you, acting as a massive entrance leading into a tall room overflowing with grasses, reeds, and bushes. Most of them you recognized instantly––herbs of special sorts, both from Mesopotamia and from far away. You picked those you recognized, stuffing the leaves and roots into one of your many pockets. Ahkmen chuckled at your behavior, but still stopped at your side to allow your collecting, which continued to the stairs carved in a polished, white stone, massive lamassu statutes towering above you. They popped right out of the stone, empty eyes staring straight down into Ahk.

"Wow," he said, earning a hum from you.

"It is like Egypt," you said.

He turned to you with a frown.

"How so?"

"Big, stone cat, with a man head," you said, pointing up at the human fae.

"Oh," he turned back to the statue, "I suppose you're right."

A couple came down the stairs, pressed tightly together when they noticed you. The two of you also drew closer, and began to head up the stairs, watching for the new flora that bloomed out of seemingly nothing.

Lines of arches whose pillars were carved in intricate patterns led to the wind of open air rustling through the trees, willows and their long tendrils dancing and entangling themselves with the flowers of nearby vines. Water clung to the air around you, kept humid and warm in the strange, and surely intentional, dome of a ceiling. Yet more stairs sat behind you, meaning the next floor must've been built higher than the ceiling of the second floor.

Fruits––though most of them small––grew on the low bushes and on high trees, their blooming colors matching the many petals of white, red, gold, and deep purple. You soon discovered the reason for the small fruits was that the other people roaming throughout the terraces picked the larger, more ripened ones, eating them as they wandered about. You soon did the same, picking a small plum and offering part of it to Ahk. He took a couple bites before handing it back to you.

At the brush of your fingers, his heart did not speed––not like before, and he melted into the familiarity, into the warmth he memorized in your touch. Without much thought he took your hand, entwining your fingers sticky with fruit sugar together. When you didn't try to pull away, he pushed down the excitement that was quick to fill his chest, but allowed himself a small smile.

A woman picked fruit from a tree in front of your path, but when he accidentally caught her eye, she hurried off with her basket in hand. Ahk looked up to where she'd been tending, and found large, red pomegranates hanging abundantly from the flimsy tree.

Moving up to his toes, he picked one of the fruits and handed it to you.

"Ever had a pomegranate before?" He asked when you just held it, staring at it in your hands.

"That is this?" You said as you raised it.

"Indeed so. My brother and I used to split it."

"You had a brother??" You asked incredulously.

"Did I never tell you?"

"No," you said. Obviously.

"Alright, well, before he started really hating me, we'd sometimes sneak out into the market and split food, since we couldn't find enough money to pay for an overzealous amount," Ahk explained.

At the very end of his sentence you took a massive bite into the raw peel, instantly frowning when you bit into something fleshy and bitter. Ahkmen, who took a second to notice this, quickly took the fruit from you with a gasp. A large bitemark was already in the fruit.

"That – that's not how you eat pomegranates," he stammered, digging his thumbs into the new-revealed fruit, and splitting it open to reveal the seeds within.

"It is bad," you said, your expression still contorted uncomfortably.

"Spit it out!"

You spit your bite into the nearby bushes, earning cold stares from the couple of people who saw. Their gazes had you shrinking in on yourself.

"Don't worry about it," Ahk said quietly, setting a hand on your back. "I would definitely have done the same thing."

The two of you split the pomegranate, and Ahkmen showed you that it was the fruit-covered seeds that were the truly consumable part. You ended up enjoying them quite a bit, and the one pomegranate lasted you throughout the whole of the marble and limestone garden terrace, following you up the stairs till nothing remained but the shell. Ahk tossed the remains away, and the two of you continued onwards.

Eventually the air began to cool with the ascending floors, and Ahk's Egyptian clothes––which he'd worn that day because he had no work––ceased to fit the temperature, landing Ahk with a soured look and goosebumps coming up constantly on his arms that were crossed tight over his chest.

"Awwwh, you are cold?" You asked in a saccharine voice, after Ahk spent ten minutes wondering if you noticed his shivering.

Your attention did feel better, but not enough.

"A little," he said.

"You do want my coat?" You offered, already setting to undoing the buttons set high on the stiff, red and gold fabric neck.

"No, no, don't trouble yourself," Ahk said quickly, unwrapping his arms from himself to shake his hands no.

"That is okay," you said after a moment. "I do not think it would go in your big arms."

"You think my arms are big?" He squeaked out, looking down at his bicep, which had grown slightly more toned after several training sessions.

"Well, you..." you poked his left bicep, "are big."

"How kind of you, Yogasundari," he said with a massive grin, looking down at you like you lit up the sky.

"Shut up," you said as you pushed him away, earning a loud laugh from him.

"What a show you put on," came a voice from behind you. "I'm almost embarrassed to be seen talking to you."

Ahk groaned––externally this time––and turned slowly around, his dull eyes meeting the Prince Rimush's plotting expression.

"Then stop talking to us," Ahk said, setting his left arm around your shoulder and directing the both of you back forward.

"You've got me there," Rimush said and, to Ahk's great dismay, ran to catch up with you and Ahk, standing at Ahkmen's right. "I just can't dismiss how wonderful of a whore you would make."

Ahk shot you an odd look, but you just shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked with a glare.

"Well, you've got the body for it, and you clearly don't care about showing a little skin," he said, a smirk creeping across his face.

"You know, I don't complain that you're a little brat and that I wish I could subjugate you. Maybe you could do the same," Ahkmen said.

Rimush just laughed, throwing his head of curly, black hair back.

"Who is this man?" You whispered to Ahk while the other was distracted.

"Some idiot I've seen a couple times. He's just a dick."

"I am a Prince, thank you," Rimush interrupted with a cocked brow.

"Okay, Prince Dick," Ahk said, rolling his eyes.

Rimush's mouth fell open as he stared at Ahk, stopping dead in his step. You and Ahk spared him no mercy, and continued forward, leaving the Kassite Prince behind, but only for a moment. He soon ran back up to join you, drawing a heavier-yet groan from Ahkmen.

"Oh come on, don't be like that," he said, hitting Ahk's chest.

"Would you please leave? I'm trying to spend an evening alone with my – my..." Ahk trailed off, his eyes darting to you and back to Rimush.

"Tunae," you suggested, and despite not knowing what the hell you were talking about, he agreed.

"Alright, very well," Rimush said with a long sigh, his shoulders sagging. "But I'd still like to invite you to an event within a few weeks, if you're not too busy... staring at each other."

"Clever," Ahk said flatly.

"It's at Ukani's estate. One of our high priests, a good friend of my father's," the Prince continued.

It took a moment, but the words oh fuck rolled over Ahk's already irritated mind.

"We'll already be there," Ahk said. "We work for the man."

"Oh, wonderful. I hope you're doing some of the dancing, then," Rimush said, and his eyes raked over Ahk again. "I've heard the dancers are dressed in only the finest and thinnest of silks."

"I guess you'll find out," Ahk replied in the same, flat tone.

The two of you, now pressed tightly together, didn't move or speak till Rimush's unkempt locks disappeared down the stairway. At that point Ahk let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding, and returned his attention chiefly to you.

"He is a prince?" You asked as you picked up your stroll once more.

"Yes, somehow."

"We must be good to him," you said.

"Uh... why?" Ahk asked, wanting to do the exact opposite.

"You said, in Egypt, to go with what the power says, the Kings and that," you said, and his eyes drifted shut.

"I did say that, didn't I," he mumbled.

Now that those conventions weren't upholding his status and were there instead to crush him, well––things seemed a little different on the earth than it did in the clouds, and his thought process worked just the same.

Both of you fell quiet after that, wandering in silence throughout the climbing terraces. Trees of figs, dates, melons, plums, and pears lined the walkway, beside softly running streams pouring their lifeforce into the plants. After several minutes, and a couple floors later, Ahk finally gathered up enough gall to take your hand again. Instantly your fingers tangled into his, and he noted with great pride the smile tugging at the corners of your blushing lips.

The very top of the tower overlooked the whole of the city, from the ziggurats to the outer walls, and to the town-like structures stretching onwards from Karanduniash. The Euphrates continued on endlessly, splitting the land before you in two as wind blew with the force to disrobe you.

People who walked down below were no larger than the ochre dot on your forehead, and moved about as slow as an ant crawling to get to its' hive. Ahk was the only one that could truly watch them, as you were uneasy whenever you leant over the garden's edge, and saw the ground below at a height tall enough to kill you. Instead you crossed you arms, whining whenever Ahk got too close and appeared to be close to falling off.

"Do not be dumb," you said with a frown, your folded arms helping keep your clothes tight to your body.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that," he said, leaning just enough over the sheer cliff to see the terraces built beneath you, and those who stood on the edge just as he did.

"I would like to worry about that, thank you," you said matter-of-factly.

Ahkmen chuckled but relented, returning to your side in the center of the highest floor. Despite the plant's water coming from far below you, the creek still ran through the last terrace, feeding the scant trees and brush that could survive the overbearing winds. The bells of rushing water accompanied him as he took your hands, holding them gentle in his own.

"You know I adore you, don't you?" He said, scanning your expectant eyes.

"What does a door do with this?"

"No, not -" he giggled with warming cheeks, "not a door. Adore. It means to care for something deeply, to admire it in a way."

"Ohhh, yes, I did hear this, I only forgot. Sorry," you said with your own sheepish chuckle.

"No need to apologize. I just want you to remember that."

"What adore is saying?"

"No, that I adore you," he said, and despite his screw-ups rushing blood to his face, he knelt before you to more easily meet your eye.

Looking up to you was a special sort of reverence. His bare knee dug into the fertile earth, his other kept up near his chest as he craned his neck to hold your gaze. You appeared, for a moment, to be entirely quiet, wide eyes staring wordlessly down at him. Even the breath in your chest ceased to move.

In the past, you had bowed before many people––passing Kings and High Priests, masters, and your own family in celebrations for the new year. The view from above was quite different from the one below, and you were allowed movement.

You gently pulled one of your hands out of his hold. His empty hand fell like muslin to his lap, a feeling replicated in warm, tingling sensations when your thumb stroked over his jawline. Eyes fluttered shut once more as he leant into your touch, melting when the whole of your palm rested on his flushed cheek.

"Look at me," you said softly, and Ahk raised his head, opening his eyes. "Know my face."

"I've already memorized it," he replied in a murmur.

[hyunllx]

The Christmas Baker

A Hyunlix Hallmark Fic Chapter 1/5 wc: 4k Hwang Hyunjin is a rich, cocky, famous dancer that prefers to keep to himself during the holidays. When his roommate drags him along to visit his hometown, however, Hyunjin meets a boy who helps him believe in the spirit of the season. Primarily Hyunjin’s pov with Felix’s pov added in occasionally. series warnings: Extremely cliche. You will probably cringe at some points but its okay. chapter warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol. note: This fic is not meant to accurately reflect or portray the members of SKZ. This is just for fun. Next Chapter

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    A deep pounding in the temples roused Hyunjin from his sleep, a groan escaping him as he tried to sit up, his head spinning. He remembered he’d crashed on the couch again in the middle of the night after coming home from another company party. As usual, he’d had too much to drink and couldn’t make it all the way to his bedroom to undress or sleep properly. Now his neck and shoulders hurt from the uncomfortable couch and he felt like he needed a year long hot shower.

  The smell of cooking registered in his nose, turning his stomach but waking him up a little more. He could hear the soft voice of his room mate and best friend, Chan, chiming from the kitchen, singing along to a christmas song he couldn’t quite make out.

  Chan emerged from the kitchen carrying a steaming bowl, grinning wide as he noticed Hyunjin up and somewhat alert,

  “Hey sleepyhead, you’re finally awake.” His voice was high and babyish as he approached the couch.

  Hyunjin groaned again. No matter how close they were, he was still embarrassed whenever Chan pulled out his cute charms around him. Lacking the energy to complain so soon after waking up, he just took the bowl from Chan and brought it to his lips without a word. Despite expecting the taste of Chan’s famous hangover soup, Hyunjin still recoiled as the spices burned his tongue and throat. He coughed sharply, earning a pat on the head from his friend,

  “That’ll wake you up for sure.”

  “What’s that?” Hyunjin pointed to the luggage piled next to their apartment’s front door, distracting himself as he took another scalding sip of the soup broth. Chan tilted his head like a confused puppy, frowning,

  “I’m leaving to stay with my brother for break, remember?”

  “That’s today?”

  “Of course. Christmas is only four days away you know.” He didn’t know, but Hyunjin didn’t want to say that out loud. People were always either appalled that he didn’t celebrate the holidays or they pitied him. In reality he never got to celebrate like others did when his parents were busy with holiday music events and parties. He was used to being alone this time of year. Still, he couldn’t help eye the stack of bags with jealousy. The thought of waking up on christmas morning without his best friend was not something he looked forward to.

  Chan noticed the way his eyes kept flicking toward the door,

  “Are you sure I can leave you alone for so long?”

  Hyunjin scoffed, “What do you mean? I’m an adult, I can take care of myself.”

  “Getting drunk every night until Christmas is not taking care of yourself, Hyunnie.” Hyunjin grimaced at the nickname. Chan only used it when he was sincerely worried about him, and Hyunjin didn’t want to have this serious of a conversation when he’d be leaving right after. He focused on finishing his breakfast instead, skin burning where Chan was watching him.

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  Hyunjin choked as he inhaled broth in shock at the proposition,

  “Excuse me?” He managed between coughs.

  “I mean it. I don’t want you to be here by yourself.”

  The witty come back on Hyunjin’s tongue burned away when he met Chan’s sad eyes. Truthfully, he didn’t want to be here alone either, but the thought of staying in a stranger’s house in a strange town was equally unappealing. 

  “I know my brother won’t mind. He loves company, and we’ll make room for you.”

  “I’m not going to win this fight, am I?” Hyunjin sighed, defeated.

  “Nope!” Chan grinned and dragged him into a one-sided hug, “I’ll help you pack once you wake up.”

  It didn't take long for Hyunjin to shower and collect his things. Though what he owned was luxurious and expensive, he didn't own much of anything. His clothes for the trip took up a rolling suitcase and everything else fit neatly in his shoulder bag. How Chan managed to fill three duffle bags, a laptop case, and his backpack, Hyunjin would never know. Still, between the two of them packing up Chan’s car, they managed to get on the road by the time he’d wanted to leave. 

  “Do you mind if I call him to let him know we’re coming?” Chan asked, fiddling with his dashboard to connect the car to his phone.

  Hyunjin shrugged, putting in his ear buds to respect the privacy of their conversation. Even with his volume turned, though, the reverberating bass of the deepest “Hello?” he’d ever heard cut through to his ears. 

  Hyunjin had never seen Chan’s brother, but he couldn’t imagine the person that voice must be coming from. His eyes widened as he listened to them talk,

  “I’m on my way over now!” Chan said, flashing Hyunjin a bright smile when he noticed his friend’s face, “Hey, I’m sorry for not asking earlier but my roommate didn’t have a place to celebrate Christmas, so is it alright I brought him along?”

  “Of course, of course!” His brother responded, his voice lightening only slightly with warmth, “I’ll get the guest room ready. Will he be coming to the party?”

  Hyunjin sat up straighter at the mention of a party, looking toward Chan, who only rolled his eyes,

  “Yeah, I think it’ll be good for him to go.”

  “Sweet! I’ll see you guys when you get here.”

  “Love you, Lix.”

  “Love you too!”

  “Party?” Hyunjin asked curiously as soon as they hung up the call, “I thought you wanted me to stay away from parties.”

  “It’s not the kind of party you’re thinking of.” Chan shook his head, a laugh hiding behind his lips, “It’s a celebration on Christmas Eve. Everyone comes together for free food and gifts.”

  “Sounds boring.” As long as there’s liquor for the adults, he thought to himself. He knew he’d need it to get through that kind of Christmas cheer. Chan only hummed in response, turning on the radio. It didn’t take long for him to start singing along to the holiday music, definitely not helping Hyunjin’s mood, even with his own music playing through his headphones.

  It took a couple songs passing without him registering the music for Hyunjin to realize he was still thinking about the voice on the other end of the car speakers. So warm yet so deep and mysterious at the same time. Chan talked often with pride about his younger brother, but Hyunjin had never taken the time to envision what the boy was actually like. In his head he was just a younger Chan. Clearly not with that voice. If he’d heard someone speak like that in a club or at a venue, he’d be flirting with them in an instant.

  After an hour of passive contemplation and at least ten plays of Mariah Carey's All I Want For Christmas Is You, Hyunjin finally pulled out his ear buds and turned down the radio. Chan turned to look at him mid-lyric,

  "What's wrong?"

  "Tell me more about your brother." Chan opened his mouth to gush like usual but paused, looking at him curiously,

  "You've never asked about him before."

  "It would be rude to show up at his house and not know anything about him."

  “I talk about him all the time?”

  “I don’t listen.” He lied.

  Chan rolled his eyes, “Well… his name is Felix. He’s the same age as you are, 6 months younger. I basically raised him when we were kids because our parents were gone all the time. He owns and works at a little bakery in town-”

  “He’s a baker?” Now Hyunjin was really confused. 

  “The BEST baker!” Chan corrected, a little over-excited, “Seriously, all your stress will melt away the second you taste his brownies. He’s also a great cook, of course. And he’s a dancer, like you!”

  Hyunjin couldn’t figure this boy out. Every detail Chan shared over the following half hour was like gaining a new jigsaw piece that belonged to a completely different puzzle. “Felix” was a baker at heart with a passion for singing and dancing. Somehow he’d never followed in his elder brother’s footsteps despite being a gifted musician. By the time he was done listening, he both regretted asking and was unimaginably curious. All because of that stupidly deep voice on the other end of the call. 

  They drove from late morning until sunset, the city passing by them giving way to towns and eventually just an expanse of highway and trees. Occasionally an off-ramp would lead to some semblance of civilization beyond the humming of the cars around them, otherwise there was nothing this far out of the city. Clouds on the horizon turned deep red and purple as Chan finally took an exit, a storm in the distance squeezing the last drops of golden light from the sun before it set.

  They took several winding turns through the trees until the sun disappeared behind them and lights flared up around the car. Hyunjin stared in amazement as the trees lining the main road held strings of christmas lights in their branches, leading them straight to the town’s center. Though he would never admit it out loud, Hyunjin thought they were beautiful. 

  The entire town was decorated as though they had just entered the north pole. Every light pole held an oversized wreath, every tree strung with lights, every hovel and storefront decorated as if they wanted to see their tiny town from space. Hyunjin was dumbstruck; he was used to this kind of sight in big cities. It was to draw tourists and commerce for the big stores and the attractions. But here, this tiny town had none of that. They did this for the joy of it. How anyone could be in love with this holiday in such a way, he did not know. He was so lost in wonder he didn’t even notice they’d stopped until Chan turned the car off and the radio stopped playing, snapping Hyunjin’s attention back to reality.

  They’d pulled up to the small driveway of an equally small house. It was two stories tall, but only wide enough to fit the front door and a window on the first story. Thin trails of smoke rose from the back of the house, and a porch enclosed the entrance, orange light spilling out onto the wooden steps from the door’s frosted glass window.

  Shivers ripped through Hyunjin as he stepped out of the car, his breath swirling around him in a puff of steam. The temperature had dropped below freezing already, the cold eating away the nerves that started bubbling in Hyunjin’s stomach. The house in front of him looked cozy and warm and he just wanted to get inside.

  “Come on!” Chan grinned, motioning for Hyunjin to follow as he nearly sprinted up the stairs. The door was unlocked for them, and he shuffled after his friend into the heat of the home. He rubbed his hands together as he stood over the humming radiator of the entryway, taking in the overwhelming sensory experience of the home. Other than the warmth, the first thing to hit Hyunjin was the smell of food cooking somewhere deeper in the house, making his stomach growl. He hadn’t eaten much more than a few snacks since his breakfast soup. 

  Secondly, everything was covered in christmas decorations. Everything. The walls, the stairs to the second floor, the doors, the dining room to their left. Even the crown molding lining the ceiling of the old house. The warm orange light he’d seen from outside was emitted by dozens if not hundreds of little warm-white bulbs. It was as if Santa Claus himself lived there.

  “We’re here!” Chan called out, waddling into the hallway with Hyunjin right behind. A half-laugh half-yell of excitement burst from what Hyunjin assumed was the kitchen, startling him. Yet the human that emerged from the doorway was the most shocking part.

  The boy was just a tiny bit shorter than Chan, and petite enough to be swimming in his oversized sweater and apron. His hair was a shade more platinum than Hyunjin's own blonde, his skin a soft russet with splashes of dark freckles across his nose and cheeks.

  "Hyung!" He exclaimed in a high-pitched voice as he ran into Chan's outstretched arms. Certainly this wasn't the same boy that spoke over the car speakers.

  "You must be Hyunjin!" His deep voice returned as he pulled away from his brother, beaming up at Hyunjin with the world's brightest grin, "It's nice to meet you!"

  "Nice to meet you t-" Hyunjin had extended a hand for a handshake but Felix quickly ignored it, pulling him into a sudden hug. Hyunjin stiffened at the informality, entirely unprepared to meet someone that was even more physically affectionate than Chan. He could see the family resemblance. 

  “Don’t be nervous,” Felix tried to soothe him, patting his back before pulling away, “You’re hyung’s friend, so this is your home too.”

  Hyunjin couldn’t respond, his brain was short-circuiting from the physical affection and the deep voice and all the lights. All he could process was Chan trying desperately yet failing to suppress a laugh in his direction. Thankfully, an obnoxious beeping from the kitchen saved him from having to formulate a response.

  “Ah! Dinner’s ready, you guys made it just in time!” He scurried off to fetch the food, bouncing along with excitement as he ran like a child.

  “You alright?” Chan chuckled, smacking Hyunjin between the shoulderblades to grab his attention.

  “What have you dragged me into?” He whispered, hoping his host wouldn’t hear.

  “Come on Hyunjin, I know you guys are going to end up getting along just fine.” Chan winked at him, which Hyunjin thought was odd, but at this point everything around him was twisted backwards and upside down so he didn’t think much more of it. 

  They hung up their jackets and Chan led him into the dining room where Felix was setting out three large bowls of rice next to three bowls of the most delicious smelling kimchi stew Hyunjin had ever seen. The chandelier that hung over the small table was turned off, the room illuminated instead by the vibrant white glow of the christmas tree in the corner of the room. Felix’s smile as they entered was just as bright; Hyunjin felt he couldn’t look too long or else he’d get lost in it. Instead he turned to Chan as he took a seat next to him, watching his friend’s nose scrunch up at the thought of a spicy meal.

  “Don’t worry, it’s not very spicy.” Felix assured, reading Hyunjin’s exact train of thought. Of course he’d know Chan couldn’t handle spicy food. He couldn’t even eat the hangover soup he made Hyunjin in the mornings. 

  “Thank God.” Chan nodded with relief, “Shall we eat? I’m starving.”

  “Of course, please help yourselves.” Felix said as he took a seat across from Hyunjin at the table, still smiling. Hyunjin still couldn’t look at him, his heart skipping at the sight of his grin. Instead, he dug into his stew. 

  An involuntary groan rumbled in his throat at the flavor, his body warming instantly as he slowed to savor the taste. Not that he’d had many home cooked meals in his life, but Hyunjin couldn’t help but think it was the best tasting meal he’d ever had.

  When he came back up from his bowl, Hyunjin froze under the stares of both Chan and Felix. They looked at him eagerly, leaning in as if waiting for him to speak.

  “Uh…” He struggled to find words as he swallowed a mouthful of beef, “It’s really good.”

  Felix let out a sigh of relief then a loud, sudden laugh. His grin swallowed his face again as he picked up his chopsticks,

  “Good! I was worried whether or not you’d like it.”

  The comment came off so casual that it left Hyunjin’s ears burning with embarrassment. Why did he care what Hyunjin thought about his food? They were strangers. Yet the longer he lingered in this house the more it felt familiar. Like he was visiting a beloved family member after years apart. He shook off the feeling. 

  He’s a stranger. Hyunjin reminded himself.

  “Is Seungmin still working at the bakery after moving out?” Chan asked when Hyunjin’s senses were ready to return to the conversation.

  “Yeah, but I gave him the week off.” Felix waved his hand dismissively, though a smirk lingered on his lips, “He deserves to spend as much time as he can with Minho.”

  “They’re back together?”

  “Do they ever really break up?” Both brothers laughed in agreement, nodding vigorously. Hyunjin was lost in the conversation, so he just sat and smiled awkwardly. Chan giggled teasingly as he continued, 

  “What about you? Is there a special boy I should meet while I’m here?”

  Hyunjin and Felix immediately locked eyes at the question. Felix’s face grew tomato-red, and the intense fire in his ears told Hyunjin they looked much the same. His head reeled as he realized that’s why Chan was never awkward whenever he came home to find Hyunjin with a boy, or why they never had the talk about it after. 

  “Uh.. No- no. I’m not seeing anyone.” Felix stuttered, stuffing his mouth with rice so he wouldn’t have to keep talking. Hyunjin felt sorry for him as the boy’s sunny smile vanished. He could sense Felix’s anxiety at being outed to a stranger. Even if he’d welcomed Hyunjin with open arms, this was a different level of personal information. He tried to catch Felix’s eye again but the boy was too focused on his food. Hyunjin cleared his throat instead,

  “That’s too bad. I was hoping to meet a cute boy while we were here.”

  Felix perked up a little at that, a smile entertaining the corners of his lips while he chewed. They finished their dinner in mostly silence, the sweet hum of christmas music filtering into the room via the kitchen. Though he knew he’d regret it when he returned to the dance studio after break, Hyunjin ate until he was completely full, letting himself indulge in the delicious food just this once.

  “So… just you in the bakery tomorrow?” Chan asked as they all leaned back in their chairs, finished and satisfied.

  “Yep!” Felix smiled and nodded as he stood to gather the empty dishes from the table, “I’m only aiming for 1000 this year so the two days should be plenty of time. As long as you’ll help?”

  “Of course! What are brothers for?”

  “1000 what?” Hyunjin looked between them, confused and apprehensive about being in a stranger’s home by himself.

  “Cookies! For the Christmas Eve Party. You’re welcome to come help too if you want.”

  Hyunjin screwed up his face at the idea; he was NOT a good cook, or baker. Hence his lack of experience with home-cooked meals, “I think I’ll just take the day to look around town.”

  “Well you’re welcome to stop by. It’ll just be us in there.” Was that disappointment in his deep voice? Hyunjin shook his head at the thought. While he certainly had a reputation for being cocky, he wasn’t typically this full of himself. There was no reason for this boy he’d just met to have such an impact on his emotions. Felix didn’t care about him or what he did. They didn’t know each other. Hyunjin was only here because of Chan. 

  “I’m going to start unloading the car.” He said, already heading for the front door. He needed to clear his head. The cold night air would help.

--------------------Felix--------------------

    “Is that everything?” Felix asked as he helped his brother tuck the last of the gifts he’d brought under the giant tree in his living room. His cheeks hurt from smiling, and he had to restrain himself from shaking the boxes whenever he glimpsed his name written on the tag.

  “Yep!” Chan smiled just as wide, pretending to dust off his hands, “Just have to unpack my clothes and stuff.”

  “Do you want help?”

  “Nah. I’ll be back down in a bit.” He scratched his fingers in Felix’s hair as he stood, making the younger boy giggle. Felix hadn’t realized how much he had missed his hyung; Chan was gone to the big city to chase his dreams and rarely got a break to come home. Whenever he visited, it felt like Felix’s heart was whole again. 

  As he stood up from his spot in front of the tree, Felix’s mind wandered from his brother to the stranger upstairs, Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin. 

  Being a dancer himself, Felix was familiar with the dancers that Chan worked with, spending hours memorizing their routines. The fact that Hyunjin was here in his home made nervous, star-struck butterflies flutter in his stomach. Even despite his cold demeanor.

  Felix could tell it was an act; the mask had slipped when Hyunjin rescued him from Chan accidentally outing that he liked boys in front of a stranger. It slipped in the way Hyunjin looked to Chan like a brother, for comfort and reassurance. There was a kind person underneath all that ice. He’d warm up once they got to know each other, Felix was sure of it.

  “I’ll go check on him, I think.” He mumbled to himself as he checked his pulse, a nervous tick he’d had since he was a child. He stopped to grab a pillow and blankets from the closet under the stairs, just in case his guest needed an extra one, before heading up.

  The door to the guest bedroom was ajar so Felix opened it with a nudge of his foot. He found Hyunjin standing in the middle of the room, vigorously texting on his phone. His long, golden hair hung loose, free from the ponytail he’d had it in before. His plump bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, his eyebrows pulled together in concern. It was the first time Felix really recognized how breath-takingly beautiful the man was in person.

  When he noticed light spilling into the room from the hall, Hyunjin looked up from his phone, startled as though Felix had caught him doing something he shouldn’t have been. Frowning, he paused in the doorway,

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Y-yeah. Sorry, you just surprised me.” Hyunjin spoke as if finding his breath again, his ears turning pink again like they had been at dinner.

  “Um… Is there anything you need? Like another blanket or something?” Felix shuffled his feet awkwardly. The star-struck butterflies were back in full-force and he was sure he looked just as embarrassed as Hyunjin himself did.

  “No thank you, I’m alright.” An awkward pause, “Hey… is that offer to help at the bakery still open?” 

  Felix’s heart flipped up into his throat,

  “Yeah of course! You… you changed your mind?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be seeing much of the town.” He stepped back and pointed to the small window. Half an inch of snow already clung to the outer windowsill while large, heavy flakes sparkling in the lights lining the house dove through the air. The storm that had been threatening the sky all day finally arrived. 

  “Oh that’s alright,” Felix grinned at the sight, excitement mingling with his nervousness making him bounce on his toes, “We’ll have a white christmas at least! You’re welcome to join me and Chan any time.”

  “Thank you.” Hyunjin bowed slightly, still being awkward, “Um… good night.”

  “Good night, Hyunjin.” Before he could see his reaction, Felix stepped back and shut the door. His heart raced and he had to take a moment to catch his breath.

  

“It’s going to be a long three days…”

[weakzen]

Echoes

Mason doesn't play the sax.

pairing: female detective/mason rating: m wc: 1.5k+ prompt fill: 05. Let N serenade you on the violin or convince M to play you a song on the saxophone?

also submitted for @31daysofwayhaven day 26 – past ♥

AO3 version

At some point, the auditorium sat proud, tall, and full of life, but now it slumps over like a rotting carcass picked half-clean.

Water damage streaks down the high walls, cleaving paths through the paint and sound panels, ceiling to floor, and near the bottom, where both of those haven't peeled away in long, crackling strips or simply fallen to the ground, there's graffiti. A scrawling expanse of interlocking color and twisting line, layers of jumbled chaos occasionally interrupted by bursts of artistic order and collapsed ceiling beams. Beneath that even further, empty beer cans and cigarette butts cover the moldering carpets, along with a multitude of other random garbage and a general layer of musty grime that burns acrid at the back of my throat with every breath.

And all of it—everything in here, every choking mote of dust, every piece of trash and row of decomposing seats and fallen light fixture, every millimeter of this filthy, decrepit, cavernous fucking room, from its sloping floor to its broken roof and the patches of starlight peeking through—all of it trembles and aches beneath the weight of his echoing notes.

So do I, as I walk slowly forward, down the center aisle toward the stage, boots crunching softly over splintered wood and shattered ceiling panels, Volt bumping against my thigh with each step, and each step coming heavier and heavier as I approach.

My flashlight swings heavy in my grip too, but it's turned off. Unnecessary, at the moment.

Somehow, electricity still pulses through this husk of a high school, providing just enough intermittent lighting—strategically placed and flickering, of course—to make the corridors outside as creepy as possible. In here, it just powers the lights above the stage. Which is creepy in its own way, I suppose, an echo of earlier times in this space, like if I squint hard enough to hide the ruin, I can see into the past and how everything used to be.

Maybe that's why he initially climbed up on that stage, pulled forward. Maybe that's when he spotted the saxophone too, picked it up.

Then where, for reasons I can't even begin to guess at, he decided to play it as well.

And he does. Play it well.

Which doesn't surprise me so much as it makes me curious—and worried.

I'm no musician, but I can tell by sound the instrument has known better days. He makes it work, though. Somehow.

Even if some of the notes come at odd, uncomfortable angles.

There's still a mournful beauty to it.

And I don't know if it's because of that, or because he's the one playing, or because we're in this particular place, this dead building with its stifling air and all these empty, torn seats and the ghosts of memory still lurking here, but…

My chest is so tight. And I just feel so fucking sad.

Maybe it's because of the song itself.

The long and low notes wavering into loneliness. The way they twine and weave together into this visceral, haunting melancholy that just… digs into my heart and aches. It's almost overwhelming, the sheer, raw emotion carried on his melody, the honesty too, coming out of that shitty fucking sax to peel me open in layers, burrowing even deeper until it whispers directly into my soul, truths that could never be shared any other way or expressed in words at all because there simply isn't a language vast enough to hold them and everything they have to say.

It's hard to breathe. And it hurts, hearing it now, feeling the weight of everything spoken by this bluesy music, but I swipe my jacket sleeve across my eyes and keep going anyway.

A few moments later, the edge of the stage looms above me, almost a meter over my head. It's no concern. I tuck the flashlight into my belt loop and clear it easily enough, one hard jump later before I'm pulling myself up and into the bright lights.

The floorboards sink slightly beneath my feet when I take a few steps toward him but, if they creak, I don't hear it.

Mason doesn't seem to, either.

He plays with his back turned almost entirely to the audience, though he's still angled enough for me to catch his long fingers working the keys. Pressing and holding and releasing, tendons in his hand shifting with the rise and fall of his shoulders, the quick inhales of breath and the impossibly slow, meandering exhales. His lips and cheeks probably move in tandem as well, but I can't see through the curtain of hair that hides his face and expression.

My arms fold and nestle, tight and comforting against my body. I don't know how long I stand there watching, heavy with that ache. Time passes in measures of note and the subtle movements of his body. The world recedes too, until there's nothing but this stage surrounded by darkness and rotting velvet, nothing but this scene unfolding atop it and whatever uncertain roles we're both playing here.

Maybe mine is just to listen.

So I do.

Trembling, knotted, heart in my throat and aching with something I can't describe and only barely understand, I listen, until his performance ends and that final note stretches out, fades, and disappears into deafening silence. Until all that remains in this void is the faint buzz of hot lights, distant dripping.

And us.

If he hadn't detected me on approach, then I know he's aware of my presence now. I know he can feel me and the weight of my gaze and all of my unspoken questions.

But he doesn't turn around.

He doesn't move.

And if there's a line I'm supposed to say here, I never received the script for it.

My brow furrows deeper—I take a shallow breath and improvise anyway.

"I didn't know you played, sunshine."

The words come out quiet and thick, seeming to catch in the air, even as they echo faintly.

His fingers tighten on the instrument for a moment.

"I don't."

Then he rips the strap over his shoulder and flings the sax hard into the darkness backstage.

It smashes against something with a harsh clang that makes me flinch as it stabs into my ears. The sound echoes sharply through the auditorium and he turns with it, even sharper, to stalk toward the edge of the stage. As he passes, I reach out to touch his chest and—

Mason catches my wrist before I make contact, but he stops anyway.

He doesn't look at me, though. Only glares straight ahead, into a distance deeper and darker than just the auditorium. And as he continues to gently hold me in his grasp, I can't help but wonder what he's seeing out there beyond the ruin.

What glimpse of the past he caught when he squinted.

His gaze softens, and his hand squeezes slightly in answer.

He doesn't want to talk about it. Not now, anyway.

My eyes fall half-shut, ache twisting just a little deeper as I bite my lip and brush my fingertips against his chest. He allows it, fingers shifting to trace over my knuckles, thumb rolling softly around my palm too. And he doesn't resist when I slide forward to spread my hand over his heart, just moves his thumb out of the way before he rests his touch on top of mine.

Then he sighs, and the tension falls from his shoulders.

From mine as well, as we close our eyes.

I don't know how long we stand there like that, either. Time passes in measures of heartbeat and the small strokes of his fingers. The world recedes even further, until the stage disappears too, until there's nothing left but us and all of the things we're speaking to each other that could never be shared any other way or expressed in words at all.

Because there simply isn't a language vast enough to describe how much I love him.

Or how much he loves me.

But we've never needed one when we have this.

I make a soft noise of reassurance and rub his chest.

Mason sighs again, then curls his hand around mine and brings it to his mouth. He drags my fingers against his lips, breath teasing warm over my skin before he starts pressing wet kisses to my knuckles.

“There's nothing here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, glancing to me. “We should regroup with the others.”

I crack a faint grin. “Aw, already? Just when I was getting used to breathing in the asbestos.”

He snorts, smile spreading across his face even as he nips me. I hiss out a chuckle, then press my fingers over his mouth.

“Guess I better get you out of here quickly then,” he mumbles through them—right before he sucks a couple into his mouth.

Of course.

I inhale sharply, encased in that soft, wet heat. Then exhale a shuddering breath. His tongue slides around my fingers, between them, licking rhythmic strokes in time with the hard suction of his mouth. Heat begins to pool and throb elsewhere in my body, only stoking the desire in his eyes. Mason smirks around me, and his other hand comes up to grab my ass and pull me into him.

“Hm. First the sax—” I gasp slightly, eyes closing momentarily as he slides me fully inside “—now my fingers.” I bite my lip, moan catching low in my throat while I smirk back. “What else you gonna put in your mouth tonight?"

He slides me out with a lewd pop, then presses a lingering kiss to my fingertips.

“You'll find out soon enough.”

Dark amusement glitters in his eyes, familiar amusement, paired with sharpened canines.

Indicative of incoming vampire bullshit.

Chuckling, I grab the flashlight to make sure it doesn't fall. “Think the far left one looked biggest.”

His smirk widens.

Mason curls his hand around the back of my head and pulls me into a brief kiss, then a prolonged kiss, an eager kiss, his movements edged with neediness, with affection, appreciation.

And gratitude.

When he finally pulls back, I'm dazed, grinning, and slightly breathless—which is the only reason why I yelp as he scoops me up.

That, and the fact I'm settled firmly in his arms rather than my usual spot slung over his shoulder.

He doesn't give me time to question it, just leaps off the stage and speeds into the darkness, arms wrapped tightly around me while I clutch at his neck, and then we're rocketing upward, bursting through the hole in the roof, flying high into the crisp night air.

We hang for a long moment, suspended in moonlight, building shrinking below, city lights glittering in the distance, hair floating and stomachs doing that slow, anticipatory flip before the drop.

I smile into his skin, and call him a show off.

He holds me securely against him as we start to fall, answering smile on his lips.

One that tells me I like it.

[deberiaestarescribiendo]

Saint Jude's Miracle: A Javier Peña x OFC (Isa) Fanfiction. Chapter IV

Summary: Javier left one small detail about his partnership with the DEA, a insignificant one but that changes how Isa perceives this job and the risks he’s about to take. They spent the last weekend before he leaves in Laredo where they made many memories at the beginning of their relationship.

WC: 4,3k

Warnings: angst and many hurt feelings, miscommunication, swearing. NSFW +18 SMUT at the end of the chapter (fingering, male masturbation, p in v and a bit of sex talk but not that explicit)

A/N: Hi! this is chapter four and I think that I can wrap up this story in a few chapters more (4 maximum, at least that’s the plan) I literally based the whole end of the chapter on my first participation on #Writer Wednesday that you can read here and my love for Juan Luis Guerra. The song mentioned is “Burbujas de amor” I grew up dancing and listening to that tape while my mami cooked and later in my life I really paid attention to the lyrics discovering that well, it’s about sex 😅, still it’s a beautiful bachata and the hopeless romantic in me wishes that somebody (Javi Peña please) would dance it with me someday while being madly in love 💃❤

Listen and Lyrics here (there's a few verses translated by yours truly in the chapter)

Masterlist | Chapter 3⬅

Chapter IV: Small details

Isabel tries to focus on her daily routines like doing the chores; it’s easier than to think about anything else, she tries to keep going as if nothing is going to happen. But every time she looks at the door where Javi has left his luggage, she feels her stomach twisting. She’s desperate; thinking how she could make him stay: maybe she could lie, pretend that something has come up, but she dismisses those thoughts straight away, she must be overthinking, it’s just a week, she repeats herself but she cannot help feeling that something is wrong and that she should do anything to make him stay.

Javier plays with Elvira on the garden, the little girl screams and laughs out loud while her father tries to catch her; Isabel looks at them amused from the sliding door when the phone rings.

“Hello?” she answers

“Hi! It’s Steve, is Javi home?” a deep male voice she doesn’t recognize replies

“Yes, who is this again?” she actually has an idea. He, this Steve, it's the one that has convinced his husband to go, the one that called a thousand times during the night.

“Steve, I was your husband’s partner back in Colombia. You’re Isa, right?”

“Yes”

“Nice to meet you, well, through the phone at least” he chuckles

“Nice to meet you too”

“Javi has told me about you and, let me tell you, me and my wife, we’re dying to meet you”

“I’d love to say the same but he doesn’t share much about that time” she blurts out, she actually feels hurt, why did Javi tell him about her and nothing of the man calling to her, his wife? “Are you going with him to Mexico? You are the one that asked him?”

“Ask him? We didn’t...” Steve says confused “Yes, y-y-es, we’re going together” he coughs “Can you pass him the phone, please?”

“Yes”

Isa strides angrily towards the garden and calls for Javi to come inside. He stops immediately the games with Elvira and returns to the house with a curious look.

“Sí, amor?”

“The phone, it’s your friend Steve” she hisses

“Steve?”

“Jav...I think I might have fucked up talking to your wife”

The rest of the day is a symphony of Isa stumping through the house, slamming doors and grunts and curses slurred.

“She’s angry again” Elvi confides leaning on her father’s ear while their watching a movie after dinner

“Yeah, I think so too” fuck Steve and his big mouth

His wife is doing the dishes and if he wasn’t able to hear the water running, he would think she is actually destroying the whole kitchen rather than cleaning; she lays things unnecessarily loudly and the clack clack sound of the plates smashing against each other announces that she’s losing her cool and that she’s about to break some of them soon enough.

Crash

“Fuck!”

Eli gasps and cringes hearing her mum say a bad word for the first time.

“You keep watching, I’m going to see if she’s ok” Javi gets up and walks to the kitchen

She’s cleaning the thousand tiny pieces muttering a list of bad words in Spanish and English.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes” she says abruptly

“Clearly not, but...”

“Of course I am not” she starts shouting but she lowers her voice immediately knowing her kid can hear her “I’m about to lose my mind”

“Isa...” he approaches her but she backs away and stops him

“You forgot to tell me some small details, Javier” she accuses

“What details?”

“Why did your friend imply that they didn’t ask you to go?”

He sighs placing his hands on his hips

“I didn’t want you to...”

“Worry?” she interrupts “We’re passed that”

“Alright, I did offered my help” he confesses

“What kind of help?”

“I’ve told you. See what they got and testify when necessary about the information I found” he looks tired, dark circles under his eyes and he lowers his arms defeated “Can we please talk about this later...”

“You’re telling me that you are an informant, Javi?” Isa waits for his answer with her fists close tightly; her lips are a fine line now

“Yes, more or less” he sighs

“Javier... why did you put yourself at risk like that?” her voice is low and she closes her eyes before speaking trying to control what she’s about to say “You know what those people do to whoever dares to speak up?”

“Of course, I fucking know, Isa!” he screams and slams his hand on the table, making her flinch

Helena

Maritza

Carrillo

Even fucking Mr Pickle

The list of people Javi had seen die or their lives distroyed because they dare to face the Narcos or say something they shouldn’t have was long and his mind repeats those names again and again when he tries to forget about what happened in Colombia.

“What did you want me to do? Look the other way? Ignore it as everybody in that fucking stupid job? Let those people go?” his eyes glow with the white light on the kitchen. He never loses his temper; he’s actually pretty calm even when they’ve fought before. But in that moment, Isa see how his hands shake how his body tenses

“What I want it’s that you don’t want to comprise yourself, your health to something that isn’t your job anymore” she mutters

“Yeah, but guess what? It’s the only thing I know how to do and I’m actually good at it, not that stupid office job that kills me every fucking day”

“If you don’t like it you can change, Javi, nobody is holding you there” she suggests

“Nobody is holding me there? Well, we have to keep paying this fucking house don’t we?” he snarls

“It’s our fault then that you have accepted to put yourself in this position? that you always want to run away?” Isabel gawks. She’s about to say something else but Elvira’s cries and screams are loud now after she has listen to her parents fight, so Isabel storms out of the kitchen to her. The little girl is sitting on the couch trying to muffle her whimpers holding her unicorn.

“Mi cielo, ven aquí” (My love come here) she jumps to her mother’s arms and she shakes and sniffs “We’re going to bed, come on” Isa lifts her tiny body up and walks towards the stairs, she glares at Javi when he tries to reach for them and shakes her head.

Isabel comes to bed late and when he’s already there, in the dark, she undresses and takes her place on the right side without saying a word.

“Isa” he murmurs

Javier stretches his arm to reach her but as soon as she feels him, she moves away.

“C’mon Isa” he raises putting his weight on his elbow “Talk to me”

“I don’t want to talk”

“Then listen to me. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have screamed and say those things”

“Doesn’t matter how you said it if you think them, though” she counters still not turning to face him

“I don’t think them”

“Which part?”

“I don’t think you are responsible of me wanting to do this or that I’m bored and disgusted of my job”

“You’re doing it again”

“What?”

“Lying to yourself. You’re bored of your life I can understand that, I didn’t choose to be in this life either, but I have to accept it. And you’ll have to accept that the life you had back in the day can’t come back at least Elvi and I we don’t fit in it”

“Amor it’s not like that”

“Then stay”

“I can’t” he sighs

Isa stays quite and tense hugging the pillow and when he tries again to touch her, she gets up and strides outside the room

“I’m going to sleep with Elvi tonight”Javier raises to stop her but again she refuses his touch. Defeated, he throws himself on bed. Then stay, I wish it was that easy

They leave to Laredo the next morning to spend the weekend with Chucho before Javi crosses the border.

Isa responds with just “yes” or “no” to anything her husband says during the ride and focuses on distracting Elvira with music or playing with her Barbie dolls.

Her last sentence, the one she said the night before, burns in his brain.

You want your life back and we don't fit in it it makes his stomach turn, because deep down he knows it's true.

That hunger he feels, the thrive that hooks him to this job is a lingering ghost that whispers in his ear, a siren singing until he's about to drown.

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

He remembers one night back in Colombia a few years ago. Gabriela under him, her soft skin glowing in sweat as he poured his frustration in her, she was sweet and always understood what he wanted, beautiful but with a sadness in her eyes, very common among the girls in the same job, and he had ask her why she didn't stop and she responded with the same question back to him.He didn't have an answer back then, and when he did stop, he was forced to because the system wouldn't allow him to do his job properly. His departure from the DEA was a bad break up; he didn't find closure no matter how many times he did say that he was through.

Chucho welcomes his family with tamales and cold beer. He lets Elvira roam around the chickens and the rest of the animals on the ranch before dinner. He's not naive and senses the tension between his son and daughter in law since they've gotten out of the car.

“¿Bueno qué te hizo este pendejo?” (what did this idiot do to you?) He asks to Isa while setting the table

“He's going to Mexico you know, with the DEA”

“What?”

“He's an informant now apparently”

“An informant”, Chucho thinks about that information and decides not to mention anything during dinner as he prefers to listen to his granddaughter stories. Once they're done and Elvi and Isa are cleaning the dishes he forces Javi out of the house.

“Isa told me you’re going to Mexico with the DEA”

“Just for a week, I'm helping them with something”

“You remember that day after you got back from Cali? In this same place”

“Yes”

“You told me you were through”

“And I'm, I'm just being useful. That information landed on my lap what was I supposed to do? Ignore it, pops?”

“You could just passed the tip and let them do it. When you got back from Cali I've found you here, every morning watching as the boats go up the river with los kilos, you were never through Javi, don't lie to me”

“You and Isa are just perfect for each other” Javi scoffs

“She worries about you, she loves you, mijo” he grabs his son’s arm

“I know”

“You're not the young man that left Laredo, Javi, nor the man that came back from Colombia, you're a dad now. And let me give you a piece of advice, out of experience, even if you think your father is annoying” Javi shakes his head “Parents always know, they know you and see you for what you are even when yourself is trying to deny it. You've been always like that, Javi, always trying to do the right thing even if it costs you your health and your heart and blaming yourself endlessly for the things you couldn't control”

Javi listens in silence, chewing hard on a nicorette.

“Now the right thing is not going after those Narcos, the right thing is to stay with your family”

Javi has his gaze fixed on the moon and stars that illuminates the river under them.

“But that's only this old man opinions, your family will wait for you here, we always do” he adds

­­­­­­

“So can we go? Please please” Elvira begs at the table

“Claro, mija” (Of course, love) His grandpa always spoiling her pinches her cheek before hers parents can answer “We’re going all of us together”

Javi and Isa look at him. Isa is still giving Javier the silent treatment and has being avoiding him even though Chucho forces everybody to share every meal on the leaving room and do the same activities together; even though Javi has tried to approach her many times a day, she finds ways to reject him.

“Papá...” Javi starts

“There’s no discussion, son. Mi nieta quiere ir a la feria y vamos a ir a la feria” (My granddaughter wants to go to the funfair and we’re going to the funfair”

“It could be fun” Isa agrees and gives a timid smile; it’s the most she’s spoken since they’ve arrived.

Laredo’s funfair takes place at the end of the summer and it’s practically the only activity for a lazy summer evening so the whole town is there. Isa watches as her daughter grins, her mouth already sticky thanks to the cotton candy she’s eating, and the sugar is starting to kick in, she’s jumping and screaming pulling her grandpa’s hand and the poor man follows trying not to fall down.

“Easy on abuelito, Elvi” Isa laughs

Isabel is beautiful tonight, like many years ago, she wears a sunflower summer dress and her dark curls clipped on both sides. Javi smiles, his mind wandering through the memories from the past when they were starting to know each other.

“You remember our first date?” he asks

“Yes” she nods “It was a pretty good date I think”

“Never thought we will be back to this funfair with our daughter years later”

“Me neither. And I think your father regrets now that he said yes to this” Isa motions to her right where Elvi is forcing his grandpa to get on one of the rides.

“I should go with her instead if I don’t want to collect my father’s corpse after this” he grins and they walk towards the people queuing.

“Elvi, leave abuelito, Dad is going with you” Isa tries to sound like an authority but she keeps laughing watching poor Chucho scared

“No, I want to go with you” she crosses her arms and pouts “With you both, mami y papi” she says

“I-I” Isa simpers

“Leave mami, she doesn’t like this kind of things”

“No!” she cries “Like abuelo said, we’re going together all of us”

“Honey...” Javi bends to her, but Isa posses her hand on his shoulder

“Okay, I’ll go too, but you leave abuelo stay”

She seems to hesitate for a bit, but then she nods and finally Chucho breathes deeply in relief.

“Be careful” he says walking way too fast away from the queue

The attraction simulates a ship going forward and backward, each time farther away and faster. Isa exhales trying to calm herself down while Elvi and her husband laugh at her.

“Remember I told you I puked in one ride the first time I came to the fair? So this is the one, you two won’t be laughing once I vomit all over you both” she screams and that makes them laugh even more

The first two rounds are not that bad. Isa holds one hand on her seat the other over Elvi’s body. Javier reaches timidly at first to brush his fingers over hers as to reassure her, he’s about to recoil but she holds on tightly to his fingers, her eyelids strongly closed. When thing finally stops, Isa can barely walk.

Elvira is already jumping towards Chucho trying to convince him to get on another round with her.

“Hold on to me come on” Javi says holding her by the waist it’s been two days since he last touch her. Two days where he has tried to hold her hand or subtly tried to bump into her while on the kitchen but she has refused his touch. So he closes his fingers on the dress trying to hold on what she has finally given him and not force the situation and make her go back to that state again. Although all he wants is to hold her in his arms and take the pain he sees on her eyes away. Pain you have caused, idiot.

“No way, señorita, you will kill you grandpa” he responds

Time passes and Isa is no longer shaking and can stand on her legs, but lets her husband’s arm around her, his hand rubs gentle circle on her side.

“We should get you something to eat”

There’s a big plain at the center of the fair where they’ve installed a stage and some tables facing it; around the terrain many foodtrucks offer anything you’d like to eat and fill the air with million different and delicious scents.

Javi kisses her temple “I’ll be back”

After ravishing a burger and fries Isa feels the cold sweat and the nausea fading away. The band is now playing slow songs and a many couples are dancing around the colorful little lights that cross over the flatland. Chucho clears his throat and looks at his son in a not very subtle way and motion his head to the people dancing and then to his wife.

“Do you want to dance?” Isa sips her soda and seems confused by his offering

“You don’t dance”

“I dance... sometimes, c’mon, it’s been a long time” he stand up and tends a hand to her gaining a smirk and a wink from his father.

The band starts playing a bachata. Javi lays her hand on her lower back feeling the way her hips go right and left, her soft breath on his chest while he brushes his lips on her forehead.

“I think this one was on that tape I gave you” she says on his ear, raising her voice over the music

“Suggestive enough” he smirks “We listened to that tape on a loop in my car that summer”

“I don’t know if I’d call listen to a tape what we used to do in your car” she laughs

“Yeah, the nights at the riverbank and that tape...I remember”

“I wish we could go back sometimes” she whispers so softly that Javi is not sure if she just says it to herself

The song ends and the people cheer and clap but they stay in a tight embrace knowing that when they let go and they’re back to square one. Javi is still parting on Monday and Isabel will stay always waiting for him to come back.

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

The trip back home is calm; Chucho drives while the radio plays some classics from the 60’s, Isabel holds her child’s head on her chest, her other hand lays lazily between the seats, slowly advancing towards Javi’s thigh until she brushes her knuckles over his jeans. He turns to face her but she keeps looking through the window at the night sky and the fading lights of the fair. After leaving Elvira on bed, Chucho feels that it’s time for him to leave the two of them alone.

“I’m going to sleep, you don’t have to wake up early but I’ll go to church tomorrow at nine” Chucho announces before going to his room

The humble space in the living room suddenly feels like a world away from one end to the other, from the corner where Javi stand to Isa on the other. She looks down trying to find the things she wants to say and to command her feet to walk, to run to him.

“I think I’m going to sleep” Javi says unbuttoning his shirt

“Do you want to walk with me? Just for a bit” she interrupts

“Yeah...okay” he raises his brow confused but agrees instantly, whatever makes her talk to him again.

They walk around the property, the crickets and breeze the only sound around them. The animals are asleep and the current of the nearby river is stronger in that part of the ranch.

“I used to love nights like this” she says eventually

“Yeah, I’d pick you up after your shifts at the bar and we spent the night right here” he points to an old red truck now dusty and abandoned.

“I should have known better than to end up with a guy that fucks you on a pick up because his father is sleeping inside the house” she scoffs

“Well, to be fair, I remember I fucked you in plenty other places” he jokes back “Do you want to see if that old tape is still there?”

They approach the shed where Chucho keeps the old car, the door squeaks when Javi opens it.

“Ladies first” he lays out a hand so Isa can get inside and impulse herself on the step. They sit, as many years ago, on the black leather seat that is well preserved even if it’s been years since the last time it was used. Isa throws a look behind her; the blankets they used to cushion their bodies are still there, and she sighs softly

“When was the last time that we did it here?” she asks while Javi struggles to open the radio that’s full of dirt and rust.

“Probably two weeks before you told me that you were pregnant” he guesses

“Poor Elvi, we made her on this old thing” she laughs

“Our lives and my back were never the same” he jokes

“It was me who was most of the time on back” Isa slaps him playfully “So dumbed by you I’d let you do anything over those old rugs”

“Under the stars, listening to Juan Luis Guerra...it was romantic, you told me yourself” he defended

“Again I was dumb”

“I still think this old thing brought us many joyful moments” he taps on the dashboard

“Nostalgic I see” Isa smirk

“A little, you?”

“You’re trying to fuck your way out of this one too” she sighs shaking her head

“Just trying to give my wife a good orgasm before leaving”

“Oh, you’re so sure of yourself”

“Empiric fact, don’t I always make you cum?”

His hand raises the hem of her dress and pulls her legs apart. Her panties already have a damp patch on its center and he grunts feeling her moan just with the faintest brush of his finger between her folds

“What did the song say? I want to spend the whole night wet in you”

Isa gasps when he pulls her to his lap in a swift motion.

“Something like that” she bends her head and kisses him hard biting his lower lip softly

“I want to make love shapes under the moonlight” Javi raises slowly her summer dress until he takes it off and wastes no time in kissing and licking her bare breasts once they’re liberated from the fabric. He tends to one first cupping it, licking and sucking on her nipple and then to the other until her soft skin gets gooseflesh. Isabel moans and rocks her hips back and forth trying to find relief.

“Face to face, kiss by kiss, I want to live always wet in you” he whispers before resuming his sweet attention on her tits

“You learnt it by heart” she laughs

“Cos it’s accurate, that’s how I feel about you, baby”

Isabel unzips his jeans and palms his length over his underwear before releasing him. She wets her hand with her own saliva before stroking him up and down. Helping her, Javi reaches for her core and slips the wet panties to the side not without caressing her clit first with his thumb

“Isa” he moans feeling her arousal, his head on the hollow of her neck nibbling over her pulse. The way he pronounces her name, how he caresses every letter sends her shivers and increases her hunger for him. She reaches between her bodies and lets his cock slide inside her. She starts rocking her hips, moving up and down and in a few thrust she finds the perfect angle where he hits that sensitive spot.

“Shit” she pants

Javi whispers praises in her ear how good she feels, how beautiful she looks naked in the moonlight with him buried so deep inside her. And with that she loses control and rides him faster and harder with her back arched against the dashboard; sensing her immediate release Javier locks his lips on her breasts sucking on her nipples and reaching for her clit between their bodies.

“Cum for me, my love” he says, his gaze fixed in her contort expression, eyes closed and mouth open and she shakes around him feeling tense for a second and then as if her bones had melted she collapses on his chest.

Javi thrusts lazily feeling how she quivers around his cock and lets her relax from her orgasm before increasing the pace again to find relief.

Regaining a bit of her conscience, Isa straightens her body and lets him push in her hard and fast until he crumbles.

They stay there under the moon and starts in the old car where all started; a thousand times they had lost themselves in each other like this, and a thousand times Isa wishes that everything would be as easy as this with him.

She strokes his arms drawing soft circles over his muscles “I know you can’t, but I really want you to stay with us, with me. But if leaving this time helps you understand that you belong to me and your place is here, with me, then so be it”