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capricornlevi · 2 years ago

Text

noise complaints -- choso x reader

college au!choso x reader, RA!choso, secret relationship. wc 2.5k

MDNI, 18+ only. reader has a vagina but no gendered pronouns.

"he's at the door again!"

you hear utahime's shout from the bedroom next to yours but you don't answer, hoping she'll get the message from your pointed silence.

she doesn't.

"come on!" she protests through the paper-thin walls. "please! you're the only one he likes, we never get written up when you answer."

"turning the music down could help!" you shout back, but without much malice. it's 8pm on a friday, hardly unsociable hours, and the speaker isn't nearly as loud as some of the other dorms on your floor. it's not exam season; there's no reason why you need to be singled out for punishment.

plus, the only reason you're not in there with her -- drunkenly singing along to some autogenerated playlist that has 27 likes, sipping 'sangria' that's more like boxed red wine and soda -- is because she's on a date, one she's been looking forward to for some time now, one you helped her get ready for as she rambled anxiously about her plans for the evening.

you don't have it in you to begrudge her.

"fine," you sigh, rubbing your tired eyes with the back of your hand.

two voices cheer victoriously from next door.

"we love you!"

you chuckle to yourself before it gets cut off by a yawn.

tossing your phone onto the bedside table, you stand up, rolling out a knot in your shoulder that you know will only get worse as the evening progresses.

time to go see the RA.

the shy, reserved, yet surprisingly strict RA. the one who has a particular hatred for noise complaints.

he's still knocking at your door; like utahime, he clearly doesn't take silence for an answer. you speed up to answer it before your roommate feels to need to intervene herself.

as you make your way down the hall, you wonder absent-mindedly if you should've changed into something more ... formal. your vest is nearly see-through, the fabric light and flimsy, but you rationalise it away.

it's summer. it's insufferably hot in the dorms, too uncomfortable to wear anything other than the bare minimum.

you're sure he won't mind. he's probably hot as well.

not dwelling on those thoughts any further, you open the door to find what you expected to see -- choso standing there, holding the tablet that the RAs are issued with to log complaints on their floor, chipped black nail polish clearly visible as he tucks the device against his chest.

he's wearing all black - as per usual - but he's swapped his typical hoodie and jeans for a t-shirt and light sweats, looking a little self-conscious as your eyes flicker up and down while taking in the change in outfit.

you grin. it's really endearing.

"hi, choso."

"hi," he replies, a blush staining his cheekbones already. his dark hair is swept back in its usual hairstyle, a few soft strands falling into his eyes before he brushes them out of the way. he gives you a look you're all too familiar with, peering up at you through frustratingly perfect eyelashes, dark brown eyes meeting yours with a forced confidence "you ... you probably know why i'm knocking."

"i can guess," you answer plainly, still smiling at him as he puts in significant effort in keeping his eyes fixed on your face.

he bites his lip, a silver ring catching the light as it shifts. "okay. the same as before, then."

"so you're here about the noise?" you offer innocently, gesturing down to utahime's room.

he looks confused for a moment, thin brows furrowing as he tries to piece together your reasoning.

eventually, he seems to understand what you're getting at. he raises his voice just loud enough that utahime can hear from down the hall.

"yeah, the noise. got a report in a few minutes ago, so --"

"of course," you reply diligently. "i understand."

"uh ... good. so we're clear, then."

he trails off a little awkwardly, and if it weren't for the darkening of his pupils you'd think he was actually discouraged by your responses. you wonder if you've put on too good of a show.

not willing to let that happen, your grin deepens as you lift your hand, take him by the collar and drag him in for a messy kiss, barely letting the door close behind him as you pull him inside.

the awkward, shy version of choso nearly disappears the moment his lips meet yours again; he's voracious, hungry, the cool metal of his piercing hitting off your teeth as he deepens the kiss within moments of touching you.

you're still just as surprised by this side of him, this layer you didn't know he had, the same as you were the first time this happened. you relish every time you get to see it.

from what he's alluded to before, nobody else has the privilege.

"w-wait," you whisper against his lips, kiss-slick and already swollen, "you have to be quiet. she ... it's too early for her to find out."

instead of answering, he fixes his lips to your pulse point, suckling at your neck as he backs you against the wall, your shoulderblades hitting against the cold plaster and raising your skin to goosebumps.

"choso -- choso, i'm not kidding," you protest half-heartedly, the whisper already torn and desperate. "we need to -- we need to get to my room, ok? then we can do whatever --"

before you've even finished the sentence he pulls back, face now fully flushed but not from embarrassment, not from self-consciousness.

"or i can eat you out right here?" he offers quietly, one hand on your waist as the other drifts lower, trailing up your thigh and along the hemline of your skirt. against your better judgment, your hips start to shift, chasing his touch, the sensation you know only his fingers can bring.

just then, the music coming from utahime's room pauses, plunging the apartment into a sudden silence.

choso's hand stills on your thigh; you barely breathe as you listen intently, waiting for utahime to burst through the door and discover you here in the most compromising of positions.

thankfully, it's just her switching the song. seconds later the music starts to play again and you hear her date's voice sing along, blissfully unaware of what's happening just feet away from them both.

taking that as a sign to retreat to your bedroom, you take choso's hand and guide him down the hall, single-minded in your goal.

he lets you, knowing that it will pay off.

once you're safely hidden away in your room, you move in tandem as he backs you up towards your twin bed, his lips only leaving your jawline when he needs to catch his breath.

this is going to be really fun.

before you can even repeat your warning to stay quiet, you're lying flat on your back on the mattress, your already-short skirt hiking up your thighs as you settle against the sheets.

choso grins when he sees your nipples pebble against the thin fabric of your vest. his hands trail up your body, thumbs tracing lazy circles as you wriggle to try and shimmy out of your clothes.

he doesn't rush you, though. from the look on his face, you'd guess he could just play with your tits all evening and be more than satisfied.

but you're not of the same opinion. you need his touch somewhere else, need it to the point of aching, and you tell him as much.

he's not the type to tease with words. he's quiet, deliberate, even right now -- but he doesn't need to say what he wants to do out loud. you know with just a look, the way his tongue plays with his lip piercing, the imprint of his cock through his sweats.

even though you've been in this exact situation before, you can't tear your eyes away from the sight of choso getting on his knees before you, tugging your underwear down your legs and pressing wet kisses to your sensitive inner thighs.

you almost cry out before remembering to cut yourself off. hastily covering for yourself, you start to warn him;

"we need to stay --"

"yeah, quiet. i know," he whispers with a smile, not willing to protest too much given the situation he's in now, the one he's pictured every time he's touched himself this past week, since he met you in the abandoned study closet on the third floor on saturday.

since he fucked you against the wall till tears streamed down your cheeks, until your thighs shook around his trim waist, limbs turned to jelly as he wrung orgasm after orgasm from you.

"promise?" you whisper with a little smile, knowing it won't affect your own answer.

your underwear now tossed to the side, he takes his thumb and index finger and spreads you open, the cool air over your exposed flesh making you gasp, reverent in how he looks at you.

"i'll try," comes his hushed answer, before he dips his head in to taste.

the first slide of his tongue has your breath catching in your throat, spine already arching off the bed as he moves slowly, methodically, savouring your taste before circling back on your clit, dragging the tip of his tongue over the hood.

his grip on your thighs is strong but it needs to be in order for you to stay any bit still; you squirm against him, his nails leaving crescent indentations in your skin as he keeps you steady.

at the first broken cry of his name, he stops immediately.

you let out a groan of protest, lifting your head from the pillow to further voice your grievances, only to be met with a petulant-sounding;

"you said to be quiet."

frustrated at your own words being used against you, you let your head fall back, mulling over how to reply.

utahime's music is still playing. they mightn't hear you, you're not being that loud --

but choso still hasn't picked up where he left off.

you know what he's capable of doing with that tongue, those fingers, so you throw in the towel fairly quickly.

"fine."

"use the back of your hand if you need to," he whispers before pausing, leaning over to pick up something, "or use this."

he tosses your own underwear towards you.

you grab it and throw it aside, rolling your eyes playfully.

"it hasn't come to that yet."

"still," he retorts, lowering himself down again, "it could come in handy."

"we'll - we'll see," you choke out, feeling his tongue part you again, wondering if you will actually end up need ingthat makeshift gag,

he licks and suckles, providing just the right amount of pressure as you start to grind against the wet heat of his mouth.

he knows what you need from him.

"one or two?"

you don't need to ask him to clarify. "two."

"already?"

your hand flies up to cover your mouth, pleasured mewls dying in your throat.

once it passes, you let your hands drop back to your side.

well, you could ...

you could just ...

so you do; you fist your hands in his hair, soft and silky under your touch, and answer.

"already."

you feel one of his hands release from your thighs as he starts to stroke himself, low reverberations of his groans enhancing the sensation of his tongue against you.

then the other hand drifts down your waist, hips, until two fingers prod at your entrance, your wetness coating his fingertips before he can even get inside you.

his hand moves slowly while his mouth nips and suckles, your legs spreading even further to allow him room.

inch by inch he slips inside, meeting no resistance since you're ore than wet enough for two -- maybe even three --

he curls his fingers and you cry out his name.

he doesn't stop this time, though, too enraptured by the sight of his fingers disappearing through your swollen folds to deny himself anything.

the music next door is drowning out any sound you're making, you know it is. you don't want to stop for a moment.

you can't stop.

he pumps his fingers in and out as your hips roll against him, chasing the friction that you need as much as air right now.

you really think you might die without out.

you feel yourself pulse around him; he feels it as well, the way you contract when he hits that spot against your walls, and suctions his lips around your clit in the way he knows will have you coming for him more than once.

with his lips angled like this, you can feel the piercing as it shifts against you; the cold metal should probably feel jarring but it only adds to the sensitivity, a unique sensation that you now can only associate with him.

it's funny -- you haven't been seeing each other for long, only hooking up when you have the chance to go undetected -- but he already knows your tells, the signs that you're close, so close --

you barely hear it, the sound muffled and quiet by intention, but the feeling of him groaning your name as he licks into you is too much, too much, too intense a feeling for you to bear ....

your orgasm hits you like a crashing wave, washing over every nerve in your body as you spasm around his fingers, your limbs turning to jelly as you lose your grip on his hair, hands fumbling with the bedsheets to try to establish yourself.

it is neverending, an all-consuming sensation that lasts until he pulls his fingers out unceremoniously, aftershocks clenching around nothing.

your teary eyes open as you see what prompted his sudden movement

choso's brows are pinched together desperately, almost panicked, as he fists his cock, hips rocking rhythmically.

"you're gonna make me come ... fuck, fuck --"

with a cut-off moan he grips the base of his cock, coming over your stomach, coming ropes that reach your breasts, his head thrown back as his jaw clenches shut.

the sight is enough to prolong your own orgasm, faint ripples running through you even as choso's pleasure starts to ebb away.

"oh fuck," he groans once his cock stills, his chest rising and falling, his sweat-slick skin glistening as he collects himself. "fuck ... I'm sorry."

"don't be sorry," you grin up at him, having come to a sudden realisation. "from the sound of it ... utahime and her date just closed to front door, so ... looks like we have the place to ourselves."

"we do?" he half-pants, half-laughs. "how ... how long has it been since --"

"too long," you cut him off. "so we need to make up for lost time."

it's his turn to grin again, eyes scanning the mess he's made of your chest with a sense of pride.

"happily."

#choso x reader #choso x you #jjk x reader #choso #may tries to write

388 notes · View notes

daengtokki · 1 year ago

Note

Hey 👋🏻 saw your recent post about wanting to write about seungmin fluff, and I honestly could use some fluff to feel better myself so I wanted to suggest a noona!reader x seungmin fluff where they both like each other (are close friends) but reader thinks they only see her as a sister and not romantically (and vice versa) until the other members convince seungmin to confess and well the rest is up to you really :) personally I feel that he’s the type to sing to their crush or maybe bring them a cute plushie, inviting them on a coffee date, etc

Whether or not you choose to write this, I hope you feel better~ ❤️‍🩹

𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹

©ˢᶜᵃʳˡᵉᵗᵇˡᵒˢˢᵒᵐ

────────────────────✦

Kim Seungmin/noona!reader

wc: ~5k

rating: flufffff -`♡´- (friends to lovers/idiots to lovers ( thank you @wulfgaang ) Felix and IN plotting, music for you to listen to while you read)

comments: I'm sorry this took so long anon! I started writing and just kept on writing and I couldn't stop so I eventually had to force myself to stop. I tried to edit a little but uuuhhh bshxbhscs

──────────────♡───♡─✦

He's so bad at writing a text to you that doesn't sound...off. He hates sounding too casual, which is exactly how he should be sounding, and how you expect him to sound. But he hates it. He huffs and slides down into the couch, eyes flit up every so often to the open space in front of him.

Seungmin catches sight of himself in the mirror across the room, then he sees Felix eyeballing him. And then Felix smiles.

"What?" He pulls himself up and folds his knees to his chest, looks down at the message thread on his screen...rereads your last text.

I like your hair the shade it is right now

It's nothing. It's a benign little observation on your part, but his stomach swirled the moment he read it. Now he can't think of what to say back. His thumbs freeze right above the screen, and his eyes go blurry as he stares.

Seungmin doesn't have time to reply, though, because he sees you typing again. The little dots bounce around for what seems like forever, and then they stop. Felix moves closer and sits down next to him. Then you're typing again. Typing and typing...

"Are you talking to your noona?" he whispers and tries to peek at his phone, but Seungmin pulls away.

"She's not my noona."

"Well, she never texts me. What are you guys talking about?"

"Nothing..."

"Exactly! You two always seem to talk about nothing...every day."

Finally, a message comes through. And it's not nearly as long as the length of time it took to type.

are you free for lunch today? Probably not, but I'm cold and want to get some yukgaejang

No, he's not exactly free, but he's going to make himself free. Seungmin hasn't had the chance to see you face to face for almost a month. Yes, almost a month. Three weeks and three days, actually. And you were only in the building for a few hours that day, because you travel too much for work. Seungmin hates that. And he hates wishing you had a position that didn't travel at all. It's always in the opposite direction that he's going.

"I'm breaking our lunch plans." Seungmin says it so flatly and definitively.

"Fine. Only because I know you're making plans with her. Maybe ask her out properly this time, before she leaves again."

"I'm not going to ask her anything... she'll laugh at me."

Felix has no reply for that, but the stinkface he gives Seungmin says everything for him.

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You stare at yourself in the mirror for far too long. The way you think you look won't change, and the way you're dressed isn't going to magically make him fall in love with you. Besides, it's cold out, and he'll pick on you if you dress more for looks than warmth.

His text message comes through, finally. You feel bad asking him, because you know he's busy, but he loves to eat and it always seems to be the best way to get him alone.

I just have to change, I'll be ready when you get here

And it's stupid, but you like driving him around; the way he plays with the music, and the way he sits back in the passenger seat and stares right at you. He always let's you know when you pass a dog going on a walk, and he loves to tell you that you drive too fast. Or too slow.

There was hardly any traffic on the way in, so you sit and stare at your phone for several minutes before texting again. You're certain he's ready—it doesn't take long to throw on a pair of sweatpants and run out the door, but getting here too fast and seeming too eager makes you feel silly. You rub at your warm cheeks and sigh, wondering if you're mentally prepared to see him again, need to kiss him, do nothing, say nothing, and then part ways for another few weeks.

A soft knock on the window makes you jump, and when you look to your right, he's there, smiling and waving.

"Sorry, I was just about to text."

Seungmin climbs in and stares at you for a moment. "I saw you pull up, are you okay?"

"I'm okay..."

"You looked worried."

He's too observant. and he's clever as hell (sometimes). You're surprised he hasn't figured you out yet, but...he's probably just avoiding it if he does know. He doesn't want you to feel awkward. Seungmin is too young for you, you think. You have no business feeling this way about someone a decade your junior, and he's not going to be interested when he's surrounded by so many pretty girls his age.

"You still look worried." He buckles his seatbelt and adjusts himself so he can look directly at you.

"Uh...just jetlag probably. And I haven't eaten yet."

"We better hurry then."

You look him over quickly as you shift gears and check the gps on your screen. He's not in his usual overly comfortable sweats, instead he's wearing cargo pants, and just a t-shirt under his North Face jacket. You hope he's warm enough, but when he reaches forward and bumps up the heat, you know he probably isn't.

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

"It's gonna be too spicy," he smiles and watches you take a bite. A cautious bite, because he's right, but you won't admit it. You like the spice, and he likes watching your face turn red as you slowly make your way through the bowl.

His chopsticks dive into it and grab a much bigger bite than yours.

"Get your own," you shoo him away and sip your tea, trying not to be too obvious that your whole body is on fire. With the spice, and with thoughts of him. His lips are red and swollen from the little bit of heat in his food, from the heel of his hand rubbing at them. This is about the time when your thoughts get overwhelming...so overwhelming, you think you could confess everything all in one breath—his big dewy eyes, flushed cheeks (both from the food, of course), big t-shirt hanging way too precariously from his shoulder.

"Too spicy," he chases it with his rice and scrunches up his face, "How can you eat so much of it?"

"Punishment."

"Punishment??" Seungmin looks at the text on his phone. It's not Felix this time. Felix has already sent several, asking him if he's made it official yet. This time it's Jeongin, no doubt out to lunch with him, acting up as well.

did you dress nice for her?

"Why would you need to be punished?" Seungmin blushes as soon as the words come out of his mouth. It's not just the soup making him so warm. He glances up at you and tries not to smile too awkwardly.

"Where should I begin...being lazy, breaking plans with friends, ghosting bad dates instead of telling them I'm not interested."

"Do you go on a lot of bad dates?" He sits up and clears his throat, "I mean...dates. You never mentioned that before."

His phones buzzes again. This time it's Felix.

simp

A quick glance around the restaurant reveals he and Jeongin are not actually there and listening in on them, but he wouldn't be surprised.

"I wouldn't say a lot. Uh...I'm always very careful, don't worry."

Seungmin nods and struggles to keep his face neutral. He's not concerned, he's jealous. "You're not lazy, you work very hard."

"Just too much. Sometimes I want to change jobs, stay home more. Use my apartment."

"You should," he replies so fast that you stop eating and look at him.

"I should?"

"If that's what you want, uhm...you should always do what feels right." He busies his mouth with his drink, taking slow sips and peeking at you over the rim. "I'm glad we work at the same company, though, otherwise I would have never met you." He wonders if that was too much, so he stares stupidly at the chopsticks in his hand.

"No, we probably wouldn't have met. And you're a—"

He looks up at you before you finish.

"Uh..." you should say it, you should say anything as long as it's a little bit romantic. There are so many things you've thought of already, and you have said them in your head...during your endless daydreams. When you're trying to sleep and can't, or when you open your eyes in the morning and pretend he's there in front of you, sleeping soundly.

"...you're a good friend, Seungmin."

Idiot.

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Another outing with Seungmin, and another tick on your failure box. You felt awkward, and you probably made him feel awkward. You can’t relax around him anymore. Maybe he does really know that you like him, and he just doesn't want to ghost you the way you ghost your dates. He's too good and sweet to do that, and he's too good for you.

A little part of you wants to text one of the others; one of his dormmates, his closest friends, just to see if asking him out would be a horrible mistake. But you can't. If the answer yes, it's a mistake, and then they tell him? They would absolutely tell him. You might as well mess this up on your own.

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

"That's what you wore?" Jeongin looks at him, eyes narrow, lips pursed.

He and Felix make it home first, and they both look at him anxiously when he walks through the door. Well, Jeongin looks at him anxiously, and then tsks at the casualness of his outfit.

"It's less casual than normal."

"It's not going to convince her that you'll go all out for her, though. You gotta give her your best!"

"I don't think my outfit is going to make her suddenly fall in love with me."

"No, but if you tell her how you feel..."

"I'm not ruining what little friendship we have."

"But—"

"No."

"Kim Seungmin!" Felix yells. "If you don't talk to her like a big boy, I'll be forced to tell her myself."

"You wouldn't...please don't say anything, Yongbok. Please..."

"She likes you...maybe even more than you like her."

"How would you even know that, has she told you herself?" Seungmin finally pulls his jacket off, kicks off his shoes, and sulks to the kitchen for a drink.

"No, but I've had to sit through more than one meal with you two... dancing around each other, blushing if you end up sitting shoulder to shoulder, her sneaking little glances when you're not looking."

"She does?" he sips his milk in an attempt to get the lingering spice out of his mouth. "She looks at me?"

"Stares at you. Watches every little move you make. It's annoying, and very cute. I wish someone would look at me like that.”

"Sing her a song!" Jeongin pipes up from behind his monitor. "Invite her to dance practice, keep her around after everyone leaves...sing for her."

"That is..." Felix thinks. Seungmin rolls his eyes and groans loudly in the background. "...very cheesy, but I don't think it's a terrible idea."

"Sunday! I'll even invite her to come watch, you just have to do the rest." Jeongin is very proud of himself for thinking all of this up. "I know her, too...remember? I'll make sure she's in town, and you figure out what song you want to woo her with.”

Seungmin hates the idea. He’s already starting to get nervous eating in front of her. Now he has to practice? And sing? Sing something romantic? The logistics of all of this are escaping him, too. How will they be left alone there? If someone sees them—him singing, her standing awkwardly until he finishes. He already wants to climb into a hole just thinking about it.

“Close to You!” Jeongin cups his cheeks in his hands and smiles. “She blooms beautifully in your dreams, when you close your eyeesss,” he sways back and forth.

“No, no I’m not doing it. And you can’t make me.”

“We can’t, but we can still invite her to come on Sunday. Tell her we have some new stuff to work on, she’ll enjoy it.”

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You can’t say no to Jeongin, ever. He was so excited to invite you to dance practice, and you’ll actually be home, so…why not. No pressure. It’s getting to see Seungmin from a distance, or maybe not from a distance. And you love watching them act up together. Seungmin invited you once, a while ago, but you couldn’t make it, and for some reason he never asked again.

But seeing him twice in the same week is a nice treat. You just hope he’s glad to see you there.

Han sees you and greets you first. Then you see Changbin and Felix by a snack table, bickering about something. Felix sees you out of the corner of his eye, waves, and smirks a little. He mouths something to you, and you think he says you look nice…so you just smile back. You did put in some extra effort this morning, but you still tried to be casual. Seungmin likes casual, and he told you once, a long time ago, that he liked your style.

One of the entranceways seem like the perfect place to observe for now. Nobody is here, and you’re a little nervous about being in anyone’s way. You lean back against the wall, making yourself as small as possible, and look for Jeongin. But he’s nowhere.

Seungmin, though, is within view. His back is to you, and he’s way on the other side of the room, but you know it’s him—you would know his back and shoulders just by touch if it came to that. And you really wish it would come to that. The rest of him is swimming in a pair of dark gray sweatpants.

You hold your breath and wait for him to turn.

“Noona! Hi hi.” You jump out of your skin. It’s Jeongin.

“Innie!” You punch his shoulder, and he laughs. “Quit sneaking.”

“I wasn’t sneaking, you were just too busy staring.” He looks to Seungmin, who is now turned your way. And walking in your direction.

“Staring at what?,” you say as you continue to stare. He gets closer and closer. You can feel the distance closing between you. It’s getting warmer in the room.

“So it is true…Felix is right.”

“Huh? What is Felix right about?”

"Is Innie bothering you?" Seungmin says. He doesn’t look at you, though, just at Jeongin.

“Hmmm…I think I’m being called.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Seungmin looks behind him, behind you, and then back to Jeongin. “Better go, though.”

He looks irritated when you’re finally able to lift your gaze, but not really irritated—just like he’s holding back an eye roll. Seungmin folds his arms and hugs his hoodie to his chest, and then he finally…finally, looks at you. His face softens. You could melt, but you try to keep your composure.

This wasn’t always an issue. Seungmin always makes you feel warm and stupid when he’s around, and he has since the day you met him, but it used to be easier to be relaxed around him. And fun. You figured this would pass and you’d realize you were just crushing on him; lusting after him—daydreaming about kissing him and his braces, undressing him slowly in your mind and wondering exactly what he looked like under all of those clothes. But it never passed. It grew and grew into this monster that sits on your chest and takes your breath away.

“YN?” He crouches down so he can get your attention. “Noona?” He whispers. Seungmin doesn’t usually call you Noona, not like everyone else does. He calls you by your name, because you asked him to. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like that…just needed to snap you out of your daydream.”

“I wasn’t…hmm, I’m sorry. Hi Seungmin.”

“Hi,” his face falls a little. “Are you staying, or just passing through?”

“I’m staying.“

“Good. It’s chilly in here, I thought you might want this.” He hugs his hoodie closer to his chest and smiles. "Gotta keep the heat down so we don’t pass out, I guess.”

“Will you be mad if I take it home and forget to give it back?”

His giggle makes your head swim. “No, not at all. Actually…”

Before he can finish, Chan calls out and the floor starts to clear. He looks back, and then to you again. “Hold that thought,” he unrolls it, shakes it, and throws it around you like a cape before running off.

The scent of him overwhelms you, and your head is swimming again. Everything is swimming. Now you just want to curl up in your bed with it and fall asleep.

For the first time in years, Seungmin is nervous standing on the dance floor. He knows he’ll be fine—everything will fall into place once things get started. But if what Felix said is true, your eyes are on him, and only him. All the time. But you must be good at doing it only when Seungmin isn't looking. He has never once caught you staring.

He glances around the room, swings his arms, rolls his shoulders. You’re there in the same spot, his hoodie still draped around you. And yes, you’re watching him.

The time goes by fast, even though you’re just a spectator, and you know it’s because you might not see him again for a while once this ends. You’ll go back to your casual texts, hopefully a little each day. You’d lose your mind if you had to go longer than that without hearing from him.

The more you think about it, the more you think getting the confession over with might be the best idea. You can’t exactly go on like this forever. The rejection will crush you, but with time, you’ll have to move on. That’s just what happens. The hurt goes away, eventually.

“Hey you,” Felix pops up next you and gets your attention. “You’re staring really hard. Really really hard.”

“What?” You finally pull yourself away from Seungmin, “I was? Wait…what?”

“Seungmin is going to have a hole burnt into him if you keep that up.”

You feel flushed, even though Seungmin was right about the cold, “please tell me only you saw me.”

“Probably, everyone else seems pretty preoccupied. But be careful. Unless you plan on confessing.”

Is Felix reading your mind? You bury your face in your hand and sigh.

“Don’t look so sad. Keep looking…carefully.”

You’re an idiot. And you daydream too much. Your life is nothing but work, sleep, and a constant string of thoughts about being with him.

“Felix?” You stop him just as he starts to walk away. He smiles at you, There is usually a twinkle in his eye, but it’s even more intense right now.

“Yes, noona?”

Seungmin turns and makes eye contact, but looks away almost immediately.

“Nothing, never mind.”

“Oh hey, don’t leave too early. Innie and I have something we need to give to you after we finish up.”

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Everyone left. But you’re sitting on the couch, curled up in a ball, warm under Seungmin’s hoodie. Felix said stay, so you’re staying, but you don’t know what he and Jeongin could possibly have for you.

You wonder if Seungmin will come back for his hoodie. Watching him walk out of the room was a little bit heartbreaking, because he didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t wave. He didn’t look your way.

“What am I supposed to do now? You have her waiting in there, alone, and she doesn’t know wh”

“Felix told her we had something for her, and we do.” Jeongin holds his arms up to Seungmin, palms up, like he’s presenting him. “It’s you.”

Seungmin buries his face in his hands and groans, “you still want me to go in there and sing and embarrass myself?”

“You don’t have to sing!”

“Okay, so just embarrass myself.”

Felix shakes his head, “please please pleeaaase, trust me. I’m going to scream at the top of my lungs if you don’t go sit on that couch with her right now. That’s all. Just sit there. Whatever happens after that is up to the two of you.”

“Fine. Just because I don’t want her sitting in there by herself.

The door clicks. You know it’s him as soon as his arm swings the door open.

“Seungmin?”

“Hi. What are you doing in here all alone?”

“Waiting…”

“Waiting for what?” He stands in front of you, hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweatpants. Light gray this time—he’s showered and changed since you’ve been sitting here.

“I’m not sure.”

“Me, maybe. I’m sorry I left before without saying anything.”

“It’s okay,” you smile. He’s here now, so it is okay.

Seungmin sits down next to you. He’s quiet, and he has no idea what to say now. Maybe he should just sing, because he would at least be able to succesfully string some words together. The silence and the echo here makes it even harder to speak, but at least he knows you’re truly alone together. This usually only happens in your car—windows up, music playing. “What’s your favorite song?”

“My favorite…Stray Kids song, or my favorite favorite?”

“Favorite favorite.”

You weren’t prepared for this, but you don’t have to think very hard. “In Your Eyes…” you look at him, wait, wonder why he wants to know, “by Peter Gabriel.” You played it in the car with him before, and it took a lot to keep from telling him everything right then and there as it played. But you didn’t. It played, uninterrupted, and both of you were silent the entire five and a half minutes.

“I remember that song.”

“You do?”

Seungmin nods and laughs, “it’s on half of your playlists. Yeah, I know it.”

“Why do you wanna know?”

Silence again. Seungmin is 100% winging this, but he does know where he’s going with it. Because he does want to sing for you.

“So I can practice it.”

You shift and look at him, his hoodie slips off of your shoulders and onto the couch. It takes several seconds of thinking, of gears starting to turn in your brain, and of your eyes jumping back and forth between his before you start to put a few pieces together.

“…and sing it for you,” Seungmin looks down at his fidgeting hands, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. You not replying immediately is stretching out like hours. How can he make this less awkward now? He can sing for you and not make it romantic, right? Just a nice gesture between good friends. Not that song, though. He wasn’t even sure you would choose a romantic song.

No, he’s in it and he’s not getting back out. “Please say something.”

“You wanna…sing for me?”

“I’m not very good at…talking about my feelings otherwise.”

“You can talk to me. You can talk to me about anything."

Seungmin leans forward and rubs at his face, and he buries it there in his hands. It’s a bad time to start losing his nerve, he’s too far in. “I can’t.” He feels the couch shift as you get closer, just close enough that your knee hits his. “It’s a lot.”

“It is a lot. I know.”

“You do?”

You want to grab him and make him look at you, but your body won’t allow it. It takes another long silence to finally get some of his attention. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are big and nervous.

“Yeah, too much to keep carrying around by myself.”

He doesn’t seem to be following you, because he still looks worried, upset. But you’re not helping—you weren’t ready for this, and you have no idea what to say. You’re bad at this kind of talk, too.

“Am I making you uncomfortable? And I messing everything up?”

“No, Minnie…I’m very comfortable sitting here with you right now. I could sit here with you all night.”

Now, finally, he turns and gives you his full attention, red faced and serious. His bottom lip is catching up, because he won’t stop biting down on it. You reach out and poke his chin, “don’t do that.”

He licks his lips and forces himself to stop, but now he’s not talking again. There’s eye contact, at least. And it’s intense…Seungmin doesn’t know how intense his stare can be. Maybe you’re supposed to finish this—he did start, and it was a pretty bold start.

“We should—”

A clatter outside makes both of you jump. Maybe you’re not as alone as you think, and in that case, you’re a little bit uncomfortable. It makes you feel better about what you were about to say.

“…we should go somewhere else to talk.”

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

It took no convincing for him to follow you closely on the walk outside. Silent. And inside the car, cold and dark, still silence. You could talk here—you’ve shared a lot in this car already, but it doesn’t feel right. You just want to take him home, get him warm, make him comfortable.

Seungmin is nervous. You know exactly what he was trying to tell you back there on the couch, but what you don’t know is how intensely he really feels, and if he’s willing to act on it the way that you are. You don’t want to risk scaring him away, but your desire for him has already reached its boiling point. Every minute without acting on it now is killing you.

He’s huddled down deep in his coat. You finally let out a sigh of relief when he leans forward to adjust the radio, and then he turns up the heat.

“Where are we going?” His voice is small and timid, not like him at all. It’s like his little bit of confession, the emotional exertion of finally telling you he maybe wants more, kicked his ass.

“My apartment.”

“I’ve never been to your apartment before.”

“Is that okay?

He sits up, and you can see him look at you out of the corner of your eye. “Yeah, of course.”

It’s already warm inside. The few lights you keep on while you’re out gives the small space a comfortable glow. It’s even better with a view of him shaking out of his coat, and carefully taking off his shoes. The apartment almost feels—

“…it’s cozy in here.” He says. You watch him walk further in, just a few steps, and look around. “And quiet, and warm.” The smile on his face is reserved, “just like you.”

“Like me?”

He nods, and his smile grows a little more. “Yes, you’re quiet, usually. And you’re always warm. And I’m sure you’re very cozy, too.”

“That sounds more like you.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called warm…but—”

“I guess you’re only like that with me.”

You can tell he’s relaxing. He laughs, smiles fully, pushes his hair away from his eyes. More importantly, he walks further into your apartment, looks around again, and then sits on the couch.

“Do you want some tea? You’re probably starving. I can order something, there are a few places close by that are fast.”

“Yes, and yes…but there’s no hurry…uhm, let’s have some tea.”

“It’s probably too hot, be careful.” You finally sit down next to him. Close. Closer than you were earlier, and definitely closer than you’ve ever been out to dinner, or lunch, or anywhere.

Seungmin turns toward you. His face is right there, inches from yours. His eyes and his lips, his breath. His eyes are moving between yours and jumping everywhere, like he’s taking all of you in from this distance. Part of you wants to back up, because you haven’t seen in a mirror in hours. But you can’t. He’s a magnet. You think (hope) he wants you to keep pushing forward, and that’s exactly what you do.

It’s as satisfying as you knew it would be. He’s as soft as you imagined, and as sweet. It’s a shy kiss on his part, but you kind of expected that, as well. You like it like that, because he’s taking his time. But you also need a little more, so you take over.

Your hand slides across his neck. He lets you pull him closer, and he doesn’t shy away when you open up and bite down gently on his lower lip. A soft sound escapes him and floats right down your throat, and it makes your knees shake against his.

A knock on the door interrupts right as you feel his hand graze your leg. Seungmin lets go and pulls back, just enough to open his eyes and look at you. “Thank you for getting me dinner,” he says, and he leans into you again until your lips touch.

“…Seungmin.”

“Hm?”

You don’t even know what you were going to say—if you were going to say anything at all. It just feels good saying his name out loud.

“Mm…nothing.”

“Was that okay? The kiss, I mean. I know my braces probably get in the way.”

“No, they don’t…not at all. It was very okay.”

He kisses you again, this time with more confidence. You can feel his smile grow when you grab his arm and pull it around you. And you can feel his braces brush against your lips. He notices, and jumps back.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve waited a long time for this.” You pull him back, and set your lips on his cheek.

“How long?”

“Oh…lemme think,” you pretend to think for a moment, but you don’t need to. You remember exactly when you first saw him and wanted to kiss him. “It was October, last year.”

“That long? Why didn’t I know? It feels like everyone else knew.”

“Nobody else knew. I never told anyone, I thought it was silly, maybe a little inappropriate. You just turned twenty when we met.” You pull away now, and sigh as you fall back into the couch. It sounds even worse when you hear it out loud.

“I don’t think it’s silly. I’m old enough to know what I want.” Seungmin grabs your hand and pulls you back up to him.

“So why me?”

Seungmin thinks, “because you’re cozy and warm,” he smiles, “and you make me laugh.”

“That’s it?”

He laughs again, and it’s so sweet and relaxed and melodic. “I’m comfortable with you, and you’re always there when I need you.”

“That’s nice to hear, considering you don’t act like you need anyone…ever.”

Seungmin goes quiet. He always puts up a strong front, because he doesn’t really know how to act any other way. He's not as cold and quiet as he appears on the outside, and he tries very hard to never come off that way to you.

“Just assume I always do.”

“Always what?”

“Always need you.”

#kim seungmin #seungmin #skz seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin x you #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin fanfic #seungmin fluff #skz fluff #skz fanfic

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 1 year ago

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Still With You | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter Nine

Summary: Filling in Grey on everything that happened came with a rude awakening but you calm yourself down like you always do...even if it's to your detriment Pairing : Luna (reader) x Jungkook and Jimin, f2l love triangle Word Count: 5.1k~ Warnings: Explicit language and a heated discussion that talks about death and not grieving their lost love ones (idk how else to put it) a/n: Barely edited per usual 😅 Start from the beginning

Jimin goes home after I insist on making him breakfast, using it as a sort of apology for last night. He assures me he didn't mind while giving me a tentative hug goodbye and leaves before he can see my reaction.

I smile as I watch him scurry off and catch a glimpse of a rosy blush on his cheeks. That boy is way too easy to read and it's so endearing but I just hope he'll learn soon that not everyone has the purest of intentions at heart.

I finally take the time to look through my notifications after cleaning up the mess left over from breakfast and out of habit I search for a sign of life from Jungkook but come up empty handed.

I did ask him for space but I didn't realize how much I was going to miss the simplest things like a good morning text or a funny video left in my DMs.

I push past those feelings and check the notifications I do have and see a few from Grey and a message from Jin letting me know that he got home safe as well as a good morning text to check in on how I'm doing.

I reply, being completely honest with him and let him know that I'm feeling pretty down today, but leave out the events that happened after he dropped me off. I'll tell him eventually but I don't want to burden him with it or have him accidentally tell Jungkook.

We both need time to ourselves and bringing him in after I told him I need space is gonna be way too confusing for the both of us.

My uncle texts me right after I close my messages with Jin asking me if I can come in to cover someone's shift and I groan at the thought of it. It's late at night though and Grey's gonna be there so I reluctantly agree. I need to tell her everything anyways so might as well get paid to do it.

Jimin texts me later to check on me and asks if I wanted him to come over tonight. I let him know that I'm gonna be working late so I'll be fine but he jumps at the opportunity of accompanying me to work and he doesn't take no for an answer. Laughing at his antics I let him know what time I'm leaving and he says he'll wait for me outside.

I decide to take the rest of the day to clean up my apartment and get some laundry done.

Going through my room I grab my dirty clothes basket and take it over to my washer and dryer and as I'm placing the basket down on the floor next to them I hear my phone ringing in my room. I answer it but before I can even say 'Hello' I'm already being cut off.

"What crawled up Jungkook's ass and died?" classic Grey, I think to myself.

"Yeah about that..." I start but trail off.

"Luna, what did you do?" she asks in a serious tone clearly sensing that something big happened between us.

"What time do you start work tonight?" I question hoping she has time to come over beforehand since there's no way she's waiting for me to tell her tonight.

"I'm only working four hours tonight so I start at the same time you do" she says filling me in on the rest of the information my uncle left out.

"Can you come over?"

"Shit it's that bad huh?" she says before continuing with a quick "Yeah I'll be there in 15" but knowing her she'll be here in 30.

I thank her and she hangs up the phone, quickly getting ready to come over since I know the suspense is killing her.

I dig through the basket and throw my laundry in but notice that the shirt at the bottom is Jungkook's. I start thinking about the past few days we spent together and I can't help but worry about him, wanting to know how he's feeling.

Before I crack and try to reach out to him I throw the shirt in and close the lid in an effort to close off those thoughts as well. After starting the washer I send Jimin a quick text letting him know that I'll be going to work with Grey so he won't need to come pick me up. He offers to walk with the both of us but I assure him we'll be fine.

We end the conversation there and he tells me to stay safe and lets me know he'll stop by the store later to give me pepper spray. I decline but he said he already bought it and it's nonrefundable so I laugh and tell him to come around 10.

I'm pulled out of the conversation by the sound of Grey punching in the code and swinging my front door open. "What did you do?" she asks immediately, throwing away the possibility of me distracting her with small talk.

"Why do you assume I'm the one who did something?" I say as a weak defense. "Because you're always the one who did something" she says giving me a knowing look and I can't help but nod my head in agreement knowing that she's right for the most part.

"Okay but this time it wasn't like that" I say continuing to defend myself. "This is gonna take a while" she says walking over to the couch and plopping down onto her spot. "So, what happened?" she says getting tired of the momentary silence. "You know how Jungkook and I got together the other night?" she nods her head encouraging me to continue. "Well he kinda sorta told me he's in love with me".

Her jaw drops momentarily before jumping in "He told you? Why didn't he tell me he was gonna tell you? After all of these years of keeping his secret and he doesn't even tell me! That's fucked up man" she says with a look of utter betrayal.

"Wait, he told you?" I ask, completely shocked that even she had known. "Girl he didn't even have to tell me. He's been in love with you since before I met you guys. But yes, he told me like sophomore year of high school or something like that" she admits.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I question feeling slightly betrayed. "Do you tell me everything Jungkook has ever told you?" she questions crossing her arms over her chest. "Well...no" I say in defeat. "Exactly, you guys have your secrets and him and I have ours. To be fair most of ours were pretty much about you but I guess since it's not a secret anymore we don't really have any" she says with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Did you really not know?" she continues. "No! I had no clue! I mean, I always knew that we were close but I always told myself that he didn't like me like that" I admit. "Well then you're more clueless than I thought you were" she says while picking up her phone to check the time. I let out a slight groan and cross my arms over my chest, already haven beat myself up about all of this.

"Girl, that man has been following you around like a lovesick puppy ever since you guys were kids" I grow silent having a few memories flash through my mind of when he really did show that he liked me and as much as I hate to say it there have been a lot of them.

"So, what happened after that?" she prods further. "Well I sorta freaked out on him and had a panic attack" I say rubbing my neck. "You did?" she cringes gaining secondhand embarrassment and I nod my head, mortified that I have to live through it and talk about it again. I see almost a look of pity in her eyes but it's gone in a flash and is replaced with curiosity, silently waiting for me to continue.

"He got worried and told me that I didn't have to say anything, so we just stargazed for the rest of the night. We went back to his place after we were done and nothing really happened. He said something to me when he thought I was sleeping though. Something like 'I know you're hiding something from me and I wish you would let your guard down'" I relay and he nods her head, thinking about what he could possibly mean but also knowing that she's been feeling the same way.

"I hate that he can read me like that. I can never hide anything from him but I guess that just shows how well he knows me. Same with you" I finish off, poking her bicep. "Hey, it's not my fault you forced me to be friends with you" she says rubbing her arm. "Oh come on it's not that bad" I tease.

"Yeah yeah whatever, but what I wanna know is why Jungkook has gone all moody on me. I texted him because I wanted to see what happened with the whole stargazing thing and all he responded with was 'I don't know ask y/n' and I was like 'Shit you used her government name? What the fuck did she do?' and he left me on read". "He said that?" I say feeling somewhat downtrodden. "Yeah..." she says trailing off.

I take a deep breath and decide to tell her the whole story about what happened yesterday...

"So yeah we're not really on speaking terms at the moment" I end after filling her in on everything.

"Shit, that's heavy" she says under he breath, "I know. I've been over thinking this whole thing but this is Jungkook we're talking about. I don't want to lose him if things go wrong" I say feeling myself getting choked up at the thought.

"Luna you're not gonna lose him, that boy loves you way too much to let you go" she says while rubbing my back trying to reassure me. "You know everyone keeps telling me that but none of us really knows what Jungkook is gonna do except for Jungkook! It's seems like it was pretty easy for him to shut me out right away so what's stopping him from just disappearing? Grey I'm fucking terrified, and I really don't know what the fuck I'm doing" I say, reaching my breaking point.

"Oh yeah, and then on top of all of that I guess I have a fucking stalker now" I say letting out a laugh dripping in sarcasm. Grey looks at me clearly confused and all I can do is nod towards the envelope on the table.

She picks it up and gives me a questioning glance before she empties out the contents on the table. The frown on her face keeps on getting deeper and deeper with every picture she sees.

"Luna, what the fuck?" is all she says waiting for me to explain. "Yesterday when I came back home from the whole fiasco with Jungkook, this was waiting for me on my doorstep. No one was in the hall, and no one was on the street outside" I explain plainly. "Do you think one of your neighbors did it?" she questions picking up some of the pictures that she's in.

"Maybe? I don't really know though, I haven't had a chance to really process it, let alone think about who it could be" I pause for a second when she gets distracted with a picture of Jungkook and I kissing.

"I asked Jimin to come over last night" I say nervously, not knowing how she'll respond. "Jimin? You mean that kid that came into the store the other day? Don't tell me you guys-" "No! No, nothing like that" I say cutting her off.

"When I opened the envelope up for the first time I started to freak out you know, the whole nine yards. I meant to call Jungkook because he's the one who, well you know, the one who usually helps me get through it but when I went and clicked on my most recent texts I guess Jimin was close enough to Jungkook that I accidentally called him" she nod along, understanding the situation and waits for me to continue.

"I told him I called him on accident but I was already too far gone that he could tell something was wrong. He offered to come over, and I said yes. Thinking about it now, it might've not been the best decision" I admit and she cringes, a clear sign that she agrees with me.

"He knows about Jungkook now... more than I would've liked him to" I say picking up a picture of Jungkook and I from when he came over the other night. "What are you gonna do?" she asks trying to figure out where my head's at. "What can I do? My best friend is in love with me, and tells me at the same time a new guy conveniently walks into my life. Now I'm confused because I already started to like Jimin, but Jungkook and I have so much history and that's the problem. I love Jungkook, I've loved him for years but I pushed those romantic feelings to the side because I thought it was hopeless to even try. Everything is just so confusing and I keep on telling myself that and everyone that talks to me knows it's my excuse as well. I feel like the world is caving in on me and I don't know why. I have two guys who have a crush on me, big deal" I say sarcastically, letting out a shaky breath.

"It's so stupid and I don't know why I'm taking things so seriously" I let out, tired of holding it all in. "I wish everything would just stop so I could catch my fucking breath" I finish ending my rant for the moment. "I think I know why everything is hitting you harder than usual" Grey says trying to bring me back down from the fit I've worked myself into. I look at her expectantly waiting for her to continue but I wasn't prepared for what she said next.

"The anniversary just passed didn't it?" hearing it now makes me feel stupid, seeing as she found the cause for all of this pent up anxiety so quickly.

"I guess I forgot..." I lie but she won't let me gloss over it. "No for fucks sake Luna you didn't! I know you like to go around and pretend like everything is fine but you can't just forget about what happened to them. Keeping all of these things to yourself isn't going to magically make it all go away. Your parents died Luna, don't you think they at least deserve to be acknowledged?" she finishes the lecture she gives me every year and I never know how to respond.

"When was the last time you went to their grave?" she asks in a softer tone. I shake my head and wipe away the tears that are threatening to fall "I don't know" I say getting choked up. "I know you would like to think that you've moved past that part of your life and that you've healed but in all the years I've know you, you really haven't given yourself time to do anything about it" she says taking a hold of one of my hands.

"I love you, you're my best friend and I want to be there for you but there's only so much I can do. At the end of the day you're the only one that can choose to heal".I know she's right, fuck she is so right but I can't bring myself to fall apart like that. If I do...well then I don't know what'll be left of me.

I've dealt with this pain bubbling under the surface for so long, giving fake smiles and crying behind closed doors, but just enough to be able to force that fake smile again. The only ones who have ever really brought out that true smile have been Jungkook and Grey. Without them, I don't know who I would be, or if I would even be here anymore.

"I can't do it" I let out just loud enough for her to hear, tears free falling. "Why can't-" "Because I don't know how!" I say raising my voice at her. "There's too much, too fucking much that I just... I don't know how to let it all out. I feel like if I do I'll shatter into a million pieces and I'm afraid that the next time I look in the mirror, I won't recognize myself. I've been like this for so long that I don't think I could put myself back together again once I fall apart" I choke out and stop to catch my breath.

"Don't you want to let all of that go?" she tries but I can't accept that. "That's all I have left!" I yell through a sob. "That's all I have left of them, the pain, the trauma, that's all I fucking have left of them. Call me sick but holding it all in feels like I'm holding onto the broken pieces that they left behind. If I let that go... then there's nothing left" I finish trying to wipe off all the tears that were streaming down my face, only letting go for just a second like I always do.

"I have no memories from before the accident, everything is gone. All the times we spent together and the love that they gave me, it's all gone. It's been suppressed for so long that sometimes I don't even remember what they looked like" I say looking up at the ceiling and blinking back the rest of the tears before they have a chance to fall again. "I only have one picture of them here and I put it in a drawer because I can't bring myself to look at them without falling apart again".

Grey takes a moment to think and I take that chance and get up to grab us both a bottle of water from the fridge, slowing my breathing and trying to calm myself down.

"I didn't know..." she trails off, not knowing where she should take this. "No one does, not even Jungkook" I say curtly not wanting to elaborate further but she presses anyway hoping I'll let her in a little more.

"But didn't he meet you right after it happened? You guys didn't talk about it when you were kids?" she asks but I shake my head. "Jungkook wasn't like that when we were little. He knew I was hurting but he never pressed me to talk about it. I would open up to him sometimes but he knew my limits and he didn't want to push past them. Once we got older he talked to me about therapy a few times but I always brushed it off saying I was fine and that I was just feeling a little sad that day and we would drop the conversation" I explain.

"He seems pretty pushy with you though, or at least from what I've seen" she says tilting her head, confused at the explanation I've given. "He makes me open up and talk about other things sometimes but when it comes to my parents or my family in general he tends to leave it alone. I'm pretty sure he knows I need professional help to unpack all of that shit" I chuckle dryly.

"But you still don't want to go? I could go with you if you want" she offers but I shake my head, "Jungkook has said the same thing to me many, many times and I also told him no so can we just drop it, please?" I ask, taking a drink of water to break up the conversation and luckily she complies, taking a drink of her's as well.

We sit there in silence for a bit before I decide to break the built up tension thats been created between us. "Well," I say patting my thighs before standing up and clearing my throat, "why don't we get out of here? There's this new place that Jimin took me to the other night and I wanna show you!" I say quickly changing the subject.

She shakes her head at me and rolls her eyes "Yeah, but you're paying" she says, standing up and grabbing her bag to go. "Fine, but give me like ten minutes to get ready and then we'll go" I say and rush into my room to get dressed while she lets out a big sigh of annoyance and slouches back down onto the couch.

Going into the bathroom to brush my teeth I notice how bloodshot my eyes are from all the crying so I quickly open the cabinet behind the mirror and search for my eye drops, hoping they will soothe the burning sensation that had been a natural consequence of showing more emotion than I had planned to.

I blink a few times after I apply them, letting the drops settle in my eyes and wipe away the excess before brushing my teeth and washing my face hopefully getting rid of the red tint thats still splayed on my face and dry off before getting dressed for the day.

Stepping outside the building was a lot more jarring than I had anticipated, feeling the violent urge to look over my shoulder every few seconds but I do my best to shake off those feeling and focus on getting to the subway station. I try to keep a constant conversation going with Grey about her new kitten Smokey and how he's been driving her nuts to distract me from it all and for now it seems to be working.

"If I would've known how difficult it would be to take care of a kitten I would've gotten a goldfish instead" she huffs as we get off at our stop but when we start to walk towards the exit I see a figure lurking in the shadows as we pass by and my body goes stiff in response. I'm only brought back once Grey pulls on my arm to keep going, trying to get us out of the busy stairwell.

I follow her wordlessly until we get to the top of the steps and it's then when she takes in my body language. "You okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost" she says with a crooked smile. "I thought I saw someone watching us so I got a bit spooked but it was probably just my imagination" I say physically shaking off those feelings. "Come on, the cafe is just around the corner" I say now switching rolls, with me now pulling her along instead.

It's pretty easy to spot the place as it's the only one that's doused in a violet hue and I get even more giddy the closer we get.

"This place has pretty much become once of my favorite places in the city" I say proudly even though I've only been once. "Bora?" Grey says unamused, "As in Purple?" she asks and I nod my head while dragging her in, secretly hoping she'll love the place too. "Very creative" she says still criticizing the name of the establishment but I don't take it to heart. She's never the type to get excited about cute or themed anything so I'm not phased by her reaction.

Once we make it past the entryway and are greeted with the ever glowing neon lights is when her interest starts to peak. "I'm surprised it's not one of those girly fairy like cafes you've taken me to in the past" she says as she roams around on her own, checking out the interior and I smile knowing that deep down inside she's loving it.

"I'll go get us some drinks, are you hungry?" I ask and she nods and continues to make her way over to the records displayed in the far corner that I failed to notice before. Seeing as music has been a big interest of hers since before we had met I'm not surprised to already see her flipping through their collection and messing around with the record player.

Making my way over to the counter I place our order and head back to pick out a table close to where she seems to be still tinkering with the poor thing.

"You know it's probably more for show than anything else" I say teasingly and she sits down with a silent huff confirming my suspicions. "You could always ask them if they ever thought about getting a real one" I suggest but she waves off the idea.

"Too much of a bother" she says and shrugs her shoulders "They've got a pretty good sound system in here anyways so I'm sure they don't plan on it. The records they have are cool though" she says while letting her eyes wander around the rest of the place.

"Well then they must have good taste if even you like them" I say before someone joins our conversation making me jump. "I guess that would be me" a charming guy with a purple apron says as he walks over with our order. "You like Deftones?" Grey asks giving him a once over."Is that so hard to believe?" he says with a sideways smile but before Grey has a chance to open her mouth to utter something that I'm sure would come off as harsh I jump in changing the subject.

"Oh um, we didn't order those" I says glancing down at the pair of lilac macarons "It's on the house" he says giving me a smile while placing it on the table along with the rest of our order. "It's new to the menu so let me know what you think" he says giving us a shallow bow and tucking his tray under his arm before he walks back over to the counter.

"He was cute" I say to which she responds with narrowing her eyes at me, clearly meaning that she thinks the same.

"What, no insults? You usually say 'Ew he looks like a piece of gum that's been stuck to the bottom of a garbage man's shoe' or 'He looks like how the sewer smells' or the dozens of other insults you've thrown out whenever I've pointed out a guy to you" I continue with a teasing smile grabbing one of the macarons left in between us.

"This one isn't too bad though" she mumbles under her breath. "I'm sorry what was that? I couldn't hear you" I say continuing to embarrass her even more. "Shut up" she says copying me and throws the whole pastry in her mouth, her eyes widening when she takes in the flavor and lets out a groan.

"Shit these are good!" she says, clearly sad there isn't another one. "I could go order more if you'd like?" I say making moves to stand up but she grabs my hand and pulls me back down into my seat. "It's fine we've got other stuff here already. By the way, what the fuck did you order me?" she says glancing at the beverage that was placed in front of her.

Yours is called 'The Stars' and it's a lavender lemonade with a splash of butterfly pea tea and popping lychee boba. Mine is called 'Rain' and its a black cherry iced tea" I say taking a sip of my more conservative dark purple drink compared to her bright colorful one, both in stark contrast to our personalities.

"Why'd you have to get me the girly one?" she grumbles taking a sip of the purple concoction, surprised at how much she's enjoying yet another one of the menu items. "Because I knew that you would like it...even if you didn't want to admit it" I say with a sideways smile before taking a glance down at my phone seeing a message from Jin.

'What's got you feeling so blue?' he asks, hoping not to sound too pushy.

'Just Jungkook stuff. I still haven't made up my mind but I'm worried about him, he's never blown up on me like that so I feel like something else might be wrong' I send quickly before placing my phone face down and cutting the croissant I got us in half, smiling at the huckleberry filling cross section.

"They really wont let up on this purple theme huh?" Grey scoffs with a shake of her head taking half of it for herself. "I guess not" I say laughing at her clear disgust with the mystery substance but takes a bite anyways trusting my judgement.

"Well I guess it wasn't a huge chore coming here seeing as everything here tastes alright" she says, admitting that I have good taste this time around.

"Wow high praise? Looks like someone woke up on the right side of the bed today" I say never letting up on the teasing. She's always teasing me mercilessly at work so I don't feel bad poking fun at her today. Gotta take the opportunities when I can.

"I take it back you have shit taste" she says trying to fight back. "Nope what's done is done, can't back peddle now" I say playing coy and she finally accepts defeat, slouching back into her seat, her preferred state of being in almost all situations.

After finishing up Grey heads towards the exit while I place our dishes in the designated bin.

"Everything was amazing and those macarons were to die for!" I say fulfilling his request for our impressions. "I'm glad you liked them! Here take a few more for the road" he says bagging up two more.

"Oh I couldn't possibly take those! You already gave us the other ones for free" I say shaking my head no. "Well I've already boxed them up so they can't go back in the case. It would be a shame to waste them" he says and now I am on the receiving end of his coy antics.

"Well, thank you" I say as he places the small box in the palm of my hand but I quickly slip a few dollars into the tip jar before leaving with a shy smile. "Come back again soon...both of you" he says clearly telling me he's curious about Grey without telling me. "Don't worry we will" I say and wave him off before running out the door to catch up with Grey.

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smaller-comfort · 25 days ago

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picture of me hopped up on cold medicine attempting to process throes of the watchmaker under the cut. also a lot of rambling.

thinking about how brugaves and erlina become their shadow selves in order to serve aephorul- it's probably not the *only* mechanism by which he changes/empowers his followers, but it presents some interesting potential for future story beats and redemption arcs. I don't know that Barma'thazel and Elysan'darelle can or should be redeemed; fate decrees that they will Fall, and maybe their only hope for redemption lies in another life.

(everybody's posting about 999 days of alectopause and my locked tomb brain rot is gonna spill over into this eventually, thinking about redemption, forgiveness and the indelible sin of immortality.)

The paralells between Erlina/Ely'san, Valere/Feral, Brugaves/Barma and Zale/Narcis are so stark, man. brugaves and zale both haunted by insecurity and feelings of inadequacy; Erlina and Valere both chafe under the yoke of discipline and self control. But for Erlina and Brugaves, it's externalized- she doesn't want to let anyone else control her anymore. she wants power, so she can make her own decisions and choose her own path. Brugaves wants to flee from his problems and responsibilities. No one will ever tell him he isn't good enough anymore; he's fast enough to outrun everything, now.

Zale and Valere are internally conflicted. Zale fears being *perceived* as inadequate. He fears that his motivation isn't pure. Valere fears a loss of internal control- if she slips up, she'll destroy everything she's supposed to fight for.

the scene where they get their powers back gave me chills. the shadows that haunt them are the children they never got to be! radical acceptance! they had to sacrifice those children in order to develop their powers, and the only way they can recover their powers is by rescuing those lost and lonely kids.

-in the timeline where Garl dies, Elysan'darelle also dies, but the implications of the final scene in the dlc are that elysan'darelle is necessary for the flood to happen. without garl, there's no flood, no prophecy, no Message, no Messenger. Teaks and Arty build the Shrine for Solen and Luana, but to what end? For some reason I was thinking of The Messenger as a failed timeline because of the flood and the destruction of the sky giants, but that's clearly not the case. Will book 5 see the world's connection to the sea of stars mended again?

(Speaking of Messengers. My conspiracy theory about Teaks being related to Shopkeeper: now thoroughly debunked. The Muse->Shopkeeper one remains unshakeable. The only question is whether Shopkeeper *is* Muse, or if she's just another future incarnation of the Ovate of Time.)

(watch all of this be a red herring and we still haven't met future!meliora, but I love the idea that garl ends up at the tower of time when he dies.)

(also: watchmaker has to die for keenathan to meet her in another life, which means she either leaves the clockwork castle or something happens to her in there. for Muse to be her reincarnation, she has to be dead before the flood and the demons. what happens?)

(Keenathan->Phantom is...less solid of a connection for me, and also amplifies Phantom and Muse's tragedy in ways that I'm not a huge fan of- there's a lifetime where they find each other, and then he loses her, and gets cursed for thousands of years. not a great end for the goofy pirate guy. The idea of him becoming Prophet, however, is much funnier.) (sidebar conspiracy theory, aventry and ewilda reincarnate as Phantom and Muse instead, because *that* kind of cyclical, repeating tragedy *is* something I'm a fan of. in every lifetime, he's going to lose her. in every lifetime, in every universe, his love for her is going to doom the world.)

-(also I'm having so many feelings about the Artificer. you guys. when he met Shopkeeper did he recognize her. does he call her Meliora by accident sometimes. Does she call him by his individual names. Does he even remember being separate people by then when it's been so long. i've been holding off on finishing an ifhtem drabble with arty until i finished the dlc and now writing it is gonna make me cry.)

-Someone on Discord brought up Garl naming Wentworth and Mel naming Keenathan being the same function and I love what this implies about Ninja.

...oh, he's also the Ovate of Hope, isn't he. or will be. reincarnation. fml. (this is very poetic/lovely to think about, but the title of ovate being specifically related to craft makes it unlikely, I know. but who knows! maybe there are lifetimes where an ovate doesn't grow into their title.)

-(tangentially related to reincarnation bullshit: everybody should play chained echoes. (I should replay it.) if you love being frustrated by sea of stars' lore, and if you were more attached to Breath of Fire 2 than Chrono Trigger as a kid, you will enjoy the fuck out of that game.)

-also! Reincarnation being a thing makes Resh'an and Aephorul even worse tbh. They both need to die to put things right, and maybe in their next life they won't fuck up so badly. (I think that's Resh'an's ultimate goal- create a timeline where they can find each other again, and be happy. If they die now, they'll be reincarnated into a broken universe full of suffering.)

(my interpretation of that one line in the arg is still that Resh'an was ready to give up immortality and move on, but Aephorul wasn't. Resh'an isnt afraid of dying; it's what he wants, more than anything. But he feels responsible for Aephorul, and Aephorul doesn't want to start over from scratch. they've spent so much of themselves building *this* life, they should be able to keep it. And maybe he's also terrified of what will happen if Resh'an has the option of choosing something- someone- else. As long as Resh'an is fighting him, it means Resh'an can never leave him alone.)

-Very funny that ARG!Resh'an didn't want players looking into Horloge when he's probably going to need a clock that ticks true to fix the mess he's made of the timeline(s). Asshole. Shopkeeper is allowed to curbstomp him whenever she wants.

-we already had tentacles and bondage magic and science experiments but now we have evil twins too like come ON. do the devs understand what they're doing. some of them have to know what ao3 is.

what are people's thoughts about evil twin Garl and B'st and Serai. And Resh'an. is this ultimately what happened to Aephorul? It was funny at the time when the Puppeteer said she'd have Zale and Valere's twins take their places and no one would know the difference (the hair is wrong!) but what if that really were the case? An experiment gone wrong, and the part of him that's real gets subsumed by his fears and doubts and anger. Suddenly he starts wearing eyeliner and cutting his hair weird and resh'an is too taken by his sexy edgelord look to question it.

(It's still a cop out, I think, but I don't think there's any way to resolve the problem of Aephorul happily without one. it's a plausible in-universe explanation, at any rate.)

Anyway, evil!Garl would fix Aephorul, I just know it. Not in any way that makes Aephorul *better*, mind you, but certainly in any number of ways that are both funnier and sexier. Something to throw at my AlchemistSwap!AU maybe.

-i can't believe they fuckin hogtied hortense

#sea of stars #sea of stars spoilers #throes of the watchmaker #throes of the watchmaker spoilers #nattering #running on 3 hours of sleep and cold medicine and feeling Not Good today

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ginnsbaker · 2 years ago

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Rivers and Roads (Til I Reach You)

Summary: The best(and worst) ways to fall in love with your best friend's younger sister.

Word count: 11.3k+ | Warnings: Angst, Smut, Underage Sex, Minor Violence | Ship: Yelena x Female Reader

A/N: Takes place before "In Flames" but can be read seperately ; Requested by anon: Would you write about Yelena and Reader's first attempt at a relationship? How they saw each other as more than just Nat's little sister or best friend? ; Hope you like it, anon :)

Masterlist

Your father's funeral ends the same way these things always do: friends and family approaching you and your mother, one by one, each offering condolences like they're reading from a script. The words are polite, rehearsed, almost mechanical, and though you nod and thank them, each sympathy feels more hollow than the last.

Like a zombie, you go through the motions, detached from everything around you.

The crowd eventually thins, and that’s when Natasha approaches with Yelena in tow. She hugs you tightly, her body trembling with emotion. “I'm so sorry, Y/N,” she whispers, her voice catching in her throat. “If there's anything I can do, anything at all, just let me know.”

You feel her warmth, but your response is cold, almost automatic. “Thank you,” you say flatly.

When you step out of Natasha's embrace, Yelena steps forward, a look in her eyes like she's ready to do the same thing. But as she moves closer, she hesitates, her mouth parting as if to speak, but the words remain trapped inside. Without waiting for her to say anything, you excuse yourself and head up to your room.

Downstairs, Natasha tugs Yelena to go home. But Yelena's gaze is fixed on the ceiling, right where she knows your room is. She silently declines, and Natasha, reading the situation, gives her a knowing nod without pushing further. With a quiet goodbye, Natasha exits, leaving Yelena with her eyes still fixed on the ceiling, lost in thought.

The minutes feel like hours as she sits there, a battle raging inside her. She wants to be there for you, to offer comfort, but she's paralyzed by uncertainty and fear. Finally, a decision forms in her mind, and she rises from the couch, her heart pounding.

Slowly, she makes her way up the stairs. When she reaches your door, she stops, her hand hovering in the air. She hears the soft, unmistakable sound of crying, and her heart aches.

Softly, she places her hand on the door, pretending it's you, pretending she has the ability to comfort you. But she doesn't, and it's one of the most painful experiences of her young life. To stand there, helpless, listening to the person she cares about hurting, and not being able to do anything about it.

Tears well in her eyes as she leans her forehead against the door, feeling the barrier that separates her from you, a barrier she's unable to cross.

And so, she waits, trusting that someday, when you're ready, she'll be able to step through that door, reach out, and stand by your side when you need her most.

She doesn’t see you for the rest of the summer.

She tries to ask Natasha about you, but even your best friend seems guarded, telling her she hasn't heard from you much either.

Around the same time, a boy from her class, Jeremy, starts dropping by her house. His visits are unexpected but not entirely unwelcome. He's friendly, outgoing, and he makes Yelena laugh—something she hasn't done much of lately.

But as the weeks wear on and Jeremy's interest in her becomes more apparent, Yelena can't shake the feeling that something's missing. Her thoughts keep drifting back to you, to the sound of your crying behind that closed door, to the pain in her chest that she feels every time she thinks of your suffering.

Jeremy tries to get closer to her, invites her out, sends her messages, even brings her chocolates and flowers, but Yelena finds herself holding back. She likes him, but she doesn't feel the connection she longs for, the connection she feels with you.

One evening, as she's aimlessly scrolling through her phone, avoiding yet another message from Jeremy, she stumbles across a picture of you and your father. The memory hits her like a physical blow, and she can't help but wonder how you're coping, if you're healing, if you even think about her at all.

The very next day, she kisses Jeremy for the first time.

III

When she does see you again, it's at a party before the school year begins.

You're alone, clutching a bottle of Jim Beam like a lifeline. You bring it with you, taking long swigs ever so often, not caring who's watching. You look just like the last time she saw you—uninterested, vacant, a shell of the person that used to be filled with so much good energy.

The crowd around you is lively, laughing, celebrating the end of summer, but you stand apart from it all.

Yelena's concern deepens, and she quickly sends a text to Natasha, hoping that she might have some insight or guidance. “She’s here at the party,” she writes, her fingers trembling. “Drinking alone. Looks lost. What should I do?”

The response from Natasha comes quickly, and it's clear from her words that she's as bewildered as Yelena. “What? I didn't know about this. Keep her there. Don't let her leave. I'm coming.”

Yelena looks up from her phone, her eyes scanning the room to find you again. Her heart aches at the sight of you, standing alone, your face a mask of emptiness.

She takes a deep breath, steeling herself to approach you.

But before she can make her move, a voice calls her name, and she turns to see Jeremy coming towards her with a smile.

“Hey, beautiful,” Jeremy says cheerfully, closing the distance between them with a warm smile. He leans in and plants a soft kiss on Yelena's cheek.

Yelena forces a smile in return, her thoughts still consumed by the sight of you across the room. She appreciates Jeremy's presence, but at that moment, she can't shake the nagging worry she feels.

“Are you enjoying the party?” Jeremy asks, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Yeah, it's good,” she says.

Jeremy doesn't seem to notice Yelena's lack of focus. His eyes are alight with excitement, and his grin is infectious as he exclaims, “I've got a surprise for you. Come upstairs with me?”

Her attention is pulled away from you momentarily. “A surprise?”

“Yeah, I think you'll love it,” Jeremy assures her, tugging on her hand gently. “Come on, it'll just take a minute.”

Yelena hesitates, glancing once more in your direction. You’re looking worse by the second, but she also knows that she can't ignore Jeremy, especially when he's clearly made an effort to do something special for her.

With a sigh, she gives in to Jeremy's urging. “Okay, but just for a minute,” she agrees, allowing him to lead her toward the stairs.

You don’t remember much of what happened when you come to.

Your fist is clenched, throbbing with pain, and the skin is turning an unnatural shade of blue. Jeremy—Yelena's new boyfriend—is clutching his arm, his face twisted in agony. Yelena is kneeling next to him, her eyes wide, her face pale, looking up at you in shock.

“What...What happened?” you stammer, the room spinning around you.

You hear a gasp from the doorway. Turning, you see a tall, lanky man with tousled hair and a startled expression. He's holding a drink, the liquid sloshing slightly from the sudden movement.

“Everything alright in here?” he asks, eyebrows raised in concern.

Yelena's gaze shifts to the man, then back to you. Panic flits across her eyes. “It's nothing,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “Just a...misunderstanding.”

He hesitates, eyes darting between you, Jeremy, and Yelena. He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “That doesn't look like 'nothing'.”He nods towards Jeremy's arm and your bruised fist.

“You should leave,” Yelena hisses at you, her voice low and threatening. She rises to her feet, seemingly towering over you despite the fact that you’re taller than her. “Now.”

You're still disoriented, the pain in your hand and the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “Yelena, I didn't mean–I thought he was forcing himself on you–”

She cuts you off. “I don't care what you meant. Just get out.” Her voice trembles with a mix of anger and fear.

Mark steps aside, allowing you a clear path to the door, but his eyes remain fixed on you, filled with curiosity and suspicion. As you stagger past him, you can hear Yelena's voice, softer now, murmuring words of comfort to Jeremy.

The next time you see Yelena, a week has gone by and the purple and blue on your knuckles has substantially faded.

It’s the weekend and you find yourself in the public library while the rest are hanging out in malls or anywhere that doesn't carry the smell of books. It wasn’t always like this—you’d normally be in the Romanoffs’ house by now, playing video games with Natasha or discussing art and literature with Yelena.

You're browsing through the contemporary fiction section when you spot her. Yelena's back is turned to you, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face. She's engrossed in a thick book, fingers tracing the lines as she reads. The library's tall windows drape her in a warm, sunlit glow, making her look almost unreal.

For a moment, you contemplate turning around and making a silent retreat. The memory of that night at the party, of Jeremy's pained face and Yelena's horrified eyes, still leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. But instead, your feet seem to make the decision for you, carrying you closer until you're standing just a few feet away from her.

She doesn't notice you at first, so engrossed in her reading. Taking a deep breath, you muster the courage to speak. “Yelena?”

She startles, the book nearly tumbling out of her hands. When she turns and meets your eyes, there's a flash of surprise, quickly replaced by guardedness. “Hey,” she says, voice cool and measured.

“I'm sorry,” you blurt out, the words spilling forth in a rush. “For that night, for everything. I never meant to hurt anyone. I went upstairs to use the bathroom and I heard…sounds…coming from that bedroom and I…it didn’t seemed consensual to me, what was happening–”

Yelena interrupts you, her voice rising in defense, “It was consensual.”

You look deep into her eyes, searching for any sign that she’s not telling the truth. “Are you sure?” you ask gently.

“Yes,” she replies firmly, but there's something flickering behind her gaze.

Not convinced, you press on, “How many times?”

She looks taken aback. “What?”

“How many times did you give your consent?” you ask, emphasizing each word.

She hesitates, her mouth opens to say something, but no words come out.

The few seconds of her silence feels like hours, and then you finally break it. “I just wanted to make sure you're okay," you mutter, pressing your lips together into a tight line.

“Why do you even care?” Yelena scoffs, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Almost reflexively, the truth tumbles out, “Because you're Nat’s little sister.”

For a brief moment, something akin to disappointment crosses Yelena's features, a shadow over her usually bright and fiery eyes. You catch that subtle shift and, for reasons you can't quite place, you're filled with a sudden urge to retract your words.

She exhales sharply, her voice laced with frustration. “So, it's always about her, isn't it? Can't I just be Yelena, without being 'Natasha's sister'? Why does everything I do or whatever happens to me always get linked back to her?”

You swallow hard, realizing your mistake and at the same time, confused as to why it seems like the wrong reason to come to her rescue. “I didn't mean it like that,” you quickly say, fishing for the right words. “I care about you too, Yelena. But yes, knowing Nat makes me more protective. I'm sorry if it came out wrong.”

Yelena simply studies you for a moment before she starts to walk past you as she says, “You say you care, but when your father passed away, you didn't seem to need either of us. Natasha and I tried to be there for you, but you shut us out.”

Your gaze drops, and you quietly fall in step behind her, knowing that she’s right. They both had a bond with your father and felt his loss deeply. While they reached out, you had inadvertently left them in the cold.

“It wasn't that I didn't need or want you both. I just... didn't know how to reach out, how to let anyone in,” Your voice is so faint that Yelena almost misses your words. Abruptly, she halts and, against her better judgment, draws you into a secluded aisle between towering bookshelves for a moment of privacy.

Her hand then reaches out, fingers lightly brushing yours.

“Don’t shut us out. You don’t have to say anything. Just… don’t be alone. Because you’re not,” Yelena says. “Nat and I are here for you.”

You take a moment, a quiet sniffle escaping before you subtly dab the corner of your eye. Though your face remains composed and your eyes shimmer, they betray the strength you're trying to project—a strength Yelena wishes you didn’t feel compelled to display around her.

“I–I know…” you say. You squeeze her hand in gratitude before releasing it. Yelena tries not to sigh at the loss of your touch. “Is Nat upset with me?”

Yelena hesitates, keenly aware of the proximity between you two in the tight aisle. “She's... waiting, you know. We both are. We've missed you, Y/N.”

Your lips curve into a small, bashful smile. “I've missed you guys too.”

As a rosy hue tints Yelena's cheeks, she wishes, if only for a moment, that those words were meant just for her. She quickly deflects, her voice slightly uneven, “I was about to borrow this and head home,” she gestures to the book she's clutching, placing it as a barrier between you.

“Are you planning to stay here awhile longer?” she asks.

You ponder on it for a moment before saying, “Can I come with you?”

Yelena smiles.

“Always.”

“I’ve decided to enlist” Natasha tells you one afternoon after school.

“The military?” you ask, trying to maintain focus on the screen. Your fingers dance over the game controller, securing a win against Natasha yet again. You can't help but suspect that she's using this to divert your attention from the game.

“Not exactly the military,” she clarifies. “It's... well, it's for a government project. Details are classified, even from family.”

You pause the game, finally turning to give her your full attention.

“You're serious,” you say.

Without missing a beat, Natasha resets the game, her casual demeanor juxtaposing the gravity of her decision.

“Does Yelena know?” you ask, eyes flickering towards Natasha.

She hesitates for a moment, her fingers momentarily stilling on the controller. “Not yet,” she admits, her voice softer. “But I'll tell her soon.”

“Where is she anyway?”

Natasha's gaze drifts before she answers, “She's with Jeremy.”

Your eyes harden instantly at the mention of his name, a reaction so visceral that Natasha picks up on it right away.

“You don't like him,” she observes with a smile.

“No, I don't,” you reply tersely.

Natasha's brow furrows with concern. “Did something happen at that party a little over a week ago?”

“Why do you ask?”

She exhales slowly, rubbing her temples. “Just a feeling... Yelena's been... different since then. I thought maybe you'd know why.”

You’re torn. You feel an urge to warn Natasha about this boy that Yelena’s been seeing. But the look on Yelena’s face after you hit him still haunts you to this day.

She’s obviously smitten with him. Going behind her back won’t help.

“Could you, maybe, talk to her?” Natasha asks. “She always listens to you, you know?”

You smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s because I’m the voice of reason.”

Natasha lets out a soft laugh. “That you are.”

VII

Talking to Yelena proves more challenging than you have anticipated, because you can’t seem to find her these days.

Each time you're at her and Natasha's place, she’s not home. Her room remains untouched, bed made neatly and no signs of recent activity. Natasha assures you she comes home, but always at odd hours, usually when the city's asleep.

It's surprising to learn that she's consistently invited to parties that neither you nor Natasha know about.

The girl who keeps to herself most of the time, hiding in bookstores and libraries, has now become the talk of the town and the life of the party. You wonder when and how this transformation took place.

And because she’s Natasha’s little sister, you can’t help but worry about her. Can’t help but think about the kind of people she surrounds herself with these days.

Can’t help but feel protective of her.

Which is why, when you accidentally run into Jeremy after scouring Yelena’s usual hunts in the East Village, you don’t hesitate to approach him even though you're painfully aware he might have every reason to retaliate for that night at the party.

He's leaning against a graffiti-splashed brick wall, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. As you draw closer, his eyes lock onto yours, recognition igniting an unmistakable spark of animosity.

“Look who it is,” Jeremy sneers, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “What do you want?”

“I'm looking for Yelena,” you reply evenly.

He chuckles darkly and then holds the cigarette between his lips as he says, “What, are you in love with her or something?”

Your jaw tightens, trying to keep your emotions in check. “She's a family friend, okay? My best friend's sister.”

He raises an eyebrow skeptically, taking another drag from his cigarette before exhaling slowly. “I find that hard to believe, especially after the way you came at me.”

Lifting his sleeve, he reveals a dark, mottled bruise, evidence of your previous altercation. “All this for a family friend?”

“I'm protective of the people I care about,” you retort, your gaze unwavering. “Now, where is she?”

Jeremy smirks, the smoke from his cigarette curling between you two. “Why should I tell you? Maybe you should deal with your feelings first.”

You sigh, your patience waning fast. “Are you going to tell me or not?”

Jeremy takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. His smirk falters for a moment. “She dumped me that night,” he finally says, a hint of bitterness in his tone. “Haven't seen her since.”

You’re surprised (and mildly relieved) to learn that Yelena ended things with him that quickly.

“Then why are you still hanging around her usual spots?” you ask.

He shrugs, falling back against the brick wall, looking more dejected than you would have expected. “Hoping she'd change her mind, I guess. But if you're really desperate to find her, there's this place she mentioned once. A quiet spot by the Brooklyn Bridge, where she goes when she needs to think.”

You nod, processing the information. “Thanks for the tip,” you say reluctantly.

He spits out the blunt and then crushes it with his heel. “Whatever.”

VIII

The sun has begun to set when you arrive in Dumbo. Facing the river, with no buildings within its immediate vicinity, the wind moves freely in its playground. The East River shimmers with colors, and the Brooklyn Bridge stands out against the sky. It makes sense to you why Yelena would choose this peaceful spot in the city for solitude.

You find a series of benches scattered along the promenade, some occupied by people absorbed in their own worlds, either gazing at the river or lost in the pages of a book.

As you walk further along the riverside, you spot a familiar figure perched on a low stone wall. Yelena, with her hair being toyed with by the wind, is staring at the water with a distant look in her eyes. She's so engrossed in her thoughts that she doesn't notice you approaching.

“Hey,” you start softly, not wanting to startle her.

She turns to look at you, surprised at first before it gradually morphs into wariness.

“Are you stalking me?”

“No, of course not,” you answer quickly. “I was just... worried about you.”

“Worried? Why?”

“Jeremy told me you two broke up. And with you being... distant lately, I just wanted to make sure you're okay.”

Her eyes drift back to the river for a moment, and then she sighs, her shoulders slumping a little. “I didn't expect him to spill our business to you, of all people,” she mutters, sounding more hurt than angry.

“I ran into him while looking for you,” you explain, trying to ease the tension. “He suggested you might be here.”

Yelena crosses her arms, looking a bit skeptical. “So, you're here out of concern, not because you're trying to... I don't know, gloat or something?”

“Gloat?”You blink in confusion. “Why would I gloat?”

She looks away, avoiding your gaze. “Never mind.”

“I just want you to know,” you start, choosing your words carefully, “That whatever is going on, you don't have to deal with it alone. Nat is worried about you, too.”

Yelena lets out a humorless chuckle. “Nat sent you?”

“No,” you clarify, the sort-of lie coming out easily for you. Technically, she did send you, but she mentioned it in passing, hoping you’d help her get through her sister. “But she's concerned. We both are.”

Yelena hums, seemingly unsatisfied with your sentiments.

“What are you doing here anyway?” you ask, plopping beside her.

She glances at you, then focuses on the water again. “Thinking... about everything. Did you know Natasha is leaving by the end of the month to join some weird government program?”

Your head whips around to face her, surprise evident in your eyes. "She told you?"

Yelena looks even more surprised–and a little hurt–that you already know.

“You knew?”

You nod grimly. “But I didn’t know she’s leaving so soon.”

Yelena shakes her head, her expression souring slightly. “I found out accidentally while using her laptop the other day. There was an email opened.”

The two of you sit there in silence, both lost in thought. You miss the days when things were simpler, when the three of you would hang out without any secrets or looming departures hanging over your heads.

“I don’t want things to change,” Yelena murmurs, her voice revealing traces of the reserved young girl who once hid behind her older sister’s more confident demeanor.

You wish for the same thing, but the truth is, a lot has already changed.

Starting with the death of your father.

And now, faced with the prospect of losing your best friend too, you don’t hesitate. You instinctively pull Yelena into a tight embrace. She stiffens momentarily but then melts into the hug, her breath warm against your shoulder, as your bodies fit together in a new and uncertain way.

Natasha’s up and left by the end of September, and as a new month rolls around, you and Yelena both find yourselves spending time together without the balancing force of her sister. Those first few meetings are stilted, almost as if you're dancing around the elephant in the room. There are fumbled greetings, exchanged in hallways and awkward silences over cups of coffee.

During one of those brief encounters, Yelena mentions her struggle with math. It's a subject you've already navigated, being two years her senior. “I remember going through that topic,” you muse one day, sketching out a problem for her. She squints at your notebook, and you can see the cogs turning.

Your sessions become regular, and soon, the two of you are spending longer stretches of time together. The rhythm is slow but steady. There's a mutual understanding that neither of you want to discuss the glaring void Natasha has left behind. Instead, you bond over shared experiences, inside jokes, and little adventures in the city.

Late night study sessions turn into spontaneous pizza runs. Movie marathons evolve from strictly academic films to cult classics and cheesy rom-coms. There's an unspoken agreement that you both desperately need a distraction, and slowly, you become that for each other.

However, in the crowded hallways of school, things aren't as seamless. You have your established group, a band of friends who’ve known you for years, and their expectations of you are set in stone. Yelena, on the other hand, moves in different circles. With her distinctive style and entourage of artsy friends, they occupy spaces you rarely venture into.

Moreover, your schedules hardly ever line up. While you’re leaving for advanced courses or student council meetings, she's typically heading to the arts wing for a drama club rehearsal or a literature symposium. Those stolen moments in the library or quick nods across the cafeteria become your only connection, otherwise you’d be total strangers from an outsider’s perspective.

One day, during lunch, your friends jokingly mention the budding ‘friendship’ with Yelena. “So, tutoring the sister now? How's that going?” one of them teases. You just smile and shrug it off, but you can't help but feel a pinch of guilt for not integrating Yelena more into your world.

There are also times when Yelena's friends shoot curious glances your way, probably wondering about the nature of your relationship with her. There are whispers, but you both ignore them, focusing on the close friendship you've built, especially with Natasha gone.

It’s your senior year, and you’re just starting to see just how much you and Yelena have in common.

You can't help but wish you'd realized this earlier, especially since you'll be heading to New York University next year.

One night, after you both finish watching “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” in your room, Yelena glances over at you, a kernel of popcorn held precariously between her lips.

“Have you ever been in love?”

You almost choke on your soda, before recovering to shrug and say, “I don’t think so.” You watch as Yelena smirks and slowly chews on the popcorn before licking her lips, your eyes following the movement.

“Got a crush on anyone, then?”

The word 'crush' makes your heart race for reasons you’re still unaware of. You find yourself briefly lost in the depths of her green eyes, and there's something about the way her lips curl that grabs your attention. Shaking your head subtly, you rally your thoughts.

“What about you?” you counter, turning the question back on her in an attempt to keep the spotlight away from you. “Ever been in love?”

Yelena pauses, a playful glint appearing in her eyes. She drags out the silence, clearly enjoying the suspense she's creating. “Maybe,” she finally admits with a sly smile.

That simple word instantly has your undivided attention. “Who is it?”

She bites her lip, a move that draws your gaze and makes your heart beat a tad faster. “It's a secret,” she says teasingly.

“Do I know them?”

Instead of answering, she just gives you a mischievous smile and, in a swift move, pulls the covers over herself, hiding underneath. You can hear her giggling, leaving you with more questions than answers.

You chuckle, grabbing a flashlight from your bedside table and diving under the covers alongside her, illuminating both your faces with its soft glow. The confined space brings you closer, close enough to notice the details of her face and the nervous twinkle in her eyes.

“Is it Jeremy?” you ask hesitantly, the guilt from the incident at the party still weighing on you. “I'm so sorry about that night. I never should've–”

“No, it’s not him,” she cuts you off, shaking her head emphatically, her hand lightly touching your arm. “It’s someone else... someone I've felt this way about for a while. For a long time, just loving them from a distance felt enough. But now...” Yelena trails off, her eyes searching yours, for something that might hint that you know who she is talking about.

That she’s talking about you.

“...now I’m not so sure it is,” she quietly finishes.

But your eyes give away your confusion, showing her you can't quite pinpoint who she's referring to. Moreso, when you say, “I hate that they’re making you sad.”

“It’s complicated,” Yelena says. “Sure, the thought of her not feeling the same way stings, but she brings me so much joy. The happiness she offers is greater than the pain. That has to mean something, right?”

“She?”

Yelena freezes at her slip-up.

“Yes... she,” Yelena drawls. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “Nat doesn’t know. I haven't exactly been open about it. Not with anyone, really.”

You shift closer to her, ensuring she feels your presence and support. “Hey, I'm really honored you trust me with this. You never have to change or hide who you are around me. I love you just the way you are.”

She turns her head, her expression simultaneously hopeful and uncertain. “You love me?”

Without hesitation, you nod. “Of course. Yelena, between you, Nat, and my mom, you're the most important people in my life. I've always felt that way.”

She bites her lip, absorbing your words. “Oh,” is all she manages initially. The silence stretches between the two of you, heavy with something you both can’t put a name to. Then, in a voice so soft you almost miss it, she murmurs, “I love you too.”

You weren’t expecting to feel anything differently when she says it back, but you do–

So much, that you consciously maintain a safe distance between your bodies as you both eventually fall asleep.

Days go by, and you start seeing Yelena differently.

Little things about her catch your eye, like how the sun hits her hair or the way she laughs. You find yourself thinking about her more often than not, even during lectures.

One afternoon, you're studying together, and you realize you've been staring at the way she holds her pen for far too long. There's a song playing in the background, its lyrics vague and unimportant, but you can't help thinking how it's something she'd love.

But it’s those quiet nights, when the world is asleep, that your thoughts become more personal, more intimate. On one of these nights, as you’re ensnared in those thoughts, warmth spreading all over your body, your phone suddenly rings.

It’s Yelena. Hastily, you pull your hand away from your soaked underwear and try to sound casual as she asks you about a school project that you’ve tackled before. You can’t help but notice how huskier her voice has gotten recently, and as soon as the call ends, you’re shuffling your pants down your legs and fucking yourself with two fingers, coming to the name of your best friend’s sister on your lips.

What follows after is a deep-seated shame. You bury your face into your pillow, trying to muffle the self-reproach that threatens to spill over.

Now, each time your mind drifts to Yelena, there's a budding warmth, but it's quickly doused by guilt and the looming shadow of Natasha. The trepidation of how she might react to your burgeoning feelings for her younger sister haunts your every thought. Would she see it as a betrayal? As you, taking advantage of Yelena? Or would she understand that feelings, often unexpected and inconvenient, have a way of creeping in?

Days turn into weeks, and you do your best to suppress these emotions, to lock them away and throw away the key. But they have a pesky way of resurfacing when you least expect them to, making ordinary interactions with Yelena charged with a tension you can't shake off.

It's during one such interaction, when you're helping Yelena with a school project at her house, that she catches you staring a moment too long. Her eyebrows knit in confusion, and for a second, you think she's going to question you. But she doesn't, and you're left wondering if she feels it too. Feels a surge of current coursing through her body at any point of contact between your bodies.

XII

The air in Montauk is usually so soothing, but not today.

Walking through the front door, you immediately notice the empty spaces, corners that were once filled with your father’s belongings. Bewilderment strikes you first. Your eyes dart around the room, trying to take in the enormity of the situation. His jackets are no longer on the hook, his books absent from the shelf. That worn-out armchair where he used to sit with a cup of coffee every morning is no longer there.

The sound of paper crackling captures your attention, and you follow it to the backyard. Your heart plummets when you see your mom tossing pictures into a growing flame. It feels as if time has stopped, as you watch memories being consumed by fire. Each photo that curls, blackens, and disintegrates feels like a piece of your heart being pulled apart.

A scream of anguish and rage leaves your mouth before you can think.

“What are you doing?!” you shout, rushing forward to snatch what remains of the photos. But the damage has been done.

Your mother's face is a complex mosaic of pain, anger, and a little lunacy. “It's time,” she retorts, her voice brittle but resolute. “Time to move on.”

“How could you?” Your voice breaks, kicking the bench where your father used to lounge in, enjoying a cup of coffee.

Feeling the walls of your house closing in on you, you snatch a small box of photos, the only things that haven't met the flames yet, and storm out.

XIII

The Romanoffs’ residence automatically becomes your refuge.

You don’t even knock, you just barge in, your breaths coming fast, tears streaming down your face. It doesn't take Yelena long to figure out that something's wrong, and she envelops you in a warm, solid embrace.

Her fingers run through your hair soothingly, her voice a gentle murmur in your ear. “It’s okay, let it out,” she whispers, guiding you down the hallway towards her bedroom. Posters of classic horror films adorn her walls, giving the space a uniquely edgy feel. By the side, a stack of books teeters precariously, evidence of her voracious reading habits and an already overflowing bookshelf. Now that you've spent more time in it over the past few months, Yelena's room feels even more familiar than Natasha's ever did.

Before you know it, you're lying down, with Yelena sitting beside you, her hand never leaving yours. Overwhelmed and exhausted, sleep claims you amidst your tears.

Later in the night, you’re woken up by the clinking of a tray. Blinking your eyes open, you see Yelena by your side. She’s holding a plate of something warm and there's a pill and a glass of water on the tray beside her.

“Figured you’d have a killer headache from all that crying,” she says, handing over the pill. Her voice is soft, teasing even, trying to inject some lightness into the heavy atmosphere.

“You made dinner?” Your voice is a croaky whisper.

“Didn't want you starving on me,” she says, shrugging with a smile before setting the tray on the night table beside you.

And then she starts to ramble, her cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment, “I really don't know how to cook, so I just tried frying some spam. Then I ended up burning one side. I swear, every time I try to cook, I just—”

But you're barely hearing her. In that moment, it hits you just how much she's wormed her way into your heart. In an impulsive moment, powered by emotions running high, you reach out, cupping her face in your hands, and pull her towards you.

The kiss is a sweet, brief meeting of lips, but in that fleeting moment, it communicates more than words ever could. When you pull back, the air between you is thick and your lips are tingling and all you can think about is how much you want to lean in and kiss her again. Yelena's eyes search yours, both of you realizing that things may never be the same again.

Yelena seems to be processing, her green eyes wide and a little unfocused. The softness of her lips still lingers on yours, and the magnitude of what just happened starts to sink in.

Panic flares in your chest.

“I... I need to go,” you stammer, your mind racing for a reasonable excuse. You can't stay, not now. Not with the desire to push her down the bed looming over your head.

Before she can say anything, before she can even move, you're out of the room, leaving behind a dazed Yelena, clutching the tray she had brought for you, the scent of the burnt Spam still lingering in the room.

XIV

You avoid Yelena at all costs.

For the first three days, your phone buzzes constantly with her calls and texts, and you muster the will to ignore every single one.

At school, you find yourself darting through hallways and taking longer, circuitous routes just to dodge the places where you might bump into her. The hangout spots you both frequented over the past months—the tiny café by the library, the secret alcove behind the gym—are now places you avoid like the plague.

You switch up your post-school routine, taking a completely different path home, even if it means walking an extra mile. Friends begin to notice the lengths you're going to just to not see her and they shoot you questioning looks, but you shrug them off, not ready to talk about it.

There's even a wild, desperate thought about dropping out of school. But every time it comes to the forefront of your mind, you push it away. You're in your senior year; leaving now would mean throwing away all the work you've put in. Plus, you're on the cusp of moving away, starting anew. You just need to endure a little longer.

Every day feels heavier. On one hand, you want to duck and dodge, stay out of Yelena's path until you've figured what it means for you, for her, for your friendship with Natasha. On the other, you're missing her like crazy. More than once, you've caught yourself about to call or text her, only to stop, unsure and overwhelmed.

And when she stops calling and texting, every time your phone lights up with a notification, a part of you wishes it's her, another hopes it isn't.

And the worst part? The gnawing feeling inside that tells you that the longer you avoid her, the greater the risk of losing her for good. And you're not ready for that. Not by a long shot.

You hide in your room. No one is answering because your mother is still at work, so you just listen to Yelena ringing the doorbell until it stops. You press your ear against the door of your room, straining to hear any signs of movement from downstairs. But there's no one.

And when the ringing stops–for a good ten seconds–you let out a quiet sigh of relief. But just as that thought that she’s given up crosses your mind, there's a sudden thud against your window. Jumping, you pull back the curtain a tad and spot Yelena, a frown carved deep on her face, a couple of pebbles in her hand.

“Come face me, you coward!” she yells, making you wince.

Flustered, you motion frantically for her to head to the front door. After making sure you’re decent enough to receive her, you take a deep breath and head downstairs.

When you open the door, Yelena stands there, eyes boring into you. She’s clearly angry and frustrated, and regardless of those, she still manages to take your breath away.

Yelena steps closer, into the little space you’ve unconsciously provided by opening the door, narrowing the gap between the two of you. Her proximity makes it difficult to think clearly.

“Why did you run that night?” she asks pointedly, the confusion and hurt undeniable in the way her voice thickens and shakes. “And why have you been avoiding me ever since?”

You look down at your feet as she tries to chase your line of sight. “It's not that I don't want to be around you, Yelena,” you start. “In fact, I want to be around you all the time.”

Yelena’s breath hitches at that. She frowns, trying to decipher your meaning. “So, what’s the problem?”

You muster the courage to lift your chin and finally meet her gaze. “I like you. A lot. So much, in fact, that I'm terrified of what could happen next. I'm scared I won't be able to hold back from falling in love with you.”

She blinks, taking in your confession. “You're such a stupid idiot,” she mutters, more to herself than to you.

“You know those are synonyms, right?” you retort, trying to inject some levity into conversation.

She arches an eyebrow, “Dense.”

“That's just another synonym,” you mumble, meeting her challenging stare.

But before you can come up with another witty retort, she closes the gap between you two, whispering, “Shut up and kiss me.”

XVI

It’s getting harder and harder to control yourself around Yelena. Being around her has started to feel like you're navigating a minefield.

There's that time you're lounging in her bedroom, reading a book while she goes to shower. The sound of water running and the muffled hum of her voice singing a familiar tune combine to become your favorite music. The soft sheets of her bed, the faint scent of her on the pillow next to you, and the intimate setting conspire against your self-control. You have to consciously remind yourself to breathe evenly, to focus on the words in front of you, and not on the vision of Yelena in the shower.

Even small moments become loaded. Like when she's talking to you, and she tilts her head, exposing the soft curve of her neck. The light catches on her skin just right, and all you can think of is how it would feel under your lips. How she might shiver at your touch, how the pulse beating beneath her skin might race under your caresses.

Then there's the way she's been touching you more. A brush of her fingers, lingering hugs, those almost-too-close moments that send shivers down your spine. It feels like she’s playing a game, seeing how far she can push before you crack.

The dreams aren’t helping either. Some nights they’re tender, others they’re, well, a bit more heated. Waking up from them leaves you flushed and out of sorts.

One balmy afternoon, as the sun's rays filter through the slits of your bedroom curtains, the two of you find yourselves tangled once again. Suddenly, as you're catching your breath, Yelena pulls back slightly, looking deeply into your eyes, the desire evident. “I want you,” she whispers breathlessly, her voice shaking with want.

You freeze, her words threatening to make you combust. “Yelena,” you start, throat dry, “I don't think we should. Natasha doesn't even know about...this.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes with an exasperated sigh. “This isn't on us. Natasha's off at some super-secretive training camp. How are we supposed to tell her?”

You try a different approach. “You’re sixtee–”

“You’re seventeen,” she cuts you off quickly.

You smile softly at the pout forming on her lips. “I’m turning eighteen next week.”

“Semantics,” Yelena argues.

Your chest tightens, and you finally admit, “There's something else. I've... I've never been with anyone like that before.”

To your surprise, Yelena's confident demeanor falters. She looks away, biting her lip, “Me neither.”

Your eyes widen. “But... Jeremy?”

She looks away, biting her lip. “That night you punched him? That night, it's supposed to happen. But…” She takes a deep breath, her eyes searching yours. “All I can think of is you being outside that room. I can't do it. I've always... I've always wanted it to be you.”

The fact that she hasn’t been with anyone makes you even more nervous. You want her first time to be memorable and good.

“Yelena, uhm,” you start, fidgeting under her gaze. “I have no idea what to do.”

Her thumb brushes over the back of your hand, a soothing gesture. “Neither do I. But that's okay. We have each other.”

“And if we mess up?”

She smirks a little, that playful glint returning to her eyes. “Then we mess up together.”

XVII

It’s a mess, but neither of you would call it ‘messing up’.

When you’ve removed the final piece of clothing off her body, you find yourself staring at the juncture between her legs, your mouth watering at the sight of it.

It’s a beautiful mess.

Yelena shifts slightly, drawing your attention back to her face. Those brilliant eyes of hers are watching you, filled with understanding and the smallest hint of amusement. “First time seeing one up close?” she teases gently, breaking the tension.

Your cheeks warm, but you don’t look away. “You could say that.”

She reaches out, her fingers gently lifting your chin, guiding you to meet her gaze. “It's okay. Remember? We're learning together.”

You nod, kissing her fingers before she lets go of your chin.

“But please, touch me already,” Yelena husks out, arching her back and lifting her hips closer to your face in offering. “You’re driving me crazy.”

With that, you let go of your reservations, letting instinct take over.

But you take your time.

You slide your hands under her buttocks, palming her cheeks and keeping her place just in case. The heady scent of her arousal draws you in closer, a fresh wave of wetness collecting between your own thighs.

Tentatively, you stick your tongue out to touch its tip against the hood of her clit. The sharp intake of Yelena's breath and her subtle tremor give away her anticipation, making the corners of your mouth lift in a fleeting smile. It’s such a small action, and you can’t believe how responsive and needy she’s become.

“God, you're perfect,” you murmur, before flattening your tongue against her core and licking the entire length of her. Your eyes fall shut the moment you taste Yelena for the first time. She tastes as good as she smells, and you can’t help but repeat the act again and again. Each pass draws a deeper reaction from her, coaxing more wetness to cover the lower half of your face. As Yelena's responses intensify, you're grateful for your foresight in keeping her grounded, especially when she instinctively tries to pull away from the overwhelming sensations you're giving her.

Opening your eyes, you’re met with the most gorgeous sight of Yelena–her fingers clutch at the pillows, pulling them close, while her body arches and writhes–a pure picture of ecstasy.

Emboldened by her reactions, you focus your attention on her clit, drawing the sensitive nub into your mouth, letting a gentle suction build. The sound Yelena makes is sharp and unguarded, her fingers weaving into your hair, pulling you closer, urging you closer to her heat.

The flush on Yelena's face intensifies, painting a path from her cheeks to her collarbone as you continue your ministrations. The squelching sounds created by your eager mouth intermingle with her breathy moans, the rustle of the sheets beneath, and your own low sounds of appreciation.

Sensing her impending climax, you momentarily cease the gentle suction, prompting a desperate plea from Yelena, “Please…” But before she can voice her needs, you plunge back in, your tongue swirling insistently around her sensitive nub.

With a final, muffled cry into the pillows, Yelena's body convulses, waves of pleasure coursing through her. You ease your movements, allowing her to ride out the aftershocks of her climax.

Gradually, Yelena's breathing steadies. The vibrant flush of arousal is gradually replaced by a more relaxed hue. Still nestled between her thighs, you place gentle kisses on her inner legs, giving her time to come down from her euphoric high.

Her fingers, previously tangled in your hair, begin to relax, though she doesn’t release you entirely. Instead, they trace delicate patterns along the nape of your neck and your shoulders. A contented sigh escapes her, and you can feel her legs relaxing around you, the earlier tension now but a memory.

Taking this as your cue, you wipe your mouth and chin and gently climb up, situating yourself beside her, pulling her into a close embrace. Her head rests against your chest, listening to the thud of your heart, which beats just as erratically as hers.

“You okay?” you ask softly, brushing stray strands of hair from her face.

She nods, her lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. “More than okay,” she murmurs, snuggling closer. “Thank you.”

You both lay there in comfortable silence, enjoying the warmth of each other's presence. The outside world feels distant, irrelevant.

After what feels like hours but is probably just minutes, Yelena tilts her head up to meet your gaze, her eyes turning a darker shade of green again.

“My turn,” she whispers, her hands already exploring.

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as you arch an eyebrow, the sudden role reversal causing a thrill of anticipation to snake through you. “Impatient, are we?" you tease, the hint of a smirk playing on your lips.

Yelena grins, her fingers deftly tracing a path along your collarbone, down your chest, eliciting a shiver from you. “Maybe I've just learned from the best,” she counters playfully, pressing her lips briefly against your neck.

She doesn't rush, taking her time, soaking in every one of your reactions. The softest of kisses to the inside of your wrist has you inhaling sharply. Yelena watches, a glint of mischief in her eyes, before repeating the action, this time lingering longer. Each delicate press of her lips feels like a brand, and you're aware of the rising heat that courses through your body, centered where you want her most.

The press of her thumb against your pulse point, just beneath your jawline, elicits an unexpected moan from your lips. She chuckles softly, clearly pleased with the discovery. “Found a new spot, did I?” Yelena whispers, her voice husky.

Your response is lost as her mouth travels down, her tongue painting a trail down your collarbone, causing you to arch into her touch. “Yelena…” your voice is a breathy plea, laced with desperation.

Her fingers splay across your abdomen, her touch light, almost ticklish. It's a stark contrast to the firm press of her lips against the soft flesh of your thigh. Your hands find her hair, urging her closer, but Yelena pulls away, teasing.

Her eyes meet yours, filled with a playful defiance. “Patience,” she chides, her hot breath against your skin sending another shiver down your spine.

The build-up is excruciating, driving you to your limits.

When her lips finally meet the wetness between your thighs, the sensation is electric. She starts by laying a series of soft kisses there, each one making your hips jerk slightly, seeking more of her. Her tongue dips into you, tasting, exploring, teasing.

Her fingers join in, sliding through your wetness, gathering it before pressing into you. The combined sensation of her fingers moving inside while her mouth focuses on your clit is almost too much to bear. The slick sounds of her mouth on you, combined with the rhythmic thrusting of her fingers, fills the room. The dampness between your legs grows with each pull and push, with every flick and suck she delivers.

As Yelena works her magic, she surprises you by letting her fingers wander further back, teasing the rim of your other hole. The unexpected sensation causes you to gasp sharply, eyes widening in surprise and a new sort of arousal.

“Trust me?” she murmurs against your heated skin, her voice a low rumble that sends another jolt of pleasure through you.

All you can do is nod, your usual articulateness lost to the whirlwind of sensation. With the slickness from your arousal aiding her, Yelena gently applies pressure there, testing, probing, adding a new layer to the pleasure. The combination of her mouth, fingers inside you, and this new, intimate exploration has you spiraling.

Your fingers clutch her head, guiding her, even as your back arches, pushing yourself further into her touch. Yelena, sensing your nearness to the edge, doubles her efforts. The world blurs out, every nerve ending centered on the wet slide of her fingers and the firm, insistent press of her mouth against your most sensitive spot. With a final cry, you come around Yelena’s fingers, leaving you trembling, soaked, and sated beneath her.

For a moment, there's nothing but the two of you—the heavy breaths, the shared warmth, and the intoxicating scent of your combined arousal.

Then, with a tantalizing slowness, Yelena extracts her fingers from within you. You can feel their absence keenly, the cool air hitting the warmth they've just left behind. As she brings her fingers to her face, the wetness on them catches the dim light, making your heart race even faster.

Her eyes, dark with desire, lock onto yours. You're held captive by that gaze, and then with a smirk, she slides her fingers into her mouth, sucking on them deeply, audibly. The sound, the sight of it, is almost too much.

“Yum,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with mischief and satisfaction. The single word breaks the spell, sending another jolt of heat through you.

You don't even get a moment to process her bold move because, in the next heartbeat, you're overcome with a renewed surge of desire. Drawing Yelena closer, you can feel the slick heat of her pressing against you, the intimate wetness of your arousal mingling together.

The sensation of her clit, swollen and sensitive, rubbing against yours elicits deep, guttural moans from both of you. Your hands grasp her hips, guiding and urging her into a rhythm that sends sparks of pleasure ricocheting through your body. The room is filled with the sounds of skin on skin, punctuated by the wet slide of your clits moving together, and the heady scent of sex.

Yelena's eyes, half-lidded and wild, fixate on yours, capturing every reaction, every moan that slips past your parted lips. Her fingers dig into your hips, anchoring herself to you, as your bodies grind together, lost in wild abandon.

Your hands cradle Yelena's face, bringing her mouth to yours. As your lips meet, the kiss is all-consuming—a frenzied mix of passion and urgency, the taste of you still on her tongue.

Your hips falter, and you can't hold back the whimper that escapes when you feel that familiar sensation above your groin. The sensation of Yelena's body moving against yours, combined with the feel of her lips and the taste of her mouth, pushes you closer and closer to the brink.

Your focus narrows to the point where the only thing that matters is the tantalizing friction between the two of you. Yelena's rhythm matches yours, her hips moving urgently against your own.

“God... don't stop,” Yelena breathes into your ear, her voice shaky with need.

Your reply is caught by a moan as the coil in your belly tightens even more, threatening to snap. “Yelena…” you manage, voice raspy and broken.

Suddenly, her teeth bite down into your shoulder, making you gasp. “Sorry,” she mumbles against your skin, but you can hear the edge of ecstasy in her voice.

“It's okay,” you manage, voice strained with pleasure. “Feels... good.”

Yelena's hips grind unevenly against yours, the slickness between you both growing with each movement. Every thrust sends ripples of pleasure through you both, wetness mixing and coating your inner thighs, creating a deliciously slippery friction. You can feel the warmth of her arousal as it mingles with your own, the combined sensation dizzying.

“God... can you feel that?” Yelena gasps, her voice ragged and desperate.

“Yes,” you breathe, nearly overwhelmed by the sensation. The raw intensity of the moment, the feeling of her wetness against yours, is almost too much to bear.

“I'm close,” she warns, her voice strained.

“Fuck, me too,” you whisper back, lost in the sensation.

Suddenly, Yelena's body stiffens, her muffled cry against your shoulder sending vibrations straight to your core. The feeling of her release, warm and wet against you, combined with the bite of pain from her teeth, triggers your own climax. Your bodies shake together, still feeling the rush of pleasure even after the most intense moments have passed.

The room falls silent except for the sounds of your labored breaths and the gentle rustling of sheets. The rawness of the moment makes your skin tingle, and you become acutely aware of the warm stickiness between your thighs and the pulsating ache where Yelena had left her mark on your shoulder.

She pulls back slightly, her green eyes, now softened, searching yours. The corners of her lips tug upwards in a tender, adoring smile. “That was…”

“...unreal,” you finish, still catching your breath.

She chuckles lightly, shifting her weight to lie beside you. “Yeah, I didn't think... I mean, I hoped, but that was…”

“Beyond words,” you murmur, pulling her closer until she’s resting on top of you.

You both lay there for a moment, bodies intertwined, enjoying the afterglow. Yelena reaches out to caress the bite mark she left, a look of concern crossing her features. “Did I hurt you?” she murmurs, lips brushing against the reddened skin.

You wince slightly at her touch but shake your head. “It’ll bruise, but it's okay. Kind of like it, actually,” you say with a sly grin, making her laugh.

She leans down, pressing a gentle kiss on the bite mark, her lips lingering against your skin. “Sorry, I got carried away,” she mumbles against your shoulder.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you reassure her, tilting her chin up to capture her lips in a soft, languid kiss. “But maybe we should clean up a bit.”

She nods in agreement, and the two of you untangle yourselves from the sheets. The air feels cooler against your flushed skin as you help each other clean up, using damp cloths to wipe away the evidence of your shared passion.

Afterward, Yelena snuggles close, her head resting on your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

You drape an arm over her, fingers absentmindedly playing with her hair. “I’m glad it was with you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss on the top of her head.

“I love you,” she says, tightening her grip around you. Those three words nearly bring tears to your eyes as a surge of affection for the girl in your arms envelops you.

“I love you too.”

XVIII

You want it to last forever.

More than exploring each other’s bodies nearly every night, you want each moment spent with Yelena to last forever. You might think it's too soon, but honestly, it feels like you've known her forever.

She’s it.

She’s the one.

Time, however, has its own pace. Before you know it, you and Yelena are receiving an email from Natasha herself that she will be coming home in two weeks. You can't help but feel a growing tension, a deadline looming over your idyllic world. But at the same time, you’re excited to have your best friend back.

One evening, as you both lay in bed, the soft glow from the streetlights outside illuminating the room, you broach the subject.

“When Nat comes back,” you start, tracing patterns on Yelena's arm, “I want to make us official. Tell her about us.”

Yelena's gaze meets yours, and though she nods, there's a hesitation in her eyes, a shadow of doubt. “Of course,” she replies, but her voice lacks the enthusiasm you'd hoped for. But for now, you pull her close, not wanting to read much into things especially with how perfect the past few months have been.

XIX

The atmosphere feels different since Natasha’s unexpected return.

A few days have passed, but the three of you continue to circle around each other, resembling planets in an unsure orbit. Yelena and Natasha seem wrapped up in their own reunion, while you tread carefully, waiting for the right moment to bring up your relationship with Yelena.

This evening, you find your opening. Yelena has stepped out, leaving you and Natasha alone in the living room, sitting at opposite ends of the couch.

“Has Yelena told you anything recently?” you finally break the silence, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

Natasha tilts her head, narrowing her eyes slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Did she mention something big? I mean… you were gone for quite some time and I understand if you’re shocked, but–”

“Uh, yeah, she did mention something,” Natasha interjects softly. “She got accepted to a program in Leeds.”

The world seems to tilt off its axis. Leeds?

“What?” you ask, failing to keep your voice down.

This is news to you. What’s going on?

“She’s leaving in ten days,” Natasha continues, looking at you curiously. “You didn’t know?”

You only realize Yelena's been distancing herself when you hear about Leeds.

Even though you still see her every day, she's managed to avoid spending time alone with you. Every time the topic of informing Natasha about your relationship comes up, she finds an excuse to divert or leave. Now, she consistently includes Natasha in your plans, turning what were once dates into casual hangouts.

As school ends one afternoon, you spot Yelena's familiar figure quickly exiting the building, her pace hurried, as though trying to escape. It's evident she's avoiding running into you on her way home. You remember the desperation that had led you to skip your last class, just so you could finally confront her.

Taking a deep breath, you quickly catch up to her.

“Yelena!” you call out.

She pauses, her shoulders tensing, and then slowly turns to face you. There's a hesitance in her eyes, but you're determined.

“Why Leeds?” you blurt out, all your emotions hinging on that single question.

She exhales sharply, looking as if she's been cornered, her gaze darting around. “I... I applied a while ago. Before everything between us started.”

Your heart sinks. “Were you planning on just disappearing without saying anything?”

Yelena's eyes shimmer with unshed tears. “I was scared,” she admits. “I didn't know how to tell you.”

“That's not fair,” you say, your voice choked.

She nods, biting her lip. “I know. I'm sorry.”

“I just...when did you apply?” you ask, trying to make sense of the timeline in your head.

“After Natasha told me about her own plans,” Yelena whispers. That was before you saw her in this new, intimate way, before everything between you two began. “I thought it would be best if I too had something to focus on.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. “So you applied because Natasha was leaving? Why didn’t you tell me? We could have figured something out together.”

She sighs, her gaze drifting downwards. “It was a spontaneous decision, a way to cope with the changes, I guess. And then, you and I happened... It all went too fast. Before I knew it, I was accepted and suddenly, telling you became the hardest thing to do.”

The realization stings. All those moments, all those memories, and all the while, there was this looming secret she hadn't shared. “So,” you mutter, a tremor in your voice. “This was all just... a distraction for you?”

Yelena's eyes snap up, wide and filled with panic. “No! Never! It wasn't like that at all. What we had, what we shared, it was real for me. More real than anything I've ever felt.”

Your eyes blur as tears gather around your eyes. “Then why Leeds? Why not tell me? Why not give us a chance?”

You find yourself repeating the questions, hoping that if said enough, they might somehow reshape the truth, making it easier for you to accept and move on.

“I didn't want to put you in that position," she confesses, her voice breaking. “To make you choose or feel tied down. I love you too much for that.”

You exhale deeply, gritting your teeth in order to hold yourself together. “Yelena, love also means being honest and facing challenges together."

“I know,” she whispers, unable to hold back her own tears. “I'm so sorry.”

The world around you seems to blur. “So, is this it? Are we just... done?”

She hesitates for a moment, searching your eyes for understanding. “I don’t want to hold you back, and I need to focus on this new chapter. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

Nodding slowly, you muster the strength to say, “Goodbye, Yelena.”

XXI

For several days, your room's four walls become your entire world. Natasha, sensing something amiss, checks on you with growing concern. When she questions your seclusion, you blame it on a virus, claiming it's safer for you to stay isolated. But the truth is, your heart is shattered, and you can't bring yourself to share the painful reality with your closest friend.

At first, Yelena's messages are filled with apologies, each one dripping with regret. But as the days go by, her tone shifts. There's worry evident in the string of texts that asks if you're okay, questions about your health, pleas for just one response.

Then, as silence from your end persists, the messages take on an edge. “Is this really how you want to handle things?” one of them reads. “After everything, you're just going to shut me out completely?”The accusations sting, but you're in so much pain already that it hardly makes a difference.

A particularly scathing text catches your eye one evening: “I thought we meant more to each other. Is this really how you want us to end?”

The screen blurs in front of you as tears threaten, leaving you torn between reaching out and honoring the goodbye you've already given.

XXII

Seven long days of silence later, something shifts within you.

Distance can't be an end. You can't let it. You decide it's time to act, to see Yelena, to tell her that you’re willing to put in the work despite the long distance.

Pulling on a jacket, you make your way to her house. Your mind races, framing and reframing the words you want to say, the assurances you want to give, the hope you want to share.

As you approach the house, you immediately notice the absence of music from the living room. Yelena always ensured a playlist was playing in the background, a comforting constant whenever they were home. That familiar comfort is missing now, replaced by an unsettling silence. A knot of unease forms in your stomach. You knock, hoping against hope.

The door opens, and there stands Natasha, mildly surprised to find you at her doorstep.

“Hey! Wasn't expecting you today,” she greets with a lightness. “You here for Yelena?”

You nod, trying to find your voice. "Yeah, I wanted to talk to her."

A puzzled look crosses Natasha's face. “Oh, she said she talked to you a couple of days ago. I thought... Anyway, she took an earlier flight this morning. I assumed she told you?”

The ground seems to fall away beneath you. You manage a weak smile, masking the wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. “I must've missed that. Thanks, Natasha. Maybe I’ll just text her…I think I left something on at home. Better head back.”

You retreat before Natasha can ask any more questions, literally running out of the house before you fall apart in front of her.

Reaching your place, you shut the door behind you, leaning against it as if trying to barricade yourself from the outside world. Your phone buzzes with a message notification. It's from Yelena:

I'm sorry.

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova #yelena belova fanfiction #marvel #marvel wlw #my fics #my writing #IFISS #ILGOSS #natasha romanof #friends to lovers #smut #angst #yelena x reader #yelena x female reader

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pink-tonic · 7 months ago

Text

Rapid Research🔪

All Chapters

Warnings: None

Monday without my darling was hard for me. I had to suffer watching him from afar as he talked to the leader of the student council. Of course, I was close behind the two of them. I can't trust anyone, especially not Saikou. I trust him even less because of these new cameras. It'll be harder for me to do anything since it'll all be taped. So, keeping a close watch on him makes sense.

Today is now Tuesday, and that means another day without my darling. I will try to keep a close eye on them, but I do have certain things to tend to. Specifically, regarding Info. She sent me an odd text message in the morning. She wants me to stop by her club room. I found this to be odd. If she wanted to tell me something, she would do so over the phone. Unless it's a physical document or item, then she'll just drop it out her window, and I'll go pick it up. This is odd coming from her.

When I arrived at school, I quickly switched my shoes and started to go up to the third floor where her club is located. I walked by many students, but sadly, none of them were my darling. He must be in the student council room with that pathetic excuse of a school leader. I eventually make it to Info's club room. Her club room was an odd looking one. A dual set of thick, beige curtains decorated the windows and remained closed at all times. A camera was placed on the ceiling right outside of the club room, which was the only camera on campus before the huge overhaul. And the doors never seemed to open. It's like they were only for decoration.

I stand in front of the doors, and I wait. I look up towards the camera because I know she is currently inside watching me. Possibly even laughing at me. I hope this isn't a waste of time.

Then the impossible happens, one of the doors slides open. I step back in surprise. I look inside and I see a dark void, the lights weren't on. But I could see something, and it was a mountain of monitors that gave the room a small light source.

"Come in, or I'm shutting you out," a familiar robotic voice calls out to me. I quickly made my way inside, and the doors snapped shut behind me. I look over towards the light, and I see her. She's sitting at her desk looking and clicking through random webpages and different accounts.

She suddenly stops and rotates her chair, so she's looking at me now. "Happy you could come. I don't offer this opportunity to many," she tells me, framing this meeting as a privilege to have. I still can't see her face, but I do see a glint come from her red framed glasses.

"What did you want to show me? You're cutting into my time," I dismiss her and her cockiness. I don't have time to deal with her if I don't get anything valuable from her.

"You know, Ayato," she starts off, and it catches my attention. Maybe she's going to say something valuable to me, "I find you to be very interesting. You probably think I'm messing with you, but I'm not. I know more about you than you'll ever know, and what I find is so - I don't actually know how to put it. But interesting would be the best."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She seems to ignore me and spins her chair back around so she's now facing the monitors.

"But I'll make one thing clear. I do value you the most out of all the clients I have," she admits to me, but I don't believe her. I've heard of her having other clients, but I never bothered to look into it because I wouldn't gain anything from it.

"Get to the point. Why did you want me to come here in the first place?" I ask her as the clicking from her mouse and keyboard fill the room's silence. I'm getting tired of all this side conversation. Can't she tell me why she wanted me here in the first place?

"Well, I have a client. But he is rather odd," she explains to me, and it doesn't really help with my impatience.

"Who is he?"

"Kencho Saikou."

"Wait... does he have any relations to the Saikou Corporation?"

"Second son, second in line."

Now, I was intrigued. Different plans started to take shape in my mind. I could befriend this Saikou, I could kidnap him and hold him for ransom or even kill him. Any of these would surely make the older Saikou crumble.

"I see what you're thinking, Aishi, and I want you to snap out of it. Killing him wouldn't matter at all. And Kencho knows this better than anyone else," she tells me, giving small insight into the fact that she has already met him before.

"Why is this important to me? How is he going to help me?" Being in association with a Saikou could give me an upper hand, but it's clear that Kencho is at the bottom of the line. He might as well be a normal teenager and not the son of the most influential man in Japan.

"Megamo is planning something. I won't tell you what it is, but just know that it will affect you the most," she then hovers her cursor over a picture of the youngest Saikou,"he doesn't like his older brother at all. And you could help him with what he wants."

"What does he want?"

"Expose his family and the school of everything they have hidden from the public." Info then pulls herself closer to her desk and starts to open up different documents. "Come over here and read them."

I step closer, and I start to read the different websites she pulled up. "That article is about Kina, and that's a police report about Rana. If he's gonna expose this, then I'll get exposed, too."

"True. Only if you left anything behind. For Rana, you're fine in regards to that case. Kina's case is a cold case now, and I think it'll stay that way. Kencho doesn't care about the killer. He cares because of the fact that his father and grandfather paid people to not talk about it," Info informs me. So Kencho isn't trying to play detective. He is trying to let the public know of all the events that have been hidden from them.

"Do you understand now? He isn't trying to expose you, but he is trying to expose his family. As a type of revenge, for always having him as a second choice," Info then puts away the websites, "Are you going to take the offer? This could change everything."

She is right. This could change everything. The Saikou family will be looked at differently, Akademi will be met with a new wave of scrutiny, but maybe through it all, I could get my darling.

"I'll do it."

Info then opens a drawer and shuffles through a few items. I can hear different items smashing against each other. If I had to assume, I would guess it's computer parts and old cables. She seems to find what she was looking for and closes the drawer back up. "Take this. It's a burner phone. It's best to use this, so if anything happens, it will make it harder for them to connect anything to you."

I take the silver colored flip phone, and I open it up. A bright, white screen greets me. It boots up and makes a chime before taking me to the home screen where an outdated, blue wallpaper from a long forgotten era greets me. I close the phone and I put it in my pocket.

I decide to finally take my leave. Before I can make it towards the door, her voice calls out towards me.

"Rana."

"What about him?"

"His first jury trial is set for this Friday. I know you are supposed to testify. Will you be going?"

"I'll go. After all, my darling will be there too."

I start to walk over to the door, and I open it up. Before I fully step out, I hear a few familiar words.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you."

#fanfic #yandere #yandere simulator #yansim #male reader #reader insert #x reader #ayato aishi #character x reader #character x male reader #info chan

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another-whump-sideblog · 4 months ago

Text

Jane's Pets Chapter 108: Family

TWs in the tags

Masterlist

The vital records office takes up the whole rest of your day. Leo explains the situation to an employee there, the employee gets a manager, and the manager gets some social workers and cops. No one seems to know quite what to do, and as Leo predicted, some are very skeptical. The scars, especially the brands, do come in handy, though you have to let someone rub your arm so they can be sure that it's not makeup.

It goes a lot like how Leo predicted, actually. They're so smart. Once the group you've amassed believes you and understands that the three of you have no forms of identification right now, they start asking about your families.

The three of you end up splitting up for a bit, each working with a social worker to contact your families.

If your aunt has a copy of any form of identification for you, she can just send it to you, and you'll be able to get copies of any other ID you might need using that. If not, she'll have to confirm that you're who you say you are and that you're related to her before you can get your hands on any identification. Either way, all you have to do is get in contact with her, and you'll eventually get your IDs back.

The social worker really wants you to do that now, so he asks you a lot of questions about her and looks stuff up on his computer. He sends her a message explaining that someone claiming to be her nephew was wondering if she could help confirm his identity, along with a picture of you. After that, you just have to wait.

You gravitate towards Puppy, hoping to take some of the burden of talking off of her. She's been managing alright, just like when she had to talk to sell Jane's stuff, but you can tell she's not having a good time.

Fortunately, the social worker is doing most of the talking. It seems like they've sent Puppy's parents a message, too, and are waiting on their reply.

"Oh, you go by Austin, right? I was just telling your friend about some of the options available to you three."

Puppy's holding quite a few pamphlets.

"Are any of those, like, maps of this area?" You ask. "We got pretty lost a few times trying to find our way here."

"Yes! I can give you your own, too." She hands you a pamphlet.

You highly doubt you’ll be able to make much use of it on your own. You struggled to read maps even before focusing started making your head hurt. Still, you put it in your pocket. “Thank you.”

"Hey, Austin." The social worker you were talking to before calls you back to him, so you reluctantly leave Puppy's side after only spending a minute with her. "Your aunt answered. She wants to call you."

"Oh. That was fast." You were hoping… well, you're not sure what you were hoping, but you don't really want to call her.

"I gave her the number for our office; she should get transferred to my desk's phone soon." As if on cue, the phone on the social worker's desk starts ringing. "Well, there you go."

You hesitantly pick up the phone. "Pleasedon'tsaymyname," you rush out.

"What?" It's weird hearing her voice again.

"Please don't say my name. I can't… Um, hi, Aunt Olive. You wanted to call? Did you just want to confirm it's really me, or…?"

"Li– why don't you want me to say your name?"

"It's a long story. If you want, I can tell it to you, but… if you just wanted to confirm it's me and be done…"

"Of course I want– Li– fuck, I just– I thought you'd come back. I never– I shouldn't have ever– I thought you'd come back. I thought you were just trying to make a point and that you'd come back soon, I never actually meant to– to kick you out, and then you didn't come back and I didn't know what to do."

"...You told me I couldn't live with you if I was going to just give up on life."

"I know, I– I was bluffing, I didn't know what to do with you and I was– I'm so sorry, Liam."

She's still talking, but you can't focus on her words anymore. You were just working on this–

You can't breathe. You can't open your mouth.

Liam… Liam, did you miss me?

Look at me, Liam.

Everything is agony. It hurts, it hurts! It's not going to stop, it's never going to stop!

"I don't remember it, I don't remember it!"

Jane laughs. "Say, 'thank you, Master.'"

You can't open your mouth. You can't stop screaming. It hurts, you can't breathe!

"Austin, Austin! It's okay, it's okay, you're safe, Jane is dead. Can you follow my breathing? In for four…"

Puppy is holding you, squeezing your hand along to Kitty's rhythm. She hums something soothing in your ear, though it's hard to hear through all the screaming.

You suck in air as well as you can and try to stop your exhales from turning into more screams. Jane is still laughing. "Please, please, I'm sorry–"

"We're not there. No one is hurting any of us. We're safe, just breathe. It's all over. In for four…"

"...We're free." Says a soft voice in your ear. Is that… is Puppy really talking to you? The surprise and joy that evokes help clear your head enough that you can follow Ki– Leo's counting.

It takes a bit of time to get your breathing under control. The more you come back to yourself, the more embarrassed you are. You can't help but imagine what that must've looked like to the people skeptical about your story… but that's stupid. The only people whose opinions matter are Leo and Puppy, and they would never judge you for freaking out like that.

You wipe your eyes and reluctantly pull out of Puppy's hold. "Sorry, sorry. I'm okay now." Luckily, that was a pretty mild one. The screaming was a bit much, but all in all, you were able to be brought out of it fairly quickly. Maybe the work you did earlier today actually did help?

You find you're still gripping the phone, so you bring it back to your ear. "Are you still there?"

"What happened??"

"Again, it's a long story." Your voice is hoarse, and your head hurts so bad that you're dizzy.

"What's going on!?"

"I, uh…" You have nothing to hide. Will it ever get easier to talk about this stuff? "I was held captive and tortured for a few years. One of the things she did was, uh, torture me while saying my name so that I'd be scared of it. I'm working on being able to hear it without freaking out but… well, clearly I'm not there yet. I've been going by Austin in the meantime."

Aunt Olive doesn't say anything in response. Either that, or she speaks too quietly for you to hear over the ringing in your ears. You can't deal with this right now. You've already gone over this story far too many times today.

"Do you have copies of any of my IDs?"

"...yeah. Yeah, I can send them."

"Great. I'll have the social worker send you the address of the hotel I'm staying at. Bye."

You hang up the phone. Everyone is staring at you.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat. “I should be able to hear it by now, I just—“

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Leo interrupts. “We should move on. You should sit down, Austin. You've done great; you should get some rest. In fact, is there anywhere, like, dark and quiet he could sit for a while?" They direct that question to the social worker you'd been talking to earlier.

"I mean… there's probably a closet somewhere?"

You sit down in a rather uncomfortable chair. "It's fine. I want to stay around you guys."

Someone gets you a water bottle. You close your eyes and try to focus on breathing through the pain.

Everyone's talking softly now. You can't make out any words, but the low buzz of conversation is soothing.

You did it. There's nothing more for you to do today but wait for the others.

Puppy sits down next to Bunny. She's supposedly waiting on a response from her parents, but she knows that won't come.

She holds Bunny's hand and rubs circles into the back of it with her thumb. Electricity courses through her and makes her muscles lock up. She hears the sharp snap and feels the fiery pain of her bones being broken. Bunny rests his head on her shoulder. She hums a looping melody.

Kitty's parents also want to call, and Kitty looks even more reluctant than Bunny did. They hold the phone slightly away from their head, as if afraid it might hurt them. "Hi, Dad."

…

"I go by Leo now, but yeah. It's me." They sound a lot like they often did when talking to Master, somehow resigned and angry at the same time.

…

They take a deep breath. Puppy smiles encouragingly at them, and they give a small smile back. "I just need my IDs."

…

"But you do have them?"

…

"Yeah, see, you can't do that. That's a crime. I'm going to get them either way, so please don't make this a big thing."

…

"Yes, yes, I'm well aware. I'd rather that than be in Heaven with you, anyway. Do you have something to write with? I'll give you the address."

…

"Great." They give him the address of the hotel. "I'm sure we'd both rather not talk any more than necessary, so please just send it. I don't want to have to take legal action against you. Thank you. Bye."

Kitty comes to sit with Bunny and Puppy when they're done with the call. "How are you two doing?"

Puppy gives a thumbs up. Bunny doesn't answer, so hopefully he's managed to get to sleep and avoid some of the pain.

"Are we just waiting on your parents?" Kitty asks.

Puppy nods.

"I can't believe me and Austin got it done so quickly. I mean, we still have to wait for the stuff to be delivered, but… I thought this would be a lot harder."

She looks at Bunny, still resting on her shoulder.

"Well, yeah, obviously that sucked. I still… expected worse, I guess. I mean, we're not done yet, but… I don't know. I feel like… getting up this morning was more difficult than this has been. Wait, no, that's shitty to say. It's not like my flashback was worse than Austin's or anything. It's just… It's funny, when things like waking up, eating, and going shopping are so difficult, things that are supposed to be difficult feel… underwhelming."

Puppy nods.

A social worker approaches them again, talking about 'next steps' and 'available resources.' Kitty takes on the role of actually participating in the conversation, so Puppy is able to zone out a bit.

Eventually, Puppy is pulled aside by the social worker she was talking to earlier. She tries to gently adjust Bunny, but there's not really a comfortable position to put him in. All she can do is make sure he won't fall over without her shoulder to lean on.

Puppy's parents didn't answer the message. She didn't expect anything else, really. She's more surprised that Kitty and Bunny's relatives answered so quickly.

The social worker says they could wait longer (it's only been a few hours, after all), push harder for a response from them, or look for other forms of identification like school and work records. Those are considered secondary forms of identification, so she'd need both in order to get her hands on stuff like her birth certificate and social security number. She's the only one in the group who's had a job before, so she's the only one who really can use two forms of secondary identification.

That sounds a lot easier than trying to contact her parents, so she and the social worker get to work on hunting those down. With her last name and knowledge of what schools she attended, it's actually not that hard to get her first name, either. She doesn't look at it, but has the social worker write it down and tucks the paper in her pocket.

By the time she's done, it's dark outside, but she's also the only one to actually end the day with IDs. She can start applying for jobs tomorrow, if she wants.

One of the social workers is nice enough to get them a cab back to their hotel, so they don't have to walk home in the dark. Puppy gently wakes Bunny up and leads him to the cab.

"With any luck, that'll be the last time we have to think about any of our bio families," Kitty says.

Bunny frowns. "I… my aunt… apologized to me. Maybe… we could rebuild a relationship?"

"Oh, really? Do you feel like… an apology is enough?"

"She said she was bluffing." He says softly. "And she thought I was too, when I left. It was… a misunderstanding."

Kitty scoffs. "Do you believe that?"

"I don't know… she was grieving too. I lost my dad, but she lost her brother. I wasn't… I don't know how I would've dealt with a kid like me if I was in her situation."

"You wouldn't kick him out!"

"I wouldn't. But… I think I can forgive her? I dunno, I guess I'll think about it more after getting some sleep."

"That's a good idea. I… I support you either way. I was just going to say something cheesy about how we're family."

Bunny smiles. "There's that, too."

Is this what family is supposed to feel like?

Once they get home, she has to eat again, but imagining her punishment for it helps. As does playing games with Bunny and Kitty, of course.

Bunny falls asleep immediately after dinner. Puppy follows soon after, soothing her fear of sleep with daydreams of being sliced open by Master.

There are quite a few reasons Leo might be struggling to sleep. They could be experiencing insomnia as a withdrawal symptom. They could be experiencing insomnia as a trauma symptom. Or it could be that they're trying to sleep in a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor, or the loud music blaring from the floor above them. It could be the bugs that keep crawling over them– they thought at first it was just a crawling sensation from withdrawal, but no, there are bugs, because they're in the cheapest hotel in a 50-mile radius. It's still better than the basement, though, and better than sharing a bed with two other people would be. There's probably bugs in the bed too, anyway.

They're not being forced to stay awake. They have insomnia, which is an entirely different thing. There will be no punishment for anyone if they fall asleep.

They know it's not good to stay in their 'bed' tossing and turning, so they go to the other side of the room and work on their name.

It feels like they're right back where they started. They had worked on this for hours earlier today and gotten to the point where they could write their name down, but now just reading it sends a jolt of fear through them again.

They work on it for about 15 minutes, then lie in their nest for 30 minutes, then work on their name again, rinse and repeat. They keep jolting awake just as they start to drift off, phantom pains bringing them back to alertness.

Maybe… they can sleep at the end of the bed, at Austin and Puppy's feet like an animal. It's not like sleeping in a nest is any less dehumanizing, and they were never on a bed when Jane punished them with sleep deprivation.

They curl up at their family's feet. There's a frustration growing in the pit of their stomach that they know isn't fair. They suggested Austin and Puppy share the bed. No one is dehumanizing them. Why does their mouth taste like cat food? This is so stupid.

They close their eyes and listen to Austin and Puppy's breathing. They're safe, their family's safe, everything's fine.

…It feels weird to refer to the two of them as family. Maybe they have too much baggage associated with 'family' as a concept.

They're safe, their friends are safe, everything's fine. Everything's fine.

Finally, four hours after they started trying, they manage to get to sleep.

A/N: Let me know if I should tag anything else, or if you want to be added to or removed from the tag list! Is this realistic? Probably not. Does it feel realistic? Uh, hopefully? As always, any differences between this and how it would go in real life are because this is a different universe from our own 😜

Tag list: @eatyourdamnpears @whump-in-the-closet @scp-1296 @thecosmicmap @quins-whump-stuff

@fuckcapitalismasshole @whumplr-reader

#whump #whumpblr #whump writing #multiple whumpees #recovery whump #pet whump #whump caretaker #whumpee #3rd person pov #2nd person pov #i... don't think there's anything to tw in this chapter?#jane's pets

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osamusriceballs · 2 years ago

Text

The Accident - Part XIV

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: Alcohol

Words: ~ 2.3 k

About: Meeting Atsumu- not in the way you planned though >.<

Part I II -> Next Part

"How would you feel about maybe going out tonight? Hinata and Kageyama will be there too. They would love to see you again, y/n!" You press the phone against your ear and listen to Yachi's cheerful voice while you get a glass of water. "I'd rather stay at home, if that's alright with you." Yachi breaths out deeply at your reply, and you embarrassedly scratch the back of your head.

"That's okay. Is it... because you're still thinking about him?" She carefully asks, and your heart skips a beat when your thoughts drift to him.

She's talking about Atsumu, who still hasn't tried to contact you after more than a month- and you still stalk his Instagram every day, kind of hoping that he'll notice you. A part of you finds yourself very pathetic for that, but you know that you'll let him go eventually. Or at least you hope that you'll be able to. You still feel a pang in your heart whenever you receive a letter addressed to "Mrs. Miya" or when you look at the diamond ring that you finally put aside in a box in your nightstand.

"A bit, yeah. But it's not because of him. I'm just a bit tired. I'll probably go to bed early today."

She hums and hesitates for a second. "If you need me, or if you need to talk about him again, you know that you can always reach out to me, 'kay?" You smile fondly at her words, her concern for you making you feel a bit more at ease, because you know she'll always be on your side. "Thank you. Have fun and say hello to Hinata and Kageyama!"

"I will!"

You both say goodbye, and then you end the call. A relaxing night with a good TV show and a facial mask sounds just perfect to you. And this also might help you to get Atsumu off your mind.

xxx

The shrill ringing sound of your phone wakes you in the middle of the night, and you're alert when you blindly reach out for the phone and see the contact's name.

Osamu Miya is calling

You remember when he had given you his card back then at Onigiri Miya's while Atsumu was using the restroom, just in case anything ever happens, and you had saved his contact without giving it much thought but never reached out to him. Why would he call you in the middle of the night?

You hesitate but finally take the call.

"Hello?"

"Y/n? It's Osamu. I know you probably don't wanna talk to me too, but can I ask for a favor?"

You're in shock when you hear his familiar voice, even more so when you hear his request. "Uhm... what favor?"

"It's about—ya know. Tsumu. He's... kinda unstable ever since ya ignored him. I wanted—" You frown at his words and can't help yourself but to interrupt him.

"Wait a second. What do you mean ignored him?"

You sit up straight in your bed, all your fatigue gone instantly. "The message he left last week? Listen, I get it, he is an idiot, and he is a little pain in the ass, I wouldn't listen to him either."

You blink confused, having no clue what he's talking about and he seems to interpret your silence as agreement.

"Forget it. Y/n, the favor. Can ya come over at Onigiri Miya's? He's drunk and dumb, and I can't do this anymore. I don't know what'll happen if he keeps up with that attitude."

You hold your breath while you listen to him, and your jaw drops at his words. "I- I don't know what to say. If you really need me, I'll come. I don't know if I can be much of a help though."

"Yes. Yes, we need ya here. Ya need a taxi? I can get ya one." He is quick to offer and you hear him sigh in relief.

"Uhm... yes, that would be good. Thanks." You hear a loud shout in the back and the sound of a shattering glass and flinch subconsciously. Osamu curses and yells something inaudible before you hear him clearly again.

"You're welcome. Thank ya for helpin' me out."

"Uhm... sure? I Shouldn't you call his girlfriend though?" Osamu yells another time and you nervously fidget with the blanket in your hands.

"His girlfriend? Wait. Ya actually met her? No wonder ya never tried to reach out. Forget that freak real quick, just come here. He can explain that whole thing to ya."

You stay silent and then nod. This might be the only way for you to find out what really happened back then. "Okay. He'll have a lot of explaining to do, though."

"Sure."

You nod and hang up the call to get off the bed, your whole body feeling electrified. You definitely wouldn't have thought that you'd meet him so soon- leave alone tonight. But thinking about how you've been feeling during these past few weeks, you know that you need this. You need to talk to Atsumu Miya, and you need to talk to him tonight.

xxx

You take a deep breath when you finally stand in front of Onigiri Miya. Not exactly how you expected your Saturday night to go, but here you are. At 2:10 am.

You hesitantly reach out for the door and pause. How will he react when he sees you? Has Osamu already told him that you'll come? How will you react when you see him? You push the door open with sweaty palms and you're met with a sight you did not expect.

Atsumu is sitting at the counter of the restaurant with Osamu standing right next to him, both of them yelling at each other and Osamu wildly gesticulating and throwing a towel. You spot two bottles of beer behind them on the counter and you're pretty sure that they are both from Atsumu. They both don't seem to notice you, still too absorbed into their fight.

The door loudly falls shut behind you and both suddenly stop yelling—not that you could even get a single word—but the sudden silence is almost awkward. They turn to you, and they both just look at you like you're a ghost, without saying anything. You wait for a few seconds, but can't stand any more awkwardness when the silence stretches longer.

"Uhm... hello?"

Atsumu suddenly gets on his feet and approaches you, and you stand there frozen when you see his red-rimmed eyes and the way he's almost stumbling while trying to reach you. Before he gets even close to you, he suddenly falls to the ground, his feet clumsily tangling with each other.

"Atsumu!" you quickly get closer and kneel next to him, concern evident in your voice, and he heavily gets on his arms and lifts his upper body just enough to look at you. You stare wide-eyed at him, your hands hesitantly reaching out for him but pausing mid-air while you look down at him.

"Y/n?" It sounds a bit slurred, and you nod with a frown.

"Yeah." You awkwardly stare at him while he clumsily takes a seat on his ass, his eyes now shining happily while he watches you. "I missed ya." You force a smile on your lips that you hope doesn't look too bitter. He pinches his eyes together, and one of his hands comes to your cheek—almost slapping you, and you flinch a bit when he leans a bit closer, the strong alcohol in his breath evident when he exhales deeply. "Ya don't look happy." He looks sad while he watches your face, and you suddenly feel tears in your eyes. "I'm... you hurt me, Atsumu." You know that he is intoxicated, and that he is in no state to give you a proper answer, but you still needed to get this off your chest.

"Hurt?" he echoes, his eyebrows furrowed while he's trying to understand your words. "Don't wanna hurt ya."

You nod and gently take his hand to remove it from your cheek and hold it. He looks kind of cute sitting there on his ass, and you simply stare at him, a part of you wanting to cry while another part wants to yell at him, but you just stay silent.

You hear someone clear his throat and look at Osamu standing behind him and watching you both attentively. "Don't wanna interrupt, but I wanna go home. I couldn't get him to leave tonight. It's gotten worse since last week. Since that message he left ya."

"What message?" You frown and direct your attention to Osamu. He raises an eyebrow and gestures towards Atsumu. "The one in which he pathetically asked ya to talk to him?"

You shake your head. "I didn't get a message from him."

"Oh." You look blankly at Osamu, and he looks blankly at you. Atsumu's hand suddenly tightens around you, and he whines cutely. "Y/n! Talk to me- yer here for me!" Osamu rolls his eyes and sighs deeply.

"I'm sorry. I was just so annoyed, couldn't stand him. It's fine if ya don't wanna give me a hand here."

"No, I can... I can help you out. What do you want me to do?" You try to ignore how your skin prickles where Atsumu starts to rub circles on the back of your hand, something that feels surprisingly way too intimate for you.

"Can ya help me get him home? I can get ya a taxi or- wait. Do you have a driver's license?"

You nod, and Osamu smiles happily. "Ya wanna drive his car then? Don't worry about the insurance, it's all good. You're officially married after all." He snorts at that and grabs Atsumu's bag to search for the keys. "It's only fair that ya get to drive his damn car then."

Your eyes go wide when you think about driving Atsumu's luxurious car, but you know that Atsumu does not live too far away, so you hesitantly nod, thinking about how nice Osamu has always been to you and how you want to help him out of this misery. And since you're already here, you can at least help him get Atsumu back.

You turn to Atsumu and try to smile as sweetly as you can. "Atsumu? Will you come with me then?" Atsumu seems to have a hard time understanding what you want from him, but finally nods and grabs your hand tighter while he tries to get on his feet. Osamu is quick to come from behind and to pull on his shoulders until he's fully standing, and you raise your brows when you see Atsumu barely pulling himself together. "I'll help ya get him in the car. I need to close the store; will you manage on your own after that? You can call if you need me."

You nod wearily and watch him carry Atsumu basically to the front door, when Atsumu starts complaining. "Y/n, come with us—" he whines and grabs your hand tighter, and you actually smile a bit when he's pouting adorably. "I'm here. Don't worry."

It feels like an eternity to get Atsumu in the car when he calls for you every few seconds and wants to make sure you're still with him, but Osamu finally managed to get Atsumu on the passenger seat where he starts snoring after a few moments.

Osamu sighs and rubs his eyes. "If he's not waking up when yer at his place, ya can call me. I'll take care of him then."

You nod and take the car keys with a slight hint of nervousness. You're just glad that the streets are basically empty at this time, so it should be fine for just a few minutes of driving. And technically, you're still his wife, so this should be fine, even if you scratch it accidentally. Osamu looks at you and nods, and you grab the keys tighter. "Thank you." Osamu opens the car door for you, and you slowly get on the seat. "I really appreciate it. Yer gettin' a free meal when yer comin' to Onigiri Miya next." You softly laugh at his comment and nod. "I'll come back to that offer."

He grins and yawns tiredly. "Drive safely."

You turn on the engine, and you wave at him. "You too. See ya."

"See ya."

xxx

The ride went smoothly, and you couldn't be more thankful when you finally park the car in the spacious garage. Atsumu has simply been snoring next to you, just mumbling a few inaudible things every now and then and the streets were basically empty at this time. You exit the car and open the door on his side, softly shaking his shoulder. "Atsumu? Can you come with me? Atsumu?" You coo, trying to softly wake him up, and he finally opens his eyes, still groggy and sleepy. "Y/n?"

"Yes, it's me. Will you come with me?"

He seems to have a hard time understanding what you want from him again, but he nods.

"Come here." You wrap Atsumu's arm around your shoulders and desperately pull him with you, and he finally gives in and lets you take him out of the car. "Y/n... missed ya. Yer gonna stay the night? Ya can have my bed. We can share. Share with my pretty- wife." He hiccups, and you take a deep breath to suppress your feelings. He sounds so genuine and cute, you almost want to believe his words. "Come on. We can talk about that later."

You have no idea how long it takes you to bring him to the elevator—more like drag him to the elevator—but you sigh in relief when you press the familiar number, even though the elevator has brought you so many painful memories by now. He mumbles some barely understandable words in your neck, his weight heavily resting on your body while you pull him with you as soon as the doors open.

"Come on, we're almost there."

"Hmm... coming." He lulls, following your direction, and you both finally make it around the corner—only to find someone already standing there. A familiar face that you hoped to never see again.

"You?"

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butchvii · 11 months ago

Note

more headcanons? can be tori or michael or both

I'm feeling Tori so here's some :D

Tori's favorite candle scent is "Dark Amber"

Tori's favorite color is #4B0082

Tori really likes it when it's raining, but she thinks it's a bitch to go outside when it is (and therefore takes any opportunities to avoid it)

Tori always kind of liked Michael's name, not because of the name itself but because it was his, which confused her

Tori's favorite song is "Message In A Bottle" (kind of canon lmao)

Tori eventually obtains a lot of her music taste from Michael

Tori associates Michael with a shade of yellow, particularly #FFD700

Tori's favorite piece of clothing to steal from Michael is his blue jumper, but she'll basically take any shirt/jumper she can get her hands on

Tori always dreamt of getting a black cat, ominous and like a witchs' assistant

Tori hates showers, but loves being clean

Tori is incredibly superstitious at times, but won't admit it because she thinks it's "childish"

(≧◡≦) hope you guys like these!! I don't really do Tori often!

#solitaire #tori spring #heartstopper #michael holden #michael holden kinnie #sprolden #headcanons #i love them #my blorbos #my babies #my sillies #this is canon to me #my beloved #tori and michael #osemanverse #solitaire alice oseman

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callmewrinkles3 · 1 year ago

Text

Deal.

July 2018

Em still wasn't sure why she'd agreed to do this. She could have left. She could have walked away and pretended that Dan never sent that text, that she'd leave Dan alone and pretend they'd never met. That Monaco never happened. It would have made her life easier.

But Dan had actually called her and she couldn't turn him down over the phone. And without thinking she told him to meet her at her favourite cafe in Ealing, close to where she'd been to uni. So she was sitting there trying to get some work done before he arrived. She'd nearly texted him to go to the Pret down the street, somewhere unfamiliar, but she deleted the message. A familiar place would be better for her nerves, Sue grinning and starting her latte as she walked in and asking how Em was and what she was doing.

She sat in the corner with her coffee and a chicken sandwich that Ron handed her with a smile and a greeting. She'd have loved to say that she didn't notice Dan walking in, but she did immediately. It was too small to not notice someone arrive, but that curly hair was too much to ignore. He came straight across to her with his broad smile and she couldn't help but return it.

"Hey Emmy, what're you drinking? I'll get one."

"Caramel latte, just tell Sue it's for me and she'll know." It took five minutes before he was back, one of the little trays in his hands carrying everything. There was a coffee for each of them, a blueberry muffin for her and a noodle salad for Dan, with a slice of cake in between them on the table to share.

"The woman at the counter said this is your favourite, is that right? I guess you come here often."

"Yeah, I used to work here in uni. Still pull shifts if they need a hand and I have time." Em took a sip of her coffee, smiling at the taste. "Congrats on France, by the way. And happy birthday, I hope it's a good year for you."

"Thanks, we're doing drinks after Silverstone for it. At least I got to finish the race this time! Plus some good points. But how are you? How was the last few weeks?"

She paused, trying to work out how to make it sound more fun than it had been. "You know, the usual. Working, making sure Blake's apartment doesn't fall apart while he's running around the world."

They both took a bite in the awkward silence that had fallen between them and Em waited for him to speak. It had never been awkward between them before.

"I owe you an apology." It was the most serious she'd ever heard him before.

"Dan-"

"No, Emmy, please. I owe you one. I shouldn't have just ignored you, that was wrong and I'm sorry. I know it doesn't fix it but I didn't mean to. Yeah I was busy, but I shouldn't have. I promise I didn't want to. Work was insane and with the way my schedule is I didn't want to bother you when you have enough going on." She watched him take a few seconds to work out how to phrase what he wanted to say and let him pause. "I'm sorry. It wasn't a one night stand, and you're my friend. I don't want us to lose any of what we have."

"You don't need to apologise, Dan. We both did it."

"Yeah but I w-"

"Look, Dan, I still want to be your friend. I still want to hang out with you and spend time with you when you have it, and we both know you don't have much." She took a breath to get the rest of what she needed to say out, "But I don't think we should sleep together anymore. You mean a hell of a lot to me, and if we keep sleeping together we're going to fuck up eventually. We can be friends though, right?"

"Yeah. Friends." The smile on his face didn't fully reach his eyes and that hurt Em, but she knew it was the right call. And if he didn't want to be her friend he could fade out of her life. It'd be fine. They stayed quiet eating for a few moments.

"So you're coming to Silverstone, right? I organised a hotel room for you."

"Dan..."

"I have your pass!" He pulled four passes from his jacket, lanyards wrapped around the neatly stacked batch. "You don't have to take a flight this time. Please? As my birthday present?"

"I have your birthday present, actually. It's not much, but here." Em felt so silly pulling it out of her bag. The book was carefully wrapped in blue paper. She'd seen Jack Brabham's autobiography in her favourite second hand book shop the week after Monaco and picked it up. Trying to think of a birthday present felt impossible for the man who could have it all. Now sitting in front of him it felt ridiculous to give a Formula One driver a book about one? Stupid. But Dan was opening it so she couldn't take it away.

"It's for me?" Dan asked, oblivious to Em's internal freak out. "Emmy you didn't have to."

"It's nothing. Like seriously, it's nothing. I don't even know what I was thinking when I got it, but you said you wanted to start reading more and I thought it'd be nice."

She took a sip of her drink and looked down at the table for a moment, wanting to give him a couple of moments to act like he was happy instead of just seeing disappointment on his face. Why did she think this was a good idea? Stupid. Stupid.

"You saw this and thought of me?" He smiled as he held it up. A real smile.

"I mean Australian, driver, it made sense in my head. I know it was a stupid idea."

"Emmy it's perfect. I love it. Thank you, seriously. Dad used to tell me stories about watching him drive when he was a kid, he'll love me saying I have this. I love it."

"Glad you like it." She smiled shyly, picking off a piece of muffin to pop into her mouth. "Can I think about the race?"

It was absolutely a lie. She knew she'd say yes. She knew it. There was nothing those brown eyes couldn't make her do.

"Of course you can. But if it helps in any way, I have to say I'd love to see you there." Dan insisted. As much as Em hated to admit it her heart began to melt just a little bit.

#call it what you want fic #ciwyw drabble #f1 drabble #formula 1 drabbler #formula one drabbler #daniel ricciardo drabble

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aropride · 9 months ago

Text

long vent post abt covid + my sister

i genuinely dont know when the last time my little sister wasnt sick for more than two weeks was. im trying to remember but i cant . its been almost constant since she got covid in dec2021. and she has all these new allergies and symptoms and stuff she had as a baby came back after. and my parents are like antivax antimask "its just a cold" conspiracy theorists and they arent going to protect her they only got her her mandatory vaccines bc our doctor finally made them and theyre convinced shes always sick bc of the vaccines and not bc of covid. and i know theres nothing i can say or do that will get through to them. and i know my sister doesnt understand Why shes sick all the time so of course shes going to believe our parents because shes a kid why wouldnt she believe them. and i know eventually she'll figure out why shes so sick. when long covid gets talked about more when i figure out how to explain it to her etc eventually she'll find out and it's going to like. ruin her view of our parents and the world at large

and i spent my whole childhood since the day she was born making it like my lifes mission to keep her safe but i had no hope of protecting her against this there was no way i could have done much but my parents could have and should have and now they blame it all on the vaccines its because the doctor gave her vaccines no it isnt!!! no it is not!!! and every time i see her or facetime her or she sends me an audio message i hear the crackle in her throat and i dont know if it will ever go away

and if youre not looking for it youll miss it but if you go in public and sit and listen .youll hear the coughing and sniffling and the crackle in people's throats. i keep my windows open bc my dorm gets too hot and all day i hear people walking by and coughing. my only other covid cautious friend has noticed it. none of my non cc friends have. but i swear to god it's there sit in a library for a few hours and listen it's there it gets worse every year. and nobody even notices and people look at you weird when you mention that everyone's been getting sicker recently

but they are they fucking are ive read the studies ive looked at the data. everyone's sick all the time and they dont even notice it they go "it's the freshman flu" "it's allergies" you arent even a freshman you dont even have allergies. "man ive just been so short of breath recently" then i'm the crazy one if i say the obvious reason for that. i feel fucking crazy i know im not im looking at the studies im looking at the data im learning the science but nobody will listen

i share covid data and protection and everything on instagram all the time im always talking about it because im always thinking about it because i hear it everywhere and nobody listens nobody is masking and i dont understand why i dont understand how - i heard someone cough out my window just now - i don't understand how social pressure can win over the objective truth when the objective truth is killing and disabling people. how do people not care??? i need people to care one-way masking is better than nothing but so much could have been prevented if people would just put on the fucking mask

what am i even supposed to do when everyone's just accepted being sick forever when people dont 'even notice how fucked up their bodies are becoming when people seem to think it could never happen to them and they don't seem to care that they can and will pass it to other people even if they never are symptomatic . how are we supposed to live like this??? are we going to reach a breaking point or are people just going to fucking die forever??? what will it take for people to start masking again??? to start caring???

i dont know what infection number my sister is on. three that i know of for sure but i'd be shocked if she hadn't had it at least five times. shes thirteen . i dont know what to do

#text #neg #covid

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ceruleansonata · 27 days ago

Text

okay so. I mentioned about how Elliot changed Vincent's outcome from the manga but then it made me want to ramble about how much I hate what happens in canon so I'm going to

do that

so in canon. Vincent has a complete mental breakdown because he can't understand why he's so hesitant to want to die, or why Gilbert doesn't hate him and doesn't want to erase him to have a happier past. I wrote most of that scene pretty much as it happens in canon in this drabble, up until the point where I substituted Elliot for Ada.

there is the revelation that Vincent's Chain Demios is what Miranda Barma turned into after Sablier was dragged into Abyss, and that a part of her soul still had a hold on Vincent through the trauma she inflicted on him, but that was a bit too much to fit into the drabble (and I thought I would get back to those chapter summaries and it would get revealed eventually anyway but.... oops. that will happen. some day. I swear on my life. anyway.) this is kind of important, but also just like. comes and goes. so much of the final arc just Happens, but that's yet another rant.

During all this, in canon, Ada is just. there. Oz brought her along into the past bc he was worried about leaving her alone in Sablier, but told her to hide somewhere and wait for them. no one in the past should be able to see her, so she'll be safer. except that baby Vincent finds her, and he can see her because he's a Child of Misfortune. and she talks to him and assures him that it's not his fault and is like "you don't know me yet, but in a few years, you're going to make me so happy. so please meet me there."

and oh my god.

it bothers me so fucking bad.

I don't know if she actually changed the past by talking to him. I really fucking hope not bc 1. like the entire message of the manga is that nothing good can come from changing the past. no not even erasing someone's trauma. 2. especially not in the name of some romance sub plot no one, including Vincent, asked for. 3. that's just so creepy and fucked up????????? like I think that's the first and only case of a teenage girl grooming an older man, congratulations PH. .

then she storms into the room where Vincent's having his breakdown, and marches through Demios' attack (the same way Elliot does in that drabble) and is like "I don't care what you've done! I forgive you!" and he breaks down sobbing bc no one's ever said those words to him before and he had no idea he ever desired forgiveness, like that drabble p much except there's the extra Drama of Demios chopping her hair perfectly short when it stops at her throat

but then like. through the rest of their time in the past, Vincent is like. staying close to her, holding her against him when they're all falling, protecting her, etc. and then, at the very end, after Ada just lost her uncle, father, and brother (who she had only had back for like half a year after he'd been presumed dead for a decade) Vincent has Gilbert tell her that he died in the final battle. because he "doesn't want to hurt her. Baskervilles' lives move at a different speed, we could never walk together. that's why I want her to move on, and be happy." but there's a panel of him watching her in secret while she's in her garden and it makes me want to barf.

it bothers me so much. like it feels like a disservice to BOTH their characters. I don't like Vincent's sudden 180 turn from being disgusted by romance and women to oops I'm in love now. but even then, that feels so fucking stupid. Ada is obsessed with the occult, if anyone would understand and even be delighted with the macabre concept of an immortal lover, it would be Ada. or at least like treat her with dignity and just let her down, she LOST HER ENTIRE FAMILY IN THREE DAYS.

it also enables a lot of the Vincent girlies who go "see???? he ONLY did all those things so everyone would hate him! he just needed true Romantic Love to admit it, but now that he has, he feels so bad for those things and will never ever ever relapse or do a bad thing again." which I hateeeeeee. no girl. he did that shit. and he might regret it, because now he's decided to live and that means dealing with the Quencies, bro, but he is not remorseful.

and finally!!!!!!!!!!!! I just fucking hate when a weird, independent girl gets dulled down to having to fix some lame ass man who doesn't deserve her!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ada had to much potential!!!!!!!!!!!!

I didn't really. Find a way to bring it up in drabbles or anything. the rp of it happened in DMs and I don't think I ever expressedly said it whatsoever on here. BUT. in this timeline, instead of Ada coming along to all this, she was safe with Oscar when everyone went into the past. so once Leo got his own body back, he was able to ask Meredith Crowley to help Ada and Oscar get a Carcere and get to the Vessalius estate so she could make a legal Contract with Gryphon and help repair the broken chains. that's another change I am really, really proud of. I hate I didn't make it more Visible.

okay that's everything I think. end ted talk

#ooc #tbd

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finnseth · 2 years ago

Text

the body is mostly blood

well. i became severely sad after brisbane, so i made everyone's favorite whump ghoul get sad as well. aether's dead, copia might be soon, and little dewdrop isn't coping very well.

also no. i dont want to talk about the fact that this is 10k words. just be grateful it is.

read on ao3, or continue below

Dew should be in the mood for celebrations. Everyone else seems content to be, Aurora excitedly searching up the hottest nightclubs in Brisbane, flicking through hair colors for her glamour while Phantom peers over her shoulder to offer his advice. Cirrus is leaning back into Cumulus' chest, breaths whistling softly through her angelically parted lips as she dozes. She'll join the new kids, and she'll swear she didn't have a nap on the bus. No one will say anything against it, lest she invite them to her room for apologies back at the Abbey. Mountain has taken up residence around Rain's lithe body, nose buried in his hair as Rain's tail wraps around Mountain's wrist. They sway with the movement of the bus, and to some little tune they're sharing with Rain's headphones. Swiss is deep in a low conversation with Copia, probably talking about some vintage whiskey he'd like to share with his Papa and see where the night takes them.

So that just leaves Dew. Back of the bus alone, noise cancelling headphones on, listening to the loudest, angriest music he could find. He'd gone through the effort to put it on his phone after it managed to disappear from the Internet— he might as well listen to the fucking thing. He has his phone open to his texts, cursor blinking at him as he indulges in his worst habit.

A conversation stares up at him, a few months old now, long discontinued. A conversation with Aether.

Aeth 🖤

Haha you know I got you babe

Dewbug 💧

you are the wind beneath my wings 🕊️

It's the last thing he ever sent to Aether, or rather the last thing Aether ever read. There's a wall of messages from over the past months, none of them sent, and certainly none of them received. Telling Aether how much he's tried to hate Phantom, as if it would bring him back. How the little shit managed to worm his way into some small portion of the hole Aether left. The sheer amount that Sunny would have clicked with Aurora, two little fireballs of energy and life. How his day had gone, how tour was going, little things that made Dew remember him. And every now and again, breathless, sobbing messages, barely legible because Dew couldn't get his hands to stop shaking.

He types out a message a few times and deletes it, like this isn't just some masochistic diary. Eventually he just starts typing and sending before he can even think, and then thinks about throwing his phone out the bus window.

Tour finished tonight. I know how much you loved this country. How much you loved this world. I wish you could have seen this crowd, shit. It just gets bigger every time.

I'm sorry I never stopped missing you.

I'm sorry about the hole left in my chest. The new kids don't deserve it. They're so young and full of life.

You would have been so proud of Phantom. He handles that fucking Fantomen better than either of us ever did, sorry to say.

Copia called himself frail, the fucker. Watched that sea of phones go up, like it's a game to them. Maybe it is. Maybe they don't realize.

Well I mean he stuck a fucking ice cube down his pants, I can't blame them for wanting to keep that forever.

Satanas, I hope I keep him forever.

Dew presses his forehead against the window of the bus, rattling his skull in a way that's perversely satisfying as the bus rounds a corner. When they arrive at their hotel, a sleepy little collection of cabins he's heard a couple locals — and Mountain — call a caravan park, he makes his way to his room without even so much as a goodnight to everyone else. He has no idea if anyone else notices, but he hears and promptly ignores Copia's soft voice calling after him. He just can't tonight, just can't face pity and look into those sad eyes and pretend like he isn't scared out of his mind.

He's similarly distant at the airport, hood drawn up and sunglasses shielding his eyes. Everyone else has a pounding headache from the celebrations, Dew just can't handle the idea of being witnessed. He sits apart from the group when they get to their gate, ready for that long haul back to Stockholm and wishing he could let some of his glamour slip. He feels itchy and cooped up, and maybe if he could soothe the spade of his tail like a kit does, he'd feel a little better.

But as kind as Copia is about their forms, that's a step too far. It's not like Dew is going to do anything to face the wrath of the Ministry, certainly not now, so he just contents himself with knowing he's got a few good months of letting his wings free coming up soon. He's sat beside Copia, to his infinite dismay and his eternal delight. Their hands stay tangled under the blanket the whole flight, as few words are exchanged between them. Neither feel like talking much, and Copia spends about half the trip snoring away anyways.

The Abbey welcomes them like a parent awaiting the empty nest to be filled again for the holidays, warm and insistent but also a little bittersweet. Everyone knows it is not meant to last. As Copia gives his first sermon back to a rapt group of Siblings, worn lines gracing the curves of his face, Dew has to leave Black Mass halfway through for the first time in his infernal life. There's something in the way the light hits Copia's face that makes him seem as frail as he toyed with being on stage, tired and beaten down. Hopefully his Unholy Father can find some way to forgive him the transgression. He presses a kiss to the icon of Asmodeus on his rosary and makes a silent promise to the Saint of Hell that he won't whine next time he's asked to deal with the hundreds of candles in the chapel.

As he walks, his legs carry him on well worn paths, ones he remembers walking with dewier skin and a younger heart. The ever so slightly disastrous state of the garden calls to him, whatever little mote of water that remains between his ribs aches to help Mountain fix it the way he used to, even though the earth ghoul is still kneeling piously in the pews. The autumnal shade of the oaks lining the gothic courtyard remind him of years past, chasing after the love and affection of other Papas, and losing those just as easily as his beauty earned them. Dew ends up back in the dormitories, looking up with a start when he realizes he's at the place that hasn't been his room in years. It's the one he shared with… Satanas, he can't remember their name anymore. Back when he was still craving Secondo's attention, the little siren that he was.

Dew shakes off the memories and heads back to his own room, but not before passing Copia's door. It's obviously unoccupied, but there's a little pull from deep in Dew's gut that begs him to change that. He makes to continue towards his chambers, but he gets about three steps before doubling back and trying the doorknob tremulously. It gives— Copia had a terrible habit of leaving doors unlocked behind him.

Copia’s room is a monument to his simple tastes, to the luxury of small things. It’s nowhere near as lavishly appointed as Terzo’s room was; there’s no sumptuous silks and fine rare dyes here, no gilt kissing the corners of everything. And it’s certainly not the somber elegance that Secondo surrounded himself in, high pile velvet that swallowed all light and sound until the room felt almost claustrophobic. No, it was about as breezy and light as the old Abbey could manage, windows perpetually open to let in the smell of fresh cut grass, or the breeze off the lake, or the sick-sweet rot of leaves as Dew notices now. The window is a panoply of cool colored diamonds of stained glass, casting a mottled glow onto the floor and on his arms that reminds Dew of hot summer days in the lake, of flirting with Mist as they ducked through the cool waters together and let their bodies twine in ecstasy.

Dew crawls into the butter soft sheets, the delicate cream color feeling like it’s going to be sullied by his presence. He can’t call to mind the country of origin, though it sounded fancy when Copia decided to treat himself after a long tour with one too many scratchy sheets. Dew didn’t pay much attention, his thoughts were occupied otherwise as Copia ordered the sheets with one hand idly petting away between his horns. The little ghoul crawls into the divot formed by Copia’s body and buries his sensitive nose into the place where his head rests nightly. It’s an explosion of love that blasts the blackened char of his heart into a thriving, burning core again. It’s vanilla and jasmine, the first kiss of spring after a winter of using the powers forced on him to keep the Abbey’s residents warm, that very first time a timid Cardinal looked his way and said that he didn’t know if Dew would want the compliment, but that he was looking very nice today. (He hadn't been, he had smoldering sticks in his hair from where he'd dived into a bush to capture one of the Cardinal's rats.)

He delicately tangles his fingers up in the sheets, careful not to pierce or snag them with his claws, and curls up tight. The sensations in the room are all he can focus on; the ambient chatter from Siblings and ghouls alike that sings through the unhallowed halls, the decaying smell of the book glue holding together Copia's beloved and very old copy of the Malleus Maleficarum, the taste of his own bile on his tongue as tears rise unbidden to his lashes. Dew lets a few of the tears fall to the pillow, sullying the fine fabric with his own weakness. He barely notices the acid clang of the chapel bells ringing to signal the end of Black Mass, though when the door clicks open he shoots up guiltily, ears pinned back.

"Papa, I didn't, I-" His voice cracks from disuse, and Dew realizes then how little he's been around his pack since they got back. He slinks off to bed before anyone retires, has shrugged off invitations to movie nights and even brushed off Mountain when he was invited to spend some time in the greenhouse. He'd just needed his space, right?

"No, no, tesoro mio, you know you're always welcome. But I noticed you slip out of Mass, and you’re never absent from Mass.” Copia comes and sits on the bed, depressing it slightly. He puts a hand between them, bridging the gap in a way that leaves Dew the power to make the choice to reach out. Dew watches guiltily as his gloved fingers stroke idly along the grain of the fabric. His whole body screams at him to reach out, to make the connection, but he can’t make his arms move from where they’re wrapped around his wan frame. Trembling fingers soothe along the scars on his ribs where his gills used to be, and Copia moves his hand to Dew’s knee. “What prompted you to leave, Dewdrop?”

“I haven’t.. I haven’t been okay for a while, Papa.” Dew admits, voice low like a confession. Forgive him, Unholy Father, he knows full well what he’s done. “I can’t…” His voice clicks as more tears spill over his cheeks. He brings his knuckles up to brush the tears away, but they're interrupted by the soft kiss of leather as Copia catches the tears on his own fingers.

"Take your time, mio amato." Copia scoots a little further onto the bed, and in a flurry of hot limbs, Dew launches into his arms. He lets out a soft oof as he catches Dew, sinking a hand into the tangle of his hair. Dew paws at Copia's shirt for a lifeline, sobs shuddering his whole body.

"I can't lose you. I can't lose anyone else." Dew whispers hoarsely all in one breath, until he takes in another gasping breath and the tears fall heavier. He didn't think there was so much water left in his body. Copia tuts gently and strokes down each knob of Dew's spine, a soothe he discovered after Dew had his first panic attack under Copia's care. It had happened after that very first show where he was on lead guitar, with a body that felt alien and shouldering more responsibility than he could manage. The show had gone off without a hitch, but Copia had found Dew a sobbing mess on the floor of the dressing room. He'd stayed there longer than the venue really wanted, but it didn't matter. Copia was determined to stay until his ghoul was alright.

"You aren't going to lose me." Copia murmurs back, rubbing the thin space between Dew's shaking wings. The little fire ghoul whimpers piteously, claws sinking into Copia's shirt before he realizes with a gasp what he's done. "No, no, you're alright. It's just a shirt." He soothes, voice low and sonorous.

"Aeth said-" Dew can't finish the sentence, but Copia figures out rather quickly what his ghoul is implying. He knows well of the bond between the two, and how much it had pained Dew to have it severed. When the Ministry came to collect its assets, to recoup the loss of a very taxing new quintessence ghoul to summon, Aether had gone with a grace the barbaric act hardly deserved. But he'd not been given the choice to explain to his mates, or to even say goodbye. It was sudden, jarring, and Copia had been there to support Dew while he delivered the worst news to his pack that anyone could fathom.

"I know. I know it must sound like an empty promise. But who could take me away from you?" Copia says gently, pushing his hand under the hem of Dew's shirt to stroke the furred base of Dew's tail. "I would fight the forces of Heaven and Hell to keep you in my arms."

"Who could take you away? The same people who took Aether, Sunshine, your brothers, Alpha, Omega, Ifrit. Should I go on?" Dew pulls back to look at Copia incredulously, tear tracks burned into his cheeks. He looks over Copia's face, takes in the life worn into his features, the freckles that Dew himself has kissed over after a night of passion. "You said it yourself, Papa, you said that you're frail. Your time is up soon. And you can tell me that some of it is toying with your flock but-" Dew cuts himself off with the memory of their arms wrapped around the others waist on stage, as Dew did his best to not look utterly besotted with his Papa. I love you, little man. Saints, the words ring in his head even now. How it thrilled his chest to be publicly declared worthy of the unholiest love he knows, how bittersweet the finality of it all felt on his tongue. "How am I supposed to know that when I wake up, you'll still be here?"

"I think you'll just have to trust me." Copia sighs, fingers still rubbing the little patch of fur that graces the transition from human to beast, from glamour to ghoul. "I know it is an impossible task."

"No. Trusting you is easy. It's the world I can't rely on." Dew rubs the tears away, a low purr kicking up at the gentle pets to his trembling body. His heart rate is starting to slow, that infernal core cooling off to a glowing coal. The panic takes a backseat to the fact that Copia is here, in his arms. For right now, whatever comes next is immaterial.

"Then let me be your world, and rely on me." Copia breathes, pulling Dew into an achingly tender kiss. Dew can still smell the incense from Mass clinging to his hair, with that undercut of jasmine and salted tangerine from his cologne. That all too familiar scent is safety to Dew, it's love, it's home, it's hope. No matter the bouquet of pheromones that his pack has for him, it's never quite this combination. He would know Copia by this alone, by the brush of uncalloused fingers on his cheek, by the sound of rushing blood through his veins rather than ichor.

The kiss finally lets Dew relax, wings drooping heavily as all the tension leaches from his body like his namesake evaporating in the heat of a summer morning. He's cried himself into emotional exhaustion, and now he just wants to be touched. He's tired of shutting himself off, tired of being on the outside of the pack, tired of being scared and wounded and crawling off to die alone like a cat. Copia pulls him closer, a low whine building in his throat that makes Dew crave him deeper than he ever thought possible.

"I love you." Dew pants when they both pull back for air, foreheads pressed together as Dew feels leather-clad hands exploring the familiar pathways of his body. His horns press softly against Copia, that eternal reminder of how different they are at their cores. "I've never- you.. I don't think I'll ever love like this again." Copia hums softly and kisses the corner of Dew's mouth, drawing him back in like the tide.

"Maybe not. Maybe you will." Copia leans back slightly, bringing a hand up to his teeth to pull the glove off. Perhaps he doesn't notice how it makes all the hair on Dew's body stand on end, perhaps he notices and doesn't care, because he does it to the other one, clasping the gloves in one hand and gently tossing them to the desk where they land limply. His fingers are impossibly warm and soft as they come back to grace Dew's imperfect form, well manicured nails scraping ever so slightly. "All that matters to me is loving you here and now."

"Then love me. Love me fully." Dew begs, a whine creeping into his plea. But Copia isn't deterred by the vulnerability, isn't scared off by Dew's infernal ache. He pushes into the soft curve of Dew's jaw, leaves painted kisses there as he slowly pulls the shirt off that Dew stole from Mountain some years back. It hangs off him like a tunic, but no one could deny him whatever he wanted, considering he looked so loved in the oversized garment.

Perhaps it isn't wise to seek to heal this hurt with sins of the flesh; Dew recognizes this. And there is more yet to do to banish this pain from his mind, his soul, and perhaps truly it will never be gone. There is always going to be an indelible mark that the ones who are no longer here make on his pitch-heart, carve their name in hellish runes on the very surface of his obsidian bones. And in time, he will learn to live with this. In time he will wear the names of the departed with pride, and love, and welcome new names and new loves to become part of him. For right now, though, he is as shattered porcelain, begging to be put together anew. Changed by the process, but once again whole.

Dew sinks his claws into Copia's shirt again as his Papa's lips travel lower, kissing over his prominent collarbones, and up to the faded scars from his gills. Dew had tried to open them up once, a year or so after his transition. A delusion grabbed hold of his shattered psyche, convinced him that the beautiful creature he used to be lay still underneath the surface, needing to molt to become himself again. It was Aether who found him, fingers stained black with the effort of his pain, shaking and sobbing and woozy from blood loss. It was Aether who used his fledgling powers, tripping on the unsteady legs of a newborn deer to knit flesh back together again. And it was Aether who convinced him that he was beautiful any and every way he was, and that the cruelty of the powers that be was in no way his fault.

The Ministry moved in mysterious ways, sometimes bold and striking declarations from Sister Imperator, and sometimes people unbeknownst to even Copia would show up and demand things of he who should be the highest power. It always unsettled Dew, made him feel as if Copia was little more than a dancing monkey, a figurehead puppet who they could shove in front of the yearning masses, who could take the fall when culture came to bite back. It was Copia, of course, who takes the blame for introducing the devil back into the 'good, Christian world'. Copia, of course, who takes the blame for corrupting youths by daring to imply that they should be loved as they are. Copia, of course, who is at fault for wanting his flock to feel and touch and love and fuck as much as their desires told them to, for what could be more human?

"Should I just take this thing off, eh?" Copia says with a smile, eyes flicking down to the long claw marks in the dog-collared button down. It only strikes Dew then that he probably came back to his room to get changed after Mass, only to find a very sad and vulnerable little ghoul in his bed.

"Oh, I.. I didn't mean to-" Dew shrinks away from all the points of contact with Copia, only to have it chased right back as Copia slides his arms around Dew.

"It's just a shirt. Dime a dozen, dolcezza." Copia squeezes Dew gently, fingers finding scars with featherlight touches. The ones he's given himself, the ones inflicted on him, all fall away to nothing under Copia's careful touch. It's as if he's made anew. "Help me get out of it?" He doesn't need help— it's become tatters— but he wants Dew to unfurl, wants him to feel this. Dew plucks at the buttons gingerly, one by one, until he can push the shirt to the floor.

Dew takes a moment to regard the one he loves, the incrementally graying chest hair, his softness, the beautiful fallibility of his mortal flesh. He'd only started to notice Copia's temples going gray this most recent tour, and it was certainly fuel for the fire that was his anxiety. But in the objective sense, it granted him a handsome gravitas Dew couldn't deny. From the way his flock would cheer when he promised to fuck the crowd, it would seem that he wasn't alone in that opinion. Shaking claws reach to stroke along Copia's sensitive sides, and Dew watches with rapt attention as his perfect stomach twitches with barely contained laughter.

"You know I'm ticklish there, don't you?" Copia asks with a smirk, though both of them know that he is. "And yet the touch persists, how cruel of you." Dew finds himself smiling ever so slightly as he shifts and pushes Copia down to the plush bed, deft fingers attacking soft curves. Peals of laughter ring around the room from the both of them as they fall back into each other, into soft lingering kisses that feel first-time timid. With that same gingerness, Dew reaches below the belt for the first time for an exploratory pet. The response he gets is beautifully favorable, a stuttered gasp from Copia, pupils blown. "And if I said I was ticklish there, would you stay your hand?"

"Saints, I love you when you get romantic like this." Dew says, Copia's fingers coming to rest along Dew's forearm. They regard each other for a long moment, Dew's hair curtaining down in the way that he's always been called beautiful for. He'd thought about shearing his hair after his transition, no longer yearning to feel his hair trail behind him while he swims, no longer feeling like anyone's preziosa sirenella. It was a joint effort from Aether and Copia that had kept it long, Aether meditatively brushing and plaiting the hair while Copia held him close and called him beautiful again, praised the fire in his eyes and the blaze in his bones.

"What you call romantic I simply call honest." One of Copia's hands traces a little trail up the inside of Dew's arm, along his chest to cup his cheek. He pushes up with the other hand, pulling Dew in to kiss him with a little more urgency, a little more breathlessly. He moans wantonly into the kiss, parting his lips to let Copia get even closer, to taste him more insistently. They eventually make their way to a reverse of before, Dew laid back on the pillows looking for all the world like a fallen angel. Sure, the horns and batlike wings don't fit the picture, but the amber eyes looking up through pale lashes seem for all the world like a creature spurned from grace.

His beauty turns to ecstacy when Copia litters his chest with little kisses and love bites, none too hard. Though he'd be hard pressed to bite harder than Swiss, especially considering his rather dull teeth in comparison. But right now Dew can't imagine anything feeling better than this, especially when soft lips brush over his piercings. His back arches into the contact, tail squirming and disturbing the duvet. He lets out a long, low, whined out Papa, which gets him a little hum against his heaving chest. Copia's clever fingers take an exploration down to where Dew's shaft has grown behind his loose joggers.

"Please?" Dew whines, hips jumping and earning him a low, husky laugh from Copia.

"You don't have to beg, tizzone." Copia says gently, hooking his fingers in the waistband of Dew's pants. His eyebrows raise expectantly, and Dew scrambles to lift his hips enough to get the joggers off. Dew kicks the pants to the ground and paws hungrily at Copia's chest, pulling him into more kisses as the room floods with his cinnamon desire. He's already dripping slick all over the slim juncture of his thighs, squirming underneath the watchful gaze of his Papa. He is flayed open, raw and beating heart ripe for the taking by any predator who dared. And yet, he is not torn in two, and the soft curve of his chest is simply kissed over, leaving smudges of black paint. When Copia leaves his ministrations be, he looks more like a raccoon than normal, all the paint on his lips smudged off completely.

"You look like those, Saints, what does Mountie call them, the bloody trash pandas?" Dew says through a snorting laugh, appending his best true blue impression of Mountain. Copia rolls his eyes fondly and pushes back up onto his haunches, looking down at the ghoul spread out like a feast before him.

"If you're going to be mean I can leave." Copia earns playfully, getting his stern voice out that usually gets reserved for when they've destroyed a hotel room with some sexcapade that makes the bill fall on his shoulders. Notable examples include the scorched bed from when Dew was pinned down and made to cum over and over and over until his little body couldn't take the pressure and literally exploded into flames; the broken bed frame from when Rain begged Mountain for more more more harder please mountie please and the gentle giant had unleashed his powers to rend the particle board to dust as he finished deep in the hot clutch of Rain's body. The most recent incident was the room that looked like a nuclear bomb had gone off when Phantom had lost control of his powers and unleashed a supernova in a cheap hotel, but each of them was brushed under the rug by an understanding but mildly disappointed Copia.

"No! No, I'm sorry, you look nice." Dew reaches out shakily, gripping Copia's shoulders with a fervent whimper. Copia's shoulders slump slightly, and he rubs his thumb along the bird-light joint of Dew's wrist.

"I could never leave you, but I do think I should probably get my shoes off before we continue, eh?" He presses a kiss to the fluttering pulse of Dew's wrist and pulls back a couple steps off the bed to slip his dress shoes off, pulling his belt out of the loops. He hears Dew's throat click with a heavy swallow, and for a moment they share in the hunger for something harder, something that leaves Dew flushed and crying. They're no stranger to that kind of play; there's a very good reason why Copia has a plethora of different leather gloves, well worn by use and, well, too much cleaning. But the moment passes, fleeting as can be, when Copia bends down to unclip the garters from his socks. "Should I leave the pants to you?" He asks with a soft smile, just as Dew's crawling his way down the bed to pluck teasingly at Copia's zipper.

"Maybe. I let you undress me." Dew grins up at Copia wolfishly, quick fingers dancing along pressed slacks until before Copia knows, his fly is undone and Dew is pawing at him.

"Should I just fuck you like this?" He laughs, following the line of Dew's thin fingers to gently grip himself. "Boxers and all?"

"You can do it however you like, Papa, as long as you don't let me go." Dew breathes, flame-hot over the thin fabric separating his flushed mouth from sensitive flesh. Copia awkwardly shuffles everything down to a messy pile on the floor, the only real sign someone lives in the room that Dew's noticed since he crawled into bed. His cock springs up, a tempting little bead of pre welling up at the head. Dew grits his teeth in an effort to resist, but as if pulled by an invisible tether, he leans in to press an almost chaste kiss to the head.

"Now that's very dangerous of you, tizzone." Copia breathes as Dew returns to lounging on the pillows, waiting for Copia to chase him up. Nimble fingers dip down to splay open his slit, shimmering in the sun that still filters in the windows. Copia looses a punched groan and moves with a swiftness few people see from him, clambering across the bed to smother his ghoul in kisses once more.

"Need you in me, you know I'm ready for it." Dew juts his chin up proudly, grabbing Copia's hand and shoving it unceremoniously down to his slit. His wide eyes beg him to pet through the velvety folds, and then up to let the smooth, slick length of his shaft throb against his hand. Copia relents, of course he relents to the bid for touch, probing a couple thick fingers into Dew's entrance. He scissors his fingers gently, watching Dew's expression carefully. The fire ghoul's face screws up, but through the years they've been sleeping together, Copia has learned well the difference between pain and pleasure. Dew is firmly on the side of pleasure, at least until something shifts in his face, lip twitching.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?" Copia pulls his fingers out, and Dew scrubs at his face, taking a gulping breath and trying to calm his hummingbird heartbeat. He shakes his head, mouth trying to find words.

"It- you… for a second, you felt like…" Dew closes his eyes, trying to find some anchor in the sea of his feelings. "Aeth. I know it's stupid to think about—"

"No, no, Dew, it's not stupid. When do emotions run higher than this, more than when two become one?" Copia brings his clean hand up to cup Dew's cheek, pressing their foreheads together. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No! No. Saints, no, I- I need this. Just need you." Dew throws his arms around the broadness of Copia's back, fingers splaying over the freckled expanse of skin. He clings tight, chest heaving until Copia presses a warm palm to his sternum. They don't say anything, they just breathe in tandem until Copia's even breathing is the rhythm they both follow. Dew nods, and Copia knows what he's ready for without words. They've really never needed words, able to read each other with the smallest twitch of an eye or the quirk of a lip. So it's no surprise to Copia that when he latches his lips to Dew's hot pulse and sinks his fingers back into the warmth of Dew's slit that the little ghoul howls in pleasure, hips jumping erratically.

Copia suckles a dark bite into the pale gray of his Dewdrop, purple blooming to the surface prettily as he opens Dew up. He doesn't need Copia's fingers scissoring him open, not by a long shot, but he'd be remiss if he didn't get his hands dirty in the pursuit of pleasuring Dew. Copia curls his fingers just so, and Dew shouts in ecstacy, shaft throbbing dully as more slick leaks out over his soft stomach.

"Please, please Papa, I don't want to wait anymore." He lays the piety on thick, which seems a little bold for a ghoul who snuck out of Mass. Copia forgives the indulgence, though, and lines himself up to tease the head of his cock along slick folds. "No, no no no nonono, don't tease, please." Dew sobs out. He seems so shattered already, Copia can't help but sink into him, mouth tucked into the angles of his throat to feel his pleasured noises.

"See, I can be kind." Copia mumbles, mouth a little occupied with absolutely ruining Dew with kisses and bruises. Dew yelps as Copia sinks home, hips kissing for a brief second before he pulls almost all the way out.

"Not that kind, apparently." Dew grumbles, jerking up to try and fuck himself on the unmoving cock. Copia lets him try it for a little bit, a faint amused smile playing on his lips. It doesn't last long until the heat beckons, that velvet inferno, and Copia sinks in again with a low groan. Dew's little wings flex against the sheets, claws barely resisting sinking into Copia to pull him impossibly close. He doesn't need the prodding, though, because he picks up a neat little pace. It's not as hard or fervent as it will grow to be, but for now it's just what both of them need. They move together with the gentle push and pull of the ocean, and it reminds Dew of endless quiet moments on the bus, smothering moans in the plush flesh of his lover as they rock with the movement of the bus.

It threatens to ruin Dew's mood, but he forces his mind to think of the ones he's shared that experience with who are still here. Chief among them is of course the man between his legs now, but he feels a different little thrill thinking about Swiss swallowing Dew's noises by clamping a big hand over his mouth, or Cumulus promising to treat him so well if he can stay quiet all on his own. That brings him back from the brink of absolute collapse, to say nothing of the reality of Copia dragging him into a slow, messy kiss.

Dew slides a hand down in between the both of them to tug at his shaft, but his hand is batted away by Copia. He whimpers at the loss, but Copia picks up the slack immediately. "Just let me take care of you." He murmurs by way of explanation, gently squeezing the slick length of Dew's shaft. His barbs leak all over Copia's fingers, making the glide of skin on skin all but frictionless. It's not the only trait he retained from his previous element, but it was probably the least upsetting. He never needed much foreplay, though he enjoyed it thoroughly, and it definitely made him the pack's favorite choice for a quickie. His hands almost instinctively slide up above his head, ready to be pinned by a large hand. It was one of Mountain's favorite moves, to make him feel impossibly small, but Copia doesn't make the move.

So instead, Dew opts to keep his hands locked tight around the bars of the headboard, thin fingers twining around carved mahogany. Copia groans at the sight when he flicks up his mismatched eyes, focusing back on ruining Dew's chest with love bites. If he thinks too hard about the unfailing obedience that Dew offers him, this endeavor ends far too soon. Then again, compared to the infernal endurance of his ghouls, he's a minute man by comparison, so frankly he's just got to try his best.

"I love you." Dew blurts out randomly, voice thick with pleasure and barely held back tears. Copia's hips stutter for a moment before he looks up to see that the tears are of ecstacy, as far as he can tell. He blinks once, and the fat tears fall from his lashes and race down the hollow of his throat to leave wet spots on the pillow. In response to the love, Copia adjusts himself and pulls Dew's slim legs around his waist, locking them together eternally.

"I love you, Dewdrop, Father Below, do I love you." His hand leaves Dew's shaft for just a millisecond to make sure Dew's legs are locked tight. It returns in due time, bringing with it increased fervor and a lump in his throat that Copia wasn't expecting. He's never been stoic, Saints no, but not nearly as much of a crier as his sweet Dewdrop. There's something in the air today, then that has him choked up. So be it. If his body needs that release, he won't deny himself.

"Don't leave. Please, please don't leave me alone, please stay, Copia please, I can't live without you, I can't lose you." The steady stream of tears turns to wet sobs, and Dew's hands fly from the headboard to cling desperately to Copia and pull him impossibly closer. Their bodies are all but one as their hips meet over and over. Something in the desperate cries makes the fragile dam inside Copia break, and when he screws up his face when Dew flutters, he feels the hot slide of tears down his own cheeks.

"I could never, tizzone. I can't bear to lose another person. I can't hurt you." His voice shakes, and he'd love to pretend that it's because of all the sensations swallowing him, the sweet honey heat of his Dew. But it's a disservice, he thinks, to pretend himself incapable of tears. What then, of the grief he'd experienced, of all the loss of family and love alike? Here, in the sanctuary of his room, he has no obligation to be His Unholiness, Papa Emeritus IV, a stoic figurehead to lead and protect his flock. He can just be, ever so simply, Copia. A man, with vulnerabilities just like everyone else. He swallows heavily, and Dew leans up to kiss his tears away. They're both just sort of crying on each other, wet cheeks pressed together.

They press even closer to each other, chest to chest as Copia's hips speed up. His hand squeezes the forming knot at the base of Dew's shaft, interrupting the tears with a yelp of pleasure.

"Oh, oh fuck, harder, please, can you- harder?" Dew asks, voice trembling. He never asks this politely, and combined with the throb of his shaft, Copia realizes he's not the only minute man here. The pace slows down in service of more brutal thrusts, getting punched little groans from the both of them as the bed creaks with protest. His hand makes choppy little strokes along Dew's shaft, lack of rhythm unbecoming of a practiced musician. Dew doesn't seem to mind, head tossing back and forth and making his silken hair into a mussed tangle despite the inelegance of Copia's thrusts. Right about when Copia expects, his thighs and hips start to burn in protest. It's for the best that he thinks about bringing things to a crescendo.

It's definitely not a premature end; Dew's slit is pulsing heavily around Copia which always signals that he's about to burst. The little hiccups each time he fucks a little deeper into Dew's hot body are a sure sign that it's time to try his dirtiest trick. Well, 'dirty' implies that he's on equal sexual footing with the very emissaries of Hell's lust, so it's more that he's a very clever lover. He swipes both his hands under Dew's ass, trusting his knees for all of two seconds to bear the weight of him while he adjusts to fuck up into the spot that makes Dew howl. And howl he does, one hand clawing deeply at Copia's shoulder without breaking skin. The other rends the pillow under his head to downy shreds, fine duck feathers exploding into the room and clinging to Dew's sweaty shoulders.

"Aaah, yes, yes, Copia please, please I'm right there, touch me touch me please please, Unholy Father, I need to cum!" Dew sobs wetly, bringing a feathered hand up to scrub the tears away so he can beg with the full power of his alluring amber eyes. He doesn't need to beg; he never needed to ask. But it seems ingrained in him to ask permission, so Copia gives him a little grunt of affirmation. That's apparently the key to get the levee to burst, because Dew spills all over his stomach and chest with a wail. Iridescent cum coats his piercings, glittering in the dappled light of the window. The fluttering of Dew's silken walls around him means Copia is barely moments behind, spilling into Dew and screwing up his face.

The ecstacy brings the tears back in full force, a sick combination of pain and pleasure. His chest constricts as if squeezed from within, and he finally looses a proper sob. Copia wipes at his eye, coming back with a smeared blob of paint staining his fingers, and it's quite belatedly he realizes that he probably looks absolutely haggard. He can't be fucked to care, honestly, especially as he pulls out and lowers Dew back down to the bed, watching as his chest heaves. Dew's cum barely starts to dry, hardly gets the chance before Copia leans down to clean him up with that silvered tongue. He laps broadly, swiping up slick and cum in equal measure as Dew sobs quietly into the back of his hand. Copia keeps his kisses featherlight, his tongue as restrained as he dares. If he catches a couple of his own tears in his ministrations, so be it.

"Saints, I could worship you forever. You are so dear, so unholy to me." Copia breathes against Dew's damp skin, ears tuned to the stuttered hiccup at the reversal. Dew had caught the attention of many a man (and woman) of the cloth, and yet none of them had found him worthy of worship. Only Copia truly viewed him as not only equal, but superior. Dew did his fair share of devotion in the bedroom, but he was used to being on his knees in more ways than one.

"Don't deserve it." Dew whimpers, though his hands tell a different story when they sink into Copia's hair. "I don't- I'm not beautiful anymore, not like I used to be. Too much blood." His hands twitch on Copia's scalp, and for a brief moment all Copia can think of is the moment Dew stumbled on him in a puddle of ichor, of Aether's— No. No. Not now. Not when he's dragging down lower, sensitive cock brushing against silky sheets when he settles in between Dew's legs. Copia's spend leaks wetly from Dew, little pulses of his orgasmic afterglow pushing a new wave of slick and cum out of him. He watches for a couple seconds, pleasure-dazed until he remembers his purpose, hands coming up to stroke gently at the thin plane of Dew's thighs. Gentle fingertips stroke at the fine hair on his legs, feeling the muscles twitch uncertainly as Dew awaits whatever comes next.

What comes next is a supernova of overstimulation, Copia's tongue licking broadly between dusky folds. He's so pretty and dark down here, like a rare flower with midnight petals.

"Fuck, hurts. Hurts good." Dew bleats, taking a fistful of Copia's hair in his hand as he's cleaned out with gentle licks. "Please don't stop. Might go again." Copia groans into slick flesh, the idea that he could bring Dew to even the littlest orgasm down here stirring heat right back up in his gut. So he sets himself to the task, bringing a single firm finger up to prod tenderly. It's under the guise of making sure Dew is cleaned up properly, but it's really to pet at his soft walls and feel him flutter with each lick. Before he knows it, Dew is clamping his thighs tight and squealing, body forcing every last drop out of him and onto Copia's tongue. Dew doesn't have to push him away when he's had too much, because Copia knows him intimately, knows just when to draw his finger out in the aftershocks.

Dew's face is blotchy, all different shades of plum and tyrian purple, and the patchwork only continues down his neck and chest. His face is still wet with tears, though they've dried down to a velvet sheen on his soft cheek. Copia kisses the inside of his knee, murmuring softly that he'll be right back, he's just going to grab something to clean them both off. Dew assumes he's going for the ensuite, and he paws at Copia with a yelp, but he only moves to the other bedside table to flip open a vintage cigar box. Inside is not cigars, but a pastel little packet of baby wipes, all hidden away to keep the impeccable aesthetic of his room in order. Dew watches curiously before he lets out a watery laugh that turns a little teary, making more feathers from the destroyed pillow stick to him.

"Oh, shit, the- Papa, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—" Copia waves a hand and beckons Dew off the ruined pillow. He goes uncertainly, relaxing into the touch as Copia wipes him down, leaving him smelling faintly of honey and almond.

"It's a pillow, I can get another. I'll forgive you if you tell me what's so funny." His mouth settles into a lazy smile as he discards the wipe to grab another and slip it down between Dew's legs. The little ghoul hisses at the cold between his warm legs, but he does as his Papa asks.

"Just the," he waves his hand at the cigar box, "I don't know. Such a silly little thing hidden away in a mature shell. It's very you. And I love that. Practical and not too serious and-" Dew shudders as his sensitive shaft retreats, brushing against the cool wipe. "Hells, that's cold."

"I would be loathe to invest in a wipe warmer." Copia explains mildly, with the not so subtle implication Dew was being a bit of a baby about the cold. "Rain loves it, says he gets too hot and sticky." Dew opens his mouth to protest, but clacks it shut with a snap of his jaws, brow furrowing.

"Well. I'm not much like him anymore, am I?" He says quietly, eyes sparking like when he loses control of his element. Copia watches him carefully, fingers stopped in their work to ensure he doesn't obliterate the bed. The fire dies down completely, quenched by the tears that bubble up and fall with a scary speed. "Not much of anything, really." He hiccups, and it's the comedown Copia was really expecting. He's never escaped a teary romp in the sheets without lengthy aftercare, and likely some of the world's worst pillow talk by normal standards.

"No, no. You're everything. I knew you were beautiful from the moment I saw you." Copia soothes, tossing the soiled wipes into the wastebin that's there for just that purpose. He hesitates for a moment, wondering if it's worth the effort to clean up his paint. But he eventually perishes the thought, considering that Dew is grasping up at him with pitiful paws. So he looks like a rat left out in the rain, so what? He sits back down on the bed, shunting Dew into his lap and gently picking every stray feather off of his damp skin. Every fourth feather or so, he brushes Dew's cheeks of the tears that incessantly fall, granting him reprieve best he can. "It's alright. I knew this was coming for a long time, dolcezza."

"What- what do you mean?" Dew looks up blearily from behind his tears, eyes now dulled to the color of stale coals. Copia tuts gently, flexing slightly so that his foot doesn't go fully numb with the pressure of the little head on his thigh.

"You were withdrawn since Brisbane. Barely spoke for weeks, all you did was hold my hand on the plane." His voice is gentle, all the patience of a teacher, a leader, a pastor. All the things he's been to Dew and more, his anchor in the storm. "I've seen this mood on you before, Dewdrop. I know how you get when the.." He waves his hand, looking for the words, "melancholy takes a hold of you." He's probably looking for depression, but he's got a poet's soul. Sue him. "Mountain came to me a little while ago, asked if you had been more forthcoming with me about how you were doing. Your pack is worried about you, myself included."

"I wish he wouldn't." Dew grumbles, wiping at his face. He's mostly free of feathers, so Copia's moved to gently detangling his hair and picking out the down he finds stuck there. "I just.. I wish they'd leave me alone."

"You know they won't. When I saw you leave Mass I.. to be honest I almost stopped the whole affair to chase you." He'd been in the middle of Desecration, holding His Infernal Body aloft when he saw Dew excuse himself and slip out along the shadowed corridors, votive candles burning a little brighter as he passed. It'd formed a lump in his throat that hadn't gone away till he'd been able to shed his robes, leaving them in a pile for the poor sacristy ghouls to deal with. "I was glad to find you here, instead of.." He trails off with a shaky breath, the implication hanging as a sword of Damocles above them.

Dew closes his eyes tight, forcing tears down his mottled cheeks. He balls his fists, and it's like he's trying to squeeze all the anxiety and pain and doubt out of his little body. He relaxes with a slump, laying heavier on Copia's lap. Alabaster horns prick at Copia's thigh, and he sinks his fingers into Dew's very scalp to massage around the base of his horns. Sometimes that touch is arousing, but right now it's just soothing, though it does little to stop the tears.

"What's keeping you away from us, little flame?" Copia murmurs, trailing his fingers down to press his middle fingers into the little spot at the hinge of Dew's jaw on either side. So much tension is carried here, not to mention the spot where his pheromones burn the strongest, and when Copia massages the whole room floods with warm tobacco and teak.

"I.." Dew breathes in and out once, chest trembling, "I'm terrified that when you go, I won't feel it. That I won't know." The confession seems to shatter something in him, and he crumples up his face like the words struck him. "And I thought maybe if I could pull away it wouldn't hurt so bad, wouldn't kill me when everyone dies again and again and again. But maybe not knowing is worse." One of Copia's hands presses on Dew's sternum, helping to regulate his breathing. The other travels back up to scratch softly at his scalp. "I still message Aether." Dew continues, "I have for months. I don't know what I'm doing without him, it's like.. I don't know. I've lost packmates before, so many of them, but I never thought I'd lose him."

"I know. Saints, do I know." Copia strokes his thumb along Dew's feverish skin, scooping a hand underneath his head to deposit him gently on the bed. Dew whimpers, hands reaching up for Copia piteously. "I'm not going far, dolce." He gently makes his way over to the desk, sliding open a drawer and pulling a bundle of tied together letters out of the very back. They're all different sizes, some as thin as a single sheet, some clearly stuffed full with multiple pages, and as Copia brings the stack back, Dew spots the name on every single one of them in elegant script. Aether. "It's a little more old fashioned, but.. I write to him. Not on a schedule, just.. when I find myself thinking of him. And I tuck them away, and I," He sighs, a shaky little noise that has Dew finally sitting up and cocking his head, eyes searching Copia's face. "When I can go long enough without remembering that.. that damnable pool of ichor, I'll burn them for him. In the summoning room, and I'll hope that he gets to read them."

Dew takes the stack of letters gently, noting a faint herbal scent when his hands warm the papers. They're all on fine paper, thick and rich and sealed with wax bearing the symbol of the church, carefully embellished in gold by a gentle hand. He brings one of the letters to his nose, but he can't for the life of him identify the herb. Mountain probably could, but he doesn't really spend enough time in the garden. Anymore.

"Rosemary. For remembrance, and because he always used to love that lamb roast Mountain would cook up for Ostara, which Mount always claimed was traditional hell cuisine and I'm just now doubting the veracity of that," Copia laughs fondly, a small, sad little noise. "There's a sprig in every letter for him. I learned that magic a very very long time ago, at that boy's school, Saint Amduscias'." Copia takes the letters back and tucks them into the desk again, fingers lingering briefly on the lacquered wood.

"How often do you think of it?" Dew asks, eyes searching the expanse of Copia's back, noting each freckle for the hundredth time. He knows asking the question is like poking at a sore tooth for the sick satisfaction of it, but there is a perverse pleasure that leaves the ache a little duller each time he talks about it.

"Those letters? They're all from this last leg of tour. And I have more I haven't unpacked." Copia turns, always so beautifully unashamed in his nakedness. It was a shame that humans got so touchy about their bodies, considering how wonderful and unique they all are. Dew's always been grateful that Copia never seemed to be in a rush to cover up after sex if he didn't strictly have to. "How can I not think of it? I can't.. I don't know that I'll ever forget fully. I knew Ministry staff were to be there that day, but I never thought.. well, I knew the rumors. I'd heard things, here and there but they were my first replacements." The words drips off his tongue as if it were acid, vile and burning.

"I can't stop thinking about feeling it before I saw it." Dew comes over and swings his legs off the bed, leaning back and looking up at the one who's charmed his heart over and over again, and will probably do so till both of them are in the ground. "I'd seen some important looking people around but, I mean. You know how I am with authority, I just ignored it."

Copia pushes off the desk and settles his body in between Dew's slim knees, until Dew is craning his neck to make eye contact. "What did it feel like? You never told me." Dew's heart skips a beat so loudly it feels like it reverberates around the room.

"Like a star collapsing in on itself. Like a heart attack, from what I've been told it feels like." He swallows thickly around the lump of tears in his throat. He feels like a wrung out rag, like blood squeezed from the stone. There's probably more tears in his body, but Hell Below, he just wishes they'd stay there. "Like being stabbed and then the knife slides out slowly, like the person doing the stabbing enjoys it. Like losing a limb." Dew gets quiet, and he rests a hand over his heart, scars from former fins shimmering down his arm. Copia bends down and presses his forehead against Dew's, a Ghoulish kiss Dew first taught him by accident. The fire ghoul had just done it, and Copia played along, until Dew realized the poor Cardinal had no idea what he'd been doing.

"I'll do anything I can to make sure you never feel that again." He murmurs, and Dew sighs, a dismissive tone to the noise.

"You know you can't promise that." Dew says shakily, and Copia bumps his nose against Dew's a soft little movement that makes Dew's chest constrict.

"No, not entirely. But I mean it. I'd do what I could." They fall into a silence then, breathing in each other's air, enjoying each other's space. The arrhythmic rasp of a starling sings through the window, a discordant soundtrack with the backing beat of their hearts as accompaniment. Dew pulls back eventually, nosing at Copia's jaw to get his attention.

"Do you want to go see him?" Aether has a sort of grave, a shrine really. They weren't allowed to keep his body; the Ministry had taken it as some sort of grotesque currency for Phantom's summoning, but they had other things. The mask Terzo had given him, and the first one Copia gave. A broken little shard of horn from early on, when he literally butted heads with Omega and snapped it off. His beloved bracelet, which Ivy had gifted him, shaped by their own hand from scrap guitar strings. The first Fantomen he'd gotten, all those years ago. Phantom was given a new one, apparently not too dear a price from the Ministry for their newest summon. Gifts from fans, piles and piles of them, carefully kept safe in a plexiglass case. He'd kept almost everything he'd been given; if he could fit it into a nook or cranny of a gear box or a bunk, he would. Dew had found some little trinket tucked into his guitar case when he opened it up for the first time to prep for tour, and it's been on his bedside table ever since. It's all lovingly ensconced in an explosion of flowers that Mountain maintains like a soul-bound duty, heliotrope and lavender and aster and stargazer lilies, each one beautiful and perfect.

"I think that would be nice. I haven't been since we got back. The lilies should be blooming, and I think Mountain will forgive me if I take one for myself." Copia muses, wondering if he can find some little bud vase that he can get Rain and Mountain to jointly enchant to have a perpetual flower on his desk.

"Oh, you know those things make me sick whenever you handle them too much." Dew grumbles, but it's playful, light, and the beat of his tail on the bed says as much.

"Ah, so I shouldn't wear my gloves to pick one? Wouldn't want those dreadful lilies near your, eh, most sensitive parts." Copia gets a wicked little smile, and Dew pushes him away with a groan, flopping back to the bed and watching as a couple of feathers float up from it.

"You're so lucky I love you."

"I am."

#dew/copia #dewdrop ghoul #papa emeritus iv #ghost #the band ghost #ghost bc #my writing #im fine :)

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