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junghelioseok · 5 years ago

Text

covenant.

↳ your best friend’s engagement forces you to reevaluate your own feelings.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | angst | werewolf!au | f2l!au ◇ 16.4k [1/1]

⇢ arguably also an arranged marriage!au, ft. kinda sorta dumbasses to lovers? a very, very late bday fic for the most beautiful man in the universe and my favorite funky lil dancer. ♡

notes: i started this in my drafts well over three months ago and all it said was “this ain’t gonna be on time for hobi’s bday i can feel it” and damn if past!me wasn’t right on the money!!! this has undergone three edits, going from 14.6k to 16.4k somehow, and i am going to lose my whole damn mind if i don’t just post it so here it is! hope you enjoy!

warnings: dom!hobi, alpha!hobi, bit of dirty talk, oral (f receiving), some grinding against hobi’s thigh, knotting, hobi’s got a big dick idk, also he’s in heat!!! but things eventually get really soft bc i love him and am a Soft Bitch™ 🤷🏻‍♀️

It’s going to rain.

You can smell it in the air and feel the damp chill against your skin, permeating through every layer of your clothing. The surrounding forest and all its occupants seem to be collectively holding their breath, waiting for the first drops to come. Even your footsteps, soft as they are against the loamy earth, sound much too loud in the hush that’s fallen. Dark clouds gather overhead, looming like an omen, and you silently reach into your purse to check that the umbrella you’d stowed this morning is still there. Vaguely, you wonder if it’s big enough for two.

Around you, the trees slowly begin to dwindle, until there’s only open sky above your head and a wide grassy expanse beneath your feet. A certain heaviness lingers in the air here—a low thrum of energy, born from the ancient magic that sleeps in the gnarled roots of the tree that sits in the center of the clearing. You can feel it prickling along your skin, raising gooseflesh and igniting your veins, and the closer you get, the stronger the feeling becomes.

At the far end of the clearing, you spot a small crowd of people, all clad in black. Your best friend—and your entire reason for venturing out today—stands amongst them in a tailored suit, his black tie snug at his throat and laid atop a charcoal gray shirt. He’s chatting with his father and a few other family members, seemingly calm and collected, but you can tell from the sloppy knot of his tie and the way he fidgets with the hem of his jacket that he is anything but. After all your years of friendship, you can read Jung Hoseok like a book. His auburn hair is disheveled as if he’s been incessantly raking his fingers through it, and even at a distance, you can sense the turmoil in his aura, haloing him like the stormy clouds overhead.

Sensing your approach, Hoseok’s gaze flickers up to meet yours. He raises a hand in greeting and bids farewell to the people he’d been chatting with, picking his way over to you with a wan smile.

“Hey. You made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss this,” you reply, reaching out to take his hand. It’s warm and strong as always, but you don’t miss the slight tremor in his grip. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, a sigh escaping his lips and dissipating into mist in the wintry air. “As well as can be expected, I guess. It just… it all happened so fast.”

“I know,” you murmur, twining your fingers together in quiet reassurance. “I’m so sorry, Hobi.”

“Thanks.”

Slowly, his gaze flits to the center of the clearing where the ancient tree sits, traversing from the leafy canopy all the way down to where the gnarled roots disappear into the dirt. In its shadow sits a polished wooden casket, and you squeeze Hoseok’s hand gently as he walks closer, his eyes beginning to glisten.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, you know,” he mumbles. “All these years of war, of negotiations and peace talks, finally seeing the Accords pass and the company flourish… and now he’s gone. Cancer. Just like that.”

His voice cracks on the last sentence, and you clasp his hand a little tighter. You know as well as he does that a healthy werewolf can live for well over a century, if not for the human genetics that remain susceptible to human weaknesses and disease. True immortality afflicts only the faeries and the vampires of your world—and even then, there are still ways that those folk can die.

“He lived a long life,” you say after a moment’s hesitation, grasping onto any semblance of comfort you can offer. Together, you and Hoseok come to a stop in the shadow of the tree, peering at the closed casket where his grandfather lays. “And it was a good, just life. Not all of us can say that.”

A lone, wet droplet falls onto the polished mahogany, and Hoseok hastily wipes his eyes, tilting his head skyward. “Not long enough,” he whispers. “He still had so much to do. I… I still have so much I wanted to do—to say. And now I’ll never be able to.”

You caress a thumb across his knuckles, the motion soft and tender. “I know. And I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

Hoseok glances down at that, a glimmer of something manic and desperate swimming in his amber-flecked irises. “You could,” he says, grabbing both your hands and clutching them to his chest like a lifeline. “You could bring him back. You know how, don’t you?”

You shake your head sadly, hating the way his frown deepens as you free yourself from his grasp. “That’s forbidden magic, Hobi. That’s necromancy. You know I can’t do that.”

Hoseok’s entire body sags, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a heavy sigh. Instinctively, you step forward to wrap him in a hug, and he loops his arms around your waist automatically, pulling you flush against him. “I know,” he mumbles into your hair. Then he huffs out a dry chuckle, humorless and deprecating. “Fuck. I’m a mess, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. Instead, you hold him a little tighter, rubbing his back soothingly in long, slow motions—the same way his mother used to do during bedtime. His heart thuds erratically in his chest, fast and frenzied like a caged bird, but lulls as you continue your ministrations, settling into an even rhythm once more.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a few moments, his warm breath caressing your cheek. “For coming today. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You can do anything, Hobi,” you reassure, running a thumb along the sharp line of his jaw when he raises his head to look at you. “With or without me. But… you’re welcome, all the same.”

Your presence at this funeral is unusual, and both you and Hoseok know it. Werewolf packs tend to keep their rites and ceremonies private, and the Gwangju pack is no different. Led by Hoseok’s father, and his late grandfather before him, the werewolves of the city have rapidly risen to prominence and power, aided in large part by the founding of JungTech. The company, started by Hoseok’s grandfather, began as a small operation in a battered old warehouse, but quickly grew to become one of Gwangju’s biggest corporations after the signing of the Accords twenty years ago. The peace treaty marked the start of a tenuous coexistence between humankind and Shadowfolk, and, together with your fellow witches—along with the werewolves, vampires, and the few fair folk who decided to leave their homes deep in the forests—you migrated into cities all over the country to forge new lives.

It’s proven easier for some. While the wolves of the city have found tolerance—acceptance, even—you have not fared quite as well. Humans, you have found, tend to fear the ancient magic that runs through your veins. Though nothing you’ve faced comes remotely close to what your ancestors faced in centuries past, you remain wary of those who take a little too much interest in your abilities.

You’re a bit paranoid, your familiar, Bast, has remarked on more than one occasion. But it’s justified, so I suppose it’s all right.

As if sensing that your thoughts have turned to him, Bast stirs in the back of your mind. You feel him yawn and stretch lazily before there’s a tug on the soles of your feet, as if the force of gravity has suddenly, inexplicably doubled. Then he’s materializing—morphing out of the spot where your shadow would be if the sun were shining, taking the form of an inky black cat with sharp, golden eyes. Hoseok perks up when Bast loops between his ankles, and immediately squats down to scratch behind his ears, a small smile settling across his face as a low, content purr rumbles up from beneath his fingertips. From elsewhere in the clearing, a single howl rises up into the air, forlorn and wavering.

It’s starting, Bast says in your head. At the same time, Hoseok straightens to his full height, fiddling with the hem of his black jacket and looking over at you tentatively.

“Sounds like they’re getting started,” he says.

You nod. “I should go.”

Hoseok opens his mouth as if to protest—as if to say no, stay—but you know better and cut him off with a single raised finger.

“I’ll go,” you murmur. “This is a private rite, and I don’t want to break centuries of tradition by overstaying my welcome. Go join your pack, Hobi.”

“Will I see you later?”

“Without a doubt.”

Your parting gesture is to reach out and grab his hand, tucking a little drawstring bag into his palm and closing his fingers over it. “Valerian root and chamomile,” you tell him gently, taking in his rumpled collar and the dark bags beneath his eyes. “Make some tea tonight. It’ll help.”

Hoseok swallows and nods, his features softening as he gazes down at his hand cupped in your smaller ones. He looks like he wants to say something, but another howl interrupts, disrupting whatever thoughts he may have had. Instead, he nods again, murmuring a soft goodbye before turning on his heel to join the rest of the pack gathering around the raised casket. You turn as well, leaving behind the ancient clearing with Bast trotting by your side.

Up above, the heavens finally open, drenching the dirt path beneath your feet with rain. And behind you, the single howl is joined by dozens more, echoing mournfully up into the weeping sky.

///

You’re in the middle of straightening out a display of dittany when the kettle begins to boil, emitting three short, shrill whistles accompanied by a long stream of whirling steam. When silence falls over the shop once more, you wander over to where the kettle sits—atop a small wooden end table next to an old wardrobe. It’s an old relic that’s been passed down through generations of witches in your family, wrought out of silvery metal and suspended in an iron frame above a single lit candle. The flame is glowing pink, flickering in a nonexistent gust of wind, and you smile. Quietly, you grab two teacups from a nearby shelf.

Not two seconds later, the door of the old wardrobe creaks open, revealing the familiar face of Kim Seokjin behind it. A fellow witch and a good friend of yours, Jin has made a name for himself as a baker, running a café in Seoul that offers all sorts of confections—both with magical properties and without. His hair is dyed a muted dusty rose—a stark contrast to the casual black hoodie and jeans he’s wearing—and you reach out to push a stray lock back from his forehead in lieu of a greeting.

“Your hair’s pink again,” you remark. “I like it.”

Jin grins, his plush lips pulling back to reveal perfect teeth. “Thanks.” Carefully, he steps out of the wardrobe and shuts the door behind him. A beat of silence passes, and you take the opportunity to select a canister of tea leaves. You don’t miss the flicker of solemnity that settles into Jin’s features, though, listening as he clears his throat before voicing the question that is undoubtedly the reason behind his unexpected visit.

“So. How’s Hoseok holding up?”

Jin has never been one to mince his words. You suppose you appreciate that about him.

Quietly, you lift the kettle out of its stand and beckon for him to join you at the little wooden table at the front of your shop. It’s tucked neatly into the nook carved out by one of the two bay windows on either side of the front door, flanked by two well-worn, mismatched chairs. Atop it sits a pile of books—everything from ancient remedies to common household spells.

One book in particular always sits open—a detailed list of all the herbs and plants you carry in your shop, along with the various concoctions you’ve created with them. Hellebore, the spine of the book reads, and it’s the same word that graces your storefront in flowing, golden text. An apothecary of sorts, you spend your days dealing out potions and remedies to those in need, both human and Shadowfolk. You do your best to help, for all the times modern medicine has come up short and left someone wanting.

“Honestly? I don’t think he’s been sleeping.” You set the teacups down onto the table and fill them both before handing one over to Jin. “I saw him this morning, at the funeral. He looked exhausted.”

Jin’s brows disappear behind his pink hair. “You went to the funeral?”

“I didn’t stay,” you clarify, taking a sip of your tea. “Just wanted to drop by, say hello, and pay my respects.”

“Werewolves are a private bunch,” Jin remarks. “I’m surprised.”

You shrug. “Hoseok wanted me to be there. So I went.”

“I see.” He doesn’t say anything further, and neither do you, lapsing instead into a comfortable silence that’s broken only by the occasional sip of tea and the clinking of china. Your gaze wanders, drifting over to the front door of your shop, painted a cheerful green and set with a flowery stained glass window that throws kaleidoscopic rainbows across the cream walls and dark wooden floor. Sunlight streams through the wide bay windows, illuminating the interior in warm, hazy gold. On the other side of the room, Bast is curled up, fast asleep on his favorite plush bench beside the glass door that leads to the greenhouse, perfectly haloed by the sun.

“Must be nice being able to fall asleep anywhere,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Jin hears you anyway, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You sound jealous.”

“Maybe I am,” you reply, laughing with him. “Speaking of which, where’s Adam? Did he stay home?”

Jin nods, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the wardrobe. “Yeah, he’s keeping an eye on the café. Told me to say hi to you for him, though.”

You giggle at the thought of Jin’s familiar, a long-haired sheepdog with a stubborn streak the size of the Nile and blatant disdain for following orders—especially those that come from Jin himself. “Keeping watch, or trashing the place?” you tease.

“With my luck, probably both,” Jin admits with a sigh. “I should probably get back there soon. He ate all the egg tarts last time.”

“Bring him with you next time,” you advise. “Bast will keep him entertained.”

He grins. “I don’t doubt it.”

Finishing off the last of his tea, he stands up and taps the rim of his cup, murmuring a soft cleaning spell under his breath. You smile gratefully as he replaces it back onto the shelf with the others, and stand to walk him back over to the wardrobe. Opening up the creaky door, you watch him clamber inside, standing amongst the hanging coats and the single pair of shoes on the bottom shelf.

“See you later,” you murmur. “Give Adam my best.”

Jin nods. “See you.”

He shuts the door, and you watch the flame of the candle once again turn a soft, roseate pink. It flickers briefly, dancing in an invisible breeze, before reverting back to the color of regular fire, signaling Jin’s departure. Quietly, you clean your own teacup and return it to the shelf.

The remainder of the afternoon passes with few customers, so you opt to close down early and head to your apartment, located up a short flight of stairs on the second floor of the shop. You’re rifling through the refrigerator for dinner ingredients and humming softly under your breath when your phone suddenly rings, Hoseok’s name lighting up the screen in bright white text. “Hey, Hobi,” you say, swiping across the glass to answer. “What’s up?”

On the other end of the line, Hoseok exhales shakily. “Can you come over?”

You blink, glancing at the darkening sky outside. “Now?”

“Yeah. Fuck, sorry. I know it’s late, but I really… I really need to talk to someone. I—” His voice cracks, and your heart sinks. “I need you.”

“Say no more.” Straightening up, you shut the refrigerator door and tug off your apron. “I’ll be there in half an hour. Have you eaten yet?”

Hoseok sighs. “No.”

“I’ll bring takeout,” you decide, already glancing around for your purse. “See you soon, okay?”

Bidding him farewell, you don your coat and head out the door, locking up behind you. Hoseok lives downtown in a sleek, modern penthouse that’s normally a twenty-minute walk away from Hellebore, but after stopping by the restaurant on the corner for food, you opt to catch the bus instead. Fifteen minutes after you hang up the phone, you are rapping the bronze knocker on Hoseok’s front door, a paper bag and a bottle of wine in hand.

Almost instantly, the door is flung open. Hoseok stands in the threshold as if he’s been waiting there, his auburn hair wild and his eyes even wilder. His aura is turbulent, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You raise the bag. “I brought dinner.”

“You’re the best,” he sighs, stepping aside to let you in.

Hoseok’s apartment toes the line between modern and cozy in a way that only Hoseok’s apartment could—with lush green plants and plushy, earth-toned furniture to offset the cold impersonality of the floor-to-ceiling windows and the stainless steel kitchen. Flicking on the kitchen light, you set the food down on the granite countertop and grab two wine glasses out of the cabinet. Hoseok sidles over as you pour a generous helping into each glass, rifling through the silverware drawer for utensils.

“Smells good,” he murmurs, popping a box open. “I’m starving. Thanks for bringing dinner.”

You brush off his gratitude and hand him a glass, raising yours so you can clink it gently against his. Quietly, the two of you fall into a comfortable routine, with Hoseok grabbing the food and you grabbing the bottle of wine to bring into the living room. You help him clear off the coffee table and arrange the food, then settle onto the couch beside him, sipping your drink in silence and patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Years of friendship have taught you that he’ll talk when he’s ready, and you’re content to wait as long as he needs.

Sighing, Hoseok tips the rest of his wine back into his mouth before setting the empty glass down with a soft plink. “So,” he begins, not quite looking you in the eye. “My dad and I had lunch today.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He takes several more seconds to muster up the words, and when he finally finds them, they’re exhaled in a tumbling rush. “He told me that he’s pleased with how I’m running JungTech. It’s been over a year, and things are going well… so he wants to expedite my takeover of the pack. In two months, he wants me to take over as the alpha. And…” He swallows. “He wants me to settle down.”

Perturbed, you blink. “What?”

Hoseok finally looks at you, his expression frighteningly devoid of emotion. “He wants me to get married, {Name}.”

Comprehension doesn’t settle in right away. But when it does, your jaw drops to the floor, landing somewhere alongside the ornamental persian carpet and a stray sock that has no doubt jumped ship from Hoseok’s laundry.

“W-what?” you manage after a few long seconds of gaping at him. “Why? Why now? That’s so… that’s completely out of the blue.”

Hoseok shakes his head, a few shaggy strands of auburn hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes. “It’s not, actually. He’s been talking about it for a long time—trying to arrange something with one of the other pack families. It’s tradition, you know? Mating within the pack, keeping the bloodlines pure through marriage. The difference is that Pops always talked him out of it. Always said I was too young, that there was no rush, that I should wait for someone I love, my true mate...” He sighs, heavily. “But he’s gone now. And Dad’s decided that he’s done waiting.”

You shouldn’t ask. You shouldn’t, because you know it’ll hurt, but the question comes regardless—leaving your lips in a near whisper. “Who?”

Hoseok takes a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he exhales. “Do you remember Im Nayeon?”

You do. You’ve known Nayeon almost as long as you’ve known Hoseok—the three of you having attended the same schools starting from elementary all the way up until Hoseok left to attend university in Seoul. Admittedly, you were never close—and if you were completely honest, you always found her to be a bit disingenuous for your tastes. Nevertheless, you often found yourself at the same events—parties and gatherings you attended at Hoseok’s request, and that she was privy to due to her family’s high-ranking status within the Gwangju pack.

“I remember,” you tell him, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. “Does… does she know yet? Have you met up with her?”

Hoseok nods. “She was there this morning, at the funeral. We talked a little bit and got coffee after, but… this is all happening so fast.” Slowly, he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, a sigh escaping his parted lips. “But there’s nothing I can do, right? It’s enough that Dad’s somehow talked Mom into the whole thing, but now he’s gotten the Council on board too. Did you know that Nayeon has an uncle on the Council? It’s insane, right?”

“Insane,” you agree in a whisper, doing your best to ignore the way your heart is splintering at the edges.

“You know, I always thought my Dad pressuring me was bad.” Hoseok buries his face in his hands, peering at you from between his splayed fingers when you hum in acknowledgment. “But this? The entire Council on my back? This is way worse.”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know what else there is to say. Your ribcage feels like it’s been split open and filled with burning coals, weighing hot and heavy on your insides.

Hoseok has dated in the past, of course. You both have—chasing that elusive, fluttery feeling called love and never quite being able to catch it and hold on. Hoseok’s last relationship fizzled long before he graduated from university, having lasted only about six months. You distinctly remember meeting the girl during one of your frequent visits to Seoul, at a small party hosted by Hoseok and his friends. By your next visit, however, things had already ended. He never really told you why the breakup occurred either—only that the relationship never would have lasted in the long run.

Perhaps foolishly, you chose not to pry.

“Is there anything I can do?” you ask softly. Reaching out, you take ahold of his hand and tug it into your lap, threading your fingers into the gaps between his. The gesture is familiar and comforting, like cocoa in front of a lit fireplace, and you can’t even begin to fathom the idea of another person sitting here and holding his hand in your stead.

“Just talk to me,” Hoseok entreaties, squeezing your fingers. “Distract me. What’s going on with you?”

You hum, swallowing down the lump in your throat and letting your head fall onto his shoulder as you pick through the events of the past week for the most interesting tidbits. “Bast has been bringing me dead rats lately,” you finally say, nose scrunching at the memory. “You should see the size of them—they’re almost bigger than he is. And they smell like the sewers, because I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s where he’s getting them from. It’s horrid.”

Hoseok huffs out a stilted laugh. “Sewer rats? Gross.”

“It’s not all bad, to be honest,” you tell him, nestling a little closer to the warmth of his body. Hoseok keeps his apartment chillier than you’re accustomed to, and you’re beyond grateful for the furnace-like heat he gives off naturally. “The bones are pretty useful. The tails too, provided you don’t tell people what they actually are.”

His laugh is much more genuine this time. “Tricky little minx,” he says, amusement lacing his tone. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

You ignore the uptick in your heart rate at his approval, grateful that he can’t see your face as a pulse of heat flushes your cheeks. Instead, you burrow into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Hoseok smells like the forest—fresh and woodsy, with a slight floral undercurrent from his fabric softener. It smells like home, and you smile when his arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders.

“Jin came by today,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” The monosyllabic response rumbles through his chest.

“Yeah. He asked about you, too. You should probably text him later.”

Hoseok hums a confirmation, and, satisfied, you cuddle a little closer to him. You pull at the afghan he keeps laid over the back of the couch, laying it comfortably over your lap as he rests his head gently atop yours, his ear pressed to your crown. Your eyes fall shut as you listen to the rhythmic thud of his pulse—solid and steady, backed by the soft hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic on the street far below.

It’s comfortable, sitting with him like this. Comfortable, stroking his arm with your fingertips, in time with the drumbeat of his heart. Ever so gradually, Hoseok’s breathing evens out, and you briefly think that you could stay like this—encapsulated in this delicate, iridescent bubble of contentment—for the rest of your life.

You know the thing about bubbles, though? Bast remarks dryly in your head. They burst.

I know, you sigh.

I know.

///

There’s something soothing about taking inventory—something calming in the repetition of walking down the aisles of Hellebore and restocking the shelves one by one. You’d woken this morning to an apologetic Hoseok making pancakes in the kitchen, his residual heat and woodsy scent lingering on the blanket tucked around your body. After a harried breakfast and a promise to text you later, Hoseok rushed off to the office.

You, in turn, returned to your shop, where you grabbed every ounce of cleaning supplies you possess and scrubbed the place from top to bottom, foregoing all of your usual dishwashing charms and dust-clearing jinxes. The physical labor is a welcome distraction from the events and revelations of last night, and you’ve thrown yourself wholeheartedly into all the chores you need to complete.

“Almost out of rosehip oil,” you mutter, eyeing the half-empty vial and making a note to extract more from one of several plants in your greenhouse. “Low on valerian too, hmm…”

The bell over the front door jingles merrily, diverting your attention away from your task. “{Name}?” a voice calls softly. A moment later, a familiar head of coppery red hair pops around the edge of the shelves, choppy bangs framing a soft, warm face. “Hey, there you are. You busy?”

You shake your head and shut your inventory book, setting it down on the nearest shelf. “Not terribly, no. What brings you here today, Lisa?”

Lisa’s answering smile is sheepish. “Got something to return,” she says, holding up a little glass jar full of lavender colored pills that you immediately recognize. “I’m guessing you’ve already heard the news. Looks like I won’t be needing these anymore, right?”

Your laugh sounds brittle, even to your own ears. “Right. Yeah. Not anymore.”

For just over ten years, Lisa has been the wolf assigned to help Hoseok through his heat. Between his family’s status and his longtime designation as the next alpha of the Gwangju pack, it’s imperative for Hoseok to avoid anything that might be perceived as scandalous. Torrid sex stories splashed across tabloid covers is the last thing a man like Hoseok needs, and that’s where Lisa comes in. Once a year, for three days, she goes to him, and no one is none the wiser. Her job is one that calls for the utmost discretion, and as the daughter of a high-ranking Council official, no one understood that better than she did. You’d only found out because of your role as one of the few witches in the country who makes and stocks the proper contraceptives for such wolves—the dosage much stronger than the human equivalent.

And when Lisa had first approached you to purchase the pills, you’d dropped two jars and nearly set fire to a third. Your stomach had fallen to somewhere around your toes, right alongside the shattered glass and little lavender tablets.

You’d chalked the accident up to surprise. Hoseok hadn’t mentioned anything to you, after all, and you’d known very little about the intricacies of werewolf heats back then, having just opened your shop at age eighteen. But surprise doesn’t explain the snaking jealousy that bubbles up in your tummy every time Lisa comes in to restock her supply of pills, nor does it explain the overwhelming sense of relief you feel now as she presses the unopened jar into your hands.

“I still can’t believe he’s going to be the most powerful man in Gwangju soon.” Lisa steps back, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting out a soft sigh. “And now he’s engaged, too. It’s pretty crazy, huh?”

“Crazy,” you agree tonelessly, turning to replace the jar onto the appropriate shelf.

Lisa, however, is nothing if not perceptive. A gentle hand lands on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey,” she begins, soft and slow. “You know you can talk to me, right? Are you—?”

But the sound of the bell drowns out the rest of her question, metallic and bright in the quiet of your shop. “Hello? Anyone home?” a cheery voice asks.

“Be right there,” you say immediately, shrugging off Lisa’s hand and stepping out from amongst the shelves. There’s a young woman standing at the checkout counter, rifling through the collection of seeds on display, and you cringe as she replaces a few packets in the wrong spots. “How can I help you?”

At the sound of your voice, the woman turns gracefully on her heel, her expression a perfectly crafted amalgamation of surprise and delight. “{Name}!” she exclaims, stepping forward with an outstretched arm. “Long time no see!”

“N-Nayeon,” you stammer, the shock of seeing her face freezing you in place. “What… what brings you here?”

The dark-haired woman steps forward to pull you into a hug, enveloping you in her fruity perfume. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to catch up with an old friend?” she asks playfully.

We were never friends, you want to say. In your head, Bast lets out a derisive snort of agreement. Lisa, you notice, has conveniently melted away somewhere amidst the organized chaos of your shop, disappearing into the myriad shelves and knickknacks.

“Plus, I really wanted to look at some flowers,” Nayeon continues, betraying her true purpose at last. “You’ve heard, haven’t you? About my engagement? I’m sure Hoseok—I mean, my fiancé—has mentioned it to you, of all people. You are his best friend, after all.”

The inside of the shop is beginning to feel stifling. Perspiration trickles down your neck and you tug at your collar, loosening the material from where it’s plastered against your skin. “Sure,” you manage, once you feel like you can breathe again. “Right. Sure. The flowers are right this way, if you want to follow me.”

I’d forgotten how much I don’t like her, your familiar remarks dryly in your head.

Shut up, Bast.

Mercifully, he does. There’s a tug on your feet, and you glance down just in time to see him morph out of the shadow you cast against the sun-drenched floor. Ghostly and amorphous at first, he quickly solidifies into the feline figure you’ve grown accustomed to, and slinks protectively around your ankles before darting off to perch in the cushioned bay window seat.

Conveniently, that’s also where the flower display is. Colorful blooms and trailing leaves adorn the wooden shelves and tables in this particular corner of the shop, and you force yourself to shift back into professional mode as you come to a stop in front of an assortment of honeysuckle. “So, what kind of flowers are you looking for?” you ask, brushing your fingers along the pale yellow petals.

Nayeon hums thoughtfully and picks up a potted rosebush, examining it from all angles. “Roses, maybe. Are roses too clichéd now?” She brings the crimson buds closer and inhales, eyes fluttering shut. “No matter. I’ve always liked them.”

“They’re beautiful,” you agree, turning your attention to the selection of roses lining the topmost shelf. “Do you have a color preferen—?”

“Or maybe these would be better,” Nayeon interrupts, plucking up a pale pink calla lily from the bouquet you keep in a table display. “Or that one—what is it?”

You follow the trajectory of her gaze to a bunch of little white flowers with golden centers, stark against the dark dirt and surrounding green foliage. “That would be bloodroot,” you answer. “One of my personal favorites—it’s both ornamental and medicinal. It would look lovely in a bouquet.”

Nayeon pulls a face and shakes her head. “No, no—I don’t want anything with such a horrible name. What about these?” she asks, reaching up to take a closer look at a larger bloom. “Peonies, right?”

By the time Nayeon makes it back to the checkout counter with a few sample rose cuttings in hand, you’re fairly certain that several eternities have passed. “Is there anything else you need?” you ask as you ring her up and wrap the flowers neatly in paper.

“A discount for an old friend?” she queries, shooting you a playful wink. When you don’t answer right away, she giggles. “I’m kidding! Obviously, I’ll pay. It’s not like I’m pressed for money—I mean, you’ve seen who my fiancé is, right? Now gosh, where did I put my wallet?”

Your cheeks are beginning to feel far too hot. Nayeon is still rummaging in her purse, and you quickly duck beneath the counter under the pretense of looking for some ribbon to tie off the bouquet. Fanning your face, you take a few deep breaths, listening as she continues chattering away.

“We’re having dinner tonight, actually, Hoseok and I. It’ll be our second real date, and… wait!” She gasps, and you peer up just in time to see her slap a hand over her perfectly lacquered mouth. “You should come! Bring someone, if you can—it’ll be like a double date!”

If you can? Bast snipes. Curse her.

You sigh inwardly and straighten back up, ribbon in hand. Shut up, Bast.

If you won’t, I will.

You’ll do no such thing.

Mustering up your best, most earnest smile, you hand over the wrapped flowers along with her change. “That sounds like fun,” you tell her, ignoring the way your insides lurch at the lie. “When and where?”

Nayeon beams and rattles off the address of an unfamiliar restaurant. “Don’t be late!” she calls as she heads for the door. The bell jangles cheerily as she departs, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, Lisa pokes her head around a nearby bookshelf.

“Finally,” she sighs, walking over to join you. “I thought she’d never leave.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn’t dare speak ill of a customer, but you’re willing to make an exception today. “You and me both,” you reply, watching as Bast slinks over like a shadow and hops onto the counter beside you. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your elbow in silent solidarity, and you mindlessly begin scratching behind his ears as Lisa speaks again.

“Are you really going to go to that dinner tonight?”

You meet her gaze, shrugging. “I already said I would. Do I really have a choice?”

There isn’t much else to say, and both you and she know it. Pushing off from where she’s leaning against the countertop, Lisa flips her coppery hair over her shoulder and shoots you a look, brown eyes full of sympathy. “Good luck,” she says sincerely. You get the feeling that she wants to say something else, but decides against it at the last minute. Instead, she bids you goodbye and walks out with a wave and another chime of the bell. Silence settles over the shop once more, and you allow yourself a few moments to breathe—slow and deep, in and out—before picking up your phone and opening up the most recent text messages. It doesn’t take long to find the name you’re looking for, but you still pause, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before you begin to type.

[4:21pm] You: how would you like to join me for a very awkward dinner date?

[4:21pm] Jin: consider me intrigued.

///

You and Jin arrive at the restaurant first. It’s an ornate, palatial place with tuxedoed waitstaff and a coat room, and despite giving the name ‘Jung’ at the door, you’re certain that Hoseok played no part in the venue selection. The host ushers you to a booth tucked in the back, the cushioned seats a velvety burgundy and a chandelier glittering overhead, throwing refracted, iridescent light across the veined marble table. All of a sudden, the simple black dress you’re wearing feels painfully inadequate. Glancing down at your feet, you wonder if you should have worn heels instead.

Beside you, Jin cuts a striking figure in a creamy silk shirt with ribbons that tie into a bow at his throat, the material loose and flowy up until where it tucks into fitted black slacks. His pink hair complements the elegant outfit perfectly, parted and swept off his forehead to reveal his dark brows.

As if reading your mind, he lays a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he says, before gesturing at the booth. “Now, do you want the inside or outside? Think you’ll need to make a quick getaway at some point?”

“Probably,” you sigh. Jin nods and sits down first, and you watch him slide across the seat cushion before settling in beside him. “I still can’t believe you volunteered to be here,” you murmur, plucking up one of the folded cloth napkins and fiddling with the crisp white edges. “You’re a saint, I swear.”

Jin chuckles and plucks the napkin from your clasped hands, laying it across your lap instead. “Not a saint,” he says, matching your soft tone. “Just someone who cares about you.”

Your cheeks warm at his sudden proximity. “Thank you,” you tell him, for what must be the umpteenth time. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you don’t have to, then,” he replies with a grin. “Now, chin up. They just walked in.”

You can’t help the groan that escapes you. “Is it too late to run?”

“Afraid so,” he answers honestly.

And then Nayeon is slipping into the cushioned seat opposite you, syrupy smile in place on her berry lacquered lips. “Hi!” she chirps, laying a hand on Hoseok’s arm as he sits down beside her. “Sorry we’re late. We, um…” She pauses and shoots Hoseok a conspiratorial look, giggling. “... lost track of the time.”

Your magic flares, hot and bright in your veins, and you know Jin feels it too when he lays a cautionary hand on your knee beneath the table. “We weren’t waiting long,” he says, offering the two a genial smile. He’s perfectly polite as he and Nayeon exchange quick introductions, and gestures toward the assortment of menus on the table as soon as everyone has settled down. “Why don’t we order some wine to start?”

“Oh, that’s a splendid idea! Isn’t that a splendid idea, Hoseok?” Nayeon turns to the auburn-haired man beside her, and you do the same, gaze landing on Hoseok for the first time tonight. He’s in an all black ensemble, sharp jacket layered over a silky black shirt, the top buttons loosened to bare a tantalizing sliver of golden skin. His auburn hair is parted, a stray lock falling across his forehead, and you shiver when you realize he’s staring right back at you with dark, unreadable eyes.

At the sound of Nayeon’s voice, Hoseok seems to snap out of his trance, his expression smoothing out as he plasters on a smile. “Take a look at the menu,” he says, picking up the leather-bound book and offering it to her. “Dinner’s on me.”

You blink. “We can’t let you do that, Hobi.”

“Let me pick up at least part of the tab,” Jin adds, already reaching for his wallet. “I’m no corporate bigshot, but I do well enough for myself.”

“No need to be modest,” you chime in, nudging him playfully. “Weren’t you just telling me about your new restaurant opening on the way over? Next week, right?”

Jin’s ears redden as all the attention is turned onto him. “Next week, yeah.”

“That’s amazing!” Nayeon chirps, pressing closer to Hoseok. “We’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe a date night, right, darling?”

Hoseok busies himself with rearranging his cutlery, swapping the knife and fork around. “Right—sure. If we ever make it up to Seoul, we’ll, uh… we’ll definitely stop by. Congratulations, man.”

The conversation continues. A server stops by to take your wine order, and Jin decides on a moderately priced bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Glasses are brought over, and wine is poured. Hoseok finishes his quickly and pours himself another, and though his wolf metabolism prevents him from getting drunk off of regular wine, you know that he’s a bit of a lightweight and tends to avoid drinking heavily no matter what the beverage. He’s drinking with a purpose tonight, and you’re beyond grateful when Jin pipes up with yet another story when the conversation lulls.

“And then I found out that the oven was on the whole time! Adam would probably let the entire apartment go up in flames just to spite me—I should watch my back.”

“Or, you know, just watch the oven more closely,” you tease. “I’ve seen your place, Jin—it’s a complete fire hazard. It’s a wonder it hasn’t burned to the ground already.”

Jin sniffs. “You’re exaggerating. Stop making me look bad.”

“You make yourself look bad,” you retort, laughing when his lower lip juts out into a pout.

Across the table, Hoseok clears his throat. “Speaking of fire hazards—did I ever tell you about the time {Name} set me on fire?”

“I did no such thing!” you protest, reaching over to slap his arm. “I mean, okay, maybe a little bit, but that was one time! And you were barely singed!”

Hoseok snorts out a laugh. “Barely singed? I couldn’t sit properly for a week.”

“Oh please, that’s a lie and you know it!”

Nayeon interrupts your conversation with a loud huff, setting her wineglass down with enough force to thud against the veined marble tabletop. “Do one of you maybe want to fill us in on the joke here?”

Abashed, you glance back at Hoseok, watching as his smile slowly fades back into the careful, neutral expression he’s worn all evening. “Sorry,” you murmur. “It’s an old story from when we were kids—when we first met, actually. We were seven years old, and it was the second day of school. I didn’t have a very good handle on my magic yet, and accidentally set Hoseok’s tail on fire during recess.”

“I preferred to run around in my wolf form back then,” Hoseok further elaborates. “There was a big field out behind the school—remember that, {Name}?”

You nod. “Of course. It went right up to the very edge of the woods. And if you kept going and went far enough, you reached the old wooden bridge.”

Hoseok is smiling again, soft and fond. “That thing was a death trap.”

“But the teachers could never keep us away,” you say, grinning at him.

“All right,” Nayeon interrupts again, sniffing disdainfully. “Enough about the old days—I think it’s time to talk about the present. And more importantly, the future.” She sighs happily and props her chin up in her palm, ensuring that the delicate golden band on her ring finger is on full display, the metal glimmering in the warm light. “You’re both invited to the wedding, of course. And I never did properly thank you for the flowers today, {Name}!”

Her words seem to come as a surprise to Hoseok, who straightens up in his seat. “Flowers? You visited Hellebore today?”

“Of course I did!” Nayeon hides a giggle behind a manicured hand. “I wouldn’t even think of trusting anyone else with my bouquet.”

Hoseok’s gaze skitters over to you, awash with concern and tinged with apology, but you ignore him in favor of forcing your expression into something that’s meant to be a smile. Yet no matter how much you strain your cheeks and stretch your lips, it feels—and looks, you’re sure—far more like a grimace.

“I’m happy to do it,” you lie, your teeth gritted and tight. “I don’t mind it one bit.”

///

“So. That was just as awkward as promised.”

You and Jin are walking back to Hellebore, leaving behind the bustling downtown area for the darker, quieter streets of your neighborhood. Your companion’s hair is tinged orange in the glow from the streetlamps, and you can only chuckle humorlessly when he turns to you and raises his eyebrows.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I was duly warned,” Jin agrees.

A car drives by, the headlights throwing Jin’s profile into stark relief. His expression is solemn but he doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. The remainder of the walk passes in silence, broken only by the occasional strain of conversation from passersby and the low drone of late night traffic. You reach Hellebore with no incidents, and you muffle a yawn as Jin steps into the wardrobe to go back to Seoul.

Just before he shuts the door behind him, he shoots you a meaningful glance over his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel, you know. He deserves to know. And you… you deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t need him to. Long after he’s gone, his remark echoes in your head, and no matter what, you simply cannot seem to shake it.

///

It’s been years since you’ve last gone to the old bridge, but after last night’s conversation you find yourself pulled back, lured by the promise of memories of a kinder time. The forest beyond the field hasn’t changed much since your school days, and neither, you realize, has the bridge itself. It still stands tall, proudly spanning the steep ravine that your teachers warned you about, the rickety wood splitting apart at the seams and overgrown with lichen and climbing ivy. Far below, the white-capped river rushes by on its long, turbulent journey to the sea.

Carefully, you step onto the bridge—first one foot, then the other. The energy in the air shifts as soon as your feet leave the loamy earth, finding traction instead on hewn wood, and you sigh as your fingertips brush against the railing. The magic here is an old magic—different from the ancient magic that dwells in places like the werewolves’ clearing and the realms of the fae. The low thrum of it fills the air and seeps into your veins, quickening your pulse and prickling your skin.

“I thought you might be here.” The voice comes from your left, barely audible over the rush of the river.

“You thought right,” you reply, stepping forward until you’re toeing the railing and leaning over to stare down into the swirling, eddying waters below.

Hoseok joins you at the edge. His profile is stark against the leafy green backdrop, and for a few moments, all is still. Then: “I’m really sorry about last night.”

The apology hangs in the silence for a few moments before fading into the sound of churning water and wind whistling through the trees. You suck in a deep breath, oxygen swelling your lungs until you can hold it in no longer, before letting it escape in a resigned sigh.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Hoseok.”

“Maybe not. But I want to.” He shoots you a sidelong glance. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

You raise a brow. “Make it up to me? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Anything you want.” Hoseok smiles crookedly, but you can’t quell the tumult brewing in your belly.

“What do you want, Hobi?”

His smile fades. “I—” He stops and shakes his head, auburn hair flying. “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is about you.”

You gaze up at him, taking in the sharp cut of his jawline and the straight angle of his nose. Your eyes trail along the smooth slope of his rounded cheeks and the soft curve of his mouth, lingering on the little mole atop his upper lip.

And then you reach out and take his hand, savoring the way his fingers immediately, comfortably settle into the spaces between your own. “Why don’t we head down to the river?” you ask. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been, and I’ve missed it.”

Hoseok’s expression softens, a glimmer of something bright shining in his amber-flecked irises. Gently, he tugs on your hand, taking the lead as you leave the bridge behind and head north in search of the sloping path that will take you down and into the ravine that houses the riverbed. You chance a few glances over the treacherous edge, watching the water froth and tumble over the rocks.

“You know, this seems a lot more dangerous now than it did back then,” you muse. “I see why our teachers were always trying to keep us away.”

“We were kids back then,” Hoseok says, grinning. “We thought we were invincible. Nothing could touch us.”

“Simpler times,” you agree with a laugh. “I set your tail on fire, you cried—”

“—and then we became lifelong friends,” Hoseok finishes, joining in your mirth. “Easy-peasy.”

Together, you locate the path down to the ravine. The descent is easier than it was back then, your longer limbs extending your reach, but you’re grateful for Hoseok’s steadying hand all the same. He carefully guides you around the biggest rocks and tree roots, pulling you closer when you lose your footing near the bottom. His fingers remain twined with yours even after you’ve safely arrived at the riverbed, stepping across stones that have been worn smooth and warmed by the sun. You slip off your shoes, letting them dangle from your free hand, and Hoseok does the same.

Sunlight glitters off the water, throwing a thousand refractive diamonds across the surface, but when you dip your toes in you find that it’s cold as a mountain spring in autumn. That doesn’t stop Hoseok from bending down to splash you though, and you shriek in surprise before retaliating with a silent spell that sends icy water splattering across the faded denim of his jeans.

“That’s not fair!” he protests. “You can’t use magic!”

“I’m just using every resource available to me,” you reply with a sly grin, sending a swelling wave of water toward him with a lazy twist of your hand.

From beneath his drenched hair, Hoseok raises a challenging brow in your direction. “Oh yeah?”

Before you can even blink, he’s shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head, baring a taut, honeyed abdomen and toned arms. Tossing the discarded clothes onto the bank, he unfastens his belt and lets that drop as well, fixing you with a crooked little smirk all the while. The muscles in his torso ripple.

And then he’s shifting—limbs elongating and reddish-brown fur sprouting from his skin. His remaining clothing rips under the strain of the transformation, floating downstream in tattered shreds, but you don’t pay them any mind. No matter how many times you’ve watched Hoseok shift, you’ll never quite get used to it. He hunches over, more beast than man at this point, his chest rumbling. And before you know it—before you can even pinpoint exactly when the transformation is complete—he’s standing before you as a massive russet wolf, baring ferociously sharp teeth that you know could easily tear a man limb from limb.

His eyes, however, remain the same—warm, molten brown flecked with amber and gold, a devilish twinkle lurking in their depths. You cock your head to the side in a silent challenge, and swear that the wolf in front of you grins before pouncing forward, landing in the river with an enormous splash that leaves you thoroughly drenched.

“Now we’re both soaked!” you cry in between giggles, watching as Hoseok emerges from the water, his fur dampened black and dripping. “How is this a win for you?”

Hoseok rears back and lets loose a triumphant howl, shaking himself out and further drenching you with the spray of water from his coat. You squeal and back up several steps, batting him away, but Hoseok just presses closer and nuzzles his wet face into the crook of your neck. His body heaves with every breath, flaring hot against your skin, and for a few long moments, you simply stand there, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as icy water rushes past your ankles.

After what feels like an eternity, you step back, releasing Hoseok and staring up into his face. Even in his wolf form, he towers over you, and you reach up to stroke his muzzle tenderly before bopping him on the nose. “Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s dry off.”

Hoseok lets out a low rumble of agreement, and together, you make your way back to shore. You fold up his discarded clothing while he trots off to locate his shredded jeans, quickly finding them caught between some rocks and carrying the denim tatters back over to you in his teeth. Shaking your head, you add it to the growing pile and lay a hand atop it. Heat concentrates in your fingertips, mingling with the magic running through your veins. Stitch by stitch, his jeans repair themselves, drying in the process. Hoseok bumps your cheek with his nose in gratitude and darts off to change, and you dry your own clothes while you wait.

When Hoseok returns, he’s reverted to his human form, fully dressed and raking a hand through his damp hair. “Thanks for drying these off,” he says, flashing you a sheepish grin. “And for fixing my pants. Again.”

“Mending charms are easy,” you reply, and it’s the truth. Over the many years you’ve known Hoseok, you’ve mended his clothing countless times—from the accidental transformations in his early years, before he could control it, to the calculated ones as he got older. Hoseok doesn’t shift terribly often nowadays, but on occasion he still goes out to stretch his muscles and hunt with his pack. His grandfather, in particular, always made the time to take him hunting at least once a month. You wonder if he’s gone since he passed, but decide not to ask.

“Should we go see the Towers?” you ask instead.

“Lead the way,” he agrees, falling into step beside you as you head downstream. The ravine walls are higher here, decorated with gnarled roots and rocky outcrops that obscure the periwinkle sky and cast long shadows across the ground. Cairns begin to crop up on both sides of the river—each tower of stones carefully and deliberately stacked. They’re small and scattered at first, but gradually become taller and more frequent until you’re nearly surrounded by a forest of stone. The air grows noticeably heavier—the magic more potent. It almost feels as if electricity is dancing across your skin, the sparks sinking into your pores and melding with your soul.

Hoseok feels it too, if the look of awe in his eyes is any indication. “I can’t believe I’d nearly forgotten about this place,” he marvels, running a finger across one of the stacked stones. “Do you feel that? The magic?” Then he chuckles. “Wait, of course you do. What am I talking about?”

You smile softly, tracing the path his fingertips leave behind. “Yeah, Hobi. I feel it.”

The topmost stones are almost out of your reach now. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a gray pebble about the size of your palm—a near perfect disc veined with white. Gently, you place it atop the cairn closest to you, watching it glint in the sunlight for a moment before turning to your companion.

“Well?”

Ancient legend dictates that as long as an offering is left, one may take a stone from the Towers. You and Hoseok have each acquired a rather sizable collection during your childhood years, lured by the promise that the stones will bring about good fortune and happiness.

“I forgot to bring something,” Hoseok admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “But I can pick one out for you. Hang on…” He hums thoughtfully as he scans the towering pillars, tapping his chin until he alights on one in particular, plucking up a stone that’s been worn smooth, burnished orange and marbled with ivory and copper. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” you reply, admiring the way the marbled surface glitters in the sun.

Hoseok takes your hand and places the stone gently in your palm. “It’s yours.”

Then he’s off—stepping over a fallen log to admire another tower, brushing a curious finger across a moss-covered rock before glancing over his shoulder at you. “Coming?”

You nod, tucking his gift away safely in your pocket. Together, you carve out a path amongst the towering cairns, clambering over river rocks and brushing aside the dense undergrowth. The path opens up again gradually, revealing the burbling water to your left and the steep ravine wall to your right. The river is calmer here—clear enough to see all the way to the bottom where shimmering, silvery fish dart about. A low, flat rock juts out into the water a short ways away, and Hoseok strides over to plop atop it, gesturing for you to join him.

“This is nice,” he sighs once you’ve made yourself comfortable by his side. “The fresh air is doing me a world of good. I’ve been cooped up at the office for so long, I swear I almost forgot what trees smell like.”

“You’re more than welcome to sniff around the shop if you ever need a reminder,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Better yet, I’ll bring you a plant for your office. Spruce up the place a little bit.”

“That sounds great, actually,” he admits with a chuckle. “I don’t have your green thumb, though. I’ll probably end up accidentally killing it.”

“Something low maintenance, then,” you promise. “A succulent, maybe. When should I bring it by?”

Hoseok’s expression sombers. “You can always stop by tomorrow after the hearing.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach. The Ministry—the overarching government body that dictates all Shadowfolk affairs—summons every pack alpha for a confirmation hearing when they first come into power. “They’re holding the hearing? Already?”

He nods. “The Ministry’s summoned me for tomorrow morning. First item on their schedule, I’m pretty sure.” A resigned sigh escapes his lips, dissipating into mist on the air. “And there’s a party at JungTech HQ afterward. You know. So my dad can officially hand the reins over.”

“The most powerful man in Gwangju,” you murmur, thinking back to Lisa’s words.

Hoseok lets out a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. The most powerful man, beholden to his dad, the Council, and the entire fucking Ministry. It doesn’t matter what I want to do. Never has.”

It’s the second time he’s dismissed his feelings, and as much as you want to ask what it is he truly wants, you find that the words are stuck in your throat, your mouth suddenly as dry as the desert on a cloudless day. Instead, you lay a silent hand over his, feeling his warmth seep up into your palm.

“Hey.” Hoseok doesn’t tear his gaze away from the sky, watching a flock of birds fly overhead. “Yesterday, when Nayeon said she’d stopped by… did she say anything to you?”

The sound of her name leaving his lips leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “Not really,” you tell him. “She looked at some flowers and invited me to dinner. Simple as that.”

Hoseok nods slowly, lips pursed. “Was Jin already there when she came?”

You blink. “Jin? Oh, no—no, he wasn’t. I texted him after Nayeon left.”

“Ah.”

“I’m glad he was free, though.” You stare down into the water, where a curious fish swims in and out of the shadow you cast. “I’m honestly not sure who I could’ve invited if he hadn’t been available. Plus, it’s been ages since I’ve had dinner with him, and it’s been a few months since you’ve seen him too, right? I’m really happy it worked out.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t stop yourself. Hoseok has become eerily still, lost in introspection, and you feel obligated to fill the silence.

“You two make sense, you know.” Hoseok’s voice comes suddenly. “As a couple. Both witches—it makes a lot of sense.”

You peer over at him, eyes widening at his assumption. “We—we’re not actually together, Jin and I. We’re just friends.”

Hoseok straightens at that, his gaze flitting down to meet yours. “Really?”

“Really.”

A beat of silence. Hoseok looks like he wants to say something else, but a quiet buzz from his pocket stops him in his tracks. His mouth clamps shut as he checks his phone, teeth clicking together, and you can tell from the sudden tension in his jaw that it isn’t good news.

“Do you have to head back?”

He nods stiffly, silent apology written all over his face. “Work calls.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow after your hearing.”

He nods again and turns to leave. Before he can take too many steps, though, you call him back, reaching into your pocket to pull out the stone he’d gifted you earlier.

“Take this,” you murmur, pressing it into his hands. “I’m pretty sure you need it more than I do right now.”

Hoseok’s fingers curl protectively around the stone, holding on like it’s his only remaining lifeline. “Thanks.”

///

Downtown Gwangju is a monochrome forest of towering glass and steel, clamorous and unchecked by nature, proudly defiant in the face of the earth mother herself. The sidewalks are awash with people rushing back from their lunch break, forcing you to dodge around several businessmen too absorbed in their phones. Just as you are finding your footing again, a hapless intern carrying a tray of coffee cups rushes past, nearly crashing into you.

“Oh, shi—sorry! Sorry, oh, jeez. Are you okay?”

You wave off his apology with a smile, taking in the ill fit of his suit and the messy knot of his tie. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching out to help him steady the tray in his hands. A stabilizing spell—silently cast, the magic pulsing through your fingertips—should be enough to get him back to his office with no additional mishaps. You wonder if he’ll notice that his tray is suddenly more well-balanced, or that his hands have steadied.

But then again, you suppose it doesn’t really matter whether he does or not.

Somehow, someway, you make it to JungTech without running into anyone else. The receptionist recognizes you immediately and points you toward the elevator with a smile, and you thank her as you press the up button. It doesn’t take long to arrive, and you take a deep breath as you step inside, staring at your reflection in the mirrored walls.

All right? Bast queries, stirring awake in your mind.

You release the breath that you’d been holding in a long whoosh. Yeah. I’m all right.

The doors open on the top floor, and straight away, you are assailed by a cacophony of sounds. Scattered conversations and laughter intermingle with the clinking of champagne flutes. There are at least fifty people scattered around the open space that lies between the elevator and the glass-fronted CEO’s office at the very back—the office that bears Hoseok’s name on the door. There’s no sign of the man himself, but you have no doubt that he’s nearby. This entire party is a celebration for him, after all.

The elevator doors begin to close, and you quickly reach out to stop them, stepping out before it can protest at your dawdling. A young man in a pristine white shirt materializes on your right with a tray full of champagne flutes, and you pluck one off with a murmur of thanks. Sipping slowly, you wander around the perimeters of the party, listening to the lively chatter. Across the room, you spot Lisa, returning her friendly wave with one of your own.

“Hello, {Name}.”

The deep, familiar voice has you whirling around in an instant, head bowing in automatic deference. “Mr. Jung,” you murmur, not quite daring to look him in the eye. “It’s been a while.”

Hoseok’s father inclines his head in acknowledgment, salt-and-pepper hair gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. No doubt he was a handsome man in his younger days, but the salt in his hair has steadily overtaken the pepper in the last few years, the stern lines around his mouth deepening.

“I didn’t know you would be joining us today,” he says cordially. “But then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after all these years. Have you been here long?”

“Not long. Five minutes, maybe.” Beneath his piercing gaze, you feel like a small child again. Quickly, you scramble for something else to say, gesturing around the sleek glass interior of the office. “This is a lovely party. You must be so proud.”

Another nod. “I wasn’t sure that Hoseok was going to step up,” he admits. “I had my reservations about whether or not he would accept his duties as a Jung, but he has, and I’m pleased that he did. It’s no easy feat, running this company and leading the city’s pack. But I’ve served my time, just as my father did before me.” His gaze flits down to meet yours suddenly, and you find that you can’t read the emotion swimming in them. “I believe I spotted you at his funeral the other day, did I not?”

You nod, resisting the urge to take a sip from your nearly empty champagne glass as your cheeks warm under the scrutiny. “I was, yes. I’m very grateful to have had the opportunity to pay my respects. He was a great man.”

“That, he was,” Mr. Jung agrees. “Hoseok takes after him in many ways. My father—as great as he was—always had a soft spot for the boy. Coddled him a bit too much.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Jung, I think that’s a grandfather’s job,” you reply with a smile.

That earns you a smile in return, the lines around his mouth easing. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Hoseok’s father excuses himself to talk to the other guests, and you set off in search of Hoseok himself. You can feel his aura somewhere nearby, strong and steady, but the room is large enough that you cannot pinpoint his exact location. Not for the first time, you curse the fact that you don’t have a werewolf’s sharp sense of smell. No doubt it could easily be as cumbersome as it is helpful, but it would certainly help you right now.

Turning a corner, you are about to continue lamenting your average olfactory system when you suddenly catch a glimpse of familiar auburn hair, afloat in a sea of black suits. Dodging around a sharply dressed businesswoman and ducking beneath a waiter’s serving tray clears your path to Hoseok, and you’re milliseconds away from stepping forward to greet him when you feel it.

There’s an energy emanating from Hoseok, the likes of which you’ve never felt from him before. It’s heavy and commanding and so potent that the air is laden with it, and a cursory glance at the people surrounding him reveals that they feel it too—their gazes lowered, voices hushed and respectful. In his fitted black suit and emerald green shirt, he looks every bit the alpha he is, and you are quickly realizing that you’re not immune to the power radiating off of him. The Hoseok standing before you isn’t the same Hoseok whose tail you set on fire all those years ago. Far from it. The revelation is somehow simultaneously terrifying and thrilling, and your heart leaps into your throat when you notice that he’s waving you over.

As if compelled, you comply, striding forward until you’re standing before him. “Hi,” your murmur, suddenly feeling shy.

Hoseok’s face splits into a smile. “Hi yourself,” he says, and you would have laughed if your insides didn’t feel like they were about to burst.

“I, um. I brought you your succulent,” you tell him, reaching into your bag. There’s a tiny potted jade plant inside, packaged neatly into a box that you open up and present to him. “It’s jade. Easy to keep alive, and easy to propagate too, if you’re inclined.”

Hoseok accepts your gift, his smile growing as he admires the plump green leaves. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You shrug and wave off his gratitude, fiddling to clasp your bag shut. “So,” you start, glancing around and gnawing on your bottom lip, completely missing the way Hoseok’s eyes darken as he follows the movement. “It looks like everything went well at the Ministry. Your dad is pleased.”

Hoseok hums, low in his throat. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah, just now.”

“I see.”

He looks like he wants to say something more, but he’s interrupted by a blur of motion and a shrill cry of his name. A moment later, Nayeon is at his side, latching onto his arm and batting her lashes, adorned in a form-fitting red dress and golden jewelry.

“Hoseok! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Then her gaze alights on you, eyes going wide as if she’s only just noticed your presence. “{Name}, oh my goodness. I almost didn’t see you there, hi!”

“Hello, Nayeon,” you grit out, unable to hide your scowl. You wonder if she spotted it before you hid it behind a large sip of champagne.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention refocuses onto a spot behind you, and you watch as her expression lights up, delight etching across her features. “Mr. Jung!” she exclaims. “There’s my favorite future father-in-law. Come and join us—it’s not a party without you.”

Hoseok’s father chuckles lightly, coming forward to stand beside you. “Long time no see,” he jokes, nodding in your direction. “And Nayeon—hello. How are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh, I’m having the loveliest time,” she chirps, simpering up at Hoseok. “How could I not be, when my fiancé is here with me?” Then she smiles—her lips painted the same shade of red as her dress. “But I’m sure I’m nowhere near as happy as you are. You must be beyond excited to spend some quality time with your wife after being busy for so long.”

“I am,” Mr. Jung admits. The severity in his features softens as he seeks out his wife, standing across the room surrounded by friends and extended family. “I’m a very lucky man to have a woman like her.”

Nayeon giggles. “And I’m a lucky woman to have a man like your son. Isn’t that right, darling?”

She tilts her head to look up at Hoseok, who blinks twice in rapid succession, his throat bobbing. “Right,” he says, his voice raspy. “The luckiest.”

And as you turn to engage Mr. Jung in conversation once more, you miss the way his gaze lingers on you.

///

Tuesdays at Hellebore are for brewing. You save bottling for Thursdays—giving your potions and other concoctions ample time to simmer and set—but today, you are hunched over the stove with all four burners turned to different temperature settings, watching over your pots so that they don’t boil over.

A cursory glance out the window tells you that it’s well into the afternoon, the pastel blue sky littered with trailing clouds lit hazy and golden in the sun. You’ve been in the kitchen since early morning, and, desperate for a breath of fresh air, you crack the window open and inhale deeply. Then you turn back to the stove, giving one pot a stir and adding a pinch of burdock root to another.

Wandering downstairs, you head to the greenhouse. The sunlight is brighter here, the air more humid. Inhaling deeply, you breathe in the scent of the hundreds of plants growing inside, before heading for the laburnum tree in the far corner. Carefully, you brush aside the cascading golden flowers, about to gather the dried ones that have fallen to the dirt when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’m sorry, we’re close—” you say, stopping when you recognize the head of coppery red hair in the window. “Lisa?” Confused, you open the door and let her inside. “What brings you here today?”

“You need to go to Hoseok, now,” she says, foregoing any preambles. “He’s… well, you’ll see. Nayeon’s there right now, but she’s not helping the situation, and...” She sighs. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can help him now.”

All at once, your stomach drops to your toes. “What’s wrong with Hoseok?” you demand. “Is he hurt?”

Lisa shakes her head, red hair flying. “No, he’s fine. I don’t know how much longer that’ll last, though.”

The cryptic response sends your heart into overdrive, pounding against your ribcage like a doomsday drum. Striding over to the bay window, you wake Bast from his nap in a slanted ray of sunlight, scratching behind his black ears and watching as his golden eyes flicker open, pupils going wide when he senses your turmoil.

What is it?

Hoseok, you reply shortly. Beneath your touch, Bast’s ears perk up.

What do you need?

You swallow, hard, and suck in a deep breath. I’m going to open a portal.

It’s a dangerous feat, and both you and Bast know it. Opening a portal requires an immense amount of energy, and maintaining one long enough to travel through is a risk to even the most experienced witches. You’ve heard horror stories of spliced limbs and paralysis, and in some cases, even death.

But for Hoseok, you’re willing to risk it all.

“Lisa,” you say, grabbing your purse and striding back to the front door of the shop. “Can you lock up once I’m gone?”

She nods nervously. “Of course.”

You incline your head in silent thanks. At your feet, Bast is slinking continuous figure-eights around your ankles, betraying his worry at the task ahead. Your own heart feels ready to spring out from your ribcage and onto the sun-drenched floor, but you swallow down your nerves and look down at your familiar once more. Ready? you ask.

Ready, Bast confirms. Be careful.

I will.

Closing your eyes, you begin to visualize Hoseok’s front door, focusing on every little detail you can remember. There’s the scuff in the black paint from when he first moved in and accidentally scraped a table leg against it. There’s the bronze knocker that always hangs slightly askew. The image builds slowly in your mind, coming together like the broken pieces of a puzzle.

The air around you is suddenly much warmer than before, an invisible force sapping away at your strength and weakening your legs. Bast’s energy melds with yours, but it’s barely enough to keep you on your feet. Exhaustion seeps into your bones and steals the oxygen from your lungs. You gasp, chest heaving.

I don’t think it’s going to work. Bast’s voice is a faint whisper in the back of your mind.

It will, you hiss. It has to.

The front door of your shop is beginning to glow white, becoming hazy and amorphous as the edges begin to blur. You spot a splash of black paint coming through the fog, followed by a bronze knocker. A matching handle appears a moment later, growing out of tendrils of mist and solidifying before your eyes.

Sucking in a deep breath, you reach forward to grab it. Slowly, you turn until you can turn no longer.

And then you step through.

The first thing you hear is a low, cavernous rumble—deep enough that you feel it reverberating through your very bones. Then your surroundings begin to come into focus. You’re in Hoseok’s entryway, all your limbs thankfully intact. The relief you feel at your success is quickly eclipsed by worry though, when you see Hoseok himself on the far side of the living room. The look in his brown eyes is nothing short of wild, his white shirt unbuttoned to nearly his navel and his auburn hair sweaty and disheveled.

“H-Hobi?” Your voice is no more than a breath, dissipating in the open air.

“Hoseok.” The new voice has you whirling. Nayeon is pressed against the wall opposite him, her expression harried. “Hoseok, please—“

“Get out,” Hoseok growls, his voice dangerously low. He’s bristling with the same energy as before, the same energy you felt back at JungTech—but this time it’s enough to fill the room and spill out the opened door and into the hallway. You can feel it pulsing against your skin, hot and electric, and know that Nayeon is even more affected from the way her shoulders slouch, her eyes dropping to the floor when he snarls. “Get out, now.”

She does. Nayeon turns on her heel and dashes out, slamming the door behind her and leaving you alone with Hoseok. His eyes are alight with something more wolf than man, his chest heaving with uneven breaths, and it’s all you can do not to shrink back when he turns his full attention onto you. Even from across the room, you can smell the liquor spilled across the coffee table in a dark ooze of fluid, cloying and bitter.

“What are you doing here?” Hoseok asks, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “You shouldn’t be here right now, {Name}.”

“Lisa told me to come,” you whisper. “You’ve been pushing yourself too much, Hoseok.”

Hoseok shakes his head and rakes a frazzled hand through his hair. “You need to leave,” he grunts. Shakily, he reaches out to right the overturned liquor bottle, the pad of his thumb skimming across the shattered edge.

“Let me do that,” you tell him, making to step forward, but Hoseok stops you with a raised hand and a low growl that stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he hisses. “Don’t you dare come any closer to me.”

You shake your head. “Hobi, it’s obvious you’ve been drinking. Let me help you.”

“No!” he snarls, flinching back when you take a step forward. “You need to leave. It’s… it’s dangerous for you here.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice is reduced to a whisper at the severity of his reaction, the energy in the air intensifying until it’s almost unbearable. “Why?”

“Because I’m in heat!” Hoseok spits. He sucks in a deep breath, the air whistling between his teeth, before he lets out an agonized moan and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m in heat,” he repeats, reticence dripping from every syllable. “I can’t even fucking think straight, and I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you if you stay. So please, {Name}. Please go.”

“But Nayeon…” you begin, wavering when his eyes flash darkly at the mention of her name. “Or Lisa… I can call her, maybe—”

“No!”

You jump, startled at the volume of his shout.

“No,” Hoseok repeats, softer this time. “Don’t. I don’t want them. I’m—I’m fine.”

The sticky humidity and the pulsating energy flowing through the room tell you otherwise. “You’re clearly not,” you tell him gently, taking another step toward him. “Let me call Lisa. Or maybe one of the other girls in the pack, I’m sure someone can help y—”

“I don’t want Lisa.” Defeat suffuses his tone, his eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t want any of them. I want—fuck.” Hoseok groans and lets his head fall back against the wall, the dull thunk echoing in the stillness. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I want. You need to leave, {Name}. You’re only going to be in danger if you stay.”

For the second time that afternoon, only one word springs to mind. “Why?”

Hoseok groans again. “Because I’m weak,” he mutters hoarsely. “Because I’m weak, and I’m not thinking straight, and if you come any closer to me, I won’t be able to stop myself from pinning you against that wall right there and having my way with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. The rippling energy in the air is almost oppressive in its strength, and only grows when Hoseok’s gaze finally lands on you, his pupils blown out and blacker than the night.

“Go,” he entreaties, dragging a frazzled hand through his hair. “Please, {Name}.”

You suck in a deep breath, your lungs swelling and expanding with the newfound oxygen. Then, ever so slowly, you let your gaze flicker up to meet his. “What if I don’t want to?”

Hoseok freezes. Time comes to a standstill, and even the overwhelming energy emanating from him seems to falter. The room is near silent, broken only by your companion’s ragged breathing, his chest heaving beneath the thin white fabric of his shirt. Even from across the room, you can see the sheen of sweat coating his honeyed skin, shining in the light of the setting sun.

“You don’t mean that,” he says at last. “You can’t mean that.”

“I can,” you whisper. “And I do.”

For three agonizingly long seconds, Hoseok remains rooted firmly in place, his throat bobbing harshly. Then, before you can even blink, he’s striding forward—a blur of motion almost too quick for your eyes to follow. He comes to a stop a hair’s breadth from you, one hand reaching up to cup your face delicately, as if you’re made of glass.

“You,” he rasps, “have no idea what you’ve just done.” His thumb traces the swell of your cheek just below your eye, the motion surprisingly tender. Your heart stutters in your chest.

And then he leans down and crushes his mouth to yours.

The rest of the world falls away, dissolving into nothing. Your eyes flutter shut as Hoseok’s hands slide down your sides to curl around your hips, your body melting against his taut frame. He is all you can feel and all you can taste, and you keen helplessly when he grinds against you, his cock hot and hard against your stomach.

The sound seems to awaken something in Hoseok, a cavernous groan erupting from his throat. Pulling away from your mouth, he descends upon the delicate skin of your neck, teeth and tongue blossoming bruises in their wake. Shaky hands find the collar of your shirt, questioning eyes seeking out yours for permission that you happily give. He tugs the garment off almost delicately, his ravenous gaze roving across each bit of newly revealed flesh, and once it’s freed from your head he tosses it aside and sets about doing the same to the rest of your clothing.

Maybe it should feel odd, watching through lidded eyes as Hoseok drops to his knees to pull your jeans down and off your ankles. Maybe you should feel embarrassed, seeing your best friend bury his nose between your legs, delirious bliss etching across his features as he inhales, his strong fingers curling around your thighs to spread you wider. But instead, it feels completely and utterly natural—as if this was always meant to be.

“You smell divine,” Hoseok breathes, slotting himself between your spread thighs and running a fingertip along your lace-covered slit, collecting the considerable slick there and bringing it to his nose. “Fuck, {Name}. Just one whiff, and I can tell that you’re primed and ready for me.”

“Take me, then,” you breathe back shakily, rolling your hips when he slips past the lacy barrier of your panties to find your clit, circling around the sensitive nub until you’re gasping his name.

Hoseok’s gaze darkens to obsidian, his pupils swallowing up the amber-flecked brown of his irises. In one smooth motion, he’s on his feet again, straightening up to his full height as his hands find purchase on your hips. He twirls you around until you’re facing the wall, your palms pressed flat against the woven tapestry hanging there.

“Gorgeous.” A single word, laced with unmistakable awe. Then he’s fumbling with his belt buckle, the metallic clink and tug of a zipper reaching your ears, before he presses against you, clothed chest molding against your bare back. Even through the thin layer of fabric, you can feel the sweltering heat emanating from him, his sweat soaking through the cotton and sticking to your skin. His mouth finds its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder again—teasing at the flesh until you’re quivering—before he begins laying a trail of hot kisses down your spine.

“Wanna fuck you,” Hoseok rasps, tearing your panties away once his lips reach the waistband, the flimsy lace ripped to shreds in his desperate grip. “Want you on your front, want you on your back, want you on my tongue—” His voice drops, rumbling through his chest and sending shivers through your entire body. “Want you. Wanted you for so long.”

And as if to reinforce his words, the velvety head of his cock nestles against the cleft of your backside, hot and slick.

Wordlessly, you arch your back, presenting him with the tempting swell of your rear. A glance over your shoulder reveals the strained clench of his jaw and the bob of his throat, his biceps tensed and his gaze unwavering. His control is undoubtedly dangling by a single thread at this point—a delicate, gossamer thread that’s on the verge of snapping. The delirium of his heat is overtaking his senses, his grip tightening on your hips, and ever so slowly, he begins to press forward until the tip of his thick cock is just beginning to part your walls. Already, the fit borders on excruciating, and your body tenses at the intrusion, stretched to the limit around his thick girth.

Hoseok exhales shakily, his primal instincts warring with his desire to ensure your comfort. Soft lips drop kiss after kiss onto your bare shoulders, your back, your neck—wherever he can reach as he whispers tender praises into your skin. “Breathe, princess,” he encourages lowly. “You can take it—I know you can. You were made for me.”

Obediently, you inhale, focusing on the way your lungs expand and contract as you draw air into them. The pain ebbs away with each breath you take, until all that is left is a low throb of pleasure. Your hips rock back against him, and Hoseok takes it as a sign to push forward once more, parting your walls until he’s fully seated inside you, your body stretched to the limit as you mold around him.

There’s no pain now—only an aching desire for more, more, more. He’s deep enough to reach parts of you that you’ve never been able to explore before—either alone or with other partners—and you moan brokenly when he rolls his hips experimentally. “More, Hoseok,” you whimper. “Please.”

He obliges. One thrust leads into another, the punishing pace he sets fueled by his heady desperation for relief. The full, heavy weight of his cock dragging along your walls ignites every nerve ending in your body, sizzling electricity blazing through your veins. It’s all you can do to plant your palms flat against the tapestried wall, fingers twitching at the woven fabric as Hoseok grabs your hips with enough force to bruise and pulls you back against him in time with his thrusts.

“Look at you,” he says hoarsely. “Love the way you feel, clenching around me like that. My perfect, pretty girl, taking my cock so well. I always knew you were made for me.” He grunts, forehead falling against your back, damp hair matting against your skin as he continues rutting against you. “Always—fuck—knew you were my mate.”

The particularly harsh thrust that follows his raspy declaration sends all coherent thought flying out of your head, taking your surprise along with it. All you can manage is a shuddery whine that vaguely resembles his name, the sound intermingling with the obscene smack of flesh against flesh and the continuous stream of praises Hoseok whispers into your skin.

There’s something building inside you—a dull, throbbing pressure at the point where your body joins with his. He’s still rolling up into you, but each subsequent thrust grows more and more shallow. The realization dawns on your dazed mind all at once, as you feel the growing swell at the base of his cock. Hoseok is rendered near immobile as he finally reaches his high, the entirety of his length sheathed firmly inside your pussy as he spills ropes of white against your fluttering walls. The swelling continues, filling you until you feel fit to burst.

“H-Hoseok,” you gasp. “I can’t. I can’t—you’re going to rip me in half.”

Soothing hands smooth along your sides, warm lips littering kisses onto your bare shoulders. “You can,” he murmurs tenderly. “You were made for me, and I for you. You can take it, princess. I know you can.”

The gentle repetition of his fingertips trailing nonsensical patterns into your skin eases your labored panting somewhat. Beneath his touch, you slowly relax, the pressure in your abdomen abating as his knot begins to subside.

“You did so well.” His voice is no more than a mumble, almost lost in the sweat and slick coating your skin.

You sag against the wall, taking a few moments to catch your breath before slowly easing off of him, the sudden loss leaving your core empty and aching. Gingerly, you turn around to face him, acutely aware of the way your combined juices immediately begin dribbling down your thighs.

“You said I was your mate,” you whisper, almost afraid that the sentiment will disappear if voiced aloud. “Did… did you mean that?”

“Every word,” Hoseok replies, equally soft. “Is that okay?”

A smile blooms across your face. Rising up to your tiptoes, you kiss him again—a soft, reassuring peck that he immediately leans into, seeking out your touch like a flower in the sun. “More than okay,” you breathe, feeling the way his lips stretch upward against yours. “I’m glad, Hobi.”

Hoseok sighs into your mouth, a slow smile settling across his features. “Now it’s your turn,” he says, and in an instant, he’s swept you off your feet, one arm beneath your bent knees and the other around your back. “And I’m planning to take my time with you, princess. You’re not leaving here until I say so.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, crossing your hands at his nape. “Fine by me,” you tell him, earning yourself a wide grin. His lips seek out yours again as he carries you down the darkened hallway and into the shadowy depths of his bedroom, pausing only to nudge the lightswitch on with his elbow. Golden light suffuses the room as he steps forward to lay you on his bed, your back sinking into the plush mattress and dipping further when he joins you. He hovers over you with an arm on either side of your head, and you reach up to trace the vein that lines his biceps with a gentle fingertip, giggling when he gives your bottom lip a punishing nip.

The kiss deepens from there. Hoseok parts your lips and seeks out your tongue with his own, subduing it into compliance. By the time you pull apart, all the oxygen has left your lungs, leaving you flushed and gasping. Hoseok chortles breathlessly and trails down to press a kiss to your navel, before traveling downward until he’s reached your clit. Gently, he wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, rumbling with laughter when you buck against him.

“So needy,” he murmurs. To your displeasure, he straightens back up to kneel between your spread thighs, but your complaint quickly dissolves into thin air when he edges forward until his knee is pressed against your aching clit. Desperate for more friction, you grind against him, your wetness soaking through his jeans in a matter of seconds.

It doesn’t take long for pressure to build up in your belly again, winding tight as a coiled spring. Hoseok is staring down at you, transfixed, and his undivided attention only serves to bring you closer to the edge, teetering on the very brink.

“Look at you.” His voice could almost be described as a purr, if he weren’t so utterly canine in mannerisms and appearance. “Such a greedy little thing, all desperate to get off. You’re making a mess of my new jeans, princess.”

You’re too far gone to care about the teasing lilt that colors his tone. The edge is rapidly approaching, and one last roll of your hips is enough to send you over, your walls convulsing around nothing as you ride out your high.

Hoseok doesn’t wait. In an instant, he’s back between your legs, having moved so quickly you didn’t even see when he’d started or stopped. His tongue darts out to lave at your folds, a growl rumbling through his chest when your hips jump on instinct. Immediately, he tightens his grip, strong arms winding around your thighs and anchoring at your waist to render you helpless in his grasp, only able to take what he sees fit to give.

“How is it that you taste even better than you smell?” Hoseok muses as he leans down to suck your clit into his mouth, lips curling up into a pleased smirk when you gasp out his name. “Cute,” he says, releasing the nub in favor of descending to your drenched entrance instead, flicking his tongue shallowly inside before withdrawing with a chuckle.

“Hoseok—” you begin, only to dissolve into a moan when he sheaths two fingers inside you without any warning, curling them up and in until you’re shaking in his grasp.

“Come for me,” he commands softly. “Go on, let me hear you.”

And you do, chanting his name like a mantra as a wave of pleasure overtakes you. Hoseok’s thumb circles your clit in just the right way to prolong your orgasm, and it isn’t until you’re cringing from overstimulation that he finally relents, descending down to mold his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. His lips part yours, tongue dipping out to explore as he sheds his shirt and shucks off his ruined jeans. His skin, when he presses against you, burns hot as a furnace wherever it touches. Against your stomach, his cock stirs back to life.

He’s gentler this time. Every movement is slow and deliberate and tender as he breaches you, murmuring your name reverentially as he fills you again. Your body bows to his willingly, stretching to accommodate him, and the spike of pleasure that lances through you when he bottoms out is almost enough to send your oversensitive body over the edge again, your walls fluttering around him.

There’s an unmistakable shift in the air when Hoseok starts up a slow rhythm, leaning down to kiss you again. His lips move against yours, soft and tender, before moving past your jugular and down to the crook of your neck, elongated canines scraping against the delicate skin in a silent question. You wind your arms around his neck and nod, giving him his answer. There’s no need for words.

And then his teeth are sinking into the spot he’s so lovingly scoped out, breaking the skin. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, and the pleasure intermingles with the pain of the bite until you are delirious, rendered boneless in his grasp. Hoseok’s hips stutter, his pace growing erratic as he soothes the wound over with his tongue.

You’re prepared for the swelling this time, but the fullness still manages to knock all the air out of your lungs, bordering on painful as his knot grows. Hoseok quells your whimpers with tender kisses, the instinct to comfort his mate paramount even as he paints your walls with ropes of creamy white. He traces a path from your lips down to where he’s marked and claimed you as his, imbuing your skin with a litany of praises that warm you from the inside out.

“My mate,” he murmurs, reverent. “Finally.”

You lean into his touch with a tired smile. “Finally? How long have you wanted this?”

His lips curl into a smile against your clavicle. “Ages. If I’m honest, I think I fell in love with you the day you set my tail on fire when we were kids. It’s always been you, {Name}. Only you.”

You can’t help it—you need to hear it from his mouth again. “You love me?”

Hoseok chuckles. “Of course I do. My tricky little minx—my perfect, pretty mate. I love you more than anything.” One hand reaches up to caress your cheek, running along the tender skin beneath your eye before cupping the back of your head so he can mold his mouth to yours. “Love you more than I can even explain,” he breathes, punctuating each word with a kiss. His hands blaze trails down the slopes of your body until he finally anchors below the crook of your legs. “So why don’t you let me show you instead?”

And he does. Over and over that night, and in the two days of his heat that follow, he shows you exactly how he feels. Propriety is forgotten, left by the wayside with his scorned fiancé and marriage. He is yours, and you are his.

Consequences be damned.

⇢ aftermath.

also set in this universe:

[myg]

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coffeestainsandcashmere · 4 years ago

Text

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - Chapter Seven (nsfw)

Hopefully you’re as excited for more of this as I am to share it! It’s nsfw pretty much straight off the bat, so please make sure you’re old enough to consume that (18+).

We have some feels ahoy before the plot picks up again.

I’m envisaging maybe two or three more chapters, but it might go longer. I’ll do a full re-edit before I post it up on AO3, so you folks are technically my beta-readers! Thank you :D

___

When dawn came creeping in through the still-open curtains of Draco’s soulless bedroom, Hermione rolled over, just barely-surfaced from sleep. Naked — which was unusual for her in bed — and better rested than she could ever remember being, she sighed and yawned like a kneazel in the sun.

Her breath caught a moment later when she glanced to her left and saw the way Draco lay fast asleep on his back, his lips softly parted, white hair tousled, and with the duvet pulled halfway down to expose his gorgeous, marble torso. His left hand rested on the pillow beside his face with his fingers softly curled, and his right lay splayed on his stomach. Chest rising and falling softly, he didn’t stir as she shuffled to place her head on his shoulder, but about fifteen minutes later, while she was trailing her fingertips across the uppermost scar on his chest, he inhaled deeply and blinked awake.

With a wordless hum, he smiled, raised his right arm for her to duck beneath it, and drew her close to him. “Wasn’t sure you’d stay, Granger,” he mumbled, and oh, his voice was delicious like that — all husky and vague with sleep.

“Why ever would I leave?” she chuckled. “Comfy bed, nice apartment, great view of the city…” she looked up at him and added, “Oh, and only the most handsome man in all the world beside me…?”

To her delight, Malfoy flushed hot and looked away, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. She popped up onto one elbow, chasing after him, and kissed the slight indentation in his cheek that was almost a dimple, until he turned his head back and kissed her shyly, almost affectionately. It suddenly felt as if he were trying to fend her off with a barrage of little retaliatory kisses, and she loved it.

“You want some breakfast?” he asked when she drew back, still giggling like a teenager.

Breakfast had definitely not been the first need to which her body had drawn her attention, and a moment later, he blinked again and saw it too. Hermione sank her teeth into her lip and tried not to squirm under the new intensity kindling in his silver eyes.

“Oh,” he smiled, and this time it was a broad, sly, confident smile that made her insides twist in anticipation. “Oh I see,” he purred, and he stroked his left palm down from her shoulder to caress her bare breast, thumbing teasingly over her hardening nipple, and then he leaned over to take it between his lips. He sucked and then raked his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she yelped and bucked, falling helplessly back into the pillows amid a wild mass of curls.

For a while, Draco did little more than simply worship her all over with his touch, peppering in a few kisses and sucking a mark on her collarbone that would last for hours. Finally though, his fingertips found their way between her thighs and she parted her legs for him.

“Oh, Granger,” he whispered in reverent surprise when he discovered how wet she was. “Look at you. You’re practically dripping…”

She whimpered when he ran his fingertips through the wetness around her sex, and reared her hips up until he pressed her back down into the bed. “Shh, Granger,” he crooned. “I’ve got you.”

Then, resting his head on his right hand to create the impression of casual nonchalance, he propped himself up on one elbow and began to work her gently with the fingertips of his left hand, all the while watching her intently.

She could feel the power of his gaze on her body as she writhed and gasped, chest heaving, magic sparking along her veins in response to his touch. “God, Malfoy —” she choked when he eventually slipped two fingers inside her, only to withdraw them again a second later. “Tease…” she griped.

Draco raised his eyebrows and didn’t stop his slow, decadent, teasing rhythm. He didn’t speed up though either. “Mmm?”

She cracked an eye open and stared at him. He looked like a vision — a reclining Classical statue come alive — and were it not for the intense, watercolour flush creeping up his icy chest and neck to give him away, she might have thought him utterly indifferent, utterly unmoved by what he was doing to her. As it was, he kicked the duvet down a moment later to reveal just how interested and how hard he was, and rolled half atop her. There was a darker spot in his tight boxer-briefs that made her mouth water.

With her left thigh clamped between his, Malfoy leaned over her, pressing his lean, muscular body against hers and rolling his hips against her for a little friction. He dipped his fingers inside her again, and this time, he stayed there, buried knuckle-deep inside her. With his fingertips pressing against her inner walls, he began to pulse the pressure against her, matching it with caressing circles with the pad of his thumb against the underside of her clit. In no time at all, heat began to wash through her, over and over, building with the speed of a great wave.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you?” he crooned right before he bit her earlobe none too gently.

A guttural grunt left her and she arched upwards into him. One handed, he shucked his underwear down just enough to free his flushed cock. A cool bead of pre-come dripped down onto her inner thigh almost immediately and she almost sobbed at the sensation. “Please, Draco… please,” she gasped, shaking, teetering right on the edge but needing just a little more.

“Come for me then, Granger,” he said, picking up the speed of his fingers inside her just a little and brushing his thumb across her clit in a circular motion until she thought she was going to die from the intensity of it.

White hot tendrils coiled around her spine and between her legs until it all crashed over her and she arched and came with a broken cry.

Draco didn’t wait. He slid her legs further apart while she was still convulsing with pleasure, and seated himself inside her. “Oh… Fuck… Granger,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Oh fuck, you’re perfection… gods, you’re so tight, you’re —”

“Move, Malfoy,” she murmured. “Please… I want… I want you to… to… oh gods, yes, like that…”

Malfoy held nothing back. What began as a languid roll, deep and intense, rapidly gained momentum until he was sweating, and with each thrust, she clenched tighter around him as sparks still danced across her vision. He bowed his head, slamming into her, and as she hooked her knees up to let him catch her even deeper, he choked out a grunt and his hips faltered. Pressed tight against her, he spilled deep inside her with a near-silent snarl of pleasure.

When the peak of his orgasm had rolled through him, he slumped forwards onto her chest and braced his weight on his elbows. Through the crackling of her magic along her nerves, she realised that he was kissing her collarbone and shoulder, and then when his breath tickled her neck, she giggled and squirmed and he drew back with a soppy smile on his face.

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t realise that the great Hermione Granger was ticklish.”

“My biggest weakness, Malfoy,” she whispered dazedly. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Really? And I thought First Editions were your greatest weakness.”

She laughed. “Close second, perhaps.”

“Well, at least your birthday present will be an easy one,” he said, making no move to withdraw from her or to stop kissing her shoulder and what he could reach of her chest.

“I think I’ve found your weakness, Draco Malfoy,” she murmured quietly a few moments later.

“What’s that?” he asked, even as he pressed his lips to her jaw and raked his teeth over her pulse.

“Kissing.”

“Not just kissing,” he said, rolling his hips one final time before sitting up and withdrawing. “Kissing you.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that.

Draco's eyes dropped between her legs and she twitched as he ran a fingertip around her entrance. “We made a mess,” he murmured, apparently fixated by the sight of his seed slowly sliding from her onto the sheets.

“Shower?”

He nodded and she followed him from the bedroom to the en suite, tying her hair up in a bun and locking it in place with a fairly hefty charm. At the tingle of magic in the small, icy bathroom, he glanced back and his breath caught audibly.

“What?” she asked, freezing with her hands still raised at the back of her head.

Draco looked like he’d been thunderstruck for a moment and then he relaxed and laughed, stepping back over to her and taking her waist in his hands. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered fiercely, kissing her mouth and then bringing his palms up to cup both breasts, kneading them gently, rolling her nipples briefly between his thumb and finger before holding her close. “That’s what.”

Their shower took three times longer than it should have done, and Malfoy came once more, and Hermione twice, before they were drying themselves off and thinking about breakfast.

“I don’t have anything other than my dress from last night,” Hermione pouted. “And before you suggest it, I’m not wearing nothing, Malfoy. Your flat is bloody freezing.”

“You could borrow something?” he said. “I keep a few spare shirts here at least.”

With a smile, she crossed to where she’d bared his beautiful body the previous night, and picked up the crumpled white shirt from the pale carpet. “This will do for now,” she said and watched his eyes darken.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered. “What am I supposed to wear then?”

She shrugged. “One of those spare ones, I guess?”

After she’d tugged it on, she drew the collar up to her nose and inhaled. The fabric skimmed just down to her hips, and once she’d pulled her underwear on, she looked up to find that Draco had rather pointedly busied himself in the wardrobe.

“What’s for breakfast then?” she asked. “I have to be honest; it doesn’t look like anyone lives here… Do you even have any food?”

“No.” He chuckled and turned around as he slid his arms into a cornflower blue shirt that did startling things in contrast to the grey of his eyes. “I don’t come here often, it’s true. If you give me a few minutes, I’ll apparate home and grab some ingredients.”

“You’re going to make me breakfast?” she asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

Instead of being offended, Malfoy twitched his lips into a lopsided smirk. “I have it on authority that I make the best pancakes in England, Granger.”

“Oh? And whose authority might that be?”

“Scorpius’.”

“Well then,” she said, and turned to head into the living room while he finished buttoning up his shirt. “I can think of no higher praise. I’ll help myself to a book, and await your return, if I may?”

“Make yourself at home, Granger,” he called from the bedroom. “I won’t be long.”

The air warped, and he vanished a heartbeat later.

Alone in Draco Malfoy’s flat, Hermione took a deep breath. Effervescent excitement suddenly coursed through her and she bit her lower lip. She’d had partners and a few one-night-stands since leaving Ron, but she’d honestly never had sex like that in her entire life. It wasn’t just that Malfoy clearly knew what he was doing, and had been only too happy to focus on her pleasure as much as his own — if not more so — but there was a rightness to it all that she couldn’t define. Gone was the self-centred, noxious youth he’d been at Hogwarts, and in his place stood a quiet, thoughtful, sincere man in his thirties. He’d always been pretty — even back at school — but Malfoy had truly matured into something exquisite that left her dizzy and, she realised with a jolt, happy.

Her magic felt comfortable here too, as though it had found its equal in Malfoy’s own magic, and was perfectly content in its presence. The constant vigilance of the War had long faded, but as the ex-minister for magic, she had had some run-ins and security issues before, regrettably even in the bedroom. Now, however, her magic seemed calm, restful, almost sated.

To distract herself, she meandered around his flat for a while, though she hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told him it was cold. Goosebumps shivered up her legs and she cast a quick warming charm as she crossed to a bookshelf in the living room and paused to peruse the titles. To her surprise, there was a single Muggle volume among them; Great Expectations.

It fell open willingly in her hands to a page in chapter eight, and her eye was drawn down the page to a slight darkening of the paper. It was as though a fingertip had been traced over the text repeatedly. Had Malfoy thumbed through to this passage repeatedly then? Her eyes skimmed the paragraph and she inhaled softly.

Under her breath, she read it aloud, “Though she called me “boy” so often, and with a carelessness that was far from complimentary, she was about my own age. She seemed much older than I, of course, being a girl, and beautiful and self-possessed; and she was as scornful of me as if she had been one-and-twenty, and a queen.”

Hermione stared at the passage and pondered its significance to Draco.

The soft shimmer of the air in the living room behind her made her jump and she whirled around to find Malfoy standing there with a small cardboard box in his hands. “Ah,” he said when his eyes took in the book she held. “An old friend.”

Hermione goggled openly at him, the open book held loosely in her fingers. “You’ve read Great Expectations?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, turning away and moving into the large kitchen. “Many times.”

“But… why?” she blurted artlessly as she closed it with a snap and slid it back onto the shelf. “I mean, Dickens is a Muggle author. You didn’t even know who Emile Brontë was at Theo’s!”

“Oddly enough,” he said from the kitchen with evident sarcasm, “I find a lot that’s relatable in Estella as well as Pip. And I found that copy in the library at the Manor. I believe it belonged to my mother.”

“Well,” she exclaimed from the doorway in a dry, playful tone. “Though I find myself compelled to point out that Estella’s behaviour isn’t exactly her fault. Pip himself says she was raised by Miss Havisham to hate men.”

“True,” Malfoy said, shooting her a pointed look over his shoulder before he stooped to fish out a frying pan from a low cupboard.

Ah. The knut dropped and she admitted, “Ok, yes — I can see how being raised to hate an entire group of people just because your parental figure told you to might have a certain resonance for you…”

Malfoy’s lips twitched in wry confirmation.

“Have you ever seen the 1946 film?”

Malfoy paused at that and then frowned. “No.”

“Next time, we go back to mine. I’ve got it on DVD. It’s a classic.”

“If you say so,” he said, looking a little anxious — probably due to the mention of unfamiliar Muggle technology, she reasoned — but there was a curious light to his silver eyes too.

“Unless, of course,” she said carefully as she came over and peered into the box without looking at him, “You hadn’t intended for there to be a ‘next time’…”

Already pale, Malfoy somehow managed to go a shade lighter — or perhaps greyer — and he swallowed thickly when she glanced sidelong at him. “I… I had hoped…”

Guilt shot through her chest and she smiled. “Good. So had I. Now, what can I do to help with breakfast?”

Malfoy closed his eyes and drew in a long breath through his nose, as if steadying himself.

Instantly, she rounded the corner of the kitchen island where he’d plonked the box down, and brought her hand gently to his hip. “Draco?”

“Mmm?”

He looked down askance at her through his white-blond eyelashes. Evident relief mingled with the last remnants of his uncertainty, and she thought vaguely that it was like being stared down at by some kind of mythical creature. Wary and defensive, he observed her hopefully, and her heart cracked a little.

“I’m serious about this,” she said and laid a hand flat on his chest. “I never would have expected it, given… everything, but… this feels right, Malfoy.”

He shifted his attention from the box of ingredients and turned to face her, bringing both his hands up to frame her face before sweeping them back over her wild hair. Wordlessly, he stooped and kissed her.

When they drew back, his eyes were bright, pupils huge and dark, and he was smiling again. “You can make tea then, Granger,” he said in a rough voice. “Top cupboard to the left of the sink.”

He watched her walk away from him, eyes lingering on the hem of his shirt where it skimmed her thighs. He obviously enjoyed the sight of her wearing nothing but her underwear and his rumpled clothes from the night before, but then, to her slight surprise, Malfoy collected himself and proceeded to make pancakes from scratch, and the only magic he used was to heat the pan.

Leaning on one elbow, seated on a bar stool beside him at the kitchen island, with maple syrup, lemon juice and sugar, and a stack of thin, delicious pancakes between them, Hermione let her fork dangle between her fingers and looked up at him. He hadn’t touched the maple syrup, but he had made significant inroads into the stash of lemon juice and sugar.

“So…?” Hermione said carefully. “Are you going to tell Scorpius about us?”

His jaw clenched momentarily at that, and he sighed. “I should,” he said. “I don’t want him hearing it from a tabloid or another student. He should know that his father is seeing someone, but…” He broke off with a little wince that had nothing to do with the sharp lemon.

“You’re worried about how he’s going to take the news?”

Malfoy nodded. For a while he didn’t speak, but she could see words brewing and left him to figure it out. Eventually he croaked, “For eleven years, it’s just been us two and the house-elves, and my mother. I… He’s had so much change with starting Hogwarts… I’m afraid he’s going to think I’ve abandoned him or something.”

Hermione’s vision swam as tears swelled in her eyes. “Oh Draco,” she breathed, spine slackening in sympathy for him.

He offered her a tight-lipped, slightly watery smile, and said, “He’s everything to me, Hermione.”

“I know,” she said. “I know. I don’t want to come between you and your little mandrake…”

Draco snorted. “If you ever call him that to his face, he’ll probably sneak a flobberworm into your dinner…”

“Let him try,” she laughed. “Seriously though, Draco, take your time. I obviously want to meet him properly, but I don’t want you to feel any pressure, alright?”

Draco reached across the table and took her other hand in his. Again, she noted the nicks and scars on his fingers and the slight spatter of stains that Snape had after years of being potions master. She didn't bring it up, but she wondered all the same.

“Thank you,” he rasped. “I…” he took a huge inhale, held it for a moment, and then released it. His shoulders slumped and he bowed his head a little without letting go of her. “I really want this… this thing between us… to work, Granger.” Looking vaguely nauseous though, he added, “But… I’m terrified of fucking up.”

Sliding off the stool, she abandoned the remnants of her breakfast and came to stand behind him. Resting her cheek on his back she snaked her arms around his middle where he still sat on his stool, squeezed him gently, and to her relief he laughed softly.

“Just be honest with me, Malfoy. Whatever it is, promise you’ll always be honest with me, and you won’t fuck up.”

He nodded. “I promise.”

Chapter Eight

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To be continued! Don’t forget to let me know what you think, and help a relative newbie (at least to contributing anyway) to the fandom out by reblogging!

writing masterlist | Ao3

#dramione #dramione story #dramione fic #draco malfoy x hermione granger #draco x hermione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #older dramione #let no man steal your thyme

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todaydreambelieversfic · 4 years ago

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Author Spotlight: Kuhlaine Day 2

Author: @kuhlaine

Share one of your strengths.

Personally, I think my dialogue is one of my strengths! I'd like to think I write characters who sound believable. I try to read all of my dialogue-heavy scenes out loud to see how things flow. I also wrote a couple of one act plays in college so I've always been a bit more focused on dialogue when it comes to my non-fic writings!

Share one of your weaknesses.

I use way too many adverbs. Every creative writing professor I've ever had has called me out on it, and I've yet to learn my lesson.

Which fic has been the hardest to write?

Probably Even Then, Especially Now. It was a SUPER fun fic to work on, but keeping track of the dual timelines got a bit complicated at times. It was a delicate balance of trying to remember what the reader does and doesn't know at any point in time, and writing moments that make sense both with and without the context that comes up later on in the story. It was a really fun and rewarding challenge though!

Never Read the Comments was also a bit more difficult than I expected. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out the timeline of when videos would be posted, and cross-referencing the actual Bon Appetit Youtube channel to see what types of videos performed well and how many views they would get on average, plus reading actual comments on different kinds of videos to try to find inspiration!

Which fic has been the easiest to write?

Six Feet Apart! I've been quarantined in my Brooklyn apartment since March, so that fic was just the rom-com version of what I've been doing since then.

Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

It's a combo! I'm very lucky that writing is not only my passion and my hobby, but also my career! I write almost every day for work, and I love every second of it. But, I write fic throughout the day as a hobby to keep myself busy and creatively occupied. I spend a lot of my work day waiting for folks to get back to me with edits or assignments, so writing fic keeps me sharp and ready to dive into a new project at a moments notice!

Is there an episode or character or arc above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

Kurt in general is the character that I think inspires me the most. I think he's a super well-thought out and compelling character with an equally intriguing back story. He's also the character whose voice/thought process I understand the best, and since my favorite Kurt pairing is Klaine, I find myself drawn to Klaine fic!

What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Write what you know! I know that's super cliche, but the most fun I've had was writing settings and stories that I know very intimately! Whenever I have to do research for a story I find myself getting bogged down by the details and familiarizing myself with everything I possibly can before I start writing. Sometimes I'll even spend more time researching than I do writing, because I become too caught up in trying to make sure I have every minute detail right.

What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

Just sit down and write. This is more of a personal thing - I know that just getting a push from an outside force helps some people, but it's always been the opposite for me. The minute someone tells me to do something I don't want to do it anymore - I guess I'm a bratty child at heart. My mom always used to tell me to 'just go write something' whenever I was bored during summer or winter breaks. But I can't just write, mom! I need to be inspired!

I write whatever I want, whenever I want. Forcing myself to sit down and write never works for me, it just gives me a headache and a page full of incoherent ramblings.

If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Ooooo - I think I'd probably go with One More Day is Not Enough. I'd love to see the Kurt/Quinn confrontation play out on screen. Plus, I have a very detailed playlist of songs I listened to while writing that fic and I'd love to get to see those scenes play out with all of those songs that inspired me while I was writing!

What’s your process? Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines? What are the perfect writing conditions for you?

I always start with an outline! I had an awful habit of never finishing my fics when I was younger - and I also didn't outline my first fic that I started posting in 2018, Cross the Line. If I don't have an outline I get very easily distracted and start to lose my grip on the plot over time. My initial outlines are usually just complete stream of consciousness scribbles in my Notes app where the only goal is to get to the end of the story. From there, I type up a more presentable version of the outline into a Google doc. I don't always stick to my outline, I'll sometimes tweak or shift certain storylines, but I always stick to the general arc of the story, which is what's most important. This is just super helpful for me because I always know where the story is going next - if I don't figure that out from the beginning, I'll write myself into a corner.

Personally, I can't write things out of order because I'll start to forget which details I haven't introduced yet, so I always start from the beginning! I almost always have a chapter or storyline I'm really excited to work on, so having something to look forward to helps motivate me during less exciting chapters, or when I'm in a bit of a slump.

Perfect writing conditions for me are standing at my desk (I finally invested in a standing desk after months of working at my awkwardly low desk, ha!) with a really awesome playlist and some iced coffee.

***

Check out Kuhlaine’s Fics

Six Feet Apart - Having to shelter in place in New York is already difficult enough, but when Kurt Hummel's roommate decides to head back to Ohio to ride out the pandemic with her family, things become infinitely more complicated. At the very least his new quarantine roommate, Blaine, isn't too bad on the eyes.

Never Read the Comments - In which Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson, and whether or not they're in a relationship, become the Internet's latest obsession.

Not Quite Friends, Not Quite Lovers - Kurt Hummel has very little faith left in the world. But, the world gives him Blaine Anderson.

#author spotlight: kuhlaine

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sammy-gvf · 4 years ago

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We get along (for the most part)

Chapter 4

Lee Bodecker X OC —————————————————-----

Warnings: none just some cursing

MINORS DNI!! this story will get 18+!!

Other chapters are pinned on my profile in my masterlist

I am so sorry for the wait!! I wanted to make sure this looks good!

ALSO HUGE SHOUT OUT TO @please-buckme for going in and editing for me!! You’re a rock star, mamas! ❤️

—————————————————————————

Friday

After having classes all week, I like to unwind at Lilly’s house with a few alcoholic beverages. We used to drink and smoke cigarettes all weekend long when we were teenagers, since we aren't anymore and we both work and attend college classes we barely have time to see each other.

Stepping out of my car onto the sidewalk of Lilly's house, I see Mrs. Bodecker on the porch of their new home. She has her radio up quite loud to where I can hear the song “ California Dreamin’ By The Mamas and the Papas. I walk myself up to the bottom of her steps and I say

“Heard the news about the house, congratulations! How do ya like it so far?” I say loud enough to get her attention. The house is a white wood 2 story house with plenty of windows to let sunlight shine through in the early morning hours.

“Oh! Maggy!” Ruth exclaimed “You scared me dear, the house is great so far.” She says bending over to turn down her radio that's by her feet. “Lee and I are settling in quite nicely. Just wish there were some younger couples around is’ll.” She says as she walks down the porch steps to give me a side hug.

Reciprocating the hug, I give her a smile and say “Well, Lilly lives here” I point over to the house to the right of her, “We are both 22 and hangout quite a bit. I guess that's considered young, huh?” I smile.

She looks up in surprise, “You girls are 22? I'm only 25!” she says with an excited tone grabbing my hand.

“You're only 25? I thought you were older!” I say surprised, I cross my arms and cock my head to the side.

“A lot of people do. It's because Lee is older.” She says, starting to walk back up her porch steps. “Lee is 32, a little bit of an age gap but it's all good” She explains smiling and sitting down on the bench again.

“Well, yeah. Lee is a little bit older.” I say smiling “I guess if yall love each other, age don't mean nothin.” I start to walk away.

“What you got there?” She asks, eyein the brown bag in my arms, I pull out the bottle of wine and show her.

“Lilly and I are going to drink a little tonight.” I say looking at her “ Would ya maybe want to join us?” I ask her with a questioning tone. She instantly peps up and runs hurriedly towards me.

“That would be wonderful. I don't get out much.” She says holding my arm.

I look at her with a smile “We are starting around 8 tonight, stop on over when you can.” I say as I walk away from her and onto Lilly’s front steps.

Giving a small knock, I welcomed myself into her home and I placed the bottle of wine in the fridge. Looking around, it looks like her family is out for the night or maybe the weekend. Her family ain't all here in Knockemstiff, they get out of town and travel about an hour or two to visit grandparents or cousins.

“Lilly, you here?” I yell into the empty house “I brought wine!” I exclaim, looking around her house. “Lils? Where are you?” I say as I walk down the hallway to her room.

There she was, taking a nap as she frequently did after a long day of work and school. I smile and look down at her, sitting down on the side of her bed and sweep some hair behind her ear, trying to wake her up a bit.

“Hmmm,” She starts to mumble as she is slowly starting to wake up. I touch her hair one more time, sweeping a piece of her brunette hair behind her ear. “Come on, Lilly. Time to wake up, bug.” I say.

Opening her blue eyes, she smiles at me and starts to stretch. Slowly waking her body back up, she sits up in bed and rubs her eyes.

“Goodness, what time is it?” She asks in a sleepy tone.

“It's about 6:50 pm” I say chuckling, she looks up apologetically and starts to get up.

“ I am so sorry! I thought that I reminded my brother to wake me up before they had left for the weekend but I guess he forgot.” She says turning her body to the side and stepping out of the bed. Her feet hit the floor with a light thud and she walks towards her closet to get changed.

Her room is lit up by the sunlight coming through her windows, the white of the walls are illuminated by the light. Her bed is in the middle of the room with two bedside tables on either side of the bed. The room is fairly clean with the exception of a few shirts lying around and the doors of her closet being open.

She pulls out a light green dress to wear around the house, since no one is here she doesn't really have to worry about looking proper. We have the house to ourselves frequently, maybe once or twice a month. We have never had full on parties but we have had a few people over from high school before. Most of the people we were close with moved out of Knockemstiff after we had graduated. Good on them for escaping this town.

“Hey,” I say towards her while her back is still turned to me. “I invited Ruth over. Ya know, the Sheriff's wife.” She turns around and gives me a “huh” kind of look.

“What do you mean? Isn't she older or something?” She asks pulling out the dress and immediately changing into it, “I thought I saw her before out hangin laundry.” She says, turning towards me.

“Actually, Ruth is only 25. She ain't much older than us.” I say, looking at Lilly. “I thought she was a lot older too because she's married to Le- I mean the Sheriff.” Lilly turns around and gives me an eye.

“Oh, so now you and the Sheriff are on a first name basis?” She says with a smirk on her face, walking towards me she stands in front of me with her hands on her hips.

I smirk a little, “I mean, yeah, we are but that's because he’s been watching me since I was a teenager. He thinks he is eventually going to catch me doing something and get me in trouble.” I say looking down at my lap and I chuckle a bit.

“Well, that sounds fine that she’s comin over.” She says sitting down next to me on the bed. “But he’s bothering’ you, you say? Have you told anyone?”

“Yeah, he's botherin me a bit. I was at church, and all, with my folks on Sunday and he got a lil close.” I say as I lower my head to look down into my lap.

“Why don't you say something?” she says looking at me with a puzzled look.

I get up off her bed and start to pace back and forth in front of her, “What can I even say? He's the sheriff!” I say as I stop in front of her. “Who would believe me?”

She gets up off of her bed and walks towards me, “I would. Hell, maybe his wife would too.” She says as she grabs my hand and starts to drag me out of her room, speed walking towards the front door.

I grab her hand and try to get her to stop, but then we hear a knock on the front door.

“Of course, when I’m tryin to get you to do the right thing, something interrupts me” She says as she treads towards the door, I follow behind her.

We arrive at the door to find a giddy Ruth waiting at the door with a smile. Her brown hair is done up with a bandanna. She's wearing a plain tan t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Lily smiles in return and lets her in.

“Hey ladies! Ready to have a girls night?” She says as she comes in and steps past Lilly. “I don't think I’ve had one of these since I was in high school.”

We turn around and watch as she stands near us, “Well, where are we partying?” She asks as she does a little shimmy towards us.

Lilly and I look at each other and give a little shoulder shrug and we all plop down on the couch in her living room.

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

A few hours go by. Laughter, words exchanged and questions asked. We found out that Ruth was in college before she met Lee, and wanted to become a journalist.

When she found out that she could no longer afford to finish school, when she was halfway through her senior year of college, she dropped out and started working; hoping that she could make enough to go back.

Then she met him.

“Lee swept me off my lil feet.” She says in a southern drawl as she takes a swig of the bottle we are sharing, “He was charmin’. Talked the talk and walked the walk.” she slumped back into the couch behind her and spread her legs apart to get more comfortable.

I turn towards her and give her a questioning look, “Answer me, honestly.” I cock my head to the side, “Why Lee? You're a good lookin’ gal and a smart one at that.” I say taking a swig of the wine bottle.

She looks over at me and gives me a drunken smile, leaning forward onto her thighs with her elbows putting her face into her hands. “Why Lee?” she asks in response to my question.

“It kind of looks like she is thinking really hard about this question” I think to myself

“Well, he takes care of me.” She says as she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “Not to mention the pay from him bein’ the sheriff ain't too bad either.”

Lilly and I look at each other surprised as she takes the cigarettes out, lights it up and offers us some from the pack.

We take the cigarettes happily and both get a light from her already lit cigarette.

“So you don't love him?” Lilly asks as she sits on the floor leaning against the couch, taking a drag of her cigarette and a swig of the wine.

Ruth looks over at her and takes a drag from her cigarette, “I do but he never lets me go anywhere that ain't the house or church.” she says, “Hell, I could be in trouble for being here right now.” She laughs and Lilly and I give each other a look.

Lilly and I both stand up and excuse ourselves, leaving Ruth in the living room by herself as we speed to the bathroom. We hurry into the tiny bathroom, shut the door behind us and lock it.

I whisper, “Shit Lil, what are we gonna do if he finds out she's here?”

She looks at me in utter fear, grabs my hand and responds saying, “I don't know, but she's gotta go, Mags.” I shake my head, we both take a deep breath and head back out to the living room.

Ruth is passed out on the couch.

Fuck me.

We stop in our tracks and we both gasp, fear instantly striking us as we hear a door slam next door and a voice yelling,

“God fucking damnnit, where are you Ruth!” Lee yells.

The room is silent. The only thing making sound is the small snores coming from Ruth.

Lilly and I shoot each other a look, knowing we have to move fast.

“What if he just thinks she left him?” Lilly whispers to me as we move around slowly, not to make any sudden loud noises.

“He aint dumb, Lil.” I say looking her in the eyes from across the room, “The first place he's gonna look is the surrounding houses.”

As we start to hear more curses coming from the house beside us, we start moving around quickly to pick up anything that could be used as evidence against us if he comes here to check.

As we are almost done picking up cigarette buds and wine bottles, we hear the door from Lee’s house slam and loud footsteps coming towards Lillys house.

There's a loud bang at the door.

A booming voice comes through the door and we scatter, trying to throw everything away that could make us look guilty. we run over behind the couch and squat down

“Sheriff's department, open up or I’m kickin’ this damn door down!” Lee states as he slams his fist against the door again.

“Lil, you gotta go open the door.” I whisper to her in a shaky voice.

“No, you go open the door.” she says to me, shooting me a smile. “He knows you, you should be able to sweet talk him, huh?” she says, slurring her words.

“Lil, I am not sweet talkin him.” I say, “Besides, if we just hand over Ruth we should be fine, yeah?” I suggest, elbowing her in the arm.

The knocking continues.

“You have one minute to open this damn door or what I said is gonna happen” he yells again, more stern this time.

“Coming!” Lilly shouts as she stumbles to the door. Clearly, he will be able to see she's drunk.

Lilly walks over to the white door and opens it revealing an angry Lee.

Lee steps towards her, getting closer to the screen door. Lilly steps back a bit and stumbles on her feet.

“Now, darlin, who might you be?” he asks in a charming tone, standing there with his hat off and hands on his hips.

“My name is Lilly-Ann Brighter, sir.” she says as she slowly slurs her name to the sheriff.

He chuckles and says, “Well, Miss- or is it Mrs. Brighter?” He asks, “Aint you a cute lil thing.” He runs his eyes up and down her chest.

I gag just hearing that.

gross.

“Miss. Brighter, sir.” She says to him.

“I have the suspicion that my wife may have been here, due to her shoes bein out front of your front door, ma’am.” he says in an almost scarily calm tone.

Lilly's eyes instantly go wide.

Ruth blew our cover and outed us.

Fuck.

“Uh, yes sir, she is here.” Lilly says as she looks down at her hands and then back up. “We were having a uh.. sleepover!” she says, pepping herself up.

“May I come in?” he asks with a sly smile on his face.

Suddenly, I suck in cold air and realize,

My car.

It's parked out front.

He knows I'm here.

I am so screwed.

Instantly, I pop up and start running towards Lilly's room, frantically grabbing my keys, and I book it out the window. My feet hitting the ground, I hope I didn't make too much sound.

I sneak off to the side of the house, leaning up against the white side paneling as I pop my head up to the kitchen window to see Lee inside the house, picking up Ruth off the couch bridal style and talking to Lilly still. He's looking around for something, as his eyes keep wandering around the room.

I gotta get outta here, FAST.

I keep track of where they are by footsteps so I start to move faster as I hear footsteps slow.

Soon, I’m hiding in a bush out front of Lilly’s house, as Lee is standing on the porch talking to her still.

I can hear the mumbling but I can’t really make out what they’re saying.

Suddenly, he walks off the porch with Ruth in his arms, walks past me in the bush, walks up his steps into the house and he shuts the door.

I take a deep sigh of relief and wait for a second.

I get up and dart to the front door and I fall forwards to meet Lilly‘s feet standing there. She has her eyes on me and her arms crossed across her chest.

“Mags, what the fuck!” Lilly yells at me.

I rush to my feet and use my hand to cover her mouth “Lilly, shut up.” I say as I back her up to go to her room, keeping her mouth covered as we move.

We get to her room and I uncover her mouth, she whispers to me, “Why did you leave me in here by myself with him? That was so scary.” she says standing still in front of me.

I sit on her bed and take a deep breath.

“ Because, he knew I was here and I didn’t want to see him or talk to him.” I say, laying back on her bed. She’s still standing in front of me.

“You really don’t like him, do you?” she asks as she sits down next to me on the bed.

“No, I really don’t.” I say as I prop myself up on my elbows to look over at Lilly, who I can already tell is losing consciousness as we speak. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m going to get a cup of water and close up the house.”

I get up off of Lilly’s bed and head towards the living room area, where I fix up the couches a little bit and turn off the living room light. The only light that is now visible is coming from the kitchen. The window of her kitchen is directly across from the kitchen window of the Bodeckers.

I make my way into the kitchen and get myself a glass of water. I step off to the side to make sure I’m not visible through the window. Hopefully he brought her in and went to bed.

I look down at my glass for a minute and then out the window.

Lee is staring right back at me.

-—————————————————————-

DONT FORGET TO LIKE/REBLOG/ REPLY!!

TAGS @please-buckme @ladyfallonavenger @youcancallmeishita @unsentlettersandmore @buckysdolls @nerdy-depressed @not-another-fangirl @do-not-pray-for-me @local-spacegirl

#sebastian stan #bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #the devil all the time #tdatt #lee bodecker supremacy #lee bodecker fic #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker #ongoing fic

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modew · 4 years ago

Text

My ace honeymoon is over

I am not on Cloud 7 anymore. The honeymoon phase is long over. Don’t know what got me thinking in romantic metaphors. Being aromantic and all. And asexual if that wasn’t clear.

Now I feel like I need to shout out to all the alloromantic aces out there. I know you fought hard to convince the world that ace folks can have and want romantic relationships. Or the tiny part of the world that is actually aware of asexuality and/or has watched Bojack Horseman, I guess. Seriously, I don’t know if it’s the post Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week slump I am in, but I feel like the ‘invisible orientation’ more than ever.

I know we are not supposed to mention you know who anymore but remember Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak and how cool we thought that was? Now, invisibility really doesn’t inspire awe in me anymore. I guess it is a privilege of the seen to fantasize about being unseen.

Presently, invisibility just drags me down. Makes me feel defeated. Powerless.

Today I contemplated sex education and how important it is to make information available so future generations don’t have to think something is wrong with them. Like I did well into my 20s. Only to find out that this vague unnamed part of me actually has a name, a community. A fucking pride flag even. I was on such a high. For me, it immediately clicked and I was so euphoric. I was practically bouncing up and down from finding something I never suspected to exist. My past rewrote itself. So many new narratives to erase all the ones that were framed by ‘something is wrong with me’, ‘why am I not like other people?’. So much of the shame I felt practically erased overnight. Ok, I am probably tinting things a teeny bit in fluffy pink. Like I said, total newly-wed energy. (And I am starting to get uncomfortable with my own metaphor.)

I think my turning point was coming out to my parents. I was still riding kind of a high until then. An already significantly dampened high, but I still had this undescribable energy.

I feel like this post is getting too long. I don’t know why I feel this sudden need to vent my frustrations to strangers on the internet. Although that’s this century’s past time, right? I have also clearly lost my thread here.

I was writing about how currently my feelings are mostly ones of frustration, impotence and resignation. I know that’s the wrong attitude. And I want to work to contribute to aspec visibility. And I will. But that doesn’t change me feeling defeated. Maybe today is not a good day. I don’t want to end this on a sad note. But I can’t help feeling crushed. The Aromantic Spectrum Awareness Week really dragged me down. Everyday felt like a reminder of how futile the task of raising awareness is. And then reading about all that hatred that activists like Yasmin Benoit faced yet again.

Yeah, maybe I didn’t concentrate on the right things. I should have made a bigger effort to celebrate but there were so many discouraging moments. Another thing I saw was a post made for ASAW from a LGTBIQ* [sic] network that they later had to edit and apologize for. It just brought the obscureness of my identity into glaring light.

Ok, I am spiraling a little. My glass is clearly half empty.

I will pick myself up again, but I just wanted to dwell for a moment down here. Because I think these feelings are valid too and they are not all completely unwarranted. I can feel frustrated and also angry at being invisible. It’s this anger that stems from having lived so many years thinking something was wrong with me when simple awareness and information could have changed that.

But that’s just a small part of me. Something I am not completely over yet but also something that doesn’t consume me. But still something I wanted to let out and maybe share with people that understand or feel similarly.

#asexual #aromantic

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quickspinner · 5 years ago

Text

Someone Like You

I recommend a bathroom break and a beverage (maybe peppermint tea) before you sit down to this one folks, it's kinda long. I keep trying to read this through 'one more time' to make sure I've done a clean edit and every time I end up adding a couple hundred words so I'm declaring it DONE and if there typos we'll all just live with it. I never catch them all anyway.

Marinette was a people watcher. She always had been; it was kind of a professional requirement, in her own mind. There were fashion designers who didn’t notice people much, and in Marinette’s opinion, it always showed in their clothing. Marinette didn’t want to be that kind of designer, the kind that started hyperventilating if their models deviated from the standard look in the slightest, so she paid attention to the people around her—to their shapes, to their colors, to their styles. She’d seen so many interesting people since moving into her high rise apartment, and since she saw most of them at least a few times a week, she’d been able to learn more about them than the people she saw on the street.

There was the plump lady with the big smile who lived a few doors from her whose hair was spiky purple but whose clothes were earth-toned and flowy. Marinette nicknamed her Allium in her mind after the flower. There was Cat Lady Carrie on the fourth floor, who always entered the elevator covered in multicolored cat fur as if she wore it with pride over her mostly black, but otherwise extremely practical, wardrobe. There was Workout Maniac Kim from the seventh floor, who had a peppy greeting for everyone and was always wearing gym shorts except on the very coldest days, when he condescended to wear sweatpants. Marinette hadn’t been sure why he rode the elevator at all until a chance comment during one of their short conversations revealed that he had an old knee injury that made stairs difficult for him.

Today when the elevator stopped on its journey to the ground, the doors opened on The Boy From The Sixth Floor, which was kind of a stupid name, but even after a couple of months of running into him, she hadn’t come up with anything better, because she had trouble picking one thing that defined him. He was tall, with pierced ears and shaggy black hair dyed blue at the tips. He usually kept his gaze on the floor, but he always made eye contact briefly as he greeted her or when he uttered his polite, “Have a good day,” on his way out of the elevator, so she knew his eyes were blue. His wardrobe varied a lot; he clearly wasn’t someone who adhered to any particular capital-S style, and he just wore what he liked, but almost always in layers, dominated by shades of blue and black and white, and almost always with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He had a narrow build and slightly slumped shoulders, but she could see strength in his bare forearms, accented by the thick bracelets he wore on one wrist.

Marinette was curious about him but he seemed—not shy exactly, but hesitant, reserved, like he enjoyed quiet, and it made her less willing to strike up a conversation with him than others. People like him probably thought people like her were boring, anyway, so aside from polite eye contact when one of them was entering or exiting, Marinette tried to keep her eyes forward and not bother him with her presence. It did mean she never got a good look at the tattoos extending from beneath his sleeves down to the backs of his hands, which was a shame. Marinette didn’t have any tattoos herself but they fascinated her as an art form. She was herself in the business of decorating the human body, after all, just...less permanently. She had toyed briefly with the idea of a clothing line that featured openings in the most common tattoo locations, but it would be a hard sell to the higher ups, so she had shelved the idea. Probably no one would be interested in such a thing anyway, right?

“Evening,” he said quietly, as he stepped onto the elevator, his blue eyes flicking to hers and then away quickly. He always spoke softly, and his voice was smooth and pleasant. She smiled politely and nodded in response to his greeting as he moved to the other corner and leaned one shoulder against the wall. He had an instrument case slung over his shoulder, but Marinette didn’t get a good look at it. That explained the slight slouch, she observed, if he was used to carrying something like that around. She remembered he frequently had earbuds around his neck when he came in. Not a big deal, many people did, but if he was a musician that would make sense. His t-shirts had a lot of band logos on them, too, now that she came to think of it. Interesting.

Marinette was so lost in thought that she was caught completely off guard when the elevator suddenly jerked, moved and then jerked again, She tried to take a step to steady herself but the pencil skirt she was wearing didn’t allow her legs to go as wide as she tried to plant them, and she tipped over with a yelp.

Her companion moved to catch her, and she fell into his chest as he got one arm under her and grabbed the railing with his other hand to steady them both. He was strong, Marinette thought thankfully, half bent over the arm around her waist that was the only thing keeping her from falling. She grabbed onto him automatically as the elevator shuddered again.

The jolting only lasted a moment before they ground to a halt, but they both stood braced for another several seconds, waiting for...something. Marinette had time to notice there was a protectiveness in the way he held her. It would have been nice, if she wasn’t scared out of her mind.

Both of them relaxed at the same time, apparently convinced that...whatever had happened, was over.

“You okay?” he asked in his soft voice, putting his hands on her upper arms and gently pushing her upright.

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, looking at the ceiling of the elevator as if it had answers. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered, looking around as well. “But it sounds like we’re not moving anymore.”

Marinette made a noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper. She didn’t even realize her fingers were still clutching the fabric of his jacket until he took her hands in his and gently unhooked them.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, snatching her hands back quickly and moving back to her side of the elevator. “Um, thanks for catching me.” God, how embarrassing.

“No worries.” He crossed to the control panel and pressed the alarm button. The response they got from maintenance wasn’t encouraging. They weren’t sure what had happened but they were sending a technician to check the pulley system.

“At least it’s not a power outage,” he said, sounding like he was speaking more to himself than Marinette, “So we still have climate control and ventilation.” They both stood there stupidly for a moment before he made a slight oh well gesture with his arms, and then sat down and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

“I guess we might as well get comfortable,” he sighed, taking off his jacket and the hoodie he wore underneath it, leaving him in a ripped white t-shirt. “My name’s Luka,” he said, drawing his knees up and setting his elbows across them. “Do you feel comfortable telling me yours?”

“Oh,” Marinette said, a little surprised by his phrasing. “It’s um, Marinette.” Reluctantly, she slipped off her heels and leaned back against the elevator wall with a sigh, gripping the rail a little too tightly.

“Marinette,” Luka smiled, taking his phone out of his pocket and beginning to type, presumably to text whoever he was supposed to be meeting. “That’s pretty.” He glanced up at her. “You look nervous. Are you scared of closed spaces or is it me?”

“What?” Marinette’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, it’s not you at all! Or, well, not anything about you specifically. I’d be just as nervous with anyone else. It’s not even really the space, I’m just...kind of a nervous person in general. Always lots of energy, and not too many outlets for it. I’m sorry if I made you think that.” She released her death grip on the rail and dug in her bag for her own phone, figuring she’d better let Alya know about her situation.

Luka smiled. “You just seemed uncomfortable, and sometimes people like you are a little freaked out by people like me.” He made a gesture that indicated his dyed hair and piercings.

“Oh, no, no, you look good,” Marinette said quickly, and then backpedaled, horrified at herself. “I mean, I like your look, it suits you! That’s what fashion should be about, expressing yourself.” She smoothed down her skirt absently. “Just because I’m me and you’re you doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

Luka’s smile spread slowly across his face. “I’m glad you think so. Are you sure you don’t want to sit down? I can move a little if you need more space.”

Marinette flushed. “I’m fine. Really.”

Luka raised his eyebrows. He looked her over for a moment and then nodded as though he understood something. “I can look the other way while you get situated if you want.”

Marinette’s face burned and she covered her red cheeks with her hands. “Would you mind?”

“Of course not.” Luka faced the wall, which thankfully wasn’t mirrored, and Marinette got down on her knees on the floor and tried to find a position that wouldn’t have her skirt riding up her thighs every time she moved. She let out a frustrated huff.

“Of course I decided to wear a skirt today,” she muttered. “Of course.” She took off her cropped jacket and spread it across her knees, but it was too small to really help much. Still, it was the best she could do.

“Okay, you can look now,” she sighed.

Luka turned around. Seeing her situation, he picked up his hoodie and offered it to her.

“Thank you,” Marinette said gratefully, accepting it. It was large enough to almost totally cover her legs no matter how she sat. “That’s much better.”

He smiled. “The situation sucks as it is. I don’t want either of us to be any more uncomfortable than necessary.”

Marinette smiled back, the first genuine smile she had managed since the elevator ground to a halt. “You’re very thoughtful, Luka.”

All he said was a soft, “thank you,” but Marinette thought he was blushing just a little. It was...sweet.

It gave her the courage to say, after a few minutes of silence, “Were you heading anywhere important?”

“Band practice,” Luka said, nodding at the instrument case beside him.

“Oh, what do you play?” Marinette asked, craning her neck to see the case.

“Electric guitar,” Luka said, shifting a little so she could see it better.

“That’s so cool,” Marinette said brightly. “I played the flute when I was a kid but I never really had a passion for it. What kind of music? How long have you been playing?”

“Practically my whole life,” Luka smiled.

Marinette gasped. “Sorry! Am I talking too much? I told you, too much energy and not enough outlet for it, and pretty soon it all goes to running my mouth, but we can be quiet if you’d rather—“

She stopped as Luka began to laugh quietly, one hand covering his mouth. His fingernails were painted a shiny black, she noticed.

“You’re funny, Marinette,” Luka grinned. “You were fine, I don’t mind talking. But tell me about you, if that’s okay.”

“Me?” Marinette blinked. “Oh, I’m...well I’m not that interesting, really.” Not like he was,

Luka hmmed. “Tell me anyway. You know my passion’s music, what’s yours?”

Something about the intent way he was looking at her made her face feel warm. “Um, fashion design,” she said shyly, sure it would sound shallow to someone like Luka.

“Really,” he said, eyebrows raising slightly. “My sister models part time.”

“I—oh, really?” Marinette managed not to gape at him but it was a near thing.

“Yeah, she’s been doing it for a few years now.” Luka pulled out his phone again and fiddled with it for a moment, and then offered it to Marinette. She took it and looked curiously at the photo. Luka was standing with a girl with striking amber brown eyes and long black hair. She was clearly made up and styled for a runway show. Luka had his arm around her shoulders and though his posture was relaxed as always, he had an adorably over-enthusiastic wide smile and his eyes were lit up with pride. His sister had an indulgent smile on her face that clearly said my brother is a dork and I adore him.

“Oh!” Marinette gasped. “I’ve seen her with you before, I thought she was your—” she stopped, and blushed.

“Girlfriend?” Luka smiled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, we’ve gotten that before because we’re so close in age and we don’t look much alike. Juleka looks more like our mom and I, unfortunately, got Dad’s genes.”

“It’s not unfortunate, you’re really cute!” Marinette scolded, speaking thoughtlessly in her anger at him putting himself down. She couldn’t stand to hear people talk badly about themselves. Luka looked down at the floor between his knees, presumably to hide the smirk she could still see the corner of.

“Well,” he said, not looking at her. “Thanks, but...still no girlfriend, just an awesome kid sister.”

“You’re so cute together,” Marinette continued in a rush, hoping to brush past the awkwardness. “I mean, now that I understand the relationship I can totally see how much you care about each other!” Marinette looked at the picture again and giggled. “You’re really proud of her aren’t you? It looks like you guys are close.”

“We are,” Luka said simply, taking his phone back when she handed it to him and swiping through a few more pictures. “And I am proud of her. She had some major hurdles but she kept chasing her dreams.” He turned the phone back to her, showing her another picture of his sister, this time clearly a professional shot.

“Her eyes are amazing,” Marinette observed.

“So are yours,” Luka commented, and then they both looked up, perhaps equally startled at his statement. She could see him swallow as his cheeks tinted pink.

“Thank you,” Marinette said with a smile, deciding to save him from the clear indecision he was suffering between trying to say something else, perhaps to play it off, and keeping his mouth shut lest he make it worse. It was a worry she was very familiar with, after all. “So she’s been modeling a while? I don’t remember her but you see so many models, you know, and I’m always looking at the clothes. With eyes like that, she should really try cosmetic ads, she’d be killer.”

Luka smiled, an affectionate look on his face. “Her agent’s looking into that, actually.”

“Awesome!” Marinette clapped her hands. “Oh, she’ll be amazing! You’ll have to let me know which ad campaigns she works with so I can check them out!” Luka’s smile broadened into a grin, and for once his gaze remained steady on her.

Suddenly self-conscious, Marinette reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear and smooth the rest back. She’d lost a few strands out of her bun during the elevator-quake, it seemed, and they were tickling her neck. Luka looked away quickly and cleared his throat, but he asked, “So do you design professionally, or just for fun?”

“Both,” Marinette answered, still a little fluttered. “I mean, I work at a design firm but I’m just starting out, so I don’t do as much actual design as I hope to in the future. Right now it’s a lot of sewing and altering and trying to find tactful ways to suggest that maybe my boss has lost her mind every once in a while.”

Luka covered his chuckle with his hand. “That’s an important job.”

“I also run a boutique business online for custom commissions,” Marinette continued, smiling a little herself. “It means I’m working a lot, but it keeps the creativity alive even when my job makes me feel like a soulless drone.”

Luka laughed—not loud, but a full laugh and not just a quiet chuckle. Marinette found herself smiling, pleased with her accomplishment.

“You’re funny, Marinette,” Luka said again, his smile warm, not at all like the cool politeness she was used to from him.

He...really was cute when he smiled like that. And his eyes were nice—softer than she’d realized before.

A silence descended that wasn’t quite awkward but wasn’t quite comfortable, either, like neither of them wanted the conversation to stop, but neither knew exactly where to take it from here, either.

Marinette took a breath, bit her lip, and then plunged onward. “Do you, um...do you want to see some of my work? Since we don’t have anything else to do...”

Luka brightened. “Yeah, I’d love to!”

Marinette, still smiling, tucked that loose strand of hair back again and reached for her bag. She pulled out her sketchbook and set it aside, and then pulled out the portfolio that had been underneath it and shyly offered it to Luka. He took it and then hesitated a moment before gesturing to the space next to her. “May I?”

“Mmhmm!” Marinette made a token shift to the side as Luka got on his knees and shuffled over to the space beside her. He settled next to her, his arm brushing hers slightly but only because the elevator just wasn’t all that wide. He smelled nice, she thought absently as he opened her portfolio across his lap. It occurred to her to be glad she was stuck in the elevator with someone clean. She leaned closer for a second to reposition her legs; one was starting to fall asleep tucked under her as it was. With Luka’s hoodie to keep her covered she could sit more comfortably.

“I like your perfume,” Luka commented. “Subtle. It’s nice.” Then he glanced up with a slightly startled look on his face, like his mouth had gotten ahead of him—a feeling she was very familiar with. “Sorry, was that weird?” he asked with a slight hunch of his shoulders and a lopsided grin. “It’s just—there’s a girl on my floor that wears way too much and I was just thinking I’m glad I’m not here with her.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “The one with the yellow designer jacket and super expensive sunglasses?”

Luka grinned. “I’ve never noticed the sunglasses but yeah, the jacket’s um...hard to miss.”

Marinette smiled. “It would be awful to be stuck in here with her. Sometimes I can barely stand it until we get to the lobby. And honestly, I was just thinking I’m glad I’m here with someone like you and not, like, Kim fresh from a workout. I mean, he’s a nice guy, but…” She shrugged, wrinkling her nose.

Luka chuckled, then cleared his throat and looked back to her portfolio. He didn’t say anything as he went through it, but he studied each sketch and its paired photographs with great care. Marinette fell to examining the tattoos on the arm nearest her, finally able to indulge her interest, especially since the t-shirt covered considerably less than his outer layers and bared parts of the tattoo she hadn’t even glimpsed before. The design flowed along the lines of his arm nicely, each individual element clearly considered in light of the entire piece. The music themes didn’t surprise her but the nautical ones did. There was a compass rose in particular that she found very interesting, with symbols at each cardinal point that surely meant something to him.

“These are amazing, Marinette.” She was so lost in her thoughts that his gentle voice made her jump. Luka turned back several pages from the end. “I really like this one.”

“Really?” Marinette asked, surprised.

“Well, it’s not my personal style,” Luka smiled without looking up from the page. “But I can see the art in it. It’s very evocative. When I look at it, I feel like I know something about the person you made it for. And that’s what you were saying, right? Fashion should be about expressing yourself. I feel like this one is really true to that intention. It might not express me as a person, but it does express someone and I love that about it.”

Marinette stared at him in surprise for so long that Luka looked up to meet her eyes. She’d been leaning in to look at the book in his lap and when he raised his head his face was suddenly closer to her than she expected.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, and she jerked back slightly.

“No, no, not at all. I’m—that’s great, what you said, that makes me really happy. I guess I didn’t expect you to be so thoughtful about it.”

Luka tilted his head slightly, a bit of amusement flickering across his expression. “Just because my art isn’t your art doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it, once you show me how. I mean, I’ll admit,” he looked back down at the portfolio, “There’s a lot here I don’t understand, and even though I feel like I could describe this person, I’m not sure I’d be able to articulate why I felt that way. But, you know, that’s how we learn about each other, right?” He smiled that warm smile at her again and Marinette felt her pulse speeding up as her face heated.

“Sorry, am I too much?” he asked, leaning back a little. “Juleka says I’m too intense sometimes.”

“I don’t mind it,” Marinette said, smiling shyly. “I like it.”

There was no doubt that color washed his cheeks this time, and for a moment his expression clearly showed how pleased he was before he looked down and closed the portfolio, smoothing the pages carefully so nothing wrinkled. “You can tell me if I’m overstepping, but...is that new stuff you’ve been working on?” Luka indicated her sketchbook.

“Oh! Yes, it is,” Marinette said, picking it up and holding it to her.

“Would you be willing to share it with me?” Luka asked. “I’m really curious. Only if you’d be comfortable though, no pressure.”

“You really want to see?” Marinette asked, and she pursed her lips for a moment when he nodded. “I don’t mind,” she said slowly. “But...I need you to put your phone where I can see it. I have some client work in here that I can’t allow to get out, and I can’t tell you who it’s for. One set of eyes is no big deal, but I can’t have pictures going out or they’d never work with me again.”

Luka blinked at her for a moment, and then pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” Marinette smiled, taking it. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I can’t risk my client’s privacy based on my intuition.”

“I understand,” Luka said with a slightly lopsided smile, “And we did just meet, after all. It would be completely reasonable for you not to trust me.”

Marinette just smiled and set his phone carefully on the floor where he could reach it, but not without her seeing. Then she offered her sketchbook to him. Luka took it with one hand, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“You sure? I don’t have to look at the whole thing, you can just pick what you want to show me.”

Marinette shrugged. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. Like I said, one set of eyes won’t matter, and I don’t think you’re going to sit here and memorize anything just to steal my designs,” she teased, leaning over to bump her shoulder against his.

“Hardly,” Luka chuckled, running his fingers lightly over the cover of the book before opening it.

Luka went over the pages of the sketchbook with the same attention he’d given her portfolio. A couple of times he smiled, and Marinette peeked around him to see what he was looking at. One was a page where the design had just been a total failure and she had written some unkind things about the inventor of that particular fabric in the margin. One was a cutesy, flirty outfit she’d designed for herself. Luka darted a glance at her, murmured, “I like the ruffles,” and turned the page, that hint of pink back on his cheeks.

He paused a long time on the commission she had been trying to safeguard, but that didn’t surprise her, as it probably had the most in common with his own aesthetic. She was, however, completely surprised by what came out of his mouth as he poured over the design.

“Jagged Stone,” Luka said absently, eyes still glued to the page.

“W-what?” Marinette stammered.

“This stuff, it makes me think of Jagged St—” He looked up, catching Marinette’s expression. She wasn’t sure what kind of face she was making. Certainly on the inside she was too mixed up to settle on one. Horror, fear, delight, admiration, hilarity—she couldn’t seem to decide how to react. “Holy shit,” Luka said, his eyes traveling over her face. “Your mystery client is Jagged fucking Stone?”

“Um…” Marinette said slowly, “I...can’t confirm that.”

“You don’t have to,” Luka said, still staring at her. “There’s no one else alive with Jagged’s style, and this—” He held up the sketchbook, turning it toward her. “It can’t be anyone else, Marinette. I’ve been following Jagged Stone’s career since I was old enough to pronounce his name.”

Marinette bit her lip, and sighed. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she nearly begged. “If it is Jagged, and I’m not saying it is, I can’t let this get out, I’d have to scrap everything and start over, if he’d even still want to have me—”

“Of course, of course,” Luka said, putting the sketchbook down quickly and taking her hand between both of his. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Of course I’d never say anything, not that anyone would likely believe me if I did. And Jagged would be crazy to fire you. Uh, if it actually was Jagged you worked for,” he added hurriedly. “But I mean, Marinette, look at this.” He let go of her hand and picked up the sketchbook again. “You get him. This is so original, it’s not like anything he’s ever worn before, and yet it’s so Jagged at the same time, I’m just—I’m blown away, really.”

“You...really think so?” Marinette asked hesitantly. “You like it? You think Jagged will like it?”

“He’s eccentric, not stupid, so yeah, I know he will.” Luka sighed, looking back down at the book. “Man, I wish we could get a designer for our band with even half your talent. Is this one for an album cover? No, never mind, you probably can’t tell me that.”

“Tell me about your band,” Marinette said, drawing up her knees under his hoodie and wrapping her arms around her legs. “Have you been playing with them long?”

“Individually I have,” he said, still looking through her sketchbook. “But we just decided to group up a couple months ago. I’ve played with a few other bands and they were all cool people but I never quite clicked with them the way I have with Kitty Section.” He chuckled. “Helps that Juleka’s our bassist, and her girlfriend does our vocals, and then Rose has been friends with our drummer since they were kids. I think maybe that’s why we vibe together so well.”

“That’s your band name, Kitty Section?”

“Yes. It’s pretty much all we’ve got right now, plus a few songs I’ve written. We haven’t been together long enough to put a look and a brand together. Not like these,” he sighed, shaking his head as he turned a page. He hadn’t lifted his eyes once the whole time he’d spoken. “You are really good at what you do, Marinette.”

Marinette blushed hotly. When she showed her designs to laypeople, she was used to being told she was “talented” like she hadn’t worked hard and studied to get her skills where they were, or that she was “creative” like it was something she did without thought or purpose. She liked Luka’s compliment better.

“Wait, did you say you wrote the songs?” she asked, eyes widening slightly.

“Well, I write the melodies,” Luka replied, resting his chin on his hand as he turned the page. “Rose mostly does the lyrics. I work a lot easier with music than words. I have a feeling or a thought that I want to express, I work it out in the music, and then Rose takes the demo I give her and puts words to it. Usually she’s pretty spot on in a kinda metaphorical way.” He made a so-so gesture with his hand. “If I don’t love it, we go back and forth until we get something we’re happy with.”

“Do you, um...do you have any of your music with you?” Marinette asked.

Luka looked up, startled. “Uh, yeah, I’ve got some on my phone. Just some tracks we recorded ourselves, though, nothing like, professional.”

“Can I listen?”

Luka looked like she’d just handed him a million bucks and Jagged’s autograph. “Really? I mean, sure, let me—” He started to reach for his phone, and then closed the sketchbook and handed it back to her. Marinette took it gratefully, and Luka picked up his phone and queued up the music. “It’d sound better if I had better speakers,” he muttered almost to himself as he set the phone back in the place Marinette had put it before.

Marinette gave the sketchbook back to him, leaned back and closed her eyes, listening to the music. It was...eclectic. She almost would have said that the band was still finding its sound, but it didn’t feel like that. It just felt like they embraced a wide reading of their genre. There was a really fun song about unicorns and cats and…

Marinette’s eyes flew open and she dug in her bag for her pencil case. Then she plucked her sketchbook out of Luka’s hands and turned to a blank page.

“Marinette?” Luka asked, sounding slightly bewildered though she didn’t look up at him to see.

“Can you play that last one again?” Marinette asked distractedly, setting her pencil moving across the page.

“Yeah, sure,” Luka said, still sounding puzzled as he reached for the phone.

“Put it on repeat one please.”

“Okay...”

Marinette began writing. First the name of the band, then phrases that jumped out at her from the songs, then words the music called to mind, then words that described Luka himself. Shapes and colors swirled around in her mind as she wrote, and then she began to sketch. She heard Luka’s intake of breath beside her but forgot it before she could even glance up.

She paused here and there, swapping out colored pencils and bobbing her head to the rhythm while she thought, but she kept a nice, smooth creative flow. It was easy, designing free form like this, not having to worry about making it look like her design house’s style, or even Jagged’s, just...creating something wholly new. It was nice. It was fun.

When she sat back with a sigh, stretching her cramping fingers, she realized Luka had moved back across from her and his guitar was in his lap.

“You’ve been playing?” Marinette asked, blinking. How had she not noticed that?

Luka smiled, and swept his pick down the strings, sending a muted series of notes into the small space. “Just playing along with the song. It doesn’t sound that great without an amp but at least this way I get a little practice. You were clearly in the zone and I didn’t want to be in the way. And...to be honest I had to do something or I’d have burned a hole through you with my eyes. Are you finished? Can I see?”

“I—oh.” Marinette looked down at her work and blushed. “Yeah, I...you know it’s probably stupid, we didn’t even talk about what you were looking for, but you know, I heard the song and I had the idea and—well it made sense at the time. It’s probably all wrong, though,” she sighed, holding the sketchbook to her chest. “I mean, without a proper consultation…I haven’t even met your other band members, just you, and…”

“May I see?” Luka asked, reaching toward the sketchbook but not touching either it, or her. “I mean, I tried not to watch, I didn’t know if you’d want me to, but what I did see—please?” He gave her the most irresistible puppy eyes she’d ever seen on a grown man.

She giggled and looked down. Marinette took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She always had this moment, after an initial sketch was finished, this sudden conviction that everything she’d just done was awful, but she’d learned to ignore it, to just suck it up and hand over the design and let the client decide. She offered the sketchbook to Luka with a nervous smile.

He took it, his eyes lingering on her as he turned it to face him, and then he looked down at the sketch and sucked in his breath.

Marinette bit her lip hard in an attempt not to babble all the disclaimers, pushing that stupid piece of hair back again, and waited, tense.

When he finally spoke, it was so softly she barely heard him. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, laying his long fingers on the page next to her sketch. “You got all of this just—just from the music?” He looked up at her and she swore for an instant there were stars in his eyes. “You’re amazing, Marinette. I don’t think...I don’t think anybody’s ever gotten my music like this except Juleka.”

“Not just from the music,” she said, her own voice hushed to match his, unable to tear her eyes away when he looked at her like that. “From you, too. I mean we only talked today, but I’ve seen you around lots, so I took your style and...amplified it. Played it up.” She shrugged, cutting herself out before she could start babbling.

“You noticed me?” Luka blinked, and Marinette burst out laughing.

“Of course I did, you’re hard to miss.”

“Right,” Luka looked embarrassed and turned his face away. “I—”

He was interrupted by a buzz and a voice from the emergency panel. “Okay, hang on folks, we think we fixed the problem. We’re bringing you to the ground floor now. It’ll be a bit slower than usual, but I assure you that’s entirely normal and you’re in no danger.”

“Well that’s reassuring,” Luka snorted softly. They shared a grin, and began gathering up their things. Luka stood up and offered her a hand. She accepted, letting him pull her to her feet. He politely looked away as she tugged down her skirt and settled it back into place. She gave him back his hoodie and slipped her little cropped jacket back on, stepping carefully back into her pumps.

“It might not have been the greatest outfit for sitting on the floor,” Luka observed, darting her a shy smile as he put his coat back on and ducked under the strap of his guitar case. “But you look really cute in it.”

Marinette giggled, blushing, and Luka chuckled through his nose, grinning at the floor. The elevator started moving with a gentle bump and slowly began to descend. Marinette grabbed Luka’s sleeve reflexively, and turned apologetic but pleading eyes up at him. He chuckled and removed her hand only to wrap his own around it and squeeze tightly. They stood there, each with their free hand gripping the rail as they held onto the elevator and each other for dear life. Neither of them let go until the elevator doors began to slide open.

When they finally stepped off the elevator, Marinette hugged the maintenance tech waiting there impulsively. “Oh, thank you!”

“Er,” the elderly man said, patting her back awkwardly. “Happy to help, ma’am. You um...you’re okay?” Marinette straightened to see the man was looking over her shoulder at Luka suspiciously.

“Oh, yes, Luka’s a perfect gentleman,” Marinette said, beaming back at her new friend. He blushed. She looked back at the maintenance tech and giggled. “Maybe a little shy, though.”

The tech chuckled, relaxing, and shook Luka’s hand amiably when Luka stepped forward to thank him for getting them out.

Luka and Marinette drifted towards the lobby doors slowly, both clearly trying to think of something to say.

“You know, I can still make it to practice before it ends,” Luka said, checking the time. “I was heading out early to work on some stuff, so the others will just be warming up now. Would you—I mean,” he shuffled his feet a little, “I’d love it if you could come with me. You could meet the rest of the band and show them your ideas. I’m still not sure we could afford you, but maybe we could work something out. I can’t imagine Ivan’s terribly attached to his kidney.”

Marinette giggled. “Well,” she sighed, checking the time herself. “My girls’ dinner is definitely cancelled, and I honestly have zero desire to get back in that elevator right now—or climb up eight floors in these,” she added, lifting one small foot and putting it back down with a click. “So...sure, why not?”

“We can grab something to eat after,” Luka suggested. “Or on the way,” he amended with a grin when Marinette’s stomach growled. Marinette moaned and put her hand over her face, but then she peeked at him between her fingers and giggled. Honestly, it was kind of hard to be embarrassed in front of him after they’d been camped out on an elevator floor for two hours. He’d tried so hard to make sure she was comfortable, he’d been interested in her work, he had thoughtful and insightful things to say, and his music was amazing…and there was still so much she didn’t know about him, like the nautical tattoos or what his plans were for his music...

Her breath caught when she saw he was giving her that look again, like...like he really thought she was the greatest thing to ever walk the earth.

It was...really nice to be looked at like that, she was finding. She could get used to it.

“Dinner sounds good,” she said, probably a little later and definitely a little squeakier than she should have, and his smile made her knees weak.

They ended up grabbing crepes from a street vender just to take the edge off, because neither of them wanted Luka to be any later to practice than necessary. Eating quickly on the way to the metro, Marinette promptly tripped over an uneven place in the sidewalk, pitching forward with a gasp. Luka caught her arm and steadied her, and then offered his. Marinette slipped her hand through his elbow and they shared a smile.

Don’t get ahead of yourself, Marinette, she told herself, trying to calm the flutters in her stomach with a deep breath. It didn’t matter; another soft look from him as they got on the train was enough to undo all her efforts.

His practice space was only a short ride away, in a club that was only open on weekends. Luka explained that Rose knew the owner and he let them rent the space for weekday practices as long as they cleaned up after themselves.

She hesitated at the door and Luka looked at her. “Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she tried to say brightly. “I’m fine, it’ll be fine.”

Luka turned away from the door to face her. “Why are you nervous?”

“It’s nothing,” Marinette said, embarrassed. “It’s just, I’m…” she gestured vaguely at herself. Luks just raised his eyebrows. “Boring,” she finished, shuffling awkwardly. “Compared to a metal band, I—I’m just not—“

She frowned when Luka turned away from her and covered his mouth, and Marinette blinked for a moment before she realized he was laughing at her. He cleared his throat and turned back to the door, pulling it open for her and gesturing her through. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he said, not quite able to keep a straight face as he said it.

Marinette pursed her lips and went inside, trying not to pout.

“Hey guys,” Luka said, in answer to the chorus greeting him from the stage. He set his guitar case on a table and opened it. “Sorry I got held up. This is Marinette.” He offered his hand to Marinette and led her forward into the light from the stage. “Marinette, this is Rose—“

“Hi Marinette! Nice to meet you!”

“Ivan—“

“Hey.”

“And my sister, Juleka.”

Juleka smiled and gave a little wave.

“Just have a seat anywhere you’re comfortable,” Luka smiled at her. “We’ll try to keep you entertained.” He gave her a wink and a grin and then headed for the stage.

Juleka punched him lightly in the arm as he passed her, and he looked at her, and they seemed to have some kind of conversation without words. Luka snorted softly and shook his head, the lights on the stage clearly illuminating his blush, and Juleka smirked.

Luka got into place and got his guitar settled and plugged in. It was hard to describe the way he changed as he mounted the stage. Even with the guitar strap over his shoulder, the slouch was gone, as was the perpetually sleepy look in his eyes. Then he looked up at her and gave her a grin that made her insides feel like jelly, made only worse when his quiet but strong voice said, “Let’s do this.”

They were so much fun to watch, Marinette thought. They all had such distinct personalities, and they clearly loved what they were playing. Juleka moved with a fluid elegance that was entrancing to watch, while Rose was bursting with energy. Ivan looked big and slow but his drumsticks kept perfect time, and Marinette adjusted her mental image to a charging bull rather than a plodding steer.

And Luka was—well she couldn’t look too long at Luka. His stage smirk, as she began to think of it, scattered her thoughts completely every time their eyes met. He was contained, poised like his sister, but all the little tricks she now realized he used to tone down his natural intensity were gone. His presence on stage was powerful and she found it...extremely appealing. To put it mildly.

Sexy, Alya’s voice giggled in her mental ear, but Marinette crossed her legs primly and got out her sketchbook. She began making adjustments and additions to her designs, focusing on the other band members since she didn’t know them. She pondered each one of them thoughtfully, and by the time they came down off stage, she had several more pages filled with ideas.

Luka gathered the band around the table and asked Marinette to show them what she’d been working on. It wasn’t exactly the sort of pre-planned client presentation she was used to, but she did her best. Her nervousness quickly faded in the face of their enthusiasm. Her eyes flickered to Luka, who just smiled, not quite looking at her. “Told you,” he murmured. Marinette kind of wanted to pinch him.

“Don’t worry about it for now,” Marinette waved dismissively when the subject of payment came up. “As long as we can cover materials up front, I can cut you a deal on the commission price. We can work out a payment schedule or whatever. I have to be able to take a passion project now and then or I’ll go crazy.” Her eyes might have flickered shyly towards Luka when she said it. He hadn’t said much, but Marinette was aware the entire time of Luka’s eyes on her. Juleka was clearly aware of it too, and looked highly amused by the situation. Marinette blushed and Luka sighed whenever one or the other caught Juleka smirking at them.

“Might want to turn down the smoulder, bro,” Juleka leaned in and murmured to him at one point, just barely audible to Marinette. “You’re looking at her like she’s a new guitar you can’t wait to play.”

“Jules, I love you, but I swear on Mom’s guitar I will murder you right here if you don’t shut the hell up,” he muttered back.

Rose leaned in and loudly asked a long-winded question, kindly giving Marinette a chance to recover from her unintentional eavesdropping.

“We’re heading out,” Luka announced finally, standing up and offering Marinette his hand. “We haven’t eaten and I think I owe Marinette dinner at the least for all of this.”

“Sure,” Juleka murmured, her voice even softer than her brother’s and laced with amusement. “That’s totally the reason.”

“Well,” Luka said, looking down into Marinette’s face, “Maybe not the only reason.” Marinette blushed as Ivan oohed and Rose put two fingers in her mouth and whistled at them. Luka chuckled. “Bye guys.”

“Don’t screw it up,” Juleka said as he bent and kissed the top of her head. “I can’t take you moping for weeks.”

“You two have a good tiiiiime,” Rose sing-songed as she waved goodbye. “Don’t stay out too late!” She whisper shouted, “Text us and let us know if you kiss!” She squealed and grabbed Juleka’s arm. “He likes her so much, it’s so cute!”

Ivan gave them two thumbs up. “Good luck, dude!”

Luka waved them off with a good-natured “Whatever,” and put his hand against Marinette’s lower back, guiding her to the door.

“Sorry about them,” he said, with a one-shouldered shrug that said, what can you do?

Marinette giggled. “They like giving you a hard time, don’t they?”

“Well,” he sighed as he opened the door. “I can’t be too mad about it. It’s not like they’re wrong.” He grinned as he motioned for her to go ahead of him.

Marinette did, her head held high, though she was biting her lip to contain her smile. Despite her embarrassment, she was enjoying the attention he paid her.

They found a restaurant and grabbed a table near the back. She finally asked about his tattoos as they ate and Luka moved to the chair next to her, slipping off his hoodie and coat and even lifting the sleeve of his t-shirt so she could see better as he talked about them. He told her about growing up on a houseboat with his mother and the trips they would take together while she not-so-subtly admired the arm he was not-so-subtly flexing. She told him about her family and what it was like growing up with her parents trying to run the business.

“You were amazing on stage,” Marinette said eventually, and Luka, who had finished eating and was leaning on the table, darted that stage smirk at her. “Yes,” she exclaimed, pointing in his face and circling her finger to include all of it. “That. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Maybe,” Luka chuckled, with a wink that was far more devastating than it had been a few hours ago. “Every performer has to know how to work a crowd.”

Marinette wrinkled her nose at him teasingly. “Well there’s no crowd here, so turn it off, it’s distracting.”

“The size of the audience doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, absolutely not turning it off. “Just getting the effect that you want. Am I affecting you, Marinette?”

She hadn’t expected such a bold flirt, and it showed in her suddenly red face. Luka chuckled. “That looks a bit like a yes, Marinette.” Then he added, getting a bit pink himself, “You definitely affect me.”

“Who are you?” Marinette asked, narrowing her eyed at him, half playful and half serious. “The sexy rocker or the sweet boy who loaned me his hoodie on the elevator?”

Luka looked away for a moment, laughing through his nose, and then looked back at her. “Who are you?” he challenged. “The cute stammering girl wearing shoes she can’t walk in—“ He grinned as Marinette gasped in outrage, “Or the classy business lady selling a new client on her ideas like she’s been doing it since the day she was born?”

Marinette giggled, covering her face. “Okay, fair.”

They both needed a moment to breathe after that. Marinette busied herself with her food and Luka ordered a cup of peppermint tea.

“You know,” Marinette said, blushing as she picked at her fries. “This is starting to feel an awful lot like a date.”

Luka chuckled. “I don’t know about you but this is the best blind date I’ve ever been on, even taking into account the two hours stuck in the elevator.” He smiled at her. “But sometimes good things happen even when we’re not expecting them, and sometimes things that shouldn’t make sense just do. I’ve never met anyone like you, Marinette. And I’d be happy to consider this our first date if it means I can take you out on another one.”

Marinette froze for an instant, staring at him with her drink in one hand and the straw pinched between two fingers of the other. Was this really the guy who never spoke and stared at the floor every time they rode the elevator?

He wasn’t staring at the floor now. He was staring right at her, and Juleka was right, he was intense. But...Marinette hadn’t been lying before. She liked it. She liked it a lot, actually. No one had ever looked at her like that before, like in that moment nobody else existed but her.

Smiling, she said, “I think we can work something out,” and watched him watch her slide the straw between her lips.

They lingered a little longer than necessary over the meal, with Luka sipping his tea while Marinette ordered a hot chocolate piled with whipped cream. Luka laughed at her when she got some on her nose and her eyes crossed trying to look at it. Marinette gave him the cold shoulder for five whole minutes, until he actually began to look worried that he’d really offended her. Then she winked at him over the rim of the cup with its much diminished pile of whipped cream, and the soft look came back.

It was getting late, though, so they gathered their things and headed to the metro. They didn’t bother to sit, as they were only going a few stops, and stood together holding onto one of the poles and talking quietly. Eventually Marinette noticed some passengers looking in their direction, and she tugged on Luka’s sleeve. He bent down slightly.

“Do I look okay?” Marinette whispered to him. “I feel like people are staring. Did I spill something on myself?”

“You’re fine,” Luka chuckled. “I think it’s because they’re not used to seeing a sweet lady like you with a punk rock guy like me. Probably thinking you belong with someone like him.” He straightened and nodded at an advertisement on the subway wall, where a very familiar blonde man dressed in a business suit was looking over his shoulder at the camera.

Marinette began to laugh, and Luka raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to explain. “I actually know him and he’s engaged,” Marinette giggled. “He’s marrying a friend of mine. I’m supposed to be a bridesmaid in their wedding next year. And believe me, people who don’t know better would say they don’t match at all either.” Marinette sighed as the laughter faded, though her smile remained. “Well,” she said, sliding her hand down his arm to slot her fingers between his and leaning into his side as she turned her nose up at the gapers, “The other girls like me don’t know what they’re missing.”

Luka gave her the soft look, and maybe it wasn’t as sexy as the stage smirk but it was awfully cute and a lot less intimidating. His fingers closed tightly around hers and he leaned into her too. “All the guys like me wish they could be so lucky.”

They held hands all the way back to the apartment building.

“Well,” Luka said with some amusement as they approached the elevator doors. “Here we are. Do we take the chance or use the stairs?”

Marinette sighed, shifting on her already tired feet. “I suppose...it didn’t end too badly last time, right?” She smiled up at him. “I can think of worse things than being stuck in an elevator with you.”

“So can I,” Luka chuckled. “And several of them involve plunging to the bottom of the elevator shaft instead of just jolting to a halt and having to catch a pretty girl.”

“So...you’d rather take the stairs?” Marinette asked, trying to keep her tone neutral.

Luka sighed heavily, and then his gaze flickered to her shoes and he squeezed her hand. “No. We’re just going to have to have faith that the universe didn’t set us up on the most bizarre blind date ever just to let us die at the end of it.” He grinned, and Marinette giggled.

The elevator doors opened (not to the same elevator, and Marinette wasn’t sure whether an elevator that presumably hadn’t been stuck today was better or worse than the one that had been stuck but that they knew for a fact maintenance had recently serviced). She and Luka shared a look, and then stepped onto the elevator together, hands still clasped tightly.

“Is it okay if I walk you to your floor?” Luka asked, his hand hovering over the panel.

Marinette nodded. “I’m on eight.”

Luka pushed the button, and they both let out a breath as the elevator began to move. Marinette was more anxious than she had expected, and found herself pressing against Luka’s side. Luka let go of her hand and put his arm around her waist, squeezing lightly. His other hand gripped the elevator rail tightly.

Despite their nervousness, the elevator ascended smoothly to the eighth floor. They both breathed a sigh of relief and laughed at themselves as they got off the elevator.

“Whew,” Luka said, taking her hand again and pulling her off to the side. “We made it.” He ducked out of the strap of his guitar case and set it against the wall.

“We did,” Marinette giggled, as he caught her other hand, so that both of hers now rested in his.

“Well, it wasn’t the most conventional first date,” Luka admitted, tugging lightly to bring her close. “But...I’m really glad I met you, Marinette. And I’d really like to take you on a second date sometime soon. Maybe one involving less time spent in elevators and more comfortable shoes.”

“Hey!” Marinette pouted as he laughed, tightening his grip when she pretended to pull away, drawing her even nearer.

“I know technically we just met,” Luka said, smiling down at her, “And I’m not trying to pressure you, but...I’ve been dying to kiss you for hours now. Can I?”

Marinette only hesitated a moment before nodding, because the truth was she’d been wanting him to kiss her since he’d stepped on the stage.

Luka held her eyes as he leaned in until they got close, only closing them a breath before he pressed his mouth to hers, slow and soft and so warm. He let go of her hands and brought his own to cup her face, and then slid them back into her hair to tilt her back as the kiss deepened. He tasted like peppermint tea and some giddy part of her brain wondered if he’d drunk it on purpose because he’d already been planning to kiss the hell out of her. She slid her hands up over his shoulders to wind her arms around his neck and pressed into him, and he moaned softly into the kiss.

She had an epiphany right about then, but it wasn’t about the mint tea or how he was a great kisser. It was a bunch of little things that came together for her in a sudden flash of intuition, confirmed and affirmed in the way he kissed her like he needed her more than air, the way his eyes stayed closed for a moment when they parted, the stars in those eyes when he opened them and looked at her, his thumbs brushing along her jaw as he leaned back in for just one more, light and soft and reverent, before dropping his hands to her waist and resting his forehead against hers. He was soft and sentimental, an artist and a believer in the romance of taking chances when they come along. He was gentle and kind and considerate, he saw people, he felt deeply and passionately and he believed that love didn’t always have to make sense.

He was someone like her.

She was sure there were stars in her own eyes as she looked back at him.

Someone behind her cleared her throat and Marinette jumped, turning quickly. “Mrs. Allium!” she gasped at the sight of the purple-haired lady currently waiting for the elevator. “I mean—”

“Good evening, Mrs. Allen,” Luka cut in smoothly from behind her. “Is your grandson feeling better?”

Mrs. Allen beamed at him. “He is, thank you for asking, my dear. How is your mother?”

“She’s well,” Luka smiled. “I saw her a couple of days ago and she’s doing great. Planning another trip in the spring.”

“That’s good. And it’s good to see you finally made your move, my boy,” Mrs. Allen winked and nodded significantly at Marinette, who was looking back and forth between them with her mouth half-open. “I told you a girl like that wouldn’t stay single forever.”

Luka blushed—not the faint tint of color she had seen on him up until now, but a true, deep blush. “Yes, ma’am. Well, it was sort of—ah...” He shuffled his feet and his shoulders hunched slightly, and Mrs. Allen laughed.

“Mm-hmm, I saw what it was,” she said loftily, winking at Marinette, whose face rapidly darkened to match Luka’s. “No need to be embarrassed with me, but if I were you I’d take it behind closed doors before that nosy biddy in 804B pokes her beak out of the door, or it’ll be all over the building by morning. Good night, dears!”

“Good night, ma’am,” Luka said, and Marinette managed an inarticulate noise and a wave. When Mrs. Allen was gone, she looked up at Luka questioningly.

“What?” he shrugged. “You’re not the only one I run into in the elevator.” He reached for her hand, hesitantly this time. “You’re just the only one I never got the courage to talk to. I mean, a girl like you...with that smile and those eyes…” Luka hooked one finger under her chin to tilt her face up. “I didn’t have a chance. I just couldn’t look at you and put more than three words together at a time. Which Mrs. Allen noticed immediately, by the way, the one time all three of us were in the elevator together.” He moved his hand to slide that stubborn lock of hair behind her ear one more time. “I got quite an earful on it the next time I rode with just her.”

Marinette giggled. “And what did you say?”

“I said, a girl like that wouldn’t want to be seen with a guy like me,” Luka replied, and then grinned. “And then she whacked me in the gut with her purse and told me I was being an idiot.” He chuckled. “I guess she was right.”

Marinette just shook her head and slipped her arms around his neck, pulling him down so that she could kiss him full on the mouth. He melted into her with a noise she fully intended to tease him about later as his arms wrapped around her automatically. “I think,” Marinette murmured against his lips, “If we’ve learned anything tonight, it’s that we’re not as different as we thought.” Instead of answering, he kissed her again.

They heard a gasp and the slam of a nearby door, and Luka chuckled. “There goes the gossip chain,” he smiled ruefully. “What did Mrs. Allen say? All over the building by morning?”

“Good,” Marinette sniffed, and kissed him again.

#quickspins #i'll never not know you #10115 words #for the record #hope it lives up to expectations #lukanette #i am lukanette trash i admit it #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #ml fics #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #meet-cute

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ask-de-writer · 4 years ago

Text

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 58 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to World of Sea

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 58 of 83

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

written 2007

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

New to the story? Read from the beginning. PART 1 is here

///////////////////////

Tanlin’s face fell. In a sad soft voice she said, “Oi knew t’at ye’d ask. Oi’ll give ye t’e facts t’at Oi know. Ye willnae like w’at Oi’m about t’ tell ye. Ot least a few ot’ers will tell parts o’ ‘t as well. Ye’ll ‘ave t’ decide i’ ye’ve been told true.” Dragons forgive m’. Oi’ll tell ‘er nae lie but Oi must save m’ Barad at any cost! She began, carefully editing Barad’s early involvement in the plot.

“T’ere wa’ a plot t’ kill ye. T’was hatched only a few doors down t’e passage in Mister Morgu’s cabin. ‘E wa’ our Purser an’ ‘e ‘ates t’e Longin. T’was ‘e t’at persuaded Barad t’ buy t’e Ord …”

She went on, fearful of the effect that her account was having on Kurin. So much depended on the goodwill of this child. No, not really a child, just young. Before the fleet she was legally an adult because of her skills accomplishments.

There was good reason for her fear. Kurin heard of the apparent cold blooded murder of Chena and possibly Merk with horror and pity. She did not want to face this. She wanted to run and hide, curled around her knotted stomach. Only her need to know the truth kept her in the same cabin with this story.

Tanlin’s control broke down when she got to Silor’s part. She turned in her chair and gestured at the cabin door, her voice catching as she said, “Ot t’e Gat’ering, only a day before ye were poisoned, Oi met Silor just ootside t’is door. ‘E wa’ runnin’ an errand for Mister Morgu. T’was ‘im t’at took t’e kit.”

She hid her face and her voice was muffled and she wept as she said, “A moment earlier! Just a moment earlier an’ Oi’d ‘ave caught ‘im in our cabin! Nae bit o’ t’is wad ‘ave ‘appened i’ Oi’d been a moment earlier!”

Kurin, remembering the ghastly accusations of her own mother as she sank into madness, could well guess the kind of guilt feelings that Tanlin was experiencing. The screaming shade of her mother accusing her of murdering her father still haunted her dreams. She leaned forward, reaching through her own revulsion at the unfolding tale, and laid a comforting hand on Tanlin’s arm. The contact helped Tanlin to get a grip on herself. She looked thankfully at Kurin and went on.

Kurin heard the events at the Gathering and after. Even though she had already heard that the Fauline had been rammed, she got the tale again. This time it included what had happened aboard the Fauline as well as the rest of the events. She heard, for the first time, how the Grandalor had got north undetected by riding in the eye of the Coriolis storm.

Kurin sat, stunned by the tale. Shakily she asked, “That’s it? No dodge? No it was an accident or a prank gone awry? Just, somebody really tried to kill me, not even because they hated me? Just to hurt my ship?”

Tanlin sat slumped in her chair, looking ill. We’ve lost. She’ll nae help us now, she thought. She responded dully, “In Mister Morgu’s case, Aye. In Silor’s case, nae. ‘E ‘ates ye an’ blames all o’ ‘is ill fortune an’ failings on ye. Oi t’ink, from talking wit’ ‘im, t’at ‘e’s mad, at least w’ere ye are concerned.

“Bot’ ‘e an’ Mister Morgu ‘ave been confined since we caught t’em. Nane ‘as spoken t’ t’em since, except for m’sel’. I talked t’ each o’ t’em separately t’ get t’e facts t’at Oi ‘ad t’ tell ye.”

Kurin curled up into a ball in her chair and sat, eyes closed, stomach knotted. Tanlin looked despairingly across at Kurin. She felt both guilt and sorrow that she’d caused such pain in one so young. Tanlin crossed the space between them and knelt where she could gather the hurting Kurin into her arms.

Kurin, startled, looked at her face. Gray eyes in pain met gray eyes in despair. Kurin uncurled enough to wrap an arm about Tanlin as well. For a few minutes they just sat and comforted each other.

Kurin broke the hug first and retreated to her chair, curled about her pain. She looked at Tanlin, and tilted her head regarding the woman shrewdly. Almost dismissively she said, “This is just pain. It was hard to hear, that’s all. I half expected something like that story. I came here because of those Great Law violations. Running off because something’s difficult isn’t my way.

“Is there anything else that I should know about?”

“T’ere’s a matter t’at ye should know from m’,” said Tanlin, eager to change the subject, hope flaring. “T’e counterfeit scrip t’at ‘as plagued yer last few Gat’erings originated on t’is ship. Barad an’ Mister Morgu conspired toget’er on t’at. T’ere are many ‘oo were guilty o’ ‘elping t’ make or pass ‘t.”

“I see,” said Kurin. She wrapped white hair about several fingers as she thought. Concentration helped her to ignore the pain knotting her stomach. She remembered some things that both Alor and Captain Mord had complained of and got an impish grin. “I think that I have an idea about how to deal with that little problem.”

She turned serious again and said grimly, “There’s another problem that might not be so easy, though. The Grandalor has an ominous reputation. There are up to several hundred disappearances, perhaps murders. Somehow they will have to be dealt with.”

This time it was Tanlin who grinned. She raised her left index finger and chuckled around the stone of fear in her heart, “T’ey never ‘appened. Nae even ane.”

“Then what did happen to all those people?” asked Kurin skeptically.

Tanlin snorted in amusement and replied, “Indentures. Barad brokered t’eir indenture sales in t’e Arraken fleet. T’e ‘ule ship kept t’e secret as a groit joke on t’e Naral fleet. T’ere were nae mysterious disappearances. Tis all in t’e Log an’ accounts.”

Angrily, Kurin started to say, “That’s a violation of the First Great Law! The sale of indentures is slavery!”

Tanlin held up a hand to stem the clearly expected outburst from Kurin. Calmly she explained, “Oi know t’e views o’ t’e Naral fleet on t’e matter. As indenture’s practiced in t’e Arrakan fleet tis nae slavery nae does ‘t violate t’e Forst Groit Law. Tis t’e ‘art o’ t’e Arrakan system o’ education. Yer apprenticeship system comes closer t’ slavery t’an our indenture system.”

Kurin leaned forward curiously, listening carefully as Tanlin went on, “Barad discovered ‘ow our education system worked. ‘E made yer castoffs int’ students t’at our fleet paid ‘igh prices for. Wen t’e Princamorn wa’ wrecked, we were on our way t’ meet Barad an’ pick up t’e latest crop o’ indentures.”

“Ye ‘ad t’ know about t’e indenture sales. T’ey’re sure t’ try t’ attack us wit’ t’em. T’e sales were legal in our fleet an’ dune in our territory. T’e T’ird Groit Law’s all t’e defense m’ Barad needs.”

Tanlin regarded Kurin soberly for a few moments. She’s so small. Can she truly save us? Barad trusts ‘er an’ t’ere’s few enow ‘e does. She said quietly, “T’e Grandalor’s books, Logs an’ all else wit’ nut’in’ an’ nane ‘eld bock, is open t’ ye. Ask anyt’ing. I’ we know t’e answer, tis yers. Oi’ve ordered t’at t’ere’s t’ be nut’in’ ‘idden from ye.”

Earnestly, Tanlin requested, “Study t’e case forst, t’en answer ane quest’n. Will ye please put our case before t’e Naral fleet?”

When Kurin did not answer immediately, Tanlin added, a little bitterly, “We’ve little ot’er ‘ope o’ gettin’ justice. Remember, nae even ye quest’ned t’e violations o’ law, bot’ Groit an’ fleet, t’at were dune t’ us. Ye ‘ave t’eir respect an’ ye were t’e victim o’ t’e assault. T’ey’ll listen t’ ye.”

Kurin thought I’ve never refused a challenge before. I wonder what Cat would say about me defending Barad? Still, it’s the biggest responsibility I’ve ever faced. She shuddered a little as she pondered, Lenai and Darkistry are wounded and in sickbay. Macoul is dead. Just to get me here. I can’t let them down.

Tanlin saw Kurin’s small shudder and feared the worst.

Clearly and firmly Kurin said, “I’ve already made up my mind. I don’t need to think it through any further.”

Tanlin’s face fell, sure that she had lost. Ship, love, friends and all would die. Despair provided the darkness that the unsetting arctic sun in the ports could not. Determination settled over her features. Ice like the pack not far north wrapped her heart. She would have to save her folk — — if she could. She knew too well, from Barad’s books, the deadly skills of those directing the hunt to the south of them.

She heard her own voice as if it were through a bulkhead, remote from what she was saying, “Oi promised ye safe conduct. Oi’m sorry t’at we took ye so far for naught. We’ll feed ye an’ let ye rest. Tomorrow we’ll return ye t’ t’e Longin.

“We’ll nae be Scattered an’ executed by Council orders. We’ll try t’ break-oot for t’e Arrakan fleet. T’ey’ll give us a fair trial wen t’ey ‘ear o’ the Groit Law violations. We’ll die fightin’ i’ we cannae escape.

“Oi ‘ope t’at we dinnae have t’ sink any ships doin’ ‘t.”

Appalled, Kurin exclaimed, “No! I meant that I will be your advocate! I do have to study the case but not to make up my mind. You were wronged. I don’t know if I can save your crew but I have to try.”

Tanlin’s hardness turned to joy in an instant. “Oi know t’at ye’ll do yer best an’ t’at yer best’s very good indeed.”

TO BE CONTINUED

<==PREVIOUS NEXT==>

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Return to World of Sea

#SEA DRAGON’S GIFT #Part 58 of 83 #World of Sea #Written by De Writer

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ayakashiramblings · 5 years ago

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WTFried Episode 3: KFC Otome Game

Bold: Gaku’s commentary Italics: Futaba’s commentary Normal: Official documentary narration (usually in a bad British accent) Bold and Italicized: Answers/Questions to the… game.

In 1910, the Capital, one man had a dream that he made another man work for. That dream would result in the exclusive Milk Hall. A chic cafe that would serve all manner of dairy-based treats… and making only one exception today. A day where we will reach deep into this bucket of…

Oh, Aoi! This logo is such a cute design!

How did you know it was by him?

Did… did you seriously think it was anybody else?

Point taken... Ms Futaba-rt…

Hush, Gaku. I’m just going to leave the drawing to the actual student.

Since everyone is craving for some turkey this winter, the employee has made the employer fetch some slices of this fine poultry. Everyone at Raccord is getting ready for the tender meat AND the festive season as we ring in the new year of 1911! Featuring buckets with the restaurant’s symbol… an old man!

And speaking of the devil, here he comes without… the turkey but some other manner of bird? Thus, Aoi has prepared to strike, dumping the bucket on the counter with a resounding thud.

“Erm… so remember how I said it was ok if I arrived at the turkey place slightly later than usual…?” A sheepish Oji's question can only be met by Aoi's deadpan conclusive remark,

“They ran out, didn’t they?”

Apparently, that was super insensitive because Oji-san has scrunched up his nose and eyes (the more normal ones) and…

Wait, how did you speak in parentheses?

"Nevermind that, somehow the narration was more offensive than Aoi's accusation." Oji’s fake-sniffling is thankfully interrupted by Aoi shaking the contents of the… replacement.

"I don't think it was harsh enough considering your blunder."

“No… it's just that the turkey place somehow became a chicken place! So the party pack is full of chicken!”

And just like that, the bells at the entrance have stopped ringing just as fast as the front door has been shut. And two hearts are now shattered into a million pieces. Why wouldn’t there be shattered souls after witnessing all hopes of savouring a Western classic slipping down the grease tracks of the fried chicken? The sound of the fat fizzing and splattering was supposed to be a welcomed one, not this… this… tinier bird. In particular, Ginnojo knows that he knows too much. See the look of imagining death and actually experiencing it? And Kuro! He’s pouting in slow motion, head down, shoulders slumped, and with an expression that clearly indicates he’s responding but barely able to because of the sheer despair consuming him… AKA, exactly like a puppy.

...Gaku, don’t zoom in on their faces. I’m already describing it, no need to rub it in.

Fine.

“Man, I’m sorry you two. I know you guys were looking forward to the turkey.”

“Old Man Oji, it’s ok! I’m just glad everyone is here to feast at least!”

Of course, the most ferocious growl has to refute that statement and it certainly has to come from an even more ferocious beast… Ginnojo’s disappointed stomach. Does he manage to hide the betrayal well with his stoic face though as the two neighbours/besties/??? eye the substitute meats?

Ok, really, there is no way you can tell me you spoke in question marks.

“I apologize too. Honestly, I should have checked beforehand.” Aoi concedes and offers a temporary white flag in the form of a kitchen towel to see the numerous chunks of fried chicken.

Could it be? The magic of fried chicken is soothing wounds of the past? Can the crispy chicken skin really fully resolve the dwindling festive spirit? Will it be just as great as its twin…

… Sorry Yura and Gaku.

“Be at rest, my Lady. I am sure a dollop of sugar or two is enough to fully restore the chicken to a turkey’s high status.”

I’m glad to see that the sugar dispenser I made is being put to such use, brother.

As Yura makes the sugar cookies even more… sugary, Aoi shakes his head,

“What now? We work with fried chicken? I’ve never really experimented with it before.”

“We… do need to finish this supply eventually. Might as well start now.” was all Oji can offer in this dire situation. Just as everyone is heaving a sigh, two majestic heroes arrive with…

A tengu as a sacrifice for the turkey my brother can never savour now. Crows are closer than chicken to turkey.

“Mhmm?”

“Nevermind, ignore him Kuya. Hiya Koga! Sorry you two, but we’ve only got fried chicken...”

And with that, Futaba witnesses the magnificent wingspan of the tengu… as he flies away at the mention of devouring a fellow bird. At least, he tried to but an oni ogre foils his meticulous plan by… grabbing his ear.

“Sorry about him. And even more sorry for Ginnojo and Kuro. I know you two were looking forward to the turkey.”

Nice job, Gaku! :D

What even is... you know what, nevermind. Thanks, I guess, and the mic’s back to you now.

“Really, don’t worry you guys. It’s more like Gin-Gin and I like the story surrounding the turkey in the festivals. The fried chicken just doesn’t have such an interesting story.”

The gramophone acts up at this precise moment Kuro tries to break the tension. As a wonderful person holds this strangely bulky camera while Gaku rushes to fix the audio camera, he finds that the cause is none other than his own customer… Oji-san with a record-breaking moment. Literally.

“Ok, wait, I’ve lived long enough to tell you that isn’t true. Why, I used to tell this story to Aoi when he was a little lad…”

And Oji-san whips out… a shopping list dated 5 years ago. Additionally, the crayon doodles are really adorable alongside the cursive handwriting.

“Yup, you told me a shopping list that I wrote down and YOU forgot.”

… Edit out my earlier statement.

… I’ll try.

“You know what? We have all this fried chicken for me and Aoi to do something AND tell you more about the tale of the fried chicken this time of year.”

And this folks, is what happened before we come up with the most amazing play…

Before we continue this documentary, we would like to thank our sponsors. Koga Kitamikado. This Oni Ogre is tough as nails and nothing ever gets him down! You can always turn to him when you're in a bind. A… tender bind.

… Why is Koga sponsoring this?

Guess he saw something… like how we are going to see two ayakashi experiencing the world’s greatest interactive play!

Tonight, Ginnojo and Kuro react to ‘I Love You, Colonel Sanders! A Finger-Lickin’ Good Dating Simulator!’. An interactive play scripted by Oji, you, yes you the audience, gets to play as a budding chef…

“Ooh, Gin-Gin is a good one… when you know, he doesn’t go bonkers on the ingredients.” Kuro’s chirp is nearly drowned out by the action at the back where we will be observing how our thespians are preparing.

Aoi and Oji have outdone themselves for this. We don’t have every single thing that you can purchase by queuing up but the menu prepared within 4 seconds is well-represented on this table. Sometimes, it is in a 3-piece meal, a few are in the buckets, and you get the overall picture! No double-dipping needed here, the act is too sacrilegious for such a holy beginning. A beginning… that will melt the frost around here.

Warm yourself from the inside. You’re about to embark on a journey that will end with you sleeping with this warm milk and pot pie….

Thus, these two can’t drink milk. Only eating the pot pie. We… we need them to actually play this.

“This is confusing, our journey begins with the ending?” Kuro asks a question that no one knows the answer to except for Ginnojo,

“Aye, a lot of the greatest heroes stumble upon their best stories after the ending of another. I suppose this is what we are trying to get here with… the pot pie?”

Scepticism is evident even on the usually trusting Kuro’s face. Nevertheless, they put their faith in Aoi’s culinary skills as they see the smoke still wafting from behind the stage curtains that are really just Kuya’s blankets.

AKA: Koga’s blankets.

Sure, the decor is a bit too… reminiscent of a chicken barn. And yet, observe the first bite taken by the Mizuki and the… other… ayakashi. Creaminess flooding each of their mouths as veggies and fried chicken come together in this glorious, crusted symphony. And at the very end of it all,

“Delicious.”

“Oh my gosh! It’s so good! The chicken, yum! More, please!”

As they chew contentedly amongst dozens of floating… chicken and biscuits… Yura approaches them with the most adorable signboard… and the weirdest customizable one at that. That’s right, we are featuring the talents of Yura and Aoi… for the second time in the latter's case.

“Welcometh, chef! Bef're we start, bid us thy nameth!”

Translation: Give us the coolest names you have Ginnojo and Kuro! Note: no explicit language or demeaning words are allowed.

“Oooh, let’s do a ship name, Gin-Gin!”

“I dislike ships. Especially the black ones. Why can’t humans just learn to be one with the waves?”

Thus, comes the most epic name ever.

Mammon!

“Like, Mama + Mon! Because, I dunno, it feels like a mum made this!”

“The Mon is an abbreviation of Monday, the day we are watching… I mean, playing this theatrical game.”

...

Should… should we tell them?

No.

With the dimming of lights and pot pie nearly finished, Kuro and Ginnojo move on to the chicken wings and munching sounds accompanied the sight of the protagonist… in bed. Since the protagonist is me. So…

I’m taking over the narration from this point onwards. Be grateful. And note… this is the game. So if it’s weird… do not blame me for it.

Oh hush, and get to your job.

Futaba is buried like one zinger in a tortilla wrap. Until the latest alarm clock that I have built with a custom ringtone goes off with the best sound in the world - that of a happy chicken. Sleep in or wake up? What should they choose?

“I’m concerned about the rooster.”

“Yes… but whelp, up and at’em is what I’d say!” was the only warning the poor alarm clock received before Kuro smacked the robot rooster with the goddamned whip of his, ruining hours and hours and hours of…

Don't be so offended, Gaku, it's just a game.

...

“Wow, I better get ready for my first day at the prestigious University of Cooking School: Academy for Learning!” Futaba says in a way-too-enthusiastic voice that is almost on Kuro’s level when he’s drunk.

“Ok, so I’m only familiar with Futaba and Aoi’s schools but I’m pretty sure no one would want that for a name. Oh! Let’s call it Cuddling Chicken School!”

Case in point because as I speak, Kuro and Ginnojo are now enjoying another treat with coke… that may or may not have been spiked. The main focus though is the box filled with delicious chicken and named after popcorn.

“This one’s the most processed. I don’t think I can take another bite. Oh, Kuro? You’ve finished yours?”

“... More like you finished yours and mine within a bite.”

For once, Ginnojo looked more innocent than Kuro was somewhat forlornly staring at his very, very empty container. At least now both could be more invested in the… plot of this play as our main character starts to get changed into a chef’s uniform, complete with an apron and a hat. All that is left to do is for her to actually move but she just has to ask,

“Hmm, I kinda want to daydream and laze about in bed.”

Of course, that’s challenging everything a former Shinsengumi member loves and knows so Ginnojo is quick to call my brother over to reject the option… except that Kuro is a bit more nonchalant about the whole affair.

“D’aww, let her, it’s so rare to see her relaxed.”

“I won’t deny that a girl her age shouldn’t be concerned with hard matters but Futaba wants to go to school. And I shall support her in her endeavours.”

“Except, this isn’t Futaba. She’s being Mammon remember?”

“Very well.”

And just like that, Ordinary Chef Student protagonist Futaba is late and doesn’t have time to sit and eat a full meal. She grabs a piece of biscuit, fluffy… unlike her missing deodorant.

“I knew she had a price to pay.” Ginnojo’s heavy sigh provoked a gasp of realization from his neighbour,

“Are we going to be fried?”

Alas, she was not…

HEY!

By the time she has thrown the biscuit at me, the setting has been changed to the ivory walls of UCS: AL… or the Cuddling Chicken School. And there, awaiting her is the ever-so-perky… BROTHER?!

He volunteered for the role!

Wow, I’m so proud of him! Wait, should I have auditioned… no, I’m just going to record every moment of this now.

Here comes the bestest friend in the world, Yura!

“Many thanks, brother, but I shall now don the name ‘Miriam’ and ask Mammon here if she is highly anticipating our term of 3 days!”

Ginnojo does have to voice out one concern that I am sure most viewers will have as well,

"Hold on, they can graduate in 3 days? Youth these days really are picking up new knowledge."

"I want a degree in English in 3 days. If I take the English food course in 3 days, will that count?"

Before Kuro can learn more about this miraculous development in education, Futaba has to continue with her dialogue and actually focus like my brother,

“Good morning Miriam! I'm sure…”

“Because I most certainly am! Alack, the breakfast I hadst did prepare this morn did not have enough love… whatever shall I do?”

As another branch of the game appears, the choice is rather evident…

COMFORT HIM YOU IDIOTS!

Finally, sense strikes the two, Kuro furiously slamming the option and poor Nachi as a result. Still, the nekomata behind the Option Board manages to signal to the other actors and Futaba barely adeptly gives my brother a pep talk,

“Ever since we were little babies together and you rescued me from that quicksand box, it’s been clear to me that you’re the most loving, caring person I’ve known! Your tiny… sweets are definitely going to be a hit!”

Part of the reason why this speech is not adequate enough is because Futaba is RUDELY interrupted when someone smacks her books and custom-engraved measuring spoons out of her hands and onto the ground.

“... Aeshleigh.” Futaba finally spat out, or whether it’s from deliberating drawing out the heavy silence to emphasize the sheer tension… or because she is wonder if Kuya cannot spell Ashley.

“This is the fancy name. For the fancy Ashley. Aeshleigh who is better than everyone else.” Ginnojo’s attempt at finding the reason for Aoi’s character name is ultimately thwarted by Aoi starting to get into character EXTREMELY reluctantly,

“Oh, I didn’t see you there, chicken shins.”

"Her boobs are not parallel at all." came Kuro's deadpan remark… and Ginnojo choking whilst looking like a boiled lobster. That, or because he is eating the Crispy Version of the Chicken breast.

“Kuro! Do not look there!”

“Why is she even insulting us for having chicken shins? She has chicken breasts on her thigh socks! Futaba, you should have actually worn chicken shin guards.”

…

Don't be so offended, Futaba, it's just a game.

Across the quad, one can see the rival’s best friend, who has stopped to look at his own reflection in the mirror. Pants so tight, anyone can see him casually working out his glutes while he styles his hair. No lie, they’re rocking glutes belonging only to one Koga.

“Ahem, Van Van?”

“You rang-rang?”

“Damn, Koga, you cougar go!”

“I’m curious about his hair, it’s actually in the shape of a starfish.”

“Don’t you just mean a star?”

“That can work too, I suppose.”

Sure, the pairing seems weird to the current audience but Aoi… I mean, Aeshleigh continues to sneer at Mammon who is slowly getting up with Miriam’s help but quicker with throwing the retort,

“I can’t believe that the University of Cooking School: Academy for Learning would ever allow people like you to attend as students.”

Except that it completely flies over both bullies’ heads as Aoi delicately laughs with icy cold teal eyes,

“Ara ara, so you do know. We should have gotten our diplomas already with these great skills of ours.”

“Or maybe hire us on as professors. You amateurs could learn a lot from us.”

With the first day of school about to start, there’s just not enough time to properly tell these two off so everyone else resists the urge. As Mammon and Miriam approach the door, they see a goofy-looking kid pushing hard against the window directly next to it.

“He would have been completely dislikable if it weren’t for the fact the cutest cub is playing him right now.”

On a more serious note, could someone like this also be a student at the school? He must be a great chef, with a name tag that clearly says ‘Bob’ but there he is, introducing himself as,

“Hi! I’m Kogare… Pop! And I think I was supposed to say that I broke this door.”

… And now I know why Fox-Face wants a copy of this film while he is attending Part 1 of the New Year Kitsune Festival…

When Mammon easily opens the door, Kogare… or Bob… or… Pop? Just has to tackle her for a big hug and squeal out,

“I LOVE YOU!”

“D’aww!” should have been everyone’s response but only Kuro’s was heard over Ginnojo screeching and of course, an epic debate about expressions of affection,

“GAGH! K-k-kogare! Do not touch a lady like that yet! Or profess something that serious until you are of age!”

“What? No! Hug her like you are squeezing the life out of her!”

Fortunately, the actors continue the scene. Unfortunately, it is with this line from Kogare Pop’s mouth that makes you wonder who allowed this writing. Money is on Kuya.

“Did you know my other name ‘Pop’ comes from my great-grandfather Pop pop?”

The critics are not amused, Ginnojo tutting and Kuro making a face like he had just tasted chocolate for the 32nd time,

“Days like these makes me glad I don’t know my lineage.”

“Yeah…”

“Is it just me or is that young gentleman cute?” Miriam tries to note but everyone... and I mean everyone... just has to say,

“It’s just you.”

Miriam and Mammon shrug their shoulders before following Kogare Pop into the building. They stand at the edge of the room, unsure where to sit. Other students wander in and keep themselves busy chit-chatting.

“Where… is the Colonel we were promised to romance for fried chicken? Even now we are stuck with cheese fries… nothing can make up for these soggy… Oh my gosh, so CUTE!!!”

Kuro only stops when he sees a scruffy-looking cat taking his place at a podium at the front of the class, the smallest chef hat on his head. Head Instructor and CEO of UCS: AL is here everyone! Nachi taps his paw against the wooden surface to gather attention… although Kuro is already cooing over the little hat on the nekomata’s head and even Ginnojo smiles a bit in approval.

Out of nowhere, the wind begins to rush around everyone as a swirl of cherry blossom petals fill the air inside the classroom despite it being in the middle of winter in Japan. To be more accurate, the petals are… Kuya’s feathers dyed pink much to Kuro’s delight,

“Nice effects! I kinda wanna play with them now! Guess I better wait for Kuya to fly and leave some behind next time...”

“Wait, the cherry blossoms are blooming for them? Where and when are they?”

A hushed murmur rolls through the classroom as HE walks down the aisle of desks. Suddenly, the room is sweltering. And there… we have Oji as the one, the only…

Colonel Sanders!

...

“I’m confused… are we supposed to find him handsome?”

“Did Oji just reveal his true aged appearance or did he just dye his hair white?”

“His eyeliner is as thick as his actual eyes and even thicker than his actual eyebrows and spectacle frames.”

All those statements were slowly cracking the fried chicken skin, with Ginnojo’s final casual observation really roasting Oji’s self-esteem. Nevertheless, the show must go on with the main chef and… love interest... helping the two audience members crack open the ranch. We shall now divulge in a bit of ASMR… ASMRanch as we massage Colonel Sander’s arm that is as thick as his neck. See how he flexes...

“OH GOD MAKE IT STOP!” Kuro squirms.

“FUTABA!!! I mean, Mammon, right, Mammon… MAMMON DON’T MIX WITH SUCH FILTH!”

… We are changing scenes already? Oh, ok, suit yourself.

Here, he wields the spork, his eyeliner game suddenly aligned…

“NO…!!!”

“It… is… rectangular. A rectangular spork.”

“Foon.”

Did that earn a… Kentucky-fried chuckle?

What’s Kentucky? Also, you broke character.

Think this play is broken. Oh, next scene...

The Colonel makes a delicious array of food items in the cafeteria...

“What kind of cafeteria has flowers and a fancy atmosphere?”

“Not Milk Hall Raccord except for the flowers.”

The Mac and Cheese falls flat on the ground, along with Oji’s chef hat,

“THAT’S IT! THE COLONEL QUITS!”

…

Ok, I’m going to resume while Ginnojo eats the rest of the food Oji has left...

Yeah.

And so, the wisest Satori Seer, on behalf of his boss, buries the abominable script and the actually-kinda-nice-art-if-it-wasn't-about-fried-chicken romance.

Hey, should we bury this camera?

WHAT?! AFTER ALL THAT WE’VE BEEN THROUGH???

Ok, ok, we won’t. Besides, there’s still Valentine's day if this show hits more than 1 view.

… Why the 1 view benchmark?

Cus… apparently, there was a dish here that wasn’t revealed here that would work great for a Valentine's Day episode.

… At least my brother can eat it.

Epilogue

For some reason, we have noticed a foreigner digging up the manuscript. He even paid Oji for it. Said it might be the next biggest thing in America for an even weirder reason?

Ginnojo is still eating the whole menu. Kuro has shared the magic of fried chicken with the rest of the troupe and occassionally, the circus-theatre guest. Unfortunately, it is during one of these stunts that a fried chicken cracked the lens. Even more unfortunate, the grease from the fried chicken seeped through the components and short-circuited everything.

So the only thing hotter than Colonel... is everything. Let’s hope we never see anything like this even in the 21st century.

Epilogue to the Epilogue

My grandparents sure were naive.

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maikatc · 5 years ago

Text

Black Sun Tale | Red Eye

Ohboythisisthemoment-

Remember that this is only a first draft and only has little edits, but enjoy! Comments and reception are appreciated!

A kid with a slouched back, head down, and a hood over his head was sketchy enough, but passing by the cashiers with food and water was too questionable for Oliver to ignore.

He grabbed the thief by the arm. The thief’s arm was hollow in Oliver’s hands, too thin to imagine carrying a large jug of water.

“What are you doing?” What am I even doing?

The thief’s mouth was shut. His hood continued to cover over his face, but it slowly began to slip.

As he faced directly to Oliver’s direction, his hood fell off completely. His complexion was disturbingly white, his cheeks sunken down and his lips chapped to an extreme. His long black hair covered up his eyes and went down to his lower neck, though Oliver could see them faintly up close. His eyes revealed exhaustion, eye bags burrowing down to a dark shadow. However, what caught Oliver’s sight wasn’t his left eye, stricken with a soft ocean blue, but his right, with a pupil shaped like a sun or star and his iris shining with a deep red.

The red-eyed boy stared at Oliver with eyes wide, and lips turned down low to an expression of fear.

Oliver could only mutter then, “What the…”

The boy shifted his head, left and right until a stranger bumped into him from behind.

“Oh sorry,” the man apologized. But the boy in the matter of a second dropped what he held, the noise of the water grabbed the attention of those around them.

Oliver, in confusion, studied the boy.

Red-eye shook his head multiple-times, not replying to the man behind them. He got out of Oliver’s grasp, to Oliver’s surprise, and grabbed him by the arm instead.

“Wait- what are you-”

“I’m sorry,” was all the boy had gasped, with a raspy, dry voice. He then ran, with Oliver behind, out of the store.

Oliver’s own bag, flew from the gust of wind the boy made from running. Oliver could barely hold his grasp on the bag without it breaking. His legs could barely keep up while they burned at the speed.

“Wait- hold on- stop!” Oliver puffed. His steps stuttered left and right, barely keeping himself up. “Can you stop,” he yelled.

Red-eye refused to slow down the pace and ran faster. Oliver bare stomach punch himself as his energy drained. He began choking up from no-rest. “Come on, stop,” he huffed.

It took ages, but Red-eye slowed his pace continuously until finally stopping. He turned around, looking back at Oliver. His red eye turned to a dull grey, Oliver noticed. He looked down at his clasped hand, and raised his head back up to Oliver. “I…” His expression softened, scrunching up slightly as he let go of Oliver’s arm. “I’m sorry… I wasn’t thinking that much over there.”

Oliver pulled his arm back to himself instantly, breathing incessantly. Luckily, it wasn’t his left arm, but the boy’s grip was tight enough to leave a bruise. He rubbed it gently to ease the pain. “… What the heck was that for?”

The boy fidgeted his fingers against each other. “I really am sorry,” his voice cracked. “It was just-”

He froze.

“It was just what?”

The boy’s hand slapped against his head as he stepped aback. “Fuck…” he gasped. His body collapsed down. He swore under his breath as his hands shuffled around his head and hair.

Wait, Oliver crouched down to him, “Are you alright?” Dumb question. “What’s wrong?” His hands tempted to hold him on the shoulders though his mind hesitated the idea.

The boy continued muttering broke to sweats. His breathing heightened in the matter of seconds. “Uhm, calm down.” Oliver’s attempts to help were lackluster. “Just tell me what the hell is going on. Jesus,” he muttered to himself.

“No, no, no, no…” The boy repeated to himself. He started tugging onto his hair.

“Just breathe…” Oliver whispered, turning around to see if any crowds were noticing. Nobody batted an eye on the two. “Just- just breathe.” Christ, help me.

It took a minute, but his breathing at least slowed. He looked up towards Oliver. Oliver noted that he was still shaking, and he still had his fearful expression. “… Can you help me go home. I- I can explain after. Please.”

Oliver eyed him skeptically. He can’t be seen by others, can’t he? “Why did you bring me here in the first place?”

“I said I’ll explain there,” he repeated breathless.

Maybe I can get something out of him… Oliver debated to himself, however the chances weighed too much to pass up. “Alright. Let’s go then.”

At first, Oliver had to help hold him up by his shoulders, as the boy stumbled along his steps. But, soon after they began walking down the streets, the boy had calmed down.

Oliver’s shoulder was lifted from the boy’s light weight letting go. As they walked separately, the boy shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the sidewalk dully. Their stances stayed as such for few minutes, Oliver followed the boy silently.

The air filled with smoke while fogged rolled around. Buildings stood tall all over with stains on the wall. Graffiti was hefted everywhere and washed out from rain days ago. The crowds gathered as ever, only more shadowed folk rummaged around the sidewalks with suspicious atmospheres looming around them. However, the traffic continued to ring throughout, reminding Oliver it was the still Obodo.

“Um…” The boy stuttered. “Again, sorry for that entire… thing,” he didn’t turn to view Oliver. “I really mean it with the food too. I was just… starving, basically. And I didn’t have any money.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask your parents or something?”

The boy slowed for a moment. But then he rushed back to his normal pace. “I’ll explain once we get to where I at least sleep. Luckily, it’s not that far.” His head faced downwards as he spoke.

“Ah, okay…” Oliver understood from his body language.

The awkward air intensified.

And the walk ended up being forty-five minutes long.

“You said it was a short walk,” Oliver complained. His eyes had blurred from the distance.

The boy scoffed. “It’s not that long of a walk.” He turned to an alley. Oliver followed in reluctance. Entering the location, he found himself in a clutter of items. From blankets to clusters of paper and borderline junk.

The boy walked into the entrance nonchalantly, and slumped down to a seat with a sigh. With a deep breath, he turned to Oliver and told him, “This is the place. Isn’t the most comfortable but…,” he searched around, “you can sit down here at least.”

Oh God…

Oliver sat down with disgust ridden in his face. The odor of the alley made him pucker from how strong both were. His appetite died down from the matter of days.

“You’ll get used to it,” was all the boy said. He crawled out from his spot and clawed through a pile with his small hands. He grabbed what looked to be a walkie-talkie and played static.

Pressing a button, from what Oliver could barely view, “Hey Annette. You there?”

Oliver questioned his own life actions by then.

Why the hell am I here again?... Fuck. Is this what Vittorino was talking about? How is this beneficial or whatever for me?... Dear God, this better be done quick.

The walkie-talkie continued to hiss static until a reply finally reached through. “Sorry, my baba was in the room.” It was a girl’s voice, was all Oliver could tell.

“You know that doesn’t matter.” Oliver picked up the conversation. Some girlfriend of something? Wait- no that wouldn’t make any sense considering his situation.

“Well anyways, something wrong? You don’t seem to be having a reading.”

“I did, just wasn’t here when it happened,” he rushed the words. “But other than that, I think I found a new member.”

Wait what?

“Wait what,” the girl squawked. “What do you mean a new member?”

“Shh, he’s right behind me,” Being quiet isn’t gonna help at all, “He can actually see me without me doing anything,” the boy whispered. Oliver rolled his eyes.

So, I guess he’s more like Vittorino…?

“Holy moly. This is actually great!”

“Are you sure about that?” He had a dead tone to his voice while saying the words.

“Yes, Ayu. It’s nice to have more help.” The girl’s tone lowered. “And if you took that as an insult to yourself, I apologize with no offence.”

…? I mean, I guess I got his name now.

Ayu sighed. “None taken. But can you come over right now? You can at least introduce yourself.”

“Oh! Yeah, I can be there real quick. Better than doing homework.” Sounds of items clashing against each other blasted out from the walkie-talkie.

“Just bring the work here.”

“You know whenever I bring my homework over there, it gets screwed up!”

“That was only one time.” They’re about to argue, aren’t they?

“That was my first major essay for English,” she yelled over the walkie-talkie.

“Who the fuck cares about English?”

“I DO.”

Ayu groaned. “Look, I have to talk to the guy so just get here quick.”

“Ha, I already am. See ya.” The walkie-talkie went back to static. Ayu chucked it back into the junk pile.

Better time than ever. “So,” Oliver started. Ayu turned back to him. “Can you explain to me what’s going on?”

“Right,” Ayu nodded. “How do I start this…”

Ayu blinked while staring in the air before saying anything. “You… know how I kinda panicked down there?”

“Yeah,” Oliver answered.

“That was because I have this thing where no one could see me or really know that I exist… at least unless I touched them or they bump into me. Something like that.” Ayu scratched his head with his awkward tone of voice.

“So… kinda like the two,” Oliver muttered.

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” Oliver attempted to excuse himself.

Ayu shrugged while Oliver gave a mental sigh, and the boy continued. “Only certain people can see me immediately. I know two people so far: the chick that’s coming right now, and you from what I can tell.”

Oliver hummed in response. Seems a lot more vulnerable than Vittorino and Zach.

“Since stuff happened a while ago, I live… here now… by myself, but the good thing is that I can’t starve… or dehydrate myself to death, that stuff. I just feel the pain.”

“Oh…”

“Pretty much, I haven’t eaten in the past couple of days, and I was just tempted enough to do it.” Ayu explained, though he jumped up after saying. “Not that I didn’t feel bad or anything- I just couldn’t stand the hunger like a few years back-”

“No, no, I get it,” Oliver hesitantly patted Ayu’s shoulder. Ayu’s face twisted in reaction. “You just needed it, not in technicality but mentally.”

“Er,” Ayu blinked, “Yeah… But that’s pretty much the start of this thing.”

“What do you mean…?”

Ayu choked up. Stammering, “Well- okay this’ll sound really crazy to someone.”

“Just say it,” Oliver ordered.

The boy took a breath. “Okay… So, me and Annette, maybe other people we haven’t met, have super powers pretty much, to fight with.”

“Pardon?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s weird.” Ayu pointed at himself, “I have super strength and speed, and this weird thing that I think’s called clairvoyance? But like a specific one.”

Oliver put two and two together. “That’s why you could carry the jug,” his face then scorched with an unpleasant memory, “and make me almost throw up.”

Ayu reluctantly nodded and continued. “The only people who can have abilities like that are people who can see me. But they develop overtime so you don’t have to worry about that yet.”

“Mhm…” This is gonna be a bother, isn’t it?

“The easiest way we can tell that’s someone’s got powers, other than seeing me, is actually from a mark that pops up in their body. Like this,” Ayu points at his right eye, “Looks like a black sun or something. It looks kinda cool on the surface but it’s really just weird.”

“… I don’t have one, though.”

“Don’t worry about that, if you are one of us it’ll pop up sooner or later.”

Ayu curled up into his hoodie from the winds.

Oliver’s curiosity peaked. “Do you guys do anything with your powers or something?”

Ayu bit his cheek, shying away from facing Oliver. “Well, we do. But it’s probably the shittiest part of this…” He tucked in his hood tighter. His eyes flickered with a dull shine. “You know how there’s been those area death things happening? And how they say that they died for no reason?”

Oliver tensed, flashes of the earlier news came back to his mind. “Yeah…?”

“Did you ever see the corpses in a bloody mess or something like that?”

Oliver licked over his bloody lip. “Yeah. I’ve seen those before actually.”

“This’ll probably sound kinda crazy, but… blame monsters.”

“Monsters?” Oliver questioned.

“Yup. Nobody aside from us can see them, and nobody except us can see what they do or fight back.” Ayu looked down to the ground. “My clairvoyance or whatever can tell me when they appear sometimes, and where they’re at.”

Oliver gulped. “Then, how come deaths are still coming around?”

“That’s the real shitty part of this,” Ayu answered. “My readings suck, because whenever they happen, I have a headache and other stuff that hurts enough to where I can barely move; And most of the time my readings end up being too late or won’t happen at all so everyone still dies.”

“Ah…” That’s why he was like that before.

“Usually whenever readings happen, I have to get Annette for her to get rid of the monsters. But either way we never really save anybody…” Ayu stared at his boney hands solemnly, but then shrugged. “Maybe you can help but I don’t think that could ever happen with how things are going so far. Sorry.”

Definitely more vulnerable. “It’s alright,” Oliver replied.

The air went silent between the two. Oliver only heard street commotions as nobody spoke. He looked towards Ayu, who faced away from him. Will I get anything from him though, Vittorino?

The silence broke with a stomach growling. Ayu blinked, then groaned. He pulled his head back to the wall. “Fuck, I dropped the bread.” He tousled through his hair, his face dropping to clear annoyance. Though, he shook his head as he questioned, “Oh yeah, why were you at the store? It didn’t look like you were with your mom or dad.”

Oliver clenched his bag and put it in front of him. He lodged down and ignored the ointment inside. “Oh, I went to buy some candy since I felt like it.” He took out the sour candies he actually bought as evidence.

Ayu stared at the bag. Oliver’s head tilted as Ayu’s lip poked out with drool. “Something up,” Oliver asked wearily.

“Sorry. I haven’t had those things in years.” His eyes shined with greed.

Oliver made a soft, self-conscious chuckle at the boy’s reaction. “You can have it if you want-”

The bag was ripped out of Oliver’s hands before he could make another sound. He jumped at the action, and found Ayu tearing the bag open like an animal.

The boy began chomping on the small sweets the second he was able to open it. “Tank-yu,” Ayu mumbled with candies stuffed in his mouth.

“It’s… nothing.”

“Oh yeah,” Ayu munched, “I didn’t introduce myself, didn’t I? I’m Ayu.”

“I already heard from you talking over there.” Oliver nodded towards the messy pile. “But my name’s Oliver. Oliver Holguin. Your name’s kinda unique.”

Ayu replies, “Yeah, everybody thought it was weird back at foster care.”

“You went to foster care too?”

Ayu paused at the moment, eyes widening. “Shit.” He blinked. “Yeah, I was, but that was a while ago til I was six or something.”

How did he get here? Ayu’s fickle movements while answering the question made him wonder. Though, it was at least understandable for why no parents were present. “Wait, if you got off when you were six, how old are you now?”

Ayu nommed on another candy-bite. “I’m about to turn thirteen in a few months.”

Oliver bolted up from his grounded seat. “You’re twelve? You look like my age.”

Ayu shrugged, “Bad habits get to ya. How old are you, then?”

“I’m just ten,” Oliver answered. “But I’m turning eleven next week.”

Ayu chuckled. “You’re short as hell for you age then if you’re shorter than me.”

Oliver leaned towards his knees, muttering to him. “It’s probably a genetic thing-”

“Ayu, where’s the new guy?” A girl yelled as she ran towards the alley. She was panting and standing only from holding on to the wall corner, though her tall figure beamed against the outside light. Her chocolate hair flowed through the winds as she zoomed across the space to Oliver. “You must be him,” she smiled. Her crouched down body still made Oliver tense.

“Uh, hi?” Oliver stood up himself for her comfort. Though, she was still a good whole foot taller than him.

“His name’s Oliver,” Ayu told her.

“How did you even find him?” The girl turned to Ayu, her excitement displaying clearly with her tone.

“I was trying to get food but he caught me.”

She gawked. “You went to steal food again?”

Ayu rolled his eyes, “I didn’t expect this to happen. I figured that you wouldn’t have time to come back just to get me food.”

Oliver stood in the middle of their bickering. His mind wandered off to thoughts are they both complained. How many times has this guy actually stole food?... Wait, am I gonna have to do stuff in this thing?

The girl sighed as she and Ayu stopped discussing. She presented herself to Oliver. “Sorry about that. I’m Annette, co-founder of-,” she turned to Ayu, “did we ever make an official name?”

Ayu shook his head, eyes deadpanned.

“Oh, well we don’t have an official name right now but for now it’s the Black Sun-… Gang- thing…!”

Ayu face-palmed. “Oh, my god- Annette, we don’t need a name,” he spat.

“It’s okay. Brand names are selling points, my friend,” she purred at him. She then turned back to Oliver. “We can get you on the ropes of things quick, then you can decide if you want to join or not.”

Oliver eyed her. “Am I not gonna have a choice in trying it out at all?”

“Please. We need help more than anything. Plus,” she gestured at Ayu, “he’s actually pretty intuitive. He can help you with your abilities when you get them.”

“Just because I guessed about your powers doesn’t mean I know everything about this stuff.” Ayu’s arms crossed.

“Intuitive is when you can figure things out quickly Ayu,” she brushed him off. “But Oliver, just hang out with us for a bit. You already heard about the Katzmann thing from earlier didn’t you.”

Oliver tugged the blood from his lip.

“Wait, what do you mean by Katzmann thing,” Ayu asked.

“Oh right, I didn’t talk with you about it.” Annette drooped. “There was a kid who died today at her own house. People think it’s an area death but you weren’t even able to catch it, weren’t you?”

He looked down with his hair covering his face. “No, I didn’t…”

Would these guys really be good for clues? Would they ever come at me?

“Well, we’ll probably figure it out sooner or later.”

“Or never,” Ayu grumbled.

“Uh,” Oliver spoke between the two. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have to go soon. My mom’ll probably worry if I’m out for too long because of these ‘area deaths’.”

Annette nodded. “Fair enough, but before you go, do you have a phone?”

***

“I can’t believe I got a number from a random chick I just met.”

Oliver walked through the wind gusts, his eyes fixated on the number on his flip-phone.

“How did meeting your new friends go?” Vittorino emerged out of thin air yet again.

Oliver didn’t bat his eyes away from the contact. “They’re fine, but I’m not planning on getting close.”

Vittorino went in front of him. “You sure about that? They look like nice ones.” Another cheeky grin.

“Almost everyone I meet is nice to some extent,” Oliver replied, “but regardless, they’ll have to deal with me out of anybody. That’s impossible shit right there.”

Vittorino chuckled. “Let me ask this again. Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. I’m sure.” Oliver walked past him towards his home, and slammed the building door on Vittorino’s face as he went inside.

Oliver sighed as he trudged up the stairs. “This better be worth it…”

He entered his home to continue the day.

Ten Dollars | Bread and Water | Next>>>

#writing #my writing #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #black sun tale #bst #chapter 3 #not sure what warnings to put #theft?#death mention?#oh yeah #swearing warning #bst ayu #bst oliver #bst annette #bst vittorino

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thedistantstorm · 5 years ago

Text

A Few Words on RWBY V7:E5

*cracks knuckles and lets fingers fly across keyboard in a blur*

Ah yes, one whole reaction post.

This one gets a bit long. Reactions up front, conclusion and speculation in the back. Everything’s under the cut because I don’t want to ruin anything for anyone who hasn’t seen the ep yet. (GO WATCH IT NOW, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!?!)

- Me, dancing in my seat: We’re gonna get a montage!

(someone make me a wallpaper of the RWBY girls all slumped over each other worn out, they’re so cuuuute~)

- Hi, I’m sorry, Nora braiding Ren’s hair just... UGH.

- Also, I noticed some general exasperation on his part this ep, and I’ve seen other posts say he’s acting kind of over Nora. I think Nora is acting even more hyper than usual, and Ren is waiting for the other shoe to drop (Something tells me Nora came from Mantle, and I just.. I don’t know. She hasn’t had her big ‘grow up’ moment like the rest of her team has had. She’s always been extra supportive and super optimistic and bubbly, but we got a glimpse during Ren’s growth arc that Nora’s grown up very fast and very alone, and though she doesn’t often show that emotional maturity, it’s there. Don’t be surprised if she pulls out the big guns in that department soon, especially when things go to shit in Mantle and Tyrion - who was suspiciously absent this ep - goes after Jaune.

- This is probably out of order but I didn’t initially add anything about the Bees because let’s face it, we all know they’re darling and badass and (omfg I’m still not over Blake’s haircut because she is GORG).

- JAUNE. And all the moms. BLESS.

- FNKY. Ahhhhhh this is amazing.

[Okay, now to the biggest thing (to me from this ep):

Qrow. Gave. Up. DRINKING.

GUYS.

GUYS!

GUYSSSSSS.

dafjg;sfgjdg;dkfgoreigndnvao;idjv;ogsdh;flk I’m so proud of him.

I just really, really hope he sticks to it.

It seems that a lot of his confident swagger has gone missing, and we’re seeing a way more humbled side of his personality. (AND FFS PLEASE DO NOT MAKE CLOVER FUCK HIM UP EMOTIONALLY PLEASE RT I’M BEGGING YOU I WANNA LIKE THIS SHIP)]

- Robin is a badass woman who Mantle - and Atlas - desperately need, and I am a FAN.

- Who is the lovely girl next to Robin? Can I get a name please? I love her ears (what exact kind of faunus is she? can i have her backstory? her entire aesthetic is amazing)

- Robin/Clover? Is there some history there? There’s some history. I’m sensing a ‘they were together/schoolmates/friends/maybe romantically but Clover was selected fore the AceOps’ sort of vibe.

- Winter and Weiss’s interaction this episode just struck me as the scales finally balancing between them. Weiss has always looked up to her sister. There has never been anyone better than Winter in her own eyes. You can still see that in their interactions, but Weiss challenges her now. Asks questions. Makes valid points.

- As for the reveal of the Winter Maiden, I saw it coming, but it does make the most sense. Weiss’s reaction says the same thing that I’m thinking though. I do, however feel like Winter feels obligated, despite her words. She might have ‘made it her own,’ but I suspect she’s never had an opportunity to consider any other alternative.

- Jacques. Okay. We all know Arthur is involved here, he’s going to help him do the thing, he’s probably providing strategic advice. Winter is right, he’s literally about to send Mantle into a panicking riot, bet it’s going to be the Grimm’s playground.

Ending Thoughts:

1. The Winter Maiden: Based on this ep, I’m feeling very worried for Winter’s chances at survival. New maidens are very very VERY fragile as they come into their own. At this point, we know who three of the four maidens are (is Summer Rose the Summer Maiden? Last episode totally gave me the impression that she’s definitely not dead. No body, no confirm-y).

2. Will Robin be thrown into Ironwood’s path by Jacques and his plans? Is this something Arthur planned? If Jacques causes as bad of an uproar as implied (obviously the answer to this is yes), Ironwood would be smart to bring Mantle’s best hope (imo) into the fold, lest Mantle destroys itself and causes further issue in Atlas.

3. MARIA? Hello? Where are you? Have you been training our sweet silver-eyed Ruby? She can’t get one chat and have that be the only training she gets.

4. Qrow/Clover - Guys, hate me for this (I hate me for this), but the more I think about it, the more this pairing gives me bad vibes. I want to like it. I want very much to like it. But I feel like Qrow is in a place where he needs to focus on himself. Clover... I don’t trust him. He gives me the impression of a man who made bad choices for the intent to be good, but he’s in too deep to come clean. That and I think the good luck semblance doesn’t mean shit when it comes to life choices. Maybe it all comes out his way in the end, but what has he done to himself to get there. Qrow’s bad luck semblance? Look. He keeps trying. He does good despite the odds stacking against him with the bad luck business.

5. Ruby. So, this season has really showed some emphasis on her growth. We see her withhold the truth from Ironwood. He doesn’t know that Salem can’t be defeated - which, would that tidbit change Winter’s mind about being a maiden? I bet we’ll find out. We see her with Qrow, we see a lot of references to family and how close they are (I’d like to believe that she’s the reason he’s not drinking anymore, she really knocked him down hard last season and for good reason), and she’s definitely retaining the bubbly parts of her personality, but it’s tempered. I suspect she’s going to start making decisions that the girls don’t like for what she suspects to be the greater good. We have a lot of dynamics to her team now. Weiss has Winter’s influence, Blake and Yang are a true (wonderful) team. I really liked the RNJR vibes back from S4, and I really hope we get a reprise of them soon (maybe when Tyrion inevitably comes after Jaune like we all know he’s gonna).

6. Ironwood & Oscar. At some point, desperation is going to win out, I think. Ironwood is driven by his desire to keep Atlas safe, and we see things pointed out time and again by Winter et all the Atlas folk. They put Atlas first. But that’s not Qrow & Team RWBY/ORNJ(is that what they’re called?)’s prerogative. Here’s the thing: let’s say they help re-establish communications, they launch the tower, yada yada, so on, so forth. At some point the tea will be spilled. And when that happens, if Oz is not around, Ironwood is going to snap. He’s already very fragile, it seems (and I love him, really. I want to give that man some tea, and a fuzzy blanket then we can hug it out) and this would be the final blow. I think desperation would dictate him essentially going after Oscar to the point of life/death to try and get Oz to come back.

7. The Atlesian Military: Is it strong/large enough to handle assisting both at home and abroad when the Grimm attack? I’m gonna guess no.

Okay. I think that’s all I had for this (edit: probably not) ep, so if you want to chat feel free to do so however you wish.

#RWBY #rwby vol 7 #rwby spoilers #rwby reaction #RWBY V7:E5 #reaction post #ruby rose #qrow branwen #winter schnee #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #blake belladonna

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uas-fics · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 2 Of ‘The Pandering Country Western Star’

Chapter 1 - Epilogue

---

Kiwi snuggled down in Tweek's hair as Tweek tapped his finger on the table top. Craig's livestream would start any minute. Would Craig use the script Tweek edited for him? No, he probably scrapped it. It was too much. It didn't make his fans feel good about Craig keeping his personal life a secret from them.

The more Tweek thought about the whole situation, the angrier he got about it. Coming out is hard and terrifying. No one should be pushed to come out to the world like this — especially not at the hands of a bitter ex. Craig was right to break up with him! He dodged a bullet, as far as Tweek could tell.

Tweek's phone dinged and he picked it up, keeping one eye on the laptop in front of him.

The text message was from Craig.

"I'm going to start my livestream soon. Wish me luck? :)“

"Luck ;)" Tweek typed and chewed his lip.

This was too risky to send. He didn't even know how long ago Craig broke up with his ex. Was it a month? A year? Two weeks? Was he pushing too fast?

Besides, Craig probably didn't even see Tweek like that. He was a famous country star after all. There were men much more like him out there he could pursue. Men who were famous and used to Craig’s lifestyle.

With a sigh, Tweek went to delete the wink and replace it with a star or a smile, (he hadn't decided which one) when Kiwi took hold of a lock of Tweek's hair and pulled. Tweek yelped, his thumb going right down on the send button.

His heart froze in his chest as he stared down at his mistake. A scream rose up from his throat but died down the moment the livestream started a few seconds later.

Craig smiled at the camera, waving. He held up the black and white guinea pig from his wallet photo and moved his paw to wave as well.

"Howdy," He greeted, and Tweek realized just how much of an accent Craig put on for his fans. "There's quite a crowd here, huh, Astro? I think this is my biggest livestream yet."

Astro didn't look all that impressed. Craig set him down in his lap.

"I'm guessin' you're all here because I said I've got some really big news. I can tell from the chat, you all seem to think it's music related." Craig's smile strained. "It ain't."

Craig took a deep breath, scooting a little farther back. Best Tweek could tell the livestream took place in Craig's living room, which was nothing but Western aesthetic: decorations made with wood, barbwire, and rope covered the wall behind him along with a rustic painting of a pasture with some tiny black, white, and red dots (probably cows or horses, Tweek realized) on it.

"This isn't how I wanted to do this." Craig sighed. "I had other ideas. Plans much classier than this, when I was in a much happier place in my life, but circumstances changed. I want y'all to hear this from my mouth and not the front page of a magazine."

Craig shook once. His face twisted like he was going to vomit, but he swallowed any bile back down.

"I am gay," Craig stated simply, pulling Astro so he pressed against his stomach. "I have always been gay. Since I was still in my mama. That's just how it works. That's how God made it work."

Tweek tensed. Around this part was when he started to edit out the pandering. If Craig went on about God and how He has a purpose for him, then he threw out all Tweek did and went back to the first draft.

Craig's eyes flicked up, looking beyond the camera, then back. "This has been a hard decision for me and a shock for many of you, I'm sure. Or maybe it’s not. Maybe you could all tell and never bothered to let me in on the secret."

Tweek let out a breath he did not remember taking. He slumped forward so abruptly that Kiwi fell from his hair. Kiwi landed, somewhat gracefully, if a little wobbly, on the table.

"Sorry!" Tweek reached out to comfort Kiwi, but he turned and flew up to his perch in his cage.

Craig continued, "Like I said, this isn't how I wanted this to happen. I’d rather had y'all meet my husband after we got engaged or married, but that ain't gonna happen now, I guess."

Pain flashed across his face for a fraction of a second. "I'm sure y'all find out why when Country Western Living comes out since that's where my ex outs me. I think publishing it is downright dirty and shows a lack of journalistic integrity, but I'm not a rich ol' magazine editor." He shrugged. "What do I know — besides you don’t tell other folks secrets for money?"

Tweek couldn't help but smile. Craig was going to throw that magazine right under the bus for this, wasn't he?

"I can say, I spent years hiding myself from people, both family and friends, and from the world itself. It was hard, and I felt like a liar. I heard conversations about folks like me that made my stomach churn. Conversations that I'm sure wouldn't happen if the people in the room knew I was like the people they were talking about."

He cleared his throat. "Even if it's not a perfect coming out story, I think I'll be much happier now, and I know I can make music truer to my life and with more passion than ever before. I want this to be a good thing for all of us."

Astro pipped and began to roll out of Craig's lap. Craig smiled down at him then set him on the floor.

"Don't worry about Astro. I'm still keeping an eye on him. He's safe," Craig reassured. He settled himself back in his seat before continuing, "Now, I know some of you don't ‘agree' with people being gay, and, well, I can't change your mind, but if you don't, it isn't my problem."

Craig fixed the camera with a hard look, his accent falling for the last sentence.

That wasn't part of the first draft or the edited one. Craig was supposed to offer to answer questions from the livestream after he mentioned how coming out would make his life better.

Tweek leaned so close his nose nearly touched the laptop screen.

He was proud for Craig.

Even as he answered, somewhat invasive, questions about his sexuality, he seemed relaxed, as if a heavy weight hanging over him just dropped to the ground and missed him.

Well that's what it was, wasn't it? No more hiding. No more lies and fake girlfriend stories. No more feeling like a gay fly on the wall when people bash the community.

"Ok, um, Little.Shop.Of.Yaoi280, I don't know what a ‘uke' or a sea...seem...see-mee? Whatever are and I don't think I want to," Craig was saying as he read through the comments. "Yes, KittyKatLover, I have read the Old Testament. I also read all the verses that say God loves me and made me how I am. That's all I want to say about that."

Tweek finally fell back in his chair, running his hands through his hair, with a goofy smile on his face. Craig handled those kinds of questions a little better than Tweek did the first few times he got then online. Nowadays he deleted invasive or backhanded comments on sight. He used to argue, sometimes with sources, sometimes without, and it would keep him up at night with worry.

He'd have to advise Craig to copy his current method and not his old one.

"Ok, I think Astro wants to go nap with his brother and sister, so one more question," Craig muttered, more to himself than the stream. "Let's see...I like this one. PikachuKetchumAll151 asks me if I could have come out like I wanted with a husband at my side, what would I have said."

He hummed a moment. "I would have announced the man with me is the love of my life and I am blessed to introduce you all to him, but that isn't going to happen any time soon, unless," Craig smirked, "I get very lucky with dates in the near future." He winked.

Tweek fell out of his chair and to the floor, eyes wide. No. Craig didn't. He didn't just ask him on a date on a livestream like that, did he?

"Oh, jeez!" Tweek's mouth gaping open like a freshly caught trout as Craig finished up.

The screen was dark for only a few seconds before Tweek's phone began to ring. Shaking, Tweek answered it without looking at the number.

"Tweek?" Craig asked. His voice was nothing but excitement. "It's over. Did you watch it? All of it?"

"Did you ask me out on a livestream?"

"Hmmmm, no," Craig replied, almost coyly, and Tweek remembered how to breathe properly. "I wanted to ask if you'd like to hang out, actually. I'm not ready to date anyone else right now, but making friends who are also gay and have been out longer than me? I would like that."

Tweek forced his voice to stay steady as he replied, "Yeah, I'd like that too."

---

Red tapped her nails against the lacquered wood of her desk. Her stomach twisted with disgust. She might just vomit over all the negativity surrounding Craig.

She shook her head. No, it's a very vocal few. Most of the reaction towards Craig coming out as gay had been positive. He had plenty of congratulations and even some fanart for him with the Pride flag. Some celebrities even tweeted they were proud of him.

"About time. You'll be happier now, Craig! #LoveisLove" The frontman of Moop, Stan Marsh, tweeted. His partner, Red's old friend, Wendyl, as well as the rest of Moop, also sent Craig their support. Wendyl even went as far as to argue on Craig's behalf in the comments.

Not that Red planned on showing that to Craig. She couldn't risk him getting involved in an online shouting match and ruining his aloof country boy persona.

Her eyes drifted over the copy of the magazine on her desk. Craig and Thomas were on the cover, walking out in a park and holding hands. Craig’s focus was solely on Thomas and not the beautiful scenery. They must have assumed deep in an isolated park would be a safe place for a secret date. Clearly, they were wrong.

For what seemed like the hundredth time, Red skimmed the article. The picture Thomas claimed they would publish, one of him and Craig kissing, was nowhere to be found. Red didn’t believe Thomas lied about the photo. When he called, he was stammering nervously and the stress made his tic act up so badly he had to keep starting his sentence over and apologizing.

From Red’s best guess, the photo was probably on private property and the magazine couldn’t legally publish it, but this could use it against Thomas anyway. Not that it mattered in the end. Thomas already admitted he and Craig were dating in the article.

Red closed the magazine then tossed it aside. Even if Thomas had been tricked into talking, he still was the reason Craig had been strong armed into coming out before he was comfortable, and that pissed Red off.

Grumbling to herself, she turned back to scrolling through the comments on Craig’s latest post, a picture of Petunia in sunglasses and a tiny cowboy hat. It never ceased to amaze her how much he dotes on his pets and treats them like his own children.

Unfortunately, even on a post of a rodent dressed as a cowgirl, people were making hateful comments and asking invasive questions.

Kevin opened the door, steaming bowls in his hand.

"I have leftover chili or microwave ramen." He held up the bowls in turn. "Which do you want?"

Red didn't look up from her computer. "Ramen."

Chili was too heavy and spicy for her stomach to handle. Kevin watered down the romen every time, so she didn't have to worry about making herself sicker.

He slipped the bowl next to her then looked over her shoulder with a frown.

"You need to take a break from those," He told her before spooning chili into his mouth.

"I want to, but I can't." She slurped up noodles. "I'm going to report every bashing comment that might break Twitter's terms of service so Craig doesn't have to see it." Twitter probably wouldn't do anything, even if the comment did break their TOS, but it made her feel better anyway, since Craig decided deleting comments would only make things worse.

Kevin rubbed between her shoulder blades. His hand was warm from the bowls, relieving some of the tension.

"Craig's a big boy, Red. He can handle some hate comments. He's probably been preparing for it for most of his adult life." Kevin set his bowl down to walk behind her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders then rested his chin on her head. Given how tall she was, when she sat was about the only time Kevin could do this.

"I know, but..." A noise of uncertainty left her throat.

He kissed the top of her head. "It'll be alright. Someone else will do something worse soon and everyone will forget about Craig being gay."

Red set a hand over one of Kevin's, smiling softly. He was such a good husband, so caring and sweet and understanding. She hoped Craig would find someone like that for himself one day.

"Hey, do you know who the guy Craig's been texting nonstop is? Some gay internet celeb, right? The one who helped him with the script?" Red asked abruptly.

"Tweek Tweak, I think is his name," Kevin replied. "I checked out his channel: he's got an alright voice and seems like a good guy. Craig really likes him. We should take bets if this is another case of Tuckers falling in love instantly."

Red rolled her eyes at the joke.

“Good thing I’m a Stoley now, huh? Or you would be worried."

Kevin laughed. “Good thing for both of us!”

Red hummed to herself a moment before pushing back her chair, nearly sending Kevin to the floor. She jumped to her feet and spun around.

"I'm done with this for tonight," Red announced, taking Kevin's hand. "You're right anyway. Craig is a big boy." She kissed his cheek. "So, com'on, let's go watch ‘Battlestar Galactica’."

---

The house was much less "Cozy Ranch, Sweet Tea with Lemon on the Table Next to a Fresh Rhubarb Pie" Charm than Tweek expected, Craig could tell just by the confused expression on his face as he looked around the living room. After the livestream, Craig put most of the western decoration back in the attic where it usually stated. If he had to stare at a ‘Live, Laugh, Ride Horses’ on the wall all the time, he’d vomit. Every time he had tried to ride a horse before, it either nearly threw him off or tried to eat his fingers. He could live and laugh just find without them

"Something wrong?"

"No. It's just...big. Wow. Way bigger than my apartment." Tweek spun around. "If I let Kiwi loose here, I'd never see him again."

"It's not that big," Craig defended, deciding not to mention that was the main reason he didn't like his own pets wandering outside their pen without him around. Once he and Stan and Kevin spent the better half of a day searching for Stripe when he escaped from the pen

"I think my parents' coffee shop could fit in here," Tweek muttered, bending down to get a closer look at a stone carving Craig got from a trip to Peru.

"You're parents own a coffee shop?" Craig put his hands in his pockets. "So you're from a business family?"

"It is why I have my degree in business management." Tweek reached his hand to touch the nose of the carving but flinched back. "Did you ever go to college? I mean, I think Stan said he met you in college, didn't he?"

Craig picked up the carving, making Tweek stumble back a few steps.

"I left to become a music star," He twisted the carving over, brushing his fingers along the maker's mark at the bottom, "but I was learning about the physics and chemistry required in the fuel propulsion of jets and rockets."

Tweek blinked at him. "So you left college to be a rocket scientist to sing about drinking beer and trucks."

"You know," Craig set the carving back on the table, "my parents had the same reaction."

"You could have gotten us to Mars." Tweek straightened up. "But, you know, I admire that you took the chance and left that path to follow your dream." He grinned. "Really. It's admirable. My parents would have flipped out if I dropped everything to tour."

He paused then quickly added, "Not that I want to. I like being able to record from my house. Little stage performances are enough for me."

Craig laughed. "No, I understand. It's pretty heart pounding to have a million eyes on you at once."

Tweek shuddered at the thought.

"Hey, come on, my kids are excited to meet you." Craig put his hands on his shoulders and steered Tweek out of the living room and down the hall.

"I've been telling them only good things these past weeks," Craig continued. "How talented you are and what nice handwriting you have." He paused at a door. "I let Petunia sniff your revision, and she loved it so much she nibbled on the paper."

Tweek snorted as Craig opened the door.

The pen took up a sizeable corner of the room and was surrounded by a knee height fence. Inside were several beds and many toys and hidey holes for his pets. Craig noticed one of the sipper bottles was getting low and made a note to refill it, along with their food dish which somebody (Probably Stripe) knocked over into the bedding again.

“Wow.” Tweek’s mouth gaped. “I thought guinea pigs were kept in cages like hamsters, not something like this.”

“I built it myself,” Craig proclaimed, “though, I went a little overboard in size. Three pigs don’t need this much room.”

His plan was to let Petunia have a litter and have himself an army of guinea pigs, but once recording and touring started up, Craig found it was hard enough providing enough care and affection for the ones he had, so he took all three to the vet to be neutered. According to the vet, they would live happier and healthier lives that way anyway.

One of the guinea pigs shuffled around in the hammock and poked a nose out. Petunia looked around before spotting Craig. She gave a squeak and scrambled out to hurried over, probably expecting treats. Her noisy journey from the hammock made the other two peek out from sleeping under a fake log.

Craig stooped down and picked up Petunia. He held her out for Tweek to hold.

"She doesn't bite," Craig mentioned when Tweek hesitated. "Promise."

Tweek took her and held her carefully to his chest. Stroking her long, brown fur, Tweek leaned over the small fencing to look at the others.

"She's soft and those two are really cute," he complimented with a nod to Astro and Stripe the Sixth.

"Thank you. I'm proud of my boys," He reached over and scratched Petunia between the ears, "and my baby girl."

Petunia moved her head against his palm with a happy noise.

Astro grew jealous at the attention Petunia was getting and began to get rowdy in the pen to steal some of it for himself. With a smile, Craig stepped into the pen and sat down. Instantly, Astro was in his lap with Stripe the Sixth settling down next to his leg.

Tweek wavered a moment before following after Craig and taking a seat in the pen.

He opened his mouth when his body went stiff.

"Ack!" He pulled his hand to his chest. "She licked me!"

A grin spread across Craig's face.

"That means she likes you." He scooted closer so they sat side by side, much to Stripe’s annoyance as he had just got comfortable.

"Like a dog?" Tweek stared down at Petunia in awe. Clearly, Tweek hadn’t had more interactions with rodents than average house mice.

"Yes, they are very affectionate critters." He pressed his leg against Tweek's, resting his palm on Tweek’s knee. Tweek tensed, but relaxed a moment later and didn't move away.

"Oh? They are? Well, you know, this," Tweek whistled softly, "is what birds do when they like you. They talk around you and sing."

"I didn't know that." Craig leaned a little closer. Their shoulders were touching now.

"Yeah. They sing and tweet all day if they're happy and safe."

Craig hummed a wordless tune, raising his finger to brush a lock of Tweek's hair back. Before his hand left, Tweek set his on top of it to keep it against his cheek.

"Do you want to know what guinea pigs do when they like someone?" Craig tilted his face towards him.

Tweek mimicked the action, twisting his body a little and disturbing Petunia. She made a whining squeak, alerting Tweek that his action displeased her, though he paid her little mind.

"What else?" He asked as his fingers gently squeezed Craig's hand.

"Something a little like..."

The gap between them grew steadily smaller and smaller until Craig pressed his lips against his.

"This." He pulled back, tapped the ends of their noses together, then pressed his luck to kiss Tweek again.

After a few blissful moments, the two parted completely.

This time when Petunia was disturbed she crawled out of Tweek's lap to trot to Craig's. She climbed over his crossed legs and snuggled down next to Astro.

"W... w... " Tweek stammered.

For a fleeting moment, Craig's chest gripped with worry that Tweek might be trying to say "Why did you do that?!" or "What made you think I wanted that?"

"’Wicked’..." Tweek finally breathed.

A snorting laugh escaped through Craig's nose. "I guess it was. Maybe even ‘radical’ or ‘tubular’?" He teased.

"No, I mean," Tweek chuckled, "'Wicked' like the musical. Jimmy gave me tickets to a performance he's helping with next month. Would you like to come? Like as a date?"

If he could grin any wider, his face would have split right down the middle.

"I'd like that, but you know what I'd like even more?"

Tweek's face dusted pink but he smiled too.

"What?"

"You let me take you out for a date tonight since I don't want to wait a month." Craig moved Stripe to his lap as well. The two already there made irritated squeaks but allowed their sibling to snuggle down between them.

Tweek nodded, pushing his hair back from his face.

"As long as there's no mechanical bull wherever you take me." He laughed. "My friend, Jason, rode one once and broke his arm when he fell off."

Craig's expression twisted into disgust before he could stop himself. Tweek furrowed his brow, nervously fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Tweek, I have a confession:" he took a breath, "I hate country music."

Tweek stared at him before bursting out into laughter.

"Oh, right, uh-huh." He elbowed him in the side. "That's a good one. If you want to go someplace with a bull, that's fine. Just don't expect me to ride it."

"I'm serious," Craig deadpanned. He leaned to allow his head to fall back. "I guess ‘hate’ is a strong word. I used to like it. I was raised on the stuff, after all."

Tweek lifted himself on his hands to turn to fully face him. His prompting look encouraged Craig to continue.

"When you said you thought it was admirable that I left school to pursue my passion, well, it was actually the opposite. Rocket science is my passion. Music is a job."

"What?" Tweek shook his head. "That doesn't make sense. That's not how it works."

"That's how it ended up." Craig shut his eyes. "Stan needed help taking all his Moop stuff to a venue, so I offered my car. The owner's daughter overheard me singing to myself and said she'd pay me to sing for her."

"Did you?"

"Thirty dollars for singing a cheesy country love song to a girl? Hell yeah, I did." Craig snickered at the memory. "After that, she told me she could get me on stage for a bit if I wanted. I didn't want a glamorous life of a music star, but I was a broke college student and performing there got me a free dinner and whatever tips I made."

He opened his eyes with a frown. "Then it all kind of snowballed from there. I got asked to come to sing there more and more and soon other places were asking for me, and Red offered to be my manager and before I knew it," he fell back, startling the guinea pigs, "I was famous."

Tweek stared at him, big blue eyes searching his face before he took a breath. "Why would you keep doing something that makes you unhappy?"

Craig shrugged. "Money. I sing what people want to hear from me and, until recently, pretended to be what they wanted completely. Just a good old Southern boy who sings songs that pander to other good old Southern boys."

"So, are all your songs just pandering? That can't be all you ever wrote." Tweek chewed his lip. His brow furrowed. Craig could only assume he was thinking about all the songs of Craig's he knew to check himself.

Craig pushed himself up onto his forearms. "I didn't write any of my songs, actually. When I was first starting, Red introduced me to a lyricist. He'd make the lyrics. I'd help with the instrumentals if he needed it."

"That...really?" Tweek moved to sit on his knees.

"Yeah, his name is Thomas." A pang hit his stomach, but he took a breath and went on, "Thomas actually did live a country life, a little. More to draw from than I have. He has Tourettes, and his mom sent him to a ranch camp for kids like him every summer from when he was eight to eighteen."

"Wow, so you’re really a fake," Tweek replied, unamused.

“I don’t auto tune myself or lip sing during concerts. Besides, I’m not the only one. An old member of Moop, Eric Cartman? He left to make a Christain Rock band called Faith+1. Fucker’s as far from a holy Christain man as you can get.” Craig snorted. “He’s even more in it for the money than I am. At least I care about my fans a little. That man would push them into the fires of Hell himself if he was offered a dime for it.”

“But you’re still faking! I mean,” Tweek ran a hand through his hair, “all of your songs can’t be pandering party songs, can they?”

"I do have one song that wasn't just a cash grab."

"Oh, yeah? Which one?"

"‘Hazel Eyes.'"

Tweek’s face twisted in thought as he tried to recall the song. Craig couldn't blame him if he didn't know it. ‘Hazel Eyes' barely broke the top forty for a week then faded into song obscurity. It was still his favorite, though for bittersweet reasons now.

Craig hummed the first two bars at the start of the chorus before he sang, "Black hair; Hazel eyes, looking at me with love long disguised. Hold my hand where dad and mom can't see. Let me with you and you with me. Please never look away from the future of we, my lovely hazel eyes."

Realization crossed Tweek's face.

"I remember that song. I really liked it, but didn't know the title."

Craig bobbed his head. "Thomas wrote that for me."

"Didn't he write everything for you?"

"No, I mean for me. Thomas...he was my boyfriend. I'm the ‘Hazel Eyes' the song talks about." Craig winced, realizing that bringing up a love song his ex wrote him with the man he just kissed was not his best plan.

"Oh..." Tweek chewed his lip "Wasn't Thomas the ex who..."

"Yeah, that Thomas," Craig confirmed. "I think that's another reason I don't like country much anymore. Everything I sing is by him. It's just salt in the wound."

A hand fell on his shoulder, so Craig lowered his gaze from the ceiling. Tweek smiled softly at him.

"Do you want to write a song with me? I'm not the best. I didn't go to college for it or anything, but maybe together we could make something good."

"So, what I told you isn't a deal breaker?" Craig asked.

Tweek shrugged. "No, I guess not. Maybe I can help you break into other genres, or if you want to leave professional music altogether and be a rocket scientist, I can help with that, too, if you want. I find people are much happier when they can be themselves and follow their passions."

Craig stared at him before chuckling. Tweek was such an amazing person.

---

The night wind was pleasant as Craig and Tweek walked side by side down the street. Craig readjusted his coat. For once, he didn't look like something a western store threw up on: A blue zip-up jacket over an old Moop shirt, black skinny jeans, and a chullo hat with a geometric pattern and yellow tassels.

Tweek mocked the skinny jeans when he first noticed them until Craig pointed out that's what he had on as well. At that point, Tweek blushingly hurried them into the theater to find their seats.

Craig raved excitedly about the play they'd watched. Tweek was so pleased that Craig liked it. He'd suggested it on a whim. It was the first idea his brain could provide him with that wasn't ‘kiss him again, you fool!' He hadn't expected Craig to actually agree, but he hadn't expected Craig to confess he’d grown disenchanted with singing country music, either.

"Alright, so were Elphaba and Glinda low key in love or something? Or am I just reading that subtext now that I'm allowing myself to?" Craig wanted to know, lightly swinging their combined hands while they passed under a streetlamp.

Tweek laughed. "I've never read the book, but in the musical, it's platonic, I think."

"You've never read the Wizard of Oz?" Craig stopped and fixed Tweek with a startled expression.

"What? Of course, I have!" Tweek scoffed. "‘Wicked' is based on a book that’s based on the ‘Wizard of Oz’. I've never read it, so I don't know if Elphaba and Glinda are lovers there or not."

Craig chuckled. "Well, I'm going to assume they fucked at Shiz at least once."

With a chuckle of his own, Tweek began to reply when a new voice cut him off.

"Hey! Hey! Craig, you—cocksucker!”

Tweek flinched, spinning around. Sooner or later, he knew some crazed fan would come to harass them. Why did it have to be tonight though? Even with the skinny jeans thing, the night was going so well!

As the man neared, Tweek’s heart pounded in his ears. They weren't too far from the theater, so there had to be more patrons nearby who could call the police if a fight broke out, right?

Scanning around, he saw only a huddle of people across the street, though they seemed to pay the couple and the yelling man no mind.

A disheveled man with short, messy hay-colored hair ran up to them and Craig stiffened. The man had bags under his eyes so deep that they rivaled the ones Tweek had when he was in the worst of his teenage anxieties.

"S-sorry!" He stammered, doubling over to pant. "I didn't mean to say--fuck!--that."

Tweek straighten. He wasn't much taller than the man, and nowhere near as tall as Craig, but he could be intimidating if he wanted to be.

"What do you want? We're busy right now," Tweek told him firmly. If they left quickly before this man started shouting at them, the night could still be salvaged.

Craig put his hand on Tweek's shoulder. He turned to him, and Craig shook his head.

With a deep breath first, Craig looked to the man. In an uninterested tone, he greeted, "Hello, Thomas."

Tweek stifled a gasp. Thomas? The Thomas? The one who forced Craig to out himself? That asshole?

Rage bubbled up in Tweek. He gritted his teeth and curled his hands into fists. If this jerk tried to cause trouble he would—

Craig wrapped his hand around his and squeezed without breaking eye contact with Thomas.

Thomas looked at their hands then looked away guiltily.

"Craig, I need to talk to--asshole! I need to talk to you." He chewed his lip. "Please."

"Why? So you can sell whatever I say to a magazine again?" Craig somehow remained coolly detached when he spoke. Thomas winced as if Craig just punched him in the gut.

"Craig, please, I didn't mean to. They had--they had a picture of us and--Balls shit!--we were kissing. How could I reply to that? Mother fucker! There was nothing I could have done! They would have run the picture anyway if I didn't answer. I--shit cock!-- I had to tell the truth!"

Thomas slumped forward, shrinking down like a dog about to be scolded for breaking a vase.

"I'm sorry. I did what I thought was best for you."

All at once, Craig’s aloof attitude broke. A low growl ripped from his throat as he stomped forward a step, getting into Thomas' personal space.

Jabbing a finger at his chest, he snarled, "‘Best for me'? If you wanted what was best for me you would have called me when it happened. Not Red. Me. You would have stood by me and helped me figure this out, but you wussed out on me and didn’t even answer my calls."

Thomas’ breath shook as he took it. He blinked hard, but under the streetlamp's light, he couldn't hide that his eyes were wet.

A pang of pity hit Tweek's stomach.

Thomas still loved Craig and probably did do what he thought was best. The cold indifference then a blast of sheering hot fury must have hurt more than Thomas let on.

Tweek reached out and grabbed a tassel of Craig's hat. Pulling it, he managed to make Craig step back.

"I'm sorry. I got scared, Craig! I'm not...Look at me! Who would want to come out dating someone like me?" He whimpered.

"I did — would! I never gave a fuck about your tics or how you looked." He squeezed Tweek's hand so hard, that Tweek bit back a yelp. Craig didn’t notice. "But that doesn't matter now, I guess. Goodbye, Thomas."

Craig pulled Tweek down the street. Tweek looked over his shoulder to see Thomas sigh heavily and slowly walk the way he came. The huddle of people instantly turned their attention to him when he neared. They started to console Thomas, but Craig took Tweek around a corner before he could see more.

"Craig..." Tweek started, "Um...that was—"

"Harsh?" Craig stopped, and Tweek bumped into his back. "Yeah, I know. It's the first time we've seen each other in months. He's been avoiding me. I guess it all came up at once."

Tweek twiddled his thumbs. It wasn't his place to say, but he couldn't hold his tongue on this. "I think he really was sorry."

"Yeah, I know," Craig repeated. "I know." He sighed. "Sorry. I just...I'll forgive him some time, but not right now. He threw my whole life out of sync and didn't even have the guts to help me set it back up. I think I'm entitled to making him squirm a little."

Tweek shrugged nervously. "Yeah, maybe, but you're not going to make him suffer too much, right?"

At least Thomas seemed to have friends to help him through Craig’s retribution, but Tweek still felt pity for him. Breaks up hurt, he knew that from experience, but all Tweek's breakups had been over issues much more trivial or minor than what Craig and Thomas went through.

"Another couple of weeks or a month, and I'll reach out," Craig muttered after a moment's thought, "but, Thomas and I are over. I couldn't ever trust him fully again." He flashed a smile at Tweek before taking his hands gently in his. "At least, I got one good thing out of this."

He bent down and kissed Tweek, slow and sweet. Tweek chuckled and rested his forehead against his.

"I wish I'd been able to meet you when I was younger. I think you would have made an awesome first boyfriend," Craig said with a lopsided smile.

"You know, I think I just thought of a great idea for a song if you'd like to head back to my place for the night and work on it," Tweek offered.

"I'd love that."

---

AN: Epilogue posted in a week

#south park #creek #Criag Tucker #Tweek Tweak #Revin #Sp Red #kevin stoley #Fanficiton #multi chapter #sp creek #Sp Thomas

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