#he looks kinda dry here but pretend that it was done on purpose

[yuriyaoijesus]

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎

[seiya-starsniper]

Oh those flower prompts are great! I may need to reblog it and play as well. Anyway:

Violet for Corintheus. :)

You thought I wouldn’t notice, but I did, every time.

YESSS CORINTHEUS. I uh…well shit if I thought yesterday’s prompt got away from me, this one REALLY GOT AWAY FROM ME at 2k words aiojdoiajdoia. Gonna need to put it up on AO3 too but that’s a tomorrow problem lmao.

Flower Prompt Game!

cw: blood mention, also Dark Dream kinda near the end

—---------

When the Corinthian blinks back into existence, he does not gasp for breath, does not clutch at his newly reformed body, so foreign and yet so familiar, and he certainly does not dare meet his maker and unmaker’s heavy gaze. 

At least, not at first. But Dream is a burning fire, and the Corinthian is nothing but a moth, forever drawn in by the Endless’s overpowering presence. When he can avoid it no longer, the Corinthian turns his eyes (and oh, they’re the same as ever with their little teeth) towards the King of Dreams.

“Hello, little dream,” Dream’s voice booms through the Shores of Creation. The Corinthian can feel the ground tremble beneath his still unsteady feet. “I welcome you back to the Dreaming.”

“Hi,” the blonde greets. He thinks his voice should be scratchy, his throat dry, and yet…there is nothing to suggest he’s been away, no hints that his body has been in disuse. But he still knows quite some time has passed, and his first question is—

“Why now? Why am I here, Dream?”

Dream’s lips quirk the slightest bit. It is a strange look on his lord, whom the Corinthian can only remember frowning for as far back as he can remember. 

“It was time,” Dream replies eventually. He does not offer any further explanations, nor does he move to shuffle the nightmare off to his old duties. He merely stands there, taking in all that the Corinthian is, was, whatever the hell he is now, and just. Stares.

Well that answers shit all about why he’s here. 

But what did he expect, really? Dream has never given him a straight answer, not as far as he can remember and— 

Well. That’s another interesting thing. His memories aren’t fully back yet. His brain feels a bit like what Swiss cheese must feel like, with gaps in time and bits of partially formed memories, senses, tastes. The Corinthian wonders if these things will come back eventually, or if Dream has stolen away what he did not find useful for him to remember for his own purposes.

“Why can’t I remember everything?” the Corinthian blurts out. He has never been known for holding his tongue, this much he does know, the strange gaps in his memories be damned. “I know I’m missing some memories, don’t pretend like I’m not,” he adds, trying and failing to tamp the bitterness down. 

Dream purses his lips, clearly displeased. The Corinthian wonders why his lord didn’t remake him with less insolence. Not that he wouldn’t have found a way to be. He thinks he was always meant to question authority. He braces himself for the lecture he knows is coming.  

But then Dream’s response surprises him.

“It is a side effect of having been unmade for so long, little one,” Dream says, his tone oddly gentle. “Your memories should fully return with time. You have my apologies Corinthian. It was never my intent to leave you for so long.”

The Corinthian stares and stares and stares, unable to process what has just happened. Did Dream just…apologize? To him? 

“Who the hell are you and what have you done with Dream of the Endless?” the Corinthian demands. 

A low rumble begins to shake throughout the realm. The Corinthian braces himself, preparing to be unmade once more, preparing for perhaps an attack on the Dreaming, but what he isn’t prepared for is the unnatural way that Dream’s body trembles and shakes along with the rest of the shores. It’s then that the Corinthian realizes exactly what it is that’s happening.

Dream is laughing. The sound is a horrid, grating, discordant and awful thing. It seeps into the very fibers of his being. The Corinthian thinks he would give anything to make it stop, and yet. And yet.

When the laughter subsides, they regard one another once more, Dream with more curiosity and the Corinthian with wariness.  Finally, when the silence has stretched too long, Dream sighs and turns to walk along the shore. The motion is one the Corinthian immediately recognizes, and he immediately follows, falling in line next to his master. 

“Much has changed since our last confrontation, Corinthian,” Dream says after they have been walking for some time. 

“You’re not gonna tell me more than that, are you?” the Corinthian asks. 

Dream’s silence is enough of an answer for the both of them. The Corinthian wonders, not for the first time, why he’s here. He had been Dream’s favorite once. Surely that was no longer the case. Surely his creator had crafted another nightmare to fulfill what was once his purpose. Surely— 

“What do you remember of your previous life, Corinthian?” Dream asks, interrupting the Corinthian from his maudlin thoughts.

The Corinthian pauses his steps and considers. Dream also pauses and turns to face him, waiting for an answer.

The Corinthian remembers his original purpose. He remembers the dreamers, the nightmares he crafted for their fragile minds. Remembers relishing in the taste of fear so clear in their minds.

He also remembers the Waking. Remembers how bold and bright and beautiful it once felt to him. He remembers that the taste of human flesh, so different from what he experienced in the Dreaming. He remembers the feel of a human life as he held it in his hands. He remembers ice cream and whiskey. And sex. He loved sex. 

“I was a nightmare,” he answers eventually, holding his gaze with Dream’s. “Still feel like one too. But I was human too. At least, I tried to be for a bit.”

Dream hums. “That is true. You figured out a way to leave the Dreaming without my assistance, so you could wander the Waking on your own.” The way he says it, as if reluctantly proud and aggrieved at the same time, sends a thrill down the Corinthian’s spine. 

“I left. A lot. Didn’t I?” the nightmares asks, though he already knows the answer.

“You did,” Dream answers. “You thought I wouldn’t notice, but I did, every time. I felt your loss from the Dreaming, every—single—time,” he emphasizes, as if the Corinthian’s actions had somehow wounded him. But if that were truly the case— 

“Why didn’t you chase after me?” the nightmare asks.

“I did,” Dream replies immediately. “After I realized that you were—”

“No, not then,” the Corinthian clarifies. “Before I truly disobeyed you. Why not before my first victim?”

Dream is silent. The Corinthian wants to press, to demand and answer, but he knows such tactics never work. Dream may be different than what he remembers, but some things he knows will always fundamentally be the same. 

“An oversight,” Dream finally admits with a sigh. “I had thought you would grow bored of the Waking and its too bright, too loud world. I had thought—hoped, perhaps, that this was nothing more than a passing fancy.”

“It wasn’t,” The Corinthian answers. Dream nods.

“I know,” he agrees. “You were desperate to live amongst humanity. So much so that you left me to rot in a glass prison for a century.”

The Corinthian barely keeps himself from crumpling to the ground underneath the accusation. So Dream knew about that too. And he still chose to bring him back. But why?

“You got out,” he offers. “It’s not like I thought they could hold you forever.” He knew his time was limited in the Waking. But he still wasn’t ready to let go, even after more than a century of being free. And so it was inevitable he was unmade.

“I did,” Dream agrees. “And I have had time to reflect since.”

Dream then turns away from him and resumes their walk. The Corinthian follows him, obedient as ever. He will always be obedient in some manner, he thinks. 

They walk in silence once more, no sound passing between them except for the gentle waves that wash upon the shore. The Corinthian wonders once more what’s changed in his time away. What had Dream reflected on? What made him change his mind? 

“Dream? Why am I really back? Why did you recreate me?” the Corinthian asks once more. He tugs at his master’s sleeve, like a child would an adult, which is absurd, considering they are of a height. But Dream has always been so much more than the Corinthian, simply by being Endless. The Corinthian remembers he used to resent that. He tries not to dwell on why he no longer does.

Dream hums as he turns to face the nightmare once more and this time, finally, finally, he answers. 

“You were my most perfect creation,” Dream says, his tone soft, nostalgic even. “The Dreaming was—incomplete—without your presence.” He says this last part as if mourning a lost lover, and the Corinthian feels as though an immeasurable weight has both been lifted and placed upon his body all at once.

“You missed me,” he says, and as the words make their way through his lungs, he knows them to be true. It tilts his entire world sideways, the axis of all his truths moved slightly to the left as he considers everything about the conversation that’s passed between them. Dream missed him. Dream wanted him to come home. Dream wants him, even now, because the Corinthian still is, after all this time, his favorite.

Dream’s lips quirk, as if parsing the nightmare’s thoughts. “Perhaps, little nightmare. Perhaps,” he says, and it sounds like an admission. It’s as good as the nightmare knows he’s going to get. 

The Corinthian then does something he realizes he’s been wanting to do since the first time he was brought into being. 

He kisses Dream of the Endless.

Dream sighs into the kiss, allows the Corinthian to tangle his fingers in his wild, ink black hair, and then he bites down on the Corinthian’s lip, splitting it open and spilling blood, human blood, coppery and bitter, between their mouths. The Corinthian moans at the taste, and deepens the kiss, presses his tongue insistently inside Dream’s cold mouth. The Dream King’s own tongue rises to meet his, and the Corinthian feels a twinge of pain as Dream’s fingers sharpen into claws that rake deep scratches down his back. The act only spurs the Corinthian on more.

Too soon the moment is over as Dream pulls back from him. They are both breathing heavily, though neither being has need for human breath. But all the same, there is now a shared arousal between them, a shared heat, a shared desire. The Corinthian wants more. 

“More,” he demands, chasing after Dream’s mouth. The Dream King holds up a hand, and shakes his head. 

“Not until you agree to stay,” Dream says, his tone brokering no room for argument. “No more unsolicited trips to the Waking. Promise me, Corinthian.”

The Corinthian does not need to verbally hear the words “stay with me”, to know this is what Dream actually means. Dream will always speak in riddles and never plainly. It’s fine. The Corinthian had long ago learned to read between the lines.

“I will,” he promises, and finds that he means it. “I’m yours forever, Dream. I’m not going anywhere ever again.” 

Dream pulls the Corinthian into another kiss, and as they continue to explore one another’s bodies, the Corinthian feels his memories of the Waking grow more hazy instead of more clear, like Dream had promised. But he cannot find himself to care, not when he finally, finally has the King of Dreams just the way he wants him. 

The Corinthian does not notice the small smirk that crosses Dream’s face as they embrace. Nor does he notice the small tendrils of dreamstuff that make their way down the line of his back. He does not know he has bound himself, willingly, to the Dream King for all eternity. But perhaps, even if he did, he would not care, too drunk on an eons long affection finally returned. 

“I’m very glad to hear that Corinthian,” Dream says. “Welcome home, beloved.”  

[jackrrabbit]

cooking at 3am /// Osamu x f!Reader

Request: Imagine cooking together with Osamu at 3am because neither of you could sleep (or because ‘Samu got the midnight munchies lol). You don’t have anything specific in mind; you’re just playing around and feeding each other little bits of what you make.

A/N: bruh you said munchies and my mind said [[ h i g h o s a m u ]] sorry this went in a kinda different direction? but still fun 3am cooking project vibes :P

Tag/warnings: fluff, light drug use (weed), you and Atsumu are lowkey Bros™️, Osamu's kinda baby 🤧

Osamu’s not good at smoking.

He doesn’t really know how to inhale—you know, hold it in his lungs so it can soak in or whatever—and when he does, he coughs. Except he tries to repress the coughs. Even if he wants to hide it, he’s always close enough to you that you can feel his chest moving from trying not to cough when he takes a hit.

And also, like every baby smoker, he can’t really tell when it’s kicking in until he’s off the deep end.

“Can you feel it yet?”

“No.”

You shoot Osamu a glance where he’s sitting on the ground in front of the couch, watching a nature documentary on Atsumu’s TV with a glazed-over look on his face. “You sure? Your eyes are super red.”

“I can’t feel it. Give it—“ He holds out his hand and honestly you’re pretty sure he’s had plenty, but it’s Atsumu’s vape so who cares. You hand it over and Osamu holds it up to his mouth and sucks, eyes fluttering closed as the light on the side of the Pax glows yellow.

God, he looks hot when he does that. Something about a hot guy smoking, yeah? Actually, no. Something about your hot boyfriend smoking.

Except 'Samu holds his breath a second too long and you can see the urge to cough hit him… Wait for it, you think to yourself, and a second later he hacks and wheezes the vapor out in a wispy cloud that reflects silver against the semi-dark. You coo in sympathy and pat his back. “Want some water?”

Osamu shakes his head, hand over his mouth to stop the coughing. On the tv, David Attenborough talks about penguin courtship rituals and Atsumu (who’s been draped on the couch next to you for the past few hours) gives a light little sigh in his sleep. You check the time. 3am. Bedtime. Too bad you and 'Samu are both too high to drive home…whoops. Guess you’re spending the night at Atsumu’s place.

Osamu rubs his bloodshot eyes like they’re itchy, which they probably are. “Hey, can we— uhh… Do we have pancakes.”

“Pancakes, babe? You mean the ones you made for breakfast?”

“Yeah, there’s leftovers…I made you extra and you didn’t want them.” He twists around and gives you an incredibly dirty look, like this is something you did on purpose to hurt his feelings. “If you don’t want them I’m going to eat them.”

“Wait, 'Samu—“ But Osamu's already getting up off the floor to wander over to the next room. You debate pausing the show—it’s a really good scene—but you leave it going for Atsumu's sake because you’re pretty sure the narration is the only thing keeping him asleep. He’s kinda drooling on your shoulder and you have to push him off to go follow your boyfriend to the kitchen.

“What is all this stuff? Ugh…” Osamu's pawing through the fridge. There’s a lot of crinkling, plastic sounds—you catch a glimpse inside and all of the shelves are stacked up with plastic bags and styrofoam containers.

You yawn and hop up to sit on the kitchen island. “Takeout? I don’t think he cooks.” Atsumu's going to get a lecture tomorrow for keeping 2-week-old Indian food in his fridge. God knows you heard it way too many times before you and Osamu moved in together. You don’t envy 'Tsumu.

Osamu sits down in front of the fridge, fumbles with a drawer, and pulls out a bag of moldy grapes. “Gross…who lives like this…”

You snicker into your hand.

“I can’t find the pancakes.” 'Samu's pulling the plastic drawers all the way out now, setting them down on the floor as he inspects the contents of the fridge.

“They’re not here.”

“You ate them?”

“No, I— Hey, put those back in,” you tell him helplessly as he shuts the door of the fridge, ignoring all the leftover food he took out. Yeah, half of it was probably off anyway, but Atsumu's gonna be pissed if he wakes up and there’s takeout going bad all over his kitchen floor.

“You threw away my pancakes?” Now the look on Osamu's face is utter betrayal. He stands up off the floor and glares sulkily at you. “I made those for you…”

“I didn’t throw them away, they’re—“ You hold back a laugh and wish you had your phone on you (where did it go?) so you could take a picture. He’s so cute when he smokes. “—they’re at home.”

“At home?”

“Yep, at home. The place where you and me live, remember?”

“Oh.” Osamu pauses, reaches out absently to grab the edge of your sleeve. You’re wearing one of his hoodies. “We’re not at home?”

“Nope. We’re at Atsumu's place,” you tell him through a giggle.

He plays with your sleeve, contemplating. “Why?”

“Because we’re out of weed and he said he’d smoke us out. And we like hanging out with him.”

“Oh. We do?”

“Yes.”

“…’Kay.” It takes Osamu a second to accept this, but then he nods seriously. “(Y/N), I'm hungry.”

“I know. What do you want to eat? You could probably have any of that stuff, I don’t think he’ll miss it.”

'Samu thinks about it for a moment, scanning the array of takeout containers spread out across the kitchen floor. “I want pancakes.”

“The pancakes are at home, remember?”

“Yeah…” Osamu flips over his grip on your sleeve and traces his thumb down the lines in your palm. “I could make some?”

More pancakes? “I don’t think 'Tsumu has eggs, babe. Or flour. Or…baking soda?” You’re not really sure what ingredients go into pancakes. Whatever cooking skills you possessed pre-Osamu have deteriorated significantly since you moved in together and he took over any and all food preparation for your household.

He pouts at this, and his hair is a little messed up, and he’s so pretty that you can’t stand how much you like him in that second. Mine mine mine, something in the back of your brain says. He’s mine.

You reach up and Osamu obediently ducks his head down so you can smooth his hair back into place and fix the bits that are flipping over his part. “Is there anything else you want to eat?”

“Onigiri.”

“Oh…” Well, at least Atsumu probably has rice. “Sure. Ok. That’s your specialty.”

“I want ya to make it for me.”

“What?” You frown and pull your hand out of his. “You know my cooking sucks.”

“No it doesn’t. (Y/N)’s food’s the best.”

“You own an onigiri shop, come on—“

“Please?”

One of his bangs falls back in his eyes and without thinking you reach up to put it in place. “Okay, fine. But you can’t complain about it if it’s not good.”

He smiles and you want to blush. “Yes! I promise.”

So you do it for him. Even though you’re high too. You measure some rice and water into the rice cooker (Osamu has to give you pointers on how much of each to put in) and you scrounge around Atsumu's depressingly bare kitchen for a few sheets of seaweed and some easy fillings. Osamu pulls a stool up to the island counter and rests his chin on his hands so he can watch you with a bleary look of adoration on his face.

It takes you…maybe half an hour to be done? It’s hard to gauge time when you’re high. You and 'Samu both jump when the rice cooker finishes and plays the little rice cooker song, which will remain stuck in your head for the foreseeable future. 'Samu hums it in a loop while you shape the rice into lopsided triangles and wrap the nori around it.

“Here,” you tell him when you set the plate down in front of him. He looks entirely too happy to be eating your mediocre food for someone who literally does this for a living, but who cares.

He picks one, takes a bite, swallows. And blinks.

“What do you think?” you ask in spite of yourself.

“Umm…salty,” Osamu says.

You grab one to try yourself and it’s salty. Like, ocean salty. Yuck. “I told you it would be bad,” you complain, trying to tug the plate away but Osamu grabs it and pulls it back.

“Noooo…it’s good,” he lies, although his face is giving him away. Still, he takes another bite and chews enthusiastically.

“Shut up.” You tug a little harder but Osamu doesn’t let go.

He swallows, pulls a face, and takes another one. “So good. I love it.”

“Shut up. You sound so fake. You’re going to get sick if you eat that.” You keep pulling, but he insists on pretending it’s edible so you admit defeat and help him finish the onigiri off. God, they’re awful. But he keeps eating and so you do too.

When you’re done, your mouth feels dry as fuck and you want to sleep almost as much as you want to drink about a gallon of water. “Is it bedtime yet?” 'Samu asks, wiping his mouth and then rubbing his eyes again.

The clock over the oven says it’s past 4. “Yes. It’s bedtime.”

“Wait—we’re…we’re not at home, right? We’re at 'Tsumu's?”

“Mhm.”

“I prolly drove here…I dunno if I can drive now,” Osamu tells you slowly, like he’s apologizing. “I think I'm kinda high.”

“Oh yeah?” You hold your laugh back and put your hands up on his cheeks. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy. Blurry? Like…you’re in slow-motion.” His hands come up to layer over yours. “You’re pretty in slow-mo.”

“Prettier than usual?”

Osamu closes his eyes, scrunching them up to think and then looking over your face intently. “Same amount, just slower. So it’s easier to see.”

“That so?” You slip your hands around to drape over his shoulders and get up on your tiptoes to give him a little kiss on the cheek, because he’s earned it. “You know what, I think I'm kinda high too. I think we’re going to have to have a sleepover.”

“On the couch? S’not big enough for us both.”

“You can sleep with 'Tsumu in his bed…or I guess you could sleep on the ground?”

'Samu's mouth twists and his brows draw together. You can practically hear the gears in his mind turning while he considers alternatives. “Can we share the bed?”

“I think Atsumu's gonna want it. It’s his house.”

“But he’s already sleeping.”

True, you can hear Atsumu snoring lightly from the living room underneath David Attenborough’s description of endangered falcons in the Philippine rainforest. You should really wake him up—matter of fact, you should really clean up the kitchen because it’s a huge mess—but 'Samu's already pulling you away. And you’re so sleepy.

“He’s going to be pissed tomorrow,” you tell Osamu through a yawn, but you let him steer you in the direction of Atsumu's bedroom, holding your hand.

“Don’t care…I hate sleeping without you.”

“Yeah,” you say, and you squeeze his hand and he looks back at you like you’re the literal best thing in the entire universe—and you decide you should get him high more often. “Same.”

[muffindaddystyles]

KISMETS (Part 3)

Harry Styles x Preggs Fem!Reader.

Frenmies to lovers to parents, Dadthon!!H

Oral Smut, dirty talk and teasing.

Angst! Angst and fluff!! N' tooth rotting fluff.

Dadrry, bestie!h, boyfriend!h

Author's Note: The concept's kinda weird but if you've watched F.R.I.E.N.D.S and Phoebe Buffay carrying child for someone. You've got it my pal!

MASTERLIST PART 1 PART 2 LETS TALK/ ASK

The morning light cocoons them with softness and they don't care if they're sitting in a pool of blood.

"I love you too, so much." She hiccups pacifying down not wanting to never be to able say them again as Harry runs a hand at her back, limbs still tangled with eachother, whispering sweet things to her while Miss. Dori pulled her placenta out, "Y/N?" He panics when she dulls in his arms head lulling at his shoulder and heartbeat slowing down to feeble line. Gently pulling his face out from the cave of her neck he pats her cheek worriedly, again, at her unconscious state, her head dangling back over his wrist, "Y/N!?" His heart squeezing tight miserably into his ribcages when she doesn't respond to his calls.

Or

Harry and Y/N are back being to besties and enjoying being pregnant together.

Warning: Mentions of blood, pregnancy trauma and natural childbirth hurdles.

//

Eyes gives it all. Even the hidden treasures get's looted from the mere mistake of someone's gaze just like right now when he's pretending to be confused as ever, "what? Called her myself . . ." He frowns and she sniffs frozen in her position feeling exposed from the vulnerability of being naked infront of him; tries to cover herself criss-crossing her arms over her chest.

"Why'd you d'that?" She hiccups wiping her blushed nose and his pupils bursts wide into realization. Immediately, cradles her face tenderly stroking the apple of her cheeks shaking his head vigorously, "Oh -— no. no. no baby told her to come over to take her leftover stuff if not I better give it to charity."

"O . . okay." She sucks in a breather. Without a word he removes hers arms away in a gesture that you never need to hide from me. Kisses her shoulder blade stroking her wrists and her pulse in circles.

"Don't cry, lil penguin. Why're ye' cryin'?" He asks in his most gentle voice feathering her cheek with the back of his hand, "'m . . . 'm scared." She tries to recoup her cries holding her breath causing her cheeks to puff like a fish.

"Let's get you cleaned warm and nice. Then we'll talk yeah lovie?" He slides her elbows behind his neck holding her strongly to walk them to his bedroom. Gives her a bath full of vanilla bubbles, essential oils, scrubbed her back and would trail kisses up her belly from under water making her giggle and weave her fingers into his own wet curls.

Him loving all three of them's the most adorable thing.

Got her ready for mid-nap with his sweater and boxers putting fur pads atop her ears, aloe fused socks on her feet and turning the heat a bit to sleepy temperature. Tucks a quilt under their chins and snuggles her closer to himself letting herself calm to his heartbeats before she speaks her heart out to him, "wanna talk? What you're scared of babe tell me all of it. Knows that I'll handle." He slips further into bed bringing her thigh around his torso and her head atop his buff chest.

She exhales loudly trying to subside the emotional feeling of crying along with each word that comes out of her mouth. Her bad habbit of grounding everything to the pit of her stomach until it blasts into a massive destruction always gets her into worst scenarios.

"'M worried about alot of things –- actually." She peeks up at him and he's already looking down at her genuinely with relaxed self to let her know that nothing has changes and he's still her bestfriend who'd wait for her till she manages to speak, "about what?" He encourages her petting down her hair.

"Everything like 'like future . . 'n — me being a good mum after all of that 'm uni too. . . the semester would start right after the month of my delivery." She furls her toes to keep her anxiety at bay level cocooning her womb cause she feels the safest with the assurement of her babies being with her, "about my career and what about me dreams? What if I'll never get to chase 'em?" He listens to her diligently boring his gaze to the way her lips mold with each word. Sighs gently rubbing her arms up and down salutating his palm around the side of her neck to tip her face towards him. His lips lingers at her temple murmuring against it, "Together we're gonna do this."

"You're gonna be the kindest and bestest mommy ever Y/N. I belive in ye' and about your dreams. I'll take care that nothing comes in the way to stop ya . . You'll attend UNI same as before 'cause 'm takin' a break to be with our babies till your done with your degree." He declares to her seriously and honestly running his hand all over her spine to assure her in every way possible, locking his ankles with her under the sheets.

"'M a big boy now! A daddy to two babies don't underestimate me miss gremlin!" He grins impishly smushing his cheeks into her side wide spreading his palm atop her tummy warmly with bare fingers, "'kay gotcha!" She giggles cuddling into him with droopy eyes inhaling the same scent she's lathered in from the sweet spot of his neck.

//

She wakes up in the evening satisfied and happy with the nap marks, sweaty baby hairs, a bit of drool at the corner of her mouth and Harry already awake but still spooning her. He's her pregnancy pillow.

Covers her mouth with his pinky and ring finger when she yawns cutely stretching beneath him slowly blinking. Proper stops with his intense loving gaze still on her and blushes hard when he pecks her dry lips after sleep. Her chest heaves with his kisses and snogs trailing down between the valley of her breasts making her card her fingers through his chocolate curls. Whimpers ever hoarsely raising her hips in air for some friction and to levitate the throb in between her legs asking for him to release the ache away.

He takes the hint scooching closer to her side nudging her knees wide stroking the flesh of her thighs with tickling pinches. She whines fisting sheets with yearning arch of her back, "insatiable lil thing aren't ya?" He gives a toothy grin wetting his lips making her pause in her heave of getting his fingers instead flickering her vision over his candy plush lips.

"Kiss me?" She whispers and how couldn't he when she's looking this soft, warm and full of blush from the nap. He was litreally nutters for not ever pondering over the thought how alluring and attractiveness her satiny features hold, "'course darlin'." He tips her chin towards himself letting her sweet cushiony lips fuse against his's into an ardent kiss shooting her libidos 100 times higher than before making her moan pathetically into his mouth.

Her forearms winding around his shoulders instinctively and exhales through her nose not pulling away from the kiss and squeaks lowly when he bites her lower lip pulling away, "'ve got asthma y'mad mad woman." He gapes down at her dramatically fiddling with the bow of her panties. They skim down to her mound feeling the slickness that has spread all around and the rough trim of hair, "and I've got an extravagant sex drive!" It whisks into a breathy gasp of dense air when he slid his digits in between her slick folds flickering her swollen clitoris and repeating till she's panting for more.

"Sad innit? 'S me fault. I should be the one to help my girl out." He mutters trailing sweet kisses down her swollen belly to her pelvis snapping the elastic with his teeth causing her to jolt under his firm hold. She's too floaty else the statement of him claiming her would have swiped her away into a paradise of never ending imaginations.

"Mhmp. What did ya had fo' lunch lovie'?" He licks her juices off from the inside of her thighs sending intense quivers to her core. His palms smoothes under her thighs to hike them up and over his shoulders nipping at her skin when all she did was responded with a gasp, "d- dunno forgot . ." He perks his brows to his forehead commenting playfully while dipping down to tickle her with his curls.

"Pregnancy made ye' loose your braincells, moppet?" She raises her hand to smack him at head instead tugs his hair when for finally he flattens his tongue thickly against her wet cunt to give a good mind boggling lick sucking her clitoris in the way, "asshole. . ." She moans squirming like leaf under him but he quites her by taking her sensitive nub between his teeth to give a little graze and pull. It makes her pussy lips flutter and her hole leak with so much wetness it sticks to Harry's chin.

"H – ha . . rry. Harry." She tries to grind her hips against his mouth but he tuts brushing his pads around her dripping hole to tease her, "yes baby?" Groans of annoyance fills the room and she shoves her face into the pillow bitting down the snarky insults thrown at the curly head.

"Not gonna give ye' me fingers till you ask fo' it." He smooches wet filthy kisses letting her stickiness coat his lips stirring a ball of fire in her pit, "shut up." She whines nudging him with her knee telling him to do something to relax her.

"Make me." He smirks tilting his head to suck her petal fold creating dirty seductive noises on purpose. She huffs taking the matters into her hands pulling him up towards her by a hard grip onto his hair, "ouch ouch!!" He quips shutting his eyes tight.

"Harry Styles you make me cum or I'm never letting you fuck me ever." She glares him and he gives out a defeated sigh naughtiness still lurking in his moss of irises, "bossy – kay! Sorry! Was kiddin' babe. 'M all here to please ye'." She nods her head curtly shoving him back down and he giggles at her when in an instant from an angry lil penguin she melted into a mush of gooe when Harry thrusted two fingers at once inside her curving them once they were buried snug deep.

"Yes. Yes. Yes." She gasps moving her hips along him that he stayed in his place eating her out while his fingers pushed in and out of her tight pussy with squelching noises, "fuckin' tight urghh." He grits rubbing her clit into harsh circles with his other hand, mouth on her cunt and fingers fucking her continuously.

"Want more?" He asks and she bobs her head not even processing what he said almost loosing the idea of her presence feeling too much ecastasy and over the clouds, "here take as much as ye' want baby." He slips another third finger admiring the way her pussy stretches swallowing his fingers, "'m gonna lick your little wet cunt off then clean it with me filthy tongue to make a mess of ye' all over again filling you full with me cock. Sounds good baby?" He knows she's the shy lil bean and his sweet enthusiastic words of vulgarism heats her up enough.

"Gonna come. Harry --" She tips her head down and back in air eyes rolling into her sockets. Harry rubs her outer thighs soothing her thrashing body, "shhh baby relax. You can cum on me fingers." She obliges him softening in his arms and her pussy makes soppy noises gushing with each wave of pleasure throbbing around his digits while he works her out to make her feel as giddy as he could, "That's it baby girl. That's it cum fo' me again?" He prods at the sponge of bump inside her seething through her twitching walls making it impossible for him to pull out and tent his cock against the bed leaving a spot of how turned on he's at the moment.

But, his first-most priority is her. It always was her maybe more than Chessie

"Happy my lil lioness?" He comes back on top of her arms digged on either side of her temple and she tries to squint from one eye pulling him to herself planting a rewarding kiss at his cheek, "how 'bout a pizza from Tommy's place?" He lays ontop of her (like half ontop of her and half on his side; just to share her warmth).

"Can I have an extra topping of olives, pretttyy pleaseee?" She makes a weird funny face to convince him, "but you're allergic to 'em." He frowns sitting up thumb hovering over the contacts popping on the screen. He has everything memorized she's allergic to; it's not much peanuts, olives and clay dough ( she claims that she ate it once when she was possibly 5 and it swelled her flesh up ) not that she's gonna nip at it now but Harry couldn't trust her cravings at all.

"But 'm craving them sooo baddd." She clutches the hem of his tattered shirt pouting but he retorts with the shake of his head intervining their fingers together to kiss her knuckles, "Nope moppet. We don't need another hospital visit at fou' in the morning like last time, do we?" She remembers it. A very angry Chessie at his doorsteps while he helped her walk inside this home post hospital visit.

"I hate this." She huffs folding her arms against her chest, "I know. How about we delay getting y'sick once babies are out?"

"You kidding?" Her mouth slacks turning into a widespread grin at last, "absolutely not. Pizza without olives yeah?" He smacks a kiss against her open mouth loudly before his phones rings at the pizza place.

//

Harry's the busy bee. From grocery shopping to making the list of all the organic food he needs to line up his pantry with, he took everything's responsibility on himself. Cause mama has a huge duty for wrapping two babies in her womb safe and heated. Even when she tries to bend down to put a plate in dishwasher he skates near her supporting her back and scolding her, "all you've t'do is eat and nap. Dunno fucks count 'cause we fuck alot — chill sweet baby. 'switch onto telly 'm bringing banana milk and cookies." She pouts because she doesn't want to be a burden on him. She wants to suspect any tiredness from his features — the way he's been on his trippy toes for her from eight and half months but how much she tries she couldn't instead he looks way more giggly and joyful than before with never ending dad jokes and teasing bum pats.

They indeed fuck alot. Harry loves that she's always sleepy and clingy — he thinks he's truly, deeply and madly in love with his lil penguin but they're in the middle of train's track whose destination is atlast confession of love but he wants to wait. He can't wait though. He's always been impatient and light from stomach can't sleep at night without sharing a word of his swimming thought with anyone. He shared it with Nialler, it was at three in the morning after Y/N sucked his cock dry with so much admiration for his prick he was bout to cry and blurt out but he didn't. Cuddled with her and oreo practically on his face then ringed his lad startling him up, "why did ya wake me up fo' something we all already know Harold? Do I've to teach ya lessons cause now that would be a shame to your kiddos." He grunted dropping the call leaving Harry baffled and alone to his thoughts again.

"Sweet angel . . " He cooes jarring the door to his room with his foot. She has moved in to his house, from guest room to his room and his heart. Told him she didn't like sleeping alone and gets the most amazing slumber squished up against his chest in his arms. He was ardent that she completes him. He's right. She does. Always had but this time it's till they're getting old and wrinkly.

Lilac walls glow from the telly's illumination and the flicker of light from their open wardrobe. His ears perks at a repulsive groan and his brows dips to tune into the situation, "what are ye' doin', pet?" He asks confused at the sight of Y/N in a funny position with a razor in her hand standing in the middle of their wardrobe trying to duck and see through her huge bump.

"'M tryin' to shave me legs — seems impossible though." She throws her head back to convey her annoyance and Harry chuckles placing the banana milk and the plate of dark chocolate cookies atop the drawer island taking her wrist which's holding onto the razor, "you don't 'ave to it's just a maternity shoot –- no biggie, moppet." She huffs. Their faces at level and intimately close to have a good stare in eachother's eyes.

"No biggie!? it's the first time I'll get to have someone take me pictures, all, personally fo' me." Her smile pouty as she tries not to break her disgruntled facade down.

"How 'bout the times, I was a victim of ye'r endless pictures taking sessions?" He squints down at her. Hands out of instinct fumbling by her sides to feel her warmth on his skin, "you were sooo shittt at that job."

"Kay, kay then, lemme just –- hand this razor, I'll shave ye'r legs pretty girl." Happily she shoves it in his grip while he knees down hiking her leg ontop of his knee. His pink tongue popping out in concentration. She trusts him in this because last time he was the one to shave herdown there. Taking a sip of her banana milk she taps the straw against his lips speaking, "a bestie in need is a bestie indeed." With his eyes on her ankle and his pretty hands which could make her come infinite times right now working so diligently, He gives her a high five taking a sip himself.

She breaks a cookie forwarding it to Harry and he looks up — so being all dramatic she acts shy and blushy turning her gaze away in a swift, "what baby?" He laughs putting her other foot on his knee his grip tight around her ankle.

"Don't stare at me calves like that you creep." He wipes away the crumbs from his lips giggling and making her giggle, "I've literally shaved your cooch days before." She jabs her big-toe against his nipple getting a high pitched squeak from a grown ass man in return.

"I hate you!" She says through the spurt of chuckles and his response in return turned both of them silent, "I know ye' love me." Their cheeks blazed. Eyes twinkling. Hearts doing lil dance dance but nobody from them tries to break the comforting silence knowing they'd word vomit the instant they'd.

They say "I love you." And "love you." in their normal routines without making it a mess of shyness. But the butterflies at that specific moment when the epiphany dawns on the pair that they really are in love with eachother makes their tummies float in void with butterflies.

"All done!" He announces enthusiastically kissing her knee like she's a princess in distress and the words burns at the plush of her lips, "love you."

"You too, lil penguin." He smiles boyishly.

"Oh fuck, I forgot we're gonna have shoot in our pyjamas." She yells in a low hum and he rolls his eyes slapping her ass, "rotten you're."

"Oopsies."

//

A maternity shoot in their back garden along oreo never seemed this fun when they were gushing about it days prior. Nialler gifted them cute baby pink coloured matching pyjamas with yellow peaches pattern, mommy and daddy embroidered on them. They even matched some fluffy kitten hats too!! A pair of yellow and pink with kitten ears with goggly eyes, big cheshire that of Oreo.

Their close friend Onna was all up for the shoot and nothing's more adorable than Harry's soft hands around Y/N's belly in a protective way, while they sat on the fluffy growing grass and cotton flowers. Her back resting against his taught chest, his legs wrapped on either side of her and oreo almost stretching atop her bump quenching loud belly ache laughs from them.

"Two pictures 'n 'm already tiredd, pff." She gasps shuffling a little to activate her sore bum and Harry pecks her shoulder cutely, "some more 'cause you'll grump later." Onna captures each every second of their tooth rotting interaction.

"Oi. I'll not!!" To avoid a banter Harry taps her chin pointing towards the camera speaking, "last one doll, one to show that we really are pregnant." Onna's laughing at their techniques. Shaking her head with each shot of overloaded sweetness she traps in her camera.

"I. Am. Indeed. Pregnant. Pet." She looks down with wide eyes rubbing her prodding tummy in circles, the top button litreally about to pop and Harry's face adorns with a naughty grin showing his bunny teeth, "Me too!!" He squeals rubbing his moth covered belly the same way she's doing and it sent both girls into fits of laughters.

"Sillllyyyyy." She sing-songs throwing an arm around the nape of his neck to bring him closer and smooch a loving kiss to his cheek, "you're gonna be the best dad." She whispers eyes closing into the diameter of his scent and he rests his lips against her forehead. Onna having a smile of adoration for her friends while she did her job, laying down to capture this one beautifully.

"Yeah?" His voice just audible to them. "Uhmm." She nods fiddling with the collar of his pyjamas and their bubbles pops when oreo tugs at Y/N's top revealing her graceful babies bump.

"You batty creature!!" She tries to grab oreo to smoosh her in her arms but oreo gallops miles away before it could happen.

//

The whole last night Y/N couldn't sleep. Tossing and turning with whines of complaints to a snoring Harry on her side. When Harry woke up she was already staring him like an owl scaring the poor thing, cause it wasn't a loving one. It was a proper creeping stare with baggy eyes and pouty lips, "can we have 'em out already?" She snuggles into his throat and he massages her head.

"In a week." He grogs out stroking his cheek against her's, "Have ya taken out all the required papers?" He asks her and she nods with a yawn. Today's the enrollment day for Y/N's next semester -- Harry will go to her UNI to talk to the administration instead of her.

"I'll be back in no time, till then try havin' a good rest, want some donughts from that one shop near ye'r UNI?" He thumbs at her baby locks. She shakes her head murmuring into his flimsy sweat shirt, "not feeling like it." Dunno what happened. She was alright after for finally her sickness went away but today she feels like shit because of her Braxton hicks climbing to painful peak.

Kissing her head last time he untangles himself to get ready and she watches him buttoning up his cuffs with his curl dangling over his eyes, he's looking handsome and a bit too out of her league with the crisp white shirt and chequered trousers.

He squats down pecking her lips. Her nostrils filling with cinnamon ocean-y smell soothing the tick of her nerves. Her body reacting to even the air pricking at her skin, "don't miss me too much, lil penguin." He gives her an eskimo kiss knowing she's feeling down and tired today the way she has her face squished into pillow and isn't trying even to cup his cheeks like she does everytime he leaves for something.

He puts her phone on the nightstand tugging her under the sheets, switching off the lamp and slowly exists the room not to disturb her. She doesn't know when he leaves but the pin-drop silence tells it all and she's half conscious half awake with fluttering eyelids.

She turns on her back with a groan to get rid of the dull ache in her pelvis and outer thighs — but then she feels something . . . . something wet between down there and it makes her snap open her eyes blinking blankly at the ceiling. Tries not to think of bad scenarios but it's otherwise.

"Holy cow of jesus." She fists the pillow under her sitting up with much difficulty and to her worst horrors the sheets are sploched badly. She stands up with her spine almost bending in two — staying calm and positive even when a heavy gush of water trickles down her legs soaking the rug. It has nothing attractive in it as they show in movies but rather feels like a dam leaking and a litreal adult peeing in their gowns.

She snatches the phone from nightstand putting a firm arm beneath her belly walking out of room, her maternity floral white gown clinging to her skin. A tinge of shock weaved through her bones but that didn't made her loose her balance. She wants to throw the phone against the wall when the line always beeps busy, "already missin — " his honey of voice bringing tears in her eyes.

"Get your ass back home!! Right fuckin' now!" She yells into speaker trudging forward with carefull steps. He pushes onto breaks hard, panicking into his seat, "What happened!?" He's quick in turning gears speeding back home. Her lips wobbles blue from pain and the unbearable throb between her thighs. Words struck in her throat as she tries to speak gripping the globe of stair railing leaning against it when a hard contraction striked against her spine.

"'M going into labour — " Harry's heart falls into his arse. His vision blurring from the intensity of the moment and he's thanking Gods for being five minute drive away from home. How many times they prepared for this time it all went in vain and now Harry's beating himself for leaving her side at all, "'m comin' home, it's okay baby, it's okay breath." His lips stammers from an invisible fear and fingers twitches around the wheel.

Wanted to shout at him "breath, my ass." Instead She gasps loudly in fright when she feels her cervix dilating to the maximum point and it did the last fireworks for her tears, "no, no, noo!!"

"'M giving birth!!" She shouts kissing her teeth together to keep the pain at the bay hooking a thumb into her panties, scrunching her dress up to press them under her armpits and squatting down with the heels of her palms pressed with so much strength over the last stair case, "what? oh my — 'm calling our midwife." She can feel a head trying to force it's way out from her vagina and it rakes out a sob from her chest.

"Please be gentle with mommy, 'm coming." Harry says and it comes out as a weak whisper while he drives sitting on the edge of the seat and Y/N's ears are ringing with white noise to even pay attention to what he's saying. Her gown drenching with sweat and she screamed at the top of her lungs pushing with her all might scaring a sleepy oreo in her bassinet, "Shit." He mutters tugging his curls back immediately calling their midwife. He wishes his babies could atleast wait for him to be there with their momma.

"Miss. Dori !! Y/N has gone into labour, 'm out, dunno —---" There's loud urgent shuffling on her side that of picking stuff and closing metal boxes as she assures Harry with firmness, "I'll be there in just 10 minutes, till then reach there as quick as possible. She needs you Mr. Styles." It collects sweat at the dip of his spine sky rocketing his anxiety. His breath elevating at the sight of his society's gate and if it was possible he'd have flown to her.

Parking hastily on the side of road and leaving his car's door open — dishelved he steps outside almost falling square on his face while the old couple that use to sit at their porch in mornings watch him with concern, "Is everythin' alright son?"

They ask and Harry nods yelling to them, "Y/N is in labour!!" His face blowing out of any color when his ears fills with painful screams of his lil penguin and his fingers jumbles with keys unlocking the door.

It's surreal. The realization not completely setting in that all of this's happening right at this moment, that he's going to be a daddy in some hours, Y/N hunched over the bottom stair squatting down with thighs wide apart and her gown soaked against her back. His breath knocks out of his lungs and eyes bursts into shock when he sees his baby's head pushing it's way out in between her legs.

"I can see it's head! I can see it's head oh m'godness." He announces rushing towards her and Miss. Dori guides him, "Harry help her pull it out, cup the baby's head and if it's shoulders are grab-able, have it out." He places the phone atop the stair sitting down beside Y/N kissing the side of her head quickly wiping her tears away.

"Hi baby, it'll be alright, 'm here now let's pull our bubba out mighty quick." He presses his chest to floor to look down there and if Y/N would have been in her good state of mind she'd have butt him in not to. His brows kinks tightly together as he tries to concentrate and not to pass out from the sight of blood and his blood covered infant half hanging in it's mother's v.

Gently he wraps his shivering palm around it's head and shoulder moreso figuring out if it could itself comes out, "push a bit more, moppet." She shakes her head furiously crying and trying with all her will, "It's hurts!!" He wishes the process wasn't that painful.

"I know, I know baby —- oh okay okay! We got him." He cackles through his worry taking him all out and in his arms having a good grip around it's tiny waist fearing it would slip. Y/N takes a huge sigh of relief muscles loosening and shoulders slumping. She could hear him sniffing close to her with little noises despite of how much she wants to hug him, she still has another one to bring out in the world.

"It's Elios." He grins with ablazed glossy eyes stroking his tweeny baby hair back. Though his excitement shatters into pieces as he cries to Miss. Dori, "He's not breathin, n'--not breathin' what do I do??" He has switched into his fight and flight mode. Fat tears spilling down his cheeks. Y/N wants to have him in her arms and make sure her baby's healthy but a hard contraction makes her bones jello with her another baby trying to pop out.

"Calm down Mr. Styles, Is his cord wrapped 'round his neck?" When Harry couldn't mutter a single word just shaking his head ear to ear staring down his little one with fear and sadness, Y/N screams for him, "No!!"

"It's nothin', clean his nose, it's probably some clotting blocking his breathing passage." Harry acts on her instruction without wasting a time and the threshold's walls bounced with prattle of his low coarse cries, "Oh my god!!" Harry gasps holding his baby boy closer to his chest not giving two fucks if his shirt and skin stains with thick blood.

In the meantime Miss. Dori and her assistant nurse tramps through their door. Cutting the cord Nurse takes Elios from Harry's arms and takes him for a cleanup as Harry leads her to their nursery. When he comes back Miss. Dori has their other bubba already out and it's worth watching him flying into clouds of paradise, full of glee, happiness, so much happiness has never experienced before.

"Hi. Victoria." He keeps his voice soft if she's a chinese porcelain doll and would break in his arms. He loves his son to core but the way his heart just swirled with fondness and love for his daughter the second she was layed into his embrace was something else. He's tender with her and from just gazing her it spurt out a sob from the deepest of his tummy, "she was so stubborn to come out rather than his brother." Miss. Dori tells him and his head perks up with proud adoration. Handing her to nurse he turns his gaze back to his exhausted lil penguin leaning against the wall now. And scoots closer to his bestfriend, the love of his life and the mother of his babies.

Hugging her warmly and affectionately, winding his arm around the nape of her neck to smoosh her into his chest while she cries against his throat. Being tender and the softest yet sweetest he could be with her, pressing his lips against her ear to whisper words that made her cry even more loudly into his bicep, "I love you, I love you more than anythin' in the world, 'm s' soo proud of ye' baby, me soulmate and the love of me life. I promise to love you forever and infinity." The world blurs around them and their heartbeats latches to sync in with eachother. The morning light cocoons them with softness and they don't care if they're sitting in a pool of blood, mess of the beautiful birth of their gorgeous twins.

"I love you too, so much." She hiccups pacifying down not wanting to never be able say them again as Harry runs a hand at her back, limbs still tangled with eachother, whispering sweet things to her while Miss. Dori pulled her placenta out, "Y/N?" He panics when she dulls in his arms head lulling at his shoulder and heartbeat slowing down to feeble a line. Gently pulling his face out from the cave of her neck he pats her cheek worriedly, again, at her unconscious state, her head dangling back over his wrist, "Y/N!?" His heart squeezing tight miserably into his ribcages when she doesn't respond to his calls.

"'M listenin', pet." She whispers smiling weakly and Harry's lungs nourishes with air, "Scared me baby love." He hugs her again with a wobbling pout and this time she tries to console him.

"Y'okay baby? Should we go to hospital? It's better if —--"

"'M okay!!" She simpers kissing the dip of his collarbone. Carefully he smoothes an arm down her back and knees picking her up bridal style to take her to their bathroom for a hot nice bath full of essential oils. He caress her face, trailing his knuckles down her cheeks, gazing her fondly while sitting down on the floor beside her with his one hand inside the warm water to lull around her calves.

"I love you, you've given me such beautiful babies. 'Ave ye seen Tori ? She's a proper you, that lil bunny mouth of yours, aish." He giggles and she squeezes his fingers in a silent gesture to tell him how happy she's. Drying her clean with a towel and moisturizing her body, making her wear her comfortable gown.

When he tucks her under sheets she babbles with droopy eyelids and tired body, "can I see my babies?" He smauches a kiss against her forehead, "After a teeny rest, yeah angel?" But, she was already out like a bulb making him chuckle softly.

//

Miss. Dori left the kind nurse behind with them till Y/N wakes up and with her help Harry lays down the twins on either side of their mommy. Deeply pondering how lucky he's to have his family completed and healthy, tucked into their mother's armpits.

He giggles and holds his breath in awe when Elio wriggles in his blanket, scootes his bum closer when Y/N yawns and stretches, "how ye' feelin'?" He brushes her loose tresses back and she nods attempting to sit up.

"Good." Thanking him when he gets comfy amount of pillows behind her, "wanna hold them?" He asks as she ducks down to kiss both of their soft skins.

"'M arms are still shakin' . ." She chuckles, "no biggie, I'll help ya out, a bestie in need is a bestie indeed." She giggles loudly startling Tori and Harry hushes her comically scooching behind her embracing her in a heated wrap from behind chin resting over her shoulder, "shh, gotta be quite with this one — such a light sleeper bub."

"This's Victoria Anne Styles and Elios Vincent Styles." He supports her one forearm with his's under: giving Elio to her and having Tori in his other, "are you presenting them to me as some kind of award for my bravery, pet?" She nudges him playfully and he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

"Such nice awards, innit?" He gives her an eskimo kiss and she puckers her lips asking for a loving smooch of his candy lips, "absolutely."

//

They took their first nap together with Harry and Y/N on either side of bed with their babies in the middle of their warmth just like a nest of sparrows, safe, comfy and utterly snuggly with the couple protecting their dainty creatures of soft flesh from the storms of outside.

"C'mere baby . . " Harry usheres Oreo with the snap of his thumb as she tries to canoodle into the soles of his feet tickling him and she obliges his tone, "Good girl . ." His own voice tired petting her crown when she turns into a lil ball of fur beside Tori who's sleeping at her daddy's side, being ever hesitant and carefull with them making Harry smile at her thinking of giving her treats in dinner.

He almost slips from under the sheets when a shriek of cry jolts him awake and it's Tori crying loudly thrashing under the blanket while her brother kept on sleeping stretched over his mommy's chest, head tucked under her chin.

Ah! Here comes the real deal. Daddy Harry's about to face real challenges 'cause we all know he once promised that he's a big boy now, innit?

[its-warm-in-here]

Playing Pretend

I’m sorry I didn't get this up sooner. I gutted the end but here’s the first part of the first chapter of a Heisenberg x reader fic that will probably go on too long. This is more of a prolog. No smut yet! Written with a female reader in mind, but I may have versions for both m and f when the final product goes up. Gonna start out kinda fluffy before we get darker. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated!

Summary: This summer trip to Romania was supposed to be momentous, life changing, and the bases for your master’s thesis. Too bad the villagers want you gone and this ‘Mother Miranda’ won't even see you. Luckily, you run into a greasy engineer who says he can help.

Or

Karl tries to take a day off from being ‘Lord Heisenberg’ with the cute stranger who wandered into the village. Things only spiral from there.

~2080 words

Miranda loved the yearly festivals. She always made a big show of the village, flowers and banners everywhere. The townsfolk would bring out their best clothing, even if their best was still black and brown. The dreary village would come alive with drinking, dancing and merry making. Even some of the neighboring villages would join in the festivities. The town would be near bustling, the local tavern would be full, laughter and song would echo from the church to the castle.

He hated it. All of it. Heisenberg avoided the celebrations, instead opting to stay holed up in his factory as much as possible. And it wasn't just because of the excess of people, while that didn't help. No, it was an insidious purpose for these gatherings. He exhaled a ring of cigar smoke.

First, boost morale through the village and reaffirm the people's faith in Mother Miranda. Second, and far more insidious, was to widen the flock, to expand her influence and bring in new blood for her experiments. The surrounding towns were just as small and removed from the rest of the world as Miranda's village. Made it easy to bring new blood under her wing. Youth would meet and marry, a drunk or four would go missing, and some of the visitors would become new members of Miranda's community. More meat for her Cadou grinder.

Heisenberg flicked the ash from his cigar and watched it float down before the wind caught it. The early morning view from the top of his factory wasn't bad. It was his own part of the world: no view of the village, the stench of the reservoir was nonexistent, and the most he could see of Castle Dimitrescu was a massive wall keeping their territory separated. Just him and his machines. He took another puff. As much as he planned to avoid today, Heisenberg knew that he would have to make at least some appearance. All the Lords did, even if it was just for a moment. Just another way to show her power; having all of her ‘children’ before the townsfolk. He grimaced at the thought. Târgul de Fete was set to start soon. At least that gave him the morning to get shit done. Heisenberg kicked a bit of metal scrap off the roof and it bounced off the scrap heap below with a ping! before landing in the dirt. He rolled his shoulder. Time to get to work.

---

"Well fuck you too!" You slammed the door behind you.  Why even bother going through the proper channels? No matter what, they turn you down, tell you to leave and treat you like an outcast. You spoke to towns folk, to village leaders, hell, you even wanted an audience with their 'Mother Miranda,' but she refused to even see you! You stormed along the path and the few people that had not made their way to the Târgul de Fete celebration steered clear of you, opting to give you a side eye and shuffle to their destination. All you wanted was to observe their festival, and maybe take a few pictures, but even that was negotiable. You had even offered to leave your camera behind with them for the day. Why hadn't you gone to Sweden with the rest of your class? No, instead you went to some culty, backwater town in Romania!

You kicked a rock, hard, sending it flying into the tall grass. "God Damnit!" This was supposed to have been your thesis! Supposed to be life changing! No, now you were just stuck, miles from any true civilization and being kicked out of some stupid, ramshackle heap, whose plants can't even grow right in a Romanian summer. Some of the plants were barely green, most appeared dry or yellowing. The flowers were either wilted and falling apart or hadn't even bloomed. You were no botanist, but you were certain that wasn't healthy.

You kicked another rock, it soared through the grass, but it struck something metal this time before landing with a thud. They didn't want you here, didn't want you at Târgul de Fete? Fine, but they didn't take your camera. Without thinking, you dug the old DSLR out of your bag and snapped a picture of the church.

And immediately deleted it.

You signed. Even if the villagers were a bunch of jackasses, this was their culture and they made it very clear that you were not welcome. Even if they had agreed to all this three months ago. And even if they had called you a bad omen, a poison and a danger to the whole village.  You weren't about to infringe. Crestfallen, you huffed your bag over your shoulder and began the trek back out of town. It was at least a four hour walk to your rental car and a good chunk of that walk was more of a hike. Not like there was much you could do other than leave after cussing out the town speakers and nearly slamming the door off its hinges.

The village had felt abandoned when you walked in, and now that everyone had headed off to a celebration, the village was positively desolate. No traditional brightly-colored dresses or intricate belts to be seen. And no wary or hostile glares from the inhabitants either. It was... quiet. Aside from the occasional crow, you might as well have been in a ghost town. It took you a bit to find the correct path out of the grave yard, but after spinning in circles for a good moment, you pushed past a red door and were back on your way. The village wasn't large, most of the paths were poorly maintained and the whole place was enveloped in a strange fish smell.

You bit the inside of your cheek. This was a good thing, really. Who would've wanted to stay in the ramshackle place for more than a few hours, let alone a few days? You groaned and kicked at the ground again. While not lacking in repellent attributes, the pagan worship of the place fascinated you.  They had their own religion but had incorporated traditional Romania holidays into their culture. Where else in Europe could you see that happen in real time? Of course, you could think of a couple of places, but you had picked here in the Carpathian mountains in particular! While you did have a second choice, you couldn't stop the self pity from setting in.

Ugh.

The village was relatively small and was quickly fading to forest, the castle that overlooked the town vanished behind you as you shuffled down a particularly steep part of the path. The trees here looked more normal, less sickly. While it was only marginally, you felt a bit better, a bit less mad. Stepping away from that place was a breath of fresh air.

Your boots skid a bit as you reach a flat spot. With a huff, you grip both backpack straps to center yourself.  If this couldn't be your thesis, that didn't mean you had to hate the walk. This was Romania afterall, when was the next time you were going to be here? The sky may be overcast, but it sort of added to the eerie charm of this place. You sidestepped your way down another steep incline, using one hand to grip overgrown branches for balance. The last step is a bit further, but you find your footing easily.

And the rock gave way under you, tilting forward with an abrupt grinding sound. A burst of panicked adrenaline rushed through as you struggled to stop. You pitch forward, stumbling over branches and underbrush, your eyes forcibly losing focus.

"The fuck?"

That wasn't your voice. You slammed full force into something, another body? And it gives under you. The other person takes the brunt of the fall, landing on their back with a distinct, "oof."

For a moment, you don't speak, too focused on catching the breath. Finally, your vision swims back and you find your voice, "Damnit... are you ok?"

The man under you goans, sitting half way up to look you over. His hair is grey, and a bit too long, but he couldn't be any older than forty, possibly younger. "Get off." Your eyes go wide and that panicked beat fills your chest. "Ya deaf? Off."

"Er, right," you scramble to your feet and, without thinking, extend a hand to the stranger, "Sorry about... that." You gestured vaguely to the path. "Lost my balance."

He lets out an exasperated huff, and knocks your hand away. For a moment, he doesn't acknowledge you, instead retrieving something from the grass behind him. He's wearing a loose linen shirt, sleeves rolled halfway up with black leather gloves. You force yourself to look somewhere, anywhere else, nervously bouncing from foot to foot. When he turns back to you, he has a tattered, wide brim hat in place and is looking over a pair of broken sunglasses. One of the lenses was clearly shattered, but he hooked them over his shirt collar, his attention finally turning to you. "You're not from around here, huh?”

You couldn't help but snort, "What gave it away, the wind breaker? Don't worry, I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" He repeats.

You start moving back to the path. "Yup, your village speaker has made that very clear."

"They were clear? Not all back and forth on it?" He chuckles, "That's impressive, they must really not like you."

You stare at him, was this a friendly face? It was certainly a handsome face, even with scarring and stubble. But a trustworthy one? "You sure you're ok? Didn't scramble that brain when I ran into you? The rest of the town was pretty dead set on driving me out."

" 'Cause they're a bunch of morons, sweetheart," he insisted, "All part of Mother Miranda's big, idiot mob."

"Huh," you are walking ahead on the path, and he's not but a footfall behind you.

"But they don't matter."

"No?"

"What matters is, why didn't they want you here?"

You stop, turning to face this stranger. He was gruff, and more than a little rude, but in comparison to the townsfolk, he was downright friendly. Hell, you were surprised he was so forward with you.  "Masters thesis," you put plainly, hoping he'll leave it at that.

"On what?"

"Anthropology."

He leaned in close. He wasn't that much taller than you, but you couldn't help but move away from his imposing figure. From this distance, you could smell motor oil and some kind of smoke on his clothes. "That's it?" You scoff, the sooner you are back in your car the better. "I just mean, it's surprising they'd want you gone. You sure there's nothing else? Didn't kick over any goat statues?"

"Not that I noticed," you started back down the path. You'd wasted too much time talking to this weirdo anyway. Just based on his demeanor and dislike of the rest of the village, you wonder if you'd maybe tripped over the town pariah. He certainly wasn't dressed like anyone else from the village.

"I could get you back in."

You stopped, not fifteen feet from him. "You're assuming I want to go back in." And didn’t you? You just risk getting yelled at again. But if there was a chance to write your thesis...

“Well, if you're not interested,” he turned to leave. You grit your teeth, your nails digging deep into your backpack straps.

“Hold up!" It doesn't take much to catch up to him. "How exactly are we going to do this?"

"My word carries a certain amount of weight," he carried on, "Though,  the village doesn't meet on these matters till next week."

"But what good does that-"

He isn't listening, "For today, I know a place you can watch the town. Besides, you're an Archeologist, you probably want an interview, right?" Of course he gestures to himself with a sort of half bow.

You roll your eyes, but still follow, "Anthropologist." He gives you a blank look. "I'm studying Anthropology, not Archeology."

He doesn't seem to care, instead pulling a cigar and lighter from his pants pocket. "Got a name?"

"Oh, (y/n). You?"

The stranger is part way up on the path you had tripped down. "Karl," he had extended you a gloved hand. You look from him to his hand, before brushing past him, pulling yourself up next to him without the offered aid.

[shtern-and-art]

Back again with more questions about the au!! XD

And don't worry, we all love your long responses!! The more you say about the au the more interesting it becomes :D

Do Skeppy and Bad need to eat? If so, do they have favourite foods and can they cook?

Does Skeppy have pets of any sort? Does he like animals or have any that he particularly fears? I find the idea of Bad comforting him after a not so nice encounter super cute!

It's pretty obvious they hate the littering teens but what about little kids. Does Bad often lure then deep into the forest to see all the prettiest flowers and cute animals? Has he ever tried to adopt one before realising that wouldn't be a very good idea.

Does Skeppy get defensive about the forrst when he's in the town, like cutting off people who try to say it's a horrible place, or is he good at controlling his emotions?

Do either of them actually need sleep or is it just for fun (or in Bad's case a way to pass time). Does Skeppy ever sneak into the forest depths to nap alongside Bad? Is Skeppy considered short by humans? I assume Bad teases him for being tiny since he's pretty damn tall/large (defending on form) himself.

Also do you have a favourite animal? N who's your favourite to draw in this au?!

Once again, so many questions '>_<. I always look forward to updates for in the dark, all the extra bits are so cool to learn about! I'll probs have even more after a while too haha. Hope you have a great day!! <3

Oh, that's a relief! Gonna ramble freely now :D

And, yes, hello, the questions! (with doodles now!)

1) Food.

Bad doesn't really need rest or nourishment (his health is connected to the forest), but he indulges in both. Sleep, yes, he uses to pass the time (or have dreams, for the heck of it). And the desire to get food or hunt is part of the instincts leftover from all the times he connected to the forest animals for a long time. Desire to eat food though is purely his own, as a person and not a spn creature :D

Back when he was a human, he could cook pretty good, and I bet his favorites were pastries and steak. Nowadays, in the forest, he can eat meat pretty much any day, raw or otherwise. So, after being awake and coherent for long enough time, and reconnecting with himself a bit, Bad will miss eating baked stuff way more than any other food.

And, yes, getting fresh muffins is one of the reasons/leverages Skeppy might try to lure Bad to hang out in the town.

Rat eats and sleeps too, but Bad isn't sure if she does it out of necessity or habit.

Skeppy, oh, he is one of those people who can burn water. In part, the blame goes to his nature - or his lack of control over it - chaos inducing tendencies do not go well with following recipes.

Which is unfortunate, seeing how he does need to eat, and sleep, and so on. Sure, he can last way longer without any of those things than a human would, but he still needs them to survive.

So, his favorite food is pizza, and all home-cooked meals stayed in the past, when Skeppy still lived with his family.

2) Sleep.

So, yes, Skeppy needs to sleep! But I'd say he will not go out to the forest at night for it. Not at first, at least.

First time, he just stayed out for a long time, very far back from the forest's edge. And the forest is so dark, it’s hard to judge the time in it at evening hours… By the time Skeppy noticed that it got very late, the whole journey back would’ve taken him too long to get a good rest at home. But, really, he didn’t have to make it. Nothing in these woods would hurt him, as long as Bad is around, and he’s… here, Bad’s around. And he knows the best moss-covered nooks between the roots, and is very, very warm all the time, and is kinda worrying anyway… Bad knows his woods are safe for Skeppy, but he doesn’t want him going around town at night when Skeppy is distracted and tired.

And this is how the first sleepover happens: with Skeppy declaring he’s stealing Bad’s cape to burrito himself in for the night, and (after the pretend-fight about it), doing so while Bad is still wearing it. It turns out for the better though, because the cape is not that warm, even if cozy, but Bad very much is. Enough to sleep nicely through the night, and dream of the vastness of the forest, the quiet peace of earth underneath, and of the tree branches reaching for the sky, to pass on the wishes tied to them further.

Bad doesn’t sleep that night, just watches over the snoring cape-caterpillar snuggled to his side (in a very not-creepy way, oh no). He puts some old dry leaves in Skeppy’s hair to make fun of him in the morning, and totally doesn’t scare him, when Skeppy half-wakes up early in the morning to a glowing milky white eyes of not really human looking Bad staring right at him.

Next time Skeppy stayed out in the forest for too long, and had to spend the night, he maybe did it almost kinda half consciously on purpose. Because he wasn’t sleeping well, and the loneliness and the stress of life were getting to him a bit, and. He is very much touch starved. And the dreams he had in the forest last time were pretty nice too. Like resting so close to Bad let Skeppy feel what he feels, perhaps? Anyway. It was nice. But he couldn’t just ask for stuff like that right upfront then, so the shame and creativeness lead his way.

At some point he will ask to sleep near Bad upfront, though (:

3) Kids.

Oh, little kids Bad doesn't mind. Also he remembers too much about being human to lure kids away, or think having one at the forest will be a good idea :D I'd say, if some little kid gets away from their parents or a common walking path, Bad could lead them back instead. Send them to chase after a bunny or a pretty butterfly, leading the child back to safety.

Bad never shows himself to the kids, and there is a bit of self-deprecation in this. Just like there is a bit of kindness in the way he treats people, despite always showing how angry and done he is with them.

That is a weird, interesting contradiction Skeppy is very fascinated with.

4) Height.

Skeppy is short by human standards :D And his less human form is even shorter, so Bad absolutely makes fun of him for that. Oh, I'm sorry "lightly teases him, with no mean intent to it at all" (c) Bad, smiling with all his long, sharp teeth

5) Skeppy and the townsfolk.

After knowing Bad for a while, knowing how Bad sees the forest, and how, despite his anger, Bad still can't help but watch out for some people of the town too... Yes, with all that, Skeppy will find himself getting angry at times over people bad-mouthing the forest.

But he can't really talk back here. After all, it was him, and his mischief that reawakened old rumors, old fears, made people more paranoid about the forest than they were before.

Skeppy's little pranks took hold, and him being in town and going around the forest doesn't let people forget how scary and dangerous this place can be.

So yeah, before he lets himself properly call out someone about being mean to the forest, Skeppy gotta face all that. Fun times :D

6) Favorite animal and fav. character to draw.

I think I like to draw Bad more, because he can shapeshift, and the horns/branches are fun to twist around :D But I liked doing Skeppy's reality breaking effects too!

And idk if I can pick one favorite animal :D I just really like snakes, cats, orcas, and all corvids.

Thank you, this ask really made my day! Even if it took me a bit to answer it XD

---

In The Dark - masterpost

[solastia]

Sanctuary | 2

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x F!Reader

Summary: Your bed & breakfast has a new regular...Jeon Jungkook of BTS

You shuffle into your office, still a little sleepy despite having a shower and having a steaming cup of coffee in your hands. You weren’t sure what the cause of it was, but you’d been entirely too restless to sleep well. Too much excitement, perhaps?

You shrug to yourself and sit into your office chair with a loud yawn, ruffling your still damp hair as you power on your laptop. You still hadn’t received any reservations for this week and you were hoping someone would come by for the weekend at least. You had some honeymooners reserved for next week, but that didn’t help you now. An entire week without guests would put a noticeable deficient in the books.

That’s why when you pulled up your check-in program and saw that you’d been booked for the entire week by a single client, you had to verify that you weren’t still asleep. You pinched yourself and cringed at the pain, staring again at the program.

Sure enough, it was all still there. One client, for seven days straight. They’d booked the biggest room upstairs, the only one up there besides your own. What was incredibly strange is that they changed the offered rate. Normally, you were one of the cheapest places in the area and charged $120 a night. Not bad for one of the more expensive areas in Northern California. This person was offering you a deal of $300 per night, along with fees for meals and a hefty “to be discussed” tip if you were to close reservations for anyone else. They were trying to rent the whole place? So probably some celeb going for anonymity by hiding in an unknown B&B.

You shrugged. It wasn’t that crazy, although most local celebs tended to hang out in Carmel rather than around here. And it certainly wouldn’t be the first one you’d hosted, simply the first one that had been so generous. The other two were well-known names and you’d been expecting a hefty tip from them but they’d been surprisingly tight-fisted. One had even tried to argue your nightly fee down in exchange for using the name of your place on his social media. You’d been happy to decline.

While a little more business would be nice, you didn’t want the place overrun. You wanted it small and cozy. Safe, for yourself as well as your guests. The whole purpose of the place was to have somewhere calm and comfortable to escape to.

This person must be especially desperate if they were booking the entire place to be alone. There wasn’t a mention of them bringing any other guests with them. You exhaled noisily and clicked accept, sending them a little welcome email with all the instructions they’d need. You wondered with a self-amused grin if you should start putting a little footnote mentioning that celebrity scandals or drug-filled parties were not allowed on the premises.

You lean back in your chair when you’re done, taking sips of your now luke-warm coffee as you think over everything that you have to do to get ready. According to the form they filled out, they’d be arriving that evening. You kept the house in shape daily so you didn’t have much to do in the way of chores, but you should make a menu for the week, get the fireplace in the room prepped, and hit up a few of your friends for the local event tickets.

Thor comes up and bumps your thigh, reminding you that you still had to take him out.

“I got you, buddy,” you chuckle, standing up with a groan and going to fetch his leash. “We have a long day ahead of us, and then maybe you’ll have a new friend for a bit, huh? You gotta be on your best behavior.”

Thor barks softly and you pretend he’s answering you instead of demanding you hurry the hell up with your shoes. You decide at the last minute to throw on a hoodie too since the temperature was lowering fast. You hiss as you step outside and hope that Thor manages to get his business done fast. But even the chill wasn’t enough to bring down your mood. Today was going to be a great day. You could just feel it in your bones.

****

You had just finished putting another batch of cookies in the oven when you heard someone arrive and ring the little bell you kept on the front desk.

“Good evening! I’ll be right there, but go ahead and shut the door if you want!” You holler from the kitchen as you wash your hands.

You’d left the door open just in case they came around while you were putting around the place, but now that they were here you could finally turn on the heater.

You dry your hands and pat down your shirt and pants as you walk, hoping you didn’t look too casual. Jeans and a flowy blue button-up blouse with matching flats seemed casual yet comfortable. And you were wearing your pearls just in case they were the stuffy sort that would look down on you for not looking at least a little professional.

“Hi, welcome to Sanctuary! I’m -”

“Hey, Noona,” a cheeky-toned voice answered as you turned the corner and entered the foyer.

Your eyebrows fly up as you see the tall figure standing there. “Jungkook?”

He looks...fucking glorious. Black pants that look like they are painted on tucked into those stomper boots he seems to love. Plain black t-shirt tucked into his pants and a blue flannel shirt over that. Sitting next to him is a large black backpack that is easily half as big as him.

He grins cockily and leans against the desk. “They gave me a couple of weeks off so I’m here on vacation. Please take care of me,” he bows with mock formality.

“You’re the one that booked the whole place, right?” you ask, bringing up your computer application to check him in. He leans in way too close and looks over your shoulder as you work.

“Yup! One of the managers did the form though. Did he do everything I asked? Up the rate and made sure you feed me?”

You snort, “Yes, Jungkook. They are paying me an astronomical amount and I have plenty of food. Although, I only went shopping for one normal person. You’ll probably go through it all it two days, so make me a list.”

He chuckled lowly and you shivered, feeling his breath on your ear.

“Well, I’m not eating every meal here. I’m going to go out sometimes, too. Maybe noona can show me some nice places?”

You struggle to hold back a smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”

A shrill beeping started in the kitchen and Jungkook jumped back, looking around curiously.

“Cookies,” you answered the silent question. You finish typing a couple of things in the program than jump up and rush towards the kitchen, amused to notice Jungkook hot on your heels.

You shove your hand in a glove and pull out the pan, your own stomach rumbling a little from the delicious smell of chocolate chip cookies. It probably also didn’t help that in your rush to prepare for your guest you might have forgotten your own meals.

You scoop them onto the wire rack, so focused in the work that you forgot about the other person beside you until his thieving hands begin reaching towards one of the scalding hot cookies. You smack it with the spatula.

“Let it cool,” you order unapologetically, forgetting for a moment he was an actual guest. His sheepish grin assured you that there were no hard feelings. And that he would probably do it again.

“Are you hungry for actual food?”

He nods quickly, helping himself to one of the bar stools at your prep counter.

“Yeah. I ate this morning, but then I had to finish this interview before they’d let me go free. And that means an hour in hair and makeup for five minutes of questions,” he rolls his eyes and props his cheek onto his hand as he watches you.

“Ugh,” you grunt sympathetically. You look around for the menu you’d made for the week and hand it to him. “Look this over, will you? Let me know if there’s anything you don’t like.”

He silently reads your list as you prepare him a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. And maybe you sneak a couple for yourself as well.

Finally, he nods and tosses it over. “It’s good. Maybe add some Korean food if you know how to make any. I noticed there weren’t any restaurants.”

“Yeah, this place isn’t really known for its diverse cuisine. But if you want fifty seafood places, we have you covered.”

He snorts, “Kinda like home.”

You laugh, remembering how many little food carts littered Busan’s beaches.

You place his snack in front of him and he dives in happily, his eyes wide with happiness. You slide into the seat next to him and study him.

“So, Jeon Jungkook. What are your plans for the week? Are you going to stick around the house most of the time or should I maybe find some places for you to visit? I have lots of friends that I can get tickets from.”

He takes a huge gulp of milk and sighs contentedly before he answers. He shrugs, “Mostly around here. This is my time to actually relax. Definitely going to the beach and taking some photos. Other than that, I don’t know.”

“Hmm,” you hum, propping your chin in your hand. “The main attractions out here are all marine-based, so it’s up to you if you want to see any of it or if it’s all just old news to a Busan boy. But we do have the marine sanctuary nearby, there’s whale watching, and I think the butterfly exhibit is still going on. It really depends on how far you’re willing to travel. Monterey has even more things to do.”

He looks almost shy when he glances up at you. “Is it okay if we just stay here tonight?”

Your filthy disgusting mind conjures up all sorts of things hearing a sentence like that coming from Jeon Jungkook’s mouth, but you gulp and hope your voice sounds normal.

“Yup. Of course. It’s your vacation. Most guests don’t even interact this much with me. They just check-in and have meals sent to their room.”

“It’s okay. I like having noona around,” he grins, his eyes crinkling mischievously. Brat.

He looks around suddenly. “Hey, where’s Thor?”

“I usually keep him in my room until I figure out how pet-friendly the guest actually is.”

“You can let him run around, I’m fine,” he grins with excitement and follows behind when you get up and head towards the stairs.

Once you reach the top you can already hear Thor sniffing on the other side. You fling open your bedroom door and let him practically fly towards Jungkook. The man tries to sneak a peek inside before you slam the door shut, not ready to let the international celebrity see your mess.

Instead, you nod towards the room across the hall and gesture with your arm.

“This one is yours.”

He grins softly and walks around peeking at everything, patting the covers of the bed until Thor jumps up. He sits next to him and nods.

“It’s so nice. You did a good job.”

“Thanks,” you grin lopsidedly as you take a quick look around. “I think I did okay too. I’m no interior designer, but I was hoping for homey.”

“It’s relaxing,” he agrees with a nod. “I couldn’t even do this with my own place. I just threw some blankets on the floor and set up my PC. I don’t even think I have proper dishes. I had to eat cereal out of the plastic bag inside,” he giggles.

You shake your head, unsurprised really.

“This TV is pretty big too,” he grunts as he climbs towards the headboard of the bed, then crosses his ankles with a sigh, setting against the plush pillow behind him and playing with the remote. “Do you get all the channels?”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing there awkwardly now as he gets comfortable. You should probably go make dinner now or something, right?

“Oh nice,” he suddenly exclaims exactly, tossing the remote away. “Deadpool is on. Come watch, noona,” he says, patting the spot next to him on the bed.

His eyes are huge and there’s not a single hint on his face that this is a joke. He looks innocent and earnest. Just where was this “shy” Jungkook you’d always heard about?

You shuffle towards the bed and slowly lower yourself onto it, trying your best to avoid actual contact with him. He didn’t seem to approve because he actually scooted closer until his rock hard thigh was pressed right up against yours.

“Get comfortable, noona. I don’t have rabies,” he chuckled, tugging you down a little more until you were sharing a pillow.

Fuck. How was it possible for a man to smell so good, you moaned in your head. Thor - the traitorous bastard - was cuddled in a circle right in between Jungkook’s legs. He looked well on his way to taking a nap.

You focus on the tv, not really watching the movie, and trying instead not to hyperventilate. He was so close and you didn’t know what to do with your hands. You felt like a nervous teenager.

It was probably midway through the movie when you first heard it. A tiny little wheeze. Then, the man next to you felt like he was slipping. You turn and grin when you notice that Jungkook is pretty much out for the count. His head has slipped right onto your shoulder and his mouth is wide open as he sleeps, his nose making a cute little rattle instead of outright snores.

You huff and look around, yawning as the feeling of laying in bed finally begins to catch up with you as well. You hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, so it was understandable. But Jungkook probably didn’t get much sleep on a regular basis, so you’d hate to disturb him now. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to rest your eyes for a little bit. Just until it was time to make dinner.

You give in to the lazy feel of the room and shut your eyes, snuggling into the pillow a little more. You barely noticed when a strong arm flipped you over gently and pulled you closer.

[alilbihh]

hocus pocus — epilogue

masterlist  previous part 

pairing: maknae line x reader

summary: jungkook wags his tail and his eyes look like truffles. jimin drinks blood out of juice boxes and bendy straws and tries to wink but ends up blinking both his eyes closed. taehyung likes the ocean and all kinds of art and apologizes to rocks. you don’t know if they want to take you out the date way or the assassination way and somehow you think it’s both.

genre: werewolf!jungkook, vampire!jimin, hybrid!taehyung, witch!reader; humor (??); poly!au (in the future!)

words: 7k

"Sit still, you're making me ruin them." Taehyung whines, and you make sure to still until he nods in satisfaction.

"M'sorry." You mutter, but he just carefully kisses your wrist. You take it as answer enough.

He slowly sets your hand down on his thigh, tucking the brush into the nail polish before lifting your hand to his eyes and fixing his little mistake. He's painting your nails black, a color that was ultimately decided by Jimin. Jungkook wanted to go for pink, a choice he thinks suits your aesthetic, whatever that might mean.

Taehyung shifts a bit, the nail polish standing open and uncapped right next to him wobbling dangerously. "Careful, careful, the bedsheets," you hiss, trying not to shriek and flail your arms, "That was, like, my one condition when letting you paint my nails on my bed."

"S'fine, it won't spill, honest." He murmurs, a smile trickling up his face when you huff.

His legs are sprawled awkwardly around your hips, his feet carefully in a position where they won't bump into anything to let the painted black of his toenails dry off. It's a stark contrast to the now deep pink of his hair, but he wanted to join you regardless. Makes your heart hurt. You'd kissed him right on the nose for that.

You want to kiss his nose now, actually. His brows are furrowed in concentration and his lips are pursed into a little pout, hair falling over his eyes. You want to kiss the dip between his brows, the purse of his lips. You almost do, catch yourself leaning forward because it's-- easy. It's easy now, to act on your instincts, to not have to hold back, to want. But then you remember the context doesn't allow it, and you sit back with a huff right as he starts working on your pinkie.

Taehyung laughs fully, breaking into giggles, gently says, "hey, now," and sets your hand down to peck your lips once, twice, thrice-- pulls back with a shriek when your hands start instinctively reaching to comb through his hair and tug him back, "Hand, hand, hand, hand! Hand!"

He doesn't allow kisses anymore.

You're pouting as you watch him fix his own nails, expertly removing the now chipped, light blue color that was previously adorning them. He still has some eyeliner on, a pretty pink on his cheeks. The top three buttons of his shirt are undone, purposely or not, you'll never know. There's purple peeking out on the honey of his skin, mostly hidden just under the collar of his shirt.

He's beautiful. He's beautiful, and he's your boyfriend, and you want to kiss him, goddammit.

Your hands are still carefully positioned so as to not ruin your drying nails as you shuffle closer to him, batting your lashes and waiting. It takes a few seconds of the man fighting back a smile before he pauses to turn towards you, amused, "Can I help you?"

You make a sound, like a whine and a groan all rolled into one, and maybe the word kiss gets stuck in there somewhere but you can't be too sure. Taehyung understands regardless, grins this tiny little thing that grows big, spreads both his cheeks wide.

He levels you with a look but still seems to be weighing his options. To kiss or not to kiss. "My nails," is all he ends up saying, more of a whine than anything.

You don't say anything, just stare determinedly into his eyes. He stares back, raising a brow, a challenge if you've ever seen one. You stare. There's a bit of glitter on his eyelashes, you think. Too long lashes, if you have anything to say about it. You should not be getting this overwhelmed over eyelashes.

It takes a second, then Taehyung sighs; giving in. Gives your chin a little tickle before leaning in. "M'thinking of getting a tattoo." He murmurs against your lips, presses another kiss there just because he can. His eyelashes flutter against your cheeks. "Whaddya think?"

You hum, quick and surprised, then pleased. "I'm all about letting you do things that make you happy, but just know that if you decide not to get this tattoo, I will be highly upset."

He barks out a laugh, throws his head back, a very Jimin-like gesture. "Highly?"

"Highly. Deeply." He laughs again at that and you smile, lean your head against his chest, listen as his heart beat, beat, beats-- beats faster, even, as you press a kiss to the dip of his collarbone, once then twice then thrice. "Seriously though, you'd look beautiful. If you want, go for it. Jimin and Jungkook will know all about it."

Taehyung's cheeks color as he looks down, shakes his head so his hair falls over his eyes. You laugh, suddenly thinking of peppering kisses over Jimin's own tattoo, the Nevermind sitting big and pretty over the man's ribs. Jungkook, too, the many tattoos spread over his hands and his chest and his back.

"Today's brunch day," you say, brushing Taehyung's fringe from his eyes with the palm of your hand-- with great difficulty. "You should come."

"I would, but I have work. Wanna finish my painting, too." He says, completely in pout. "I'm halfway through but I don't know if I like how it's turning out."

"I'm sure it's beautiful." You say because it's true, his paintings always are, always pretty and colorful and meaningful. He paints a lot of things. Paints Jimin, his cheeks sore from smiling. Paints Jungkook, eyes puffy with sleep. Paints you too, standing in a field of leaves painted oranges and reds, or even just doing the most mundane thing possible, like chopping up a bowl of pomegranates.

You smile at the thought, lean in to kiss the mole on his nose even while he continues, "I'll show you when I'm done. Hopefully before I maybe possibly definitely get my tattoo."

"What tattoo are you getting, anyway?"

"Not sure," He says, brows furrowed. He's carefully brushing the nail strengthener over your newly colored nails, eyes flirting here and there quick. "Maybe, like.. A peach tattooed on my ass. Or maybe just ‘property of Y/n L/n.’"

"Taehyung!" You exclaim, horrified, but he only smiles and bursts into a fit of giggles.

He leans backwards and the nail polish falls over before you even have the chance to scream, and you release a long winded shriek that only makes him laugh harder. Taehyung later offers to kiss it better and it doesn't help fix your now ruined bed sheets, but it's maybe a little nice. Maybe.

"You don't all have to come, obviously, but like-- You're all coming, right?"

"I thought he was trying to act humble for a second, wow." Jungkook says and Jimin laughs, covers it with a hand. It's so endearing you think your heart clenches for a few seconds too long.

You don't all have brunch together every day because that isn't a wise economical investment and your schedules don't always allow it and honestly, 3 pm is a bit late for brunch anyway, too late for it to be considered brunch at all, but Taehyung says it's an excuse to feast on breakfast foods and you aren't one to object to that.

So you all meet up for not-brunch sometimes, all of you together, hunched in the plush red seats in the corner of what started as Jungkook's favorite little waffle place. Taehyung and Jungkook's goal is to eat through the menu and you and Jimin are kinda just in it for the ride.

"Of course we're coming, dummy," you say with furrowed brows, "Me and Jungkook are literally in the process of making you a banner for when you do the sexy snake part."

"You're making a what."

"Noona, that was supposed to be a secret," Jungkook leans over the table to whisper, then says to Jimin, "On a completely unrelated note, hyung, do you prefer pink and yellow together, or blue and yellow together? Those were the only crayons me and Y/n could find in the store so I need to know."

"You're all insufferable."

Jimin had just recently gotten a solo act in his dance course, and so you're all obviously going to be supporting him. You’d invited Yoongi and Jin and Namjoon, too, and so they all wanted to meet him beforehand and were all delighted to finally see both Taehyung and the dance major in person.

You were a bit uncomfortable about it because you really care about them all and really wanted them to like each other. And it's difficult to be uncomfortable in Seokjin's presence because he has a third eye for when people are feeling like that, and so he usually either A: sacrifices himself for a laugh or B: exploits every weakness you have to make you even more uncomfortable to make you realize how you really shouldn't be feeling uncomfortable in the first place.

He was in a B mood that night.

("So Jimin-ah," he starts, raising his voice to gather everyone's attention, "I hear you have very soft hands."

You think Jimin had turned to you for an explanation but you'd been shoving the equivalent of three lettuce wraps into your mouth to avoid speaking. That and you'd hidden behind Yoongi, but it's kind of difficult considering he'd been slouching his entire life and had practically made it into an art form.

Namjoon lets out a few semi-embarrassed ha-ha's on his boyfriend's behalf.

"Do I?" Jimin mumbles, prodding at his own hand.

"Can I feel?" Jin says, making grabby hands in Jimin's direction even though they met all of thirty minutes ago.)

"Hey, it's horny boy!" Jungkook greets with a snicker as Taehyung (rather reluctantly) trudges towards your table, plastering the customary customer service smile. It's supposed to look forced but it looks too soft on him, you think. Too fond.

You catch his eye, catch him trying to hold back a smile. To pretend he's not associated with any of you, most likely.

He's wearing his work uniform, long black pants and a flannel shirt with a little shirt pocket. There are feather earrings drooping on his ears that go long, almost reach his shoulder blades, tickle his neck. There are fairy lights circling his antlers, and it was meant to be festive in the beginning but it's mid march and he's still adamant on using it. Something about how Christmas lives on in his heart.

Taehyung looks one way then the other, as if to survey his surroundings, before bumping your hip with his as a gesture for you to scooch over. You comply, the hybrid settling beside you on the rather comfy cushion, proceeding to immediately kick Jungkook from beneath the table.

There's a yell and a laugh and then the two are playing footsie rather aggressively, Jungkook sinking in his seat and everything while ignoring the rather distressed Jimin beside him. You're all causing a public embarrassment but you're all laughing so you can't quite bring yourself to care.

Jimin turns to you, deadpans, "Do you know them?"

"Absolutely not."

He takes a long sip of his boba, as if to contemplate, then says, "Should we stop them?"

"Absolutely not." You both grin.

It stops eventually, Jungkook making soft little whines as he crosses his arms indignantly. Taehyung giggles and leans over the table to kiss him and makes a big show of it, too-- puckering his lips the closer he gets. They giggle into each other's mouths and you feel an overwhelming fondness swell up inside you, pushing up, up, until you're grinning and it hurts to breathe.

"What were you guys talking about when I wasn't here?" He asks, pauses. Smacks his lips together for a second, turns to Jungkook in question, "Are you wearing lip balm?"

"Yeah," Jungkook says as if it's obvious, "Always gotta be prepared."

"Hm. Cherry?"

"Strawberry, actually."

"Nice." They fist bump. "What were we saying?"

You snort, "We were talking about the sexy snake before you got here."

Taehyung makes a noise, swallowing his drink quickly before he says, "The sexy snake! He's always practicing it at home. Whenever I walk in it always looks like he's doing something nasty to the ground."

"Well you always walk in at the wrong time!" The man in question says, indignant, chugging down his boba to not have to look you all in the eye. "I don't know why you all call it the sexy snake, anyway. I don't look like a snake." You laugh when he leaves out the sexy part.

"You kinda do." Jungkook says, voice a bit muffled, the straw of his boba still between his lips.

"It's something like this," Taehyung does this little wiggle in his seat, meant to copy the infamous sexy snake, and it looks all kinds of awkward but you and Jungkook giggle anyway and he grins big.

Jimin purses his lips, as if to keep himself from laughing, then says, "I don't look like that. Y/n, I don't look like that, right?"

"No thoughts head empty."

"Y/n!"

It's then you're all arriving home, Jimin tripping over the stairs with a giggle, Taehyung trying to convince you to get waffles with him tomorrow as you turn just enough to watch him, to feel your heart swell with every word. Jungkook, his hand spread over your back, giving your bum a few pats when you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek.

You don't know what it is, but you feel--alive. More alive than usual. You're not sure how to explain it to someone if they were to ask, but these days you've been almost painfully aware that you're a person, and that you're alive. Grounded. Very of the Earth. Very aware of every little thing that's happening to you, as if you hadn't been paying attention before.

You turn up the heat of the oven, the concoction bubbling and popping and gurgling in the cauldron as you stir. When you raise a spoonful to your mouth, you taste nectar and ambrosia, peaches and pomegranates. Taste something that's a little dry, too.

You pour it in an empty wine bottle you'd kept for this exact occasion and walk back to your living room. "Look guys, I made wine with everything except grapes! I'm practically Jesus."

Jimin's the first to laugh. First to make grabby hands in your general direction, too. "Gimme."

You hand the vampire the bottle, about to turn around and grab a few glasses lying around somewhere until Jimin drinks it straight out the bottle and that's that.

"Can you teach me how to make this later, love?" He asks as you settle beside him, an arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. Jungkook's making surprisingly quiet conversation with Taehyung, but turns just enough to raise a leg to rest over yours. You giggle and he pinches you, but you think he's smiling before he looks away.

"I would but it's kinda hard. Doesn't always turn out the way it's supposed to, either, unless it wants to."

"I hate magic." Jimin mumbles against your neck, pressing a kiss there just because. "It's so finicky."

"Why would you say that to a literal witch," You say, mildly offended, but he only giggles.

Then. Then you're all sat around the couch, laughing and drinking homemade wine until Taehyung makes a face after his first sip and settles for Jungkook's banana juice instead. A sober icon.

(There's touches too, tender ones, warm ones that settle in the pit of your stomach. Jimin, a hand under the hem of your and Taehyung's sweaters to pet at your waistbands, at your stomachs. Jungkook settled over you all, head on your thigh and legs on Taehyung's, much to the hybrid's initial despair.

"Massage my feet, hyung."

"Absolutely not."

Taehyung, shuffling over Jimin to press his lips to the back of your neck, a deep, almost guttural rumble sounding against your back in an almost-purr.)

You sit there amidst it all, taking it all in, hoping to keep this safe, keep it somewhere with a lock and key.

Jungkook noses against your stomach, mutters a mantra softly under his breath you think sounds like mate, mates, home--and you want to keep this. Want to keep this for a long, long time. And you think you just might.

Everything is loud and encased in a bright, neon light, surrounded by the people you love, but that fact becomes debatable as you think you catch Jin's tall figure doing some sort of dance somewhere in the crowd and maybe Taehyung in the middle of a circle of people, the man chugging down a bag of gummy bears. You can't be too sure though.

It's the day after Jimin's performance, and the song he danced to has been playing on loop for the past fifteen minutes, maybe. Jimin laughed at first when he realized, but you think by now everyone's getting tired of it but no one has the heart to stop anything.

You think the man of the hour is-- somewhere, maybe helping Namjoon pour the drinks, maybe chugging down gummy bears with Taehyung or slow dancing with Jungkook completely out of rhythm, but you spin on your stool and look up when you hear footsteps and smile as a hand softly cups your cheek.

"M'love. Pretty. I've been looking for you," Jimin coughs, then, and he looks-- beautiful. A white flannel shirt tucked into faded black ripped jeans, round glasses sitting crookedly on the bridge of his nose, hair disheveled like there was someone running their hands through it. He's smiling big and wide and kind of sloppy at the edges and he looks kind of ridiculous, but he's cupping your cheek and calling you pretty and you can't help but smile just as wide.

"Hello," you murmur, take a hold of his hands, and for a second it feels like everything stills, just you and Jimin sitting in this pretty little world. "What've you been up to? Did you drink? You look like you drank."

He does look a bit drunk, but you know that can't be true because Jimin can down vodka like it's water and does so with an effortlessness you will never possess, not to mention he's a vampire, but-- he looks just a tad bit drunk. Drunk on something more intangible, maybe.

"Hey, Y/n," he starts, like he just thought of it and it's the best idea he's ever had, "Let's make out."

You cough only twice before bursting into laughter, and Jimin looks nothing if not pleased with himself. "No, you absolute bimbo."

"Why not?" He all but whines, swinging your intertwined hands around, arms flailing, "I wanna do it. Right now. This second."

Jimin leans in teasingly and you think you catch both Jungkook and Taehyung doing kissy faces in the background somewhere, and when he does kiss you it's messy and sloppy and you're both smiling and it's-- practically all teeth, really, but there's something nice about it, something tender.

He starts tracing your jawline with gentle fingertips when you both pull away, and you kiss the pads of his fingers when they hover close to your lips, watch as Jimin draws in a breath, deep and shuddering.

It takes a second, then-- "Jesus, you can't just do that," he breathes out, coming to right as he steps between your legs, taking the sides of your face between his hands, gently caressing the under of your eyes.

You're-- still on your stool, still in the middle of a crowded apartment, all with people you know and love but maybe that only serves to fluster you more. "Jimin," you hiss, probably too red, too flushed under his tender gaze and others' prying eyes. Seokjin and Hoseok's especially, those nosy bastards. "Not here!"

"Why not? Why can't I kiss my lover?" Hands are tugging at your face, tracing your chin, pulling you in; more gentle now, as if to let you pull away if you want.

"Our other boyfriends are literally judging us as we speak." Jungkook is filming you two from a distance now, and Taehyung is standing right beside him, laughing too hard at something he said. You don't want to know.

"Let them, they can join us if they want."

"Jimin!" You're horrified, to say the least.

And then Jimin is laughing, and the sound melts you down to your bones, human fondue. And then- and then--

Then he's pulling you off your stool, turning to gesture something to Taehyung who immediately understands, the hybrid answering with a nod and a thumbs up. Soulmate culture, if you may.

Then he's leading you up the small set of stairs you'd walked through so many times before- past a frantic Namjoon who looks to have some frosting in his hair- going up, up, looking back only to check on you, to kiss your knuckles.

Then he's clicking open his bedroom door, ushering you inside by the small of your back. The door closes softly behind you, and you're faced with a bedroom that's so terribly Jimin that you kinda ache a bit. You'd been here before-- just this morning, too, maybe-- but it always catches you by surprise, leaves you feeling terribly soft for this boy, for all your boys.

"Are those my socks on the floor?" Is the first thing you say.

Jimin kicks your socks under his bed right before your eyes. "No," He drawls.

You laugh and he smiles at the sound, the vampire taking one step closer, then two-- immediately reaching for you once he's close enough to touch, hands trailing gently from your shoulders down to your hips. "Taehyung and Guk should be here soon, I told Tae to bring drinks. And those gummy worms stashed under the sink. Maybe a sandwich, while he's at it."

"How did you-" You sputter, "You showed him, like, a peace sign, how did you give him that much amount of info in the span of two seconds?"

Jimin smiles, drags his bottom lip through his teeth like he's holding back a laugh before shrugging, and— well. You'll get it out of him one day.

You trace the arch of his brow, the slope of his nose, the dip above his lips. He's the one to kiss the pads of your fingers this time. He hums something soft, scrunches his nose to urge his glasses higher.

"You should wear glasses more often, I like them." You say as Jimin takes them off-- to kiss you properly, you think cheekily-- watch as he places them on a nearby table.

"They make me look stupid."

"No, they don't. You're cute with them."

"Am I cute without them?" He grins, cheeky.

"Stop fishing for compliments."

He giggles and rests his forehead on yours, eyes half lidded and wide and brimming with so much open adoration that you surprise yourself by reaching out, hooking your fingers through his belt loops to pull him in close to taste again. Jimin crowds in closer still, stepping in closer until you're almost touching but not quite. Not enough.

Jimin's voice rumbling beside your ear as he murmurs your name, Jimin's thumbnails dragging softly over your spine, Jimin's lips pressing open mouthed kisses on your neck.

The man draws in a breath, "God, you're so—" he trails off, pressing kisses to your neck, knuckles stroking along the side of your jaw so tenderly you ache.

It takes a second, then you feel sharp teeth dragging over the skin of your neck, and you shiver-- Jimin immediately pulling away with a low curse. "Shit, I'm sorry, m'love," he covers his mouth with a hand, cheeks flushed. His fangs are gone when his hand lowers. "Can't control them sometimes."

"S'okay." You say almost breathlessly, your mind reeling, still trying to catch up with the rest of your body as Jimin flattens his weight against you, pressing you against the wall, a hand cupping the back of your head. His fingertips trail down the side of your face and you—feel. You feel so much, all at once.

He crowds in close, a breadth over your lips, "Wanna keep going?"

"Wait," you gesture for him to look at you, and he does-- or maybe he was already looking, never stopped. "I'm really proud of you, hm? We're all really proud of you."

You cup his cheeks and he's suddenly shy, grinning wide and pretty pretty pretty.

You both stay like that for a long while, you think; lazy kisses and lazy touches, lazy words and lazy smiles that linger and go long, leave you both breathless and giggly.

There's light streaming in through an open window, pink and gold reflecting onto Jimin's skin. There's a distant smell of old books and earl grey tea, of sweet cologne and newly washed sweaters. There's laughter on your tongue and you can taste his smile and you no longer long for a place that doesn't exist because it-- does. It does exist, maybe it always did. And you found it, right here, and it's beautiful.

Then there's a soft creaking and soft footsteps and soft laughter, more hands reaching to touch and that's. That's love, too. "I can't believe this," Jungkook starts, huffing out a laugh, "They left us to make out. They really did it. This is—blasphemy."

"I bet you don't even know what that words means." Taehyung snickers, even as Jungkook retorts with a little punch to the hybrid's shoulder.

A harmless little fight threatens to burst forth and Jimin steps away from you to physically restrain Taehyung from swinging his antlers around like a madman. "I never want thing one and thing two around me again." You deadpan to yourself.

Jungkook blinks, turning towards you with a halfhearted fist still hovering midair, "Wait, which one am I?"

"Yeah, that's a good idea, I don't really wanna see them either." Jimin nods, hands literally cupping Taehyung's cheeks as he says it.

"Noona. Am I thing one or two?"

"We should probably kick them out." You contemplate. Jimin hums, kissing Taehyung's cheeks now.

"Which one am I, noona? Noona—"

You're happy now, and you hope to be happy in the future. And that will be love, too.

"Hey," A little whisper sounds against your ear and you turn, a flash going off before you can throw your hands up to hide. You make a face at that and another snap goes off along with Jungkook's giggle and you realize you're fighting a losing battle.

You're in Yoongi's greenhouse to restock the mugwort and rosemary, the faerie tending to a rosebush and cutting of the stems. They're a little fussy so you don't want to disturb him.

Jimin and Taehyung are huddled by a tree trunk trying to feed a one-legged bird, and sometimes rainwater will drip down your nose even though the outlines of the clouds overhead are delicate, their edges blurring into blue. You can guess how far you are from the shoreline from the scent of the ocean.

Wind kicks up in your hair. It takes a second, then you hear another snap.

You dig your hands into the earth, feel dirt sticking to your nail beds as you frown, "Shouldn't you be taking pictures of something else?"

Jungkook lowers the camera enough for you to see his eyes shaped into little crescents. Out of spite, probably, he takes another picture.

You make the motion as if to stand ad leave but his hand shoots to your wrist to gently tug you back, giggling a drawled out "no!"

Taehyung turns just then, sees you both and a wondrously slow grin spreads just like that. Another snap.

The hybrid gestures for you to come closer and you stand quick, brush yourself off, grab a hold of one of Jungkook's arms and attempt to pull him up with brute strength. He doesn't move an inch, but laughs at your attempts anyway.

It always feels different being together. Watching Taehyung press a wet, sloppy kiss to your and Jungkook's forehead and Jungkook trying to kick him and Jimin laughing and then a snap of a camera before the vampire can react and complain because Jimin, for someone who likes to be seen, strangely doesn't like to be seen. Jungkook takes photos of him anyway, because Jimin is one of the most beautiful people you know.

Being together is different. Everything feels different when you're together, like there's not a thing that's missing, like everything you could ever want is right here.

"Y/n-ah, you should take us here more often," Taehyung says as he spins in a circle, arms outstretched as if he could hold the whole neighborhood in his arms if he wanted. The whole world.

You watch him spin and spin and spin and feel a little grin tugging at your lips, "What's so great about all this?"

He almost trips but catches himself on a thin tree and starts twirling around that instead, "Plants don't grow like this just anywhere," he says, stops abruptly. There are leaves stuck to his hair, and Jimin giggles before plucking them off one by one. He continues, "They didn't grow like this because of the magic, either. They grew like they've been loved."

Taehyung's got his head tipped up, like he's looking for constellations even though it's midday. He takes a step forward and his antlers get stuck on a tree branch and he yelps and you're all laughing even as he screams dramatically.

Yoongi then decides to waddle towards you and says you're all disturbing the petunias, so with little to no persuasion you convince him to hand some of the things you needed in the first place before gathering your things and heading home.

Jimin and Taehyung fall into step behind you, seemingly not even noticing they're supposed to be going to their own home but you don't comment as they walk inside completely uninvited. (But completely welcome.)

Jimin whines a little at the dirt on his clothes so you rummage through Jungkook's closet and know it will be a bit too big on him but it will have to do. You find three spare 99 cent toothbrushes in a pack of ten in the cabinet under the sink and have no idea who bought them or what happened to the other seven of them.

It all feels a little bit dreamy, you think; Jungkook closing the window in case it rains and Taehyung curling in small on the couch, making sleepy sounds with a hand resting on your thigh, lashes tickling your cheek as he leans in to press little kisses to your nose and your upper lip. Jimin hovers over you both and bites his lip, a nervous habit he doesn't know about. A purposeful action he does to get what he wants. You haven't figured out which yet.

Jimin makes grabby hands. You face Taehyung with as blank of an expression as you can muster, then say, "I don't know, Tae, what do you say we do?"

"I don't know..." he drawls, Daegu accent tugging at the vowels, a hand stroking at the soft skin of your belly, "Is this the part we ignore him and make out or something?"

Jimin, with one swift leap, plops himself on top of you both even as you all shriek and Taehyung yells a distant "Whose leg is this?!" followed by a low oof. You think that's when Jungkook plops himself on all three of you and all the breath leaves your lungs completely.

It's strangely domestic, they way you're all giggling even as Jungkook starts brushing his teeth with two of his toothbrushes and Taehyung spits a little bit, tooth paste dribbling down his chin, and you think Jimin chokes a little bit, too. You don't think you've ever been endeared by something so stupid but you wouldn't trade this for anything.

You all play rock paper scissors to determine who gets the middle, and Jimin wins with a victorious whoop but Taehyung says he was in the middle last time so they hand the win over to you. (Jungkook suggests you take turns next time and that's an idea you can definitely agree with so that's a topic for discussion for later.)

So then you're all squeezing into this bed that's much too big for four people, and you're a bit smug as you settle in the middle before Jungkook presses his cheek to your stomach with Jimin behind him and Taehyung on your other side and you all manage to make do.

"Ow! Tae-hyung, what the heck?"

"I didn't mean to pinch you! So wait, whose leg is this?"

"That would be me," you mutter.

"Oh." He says, then pinches you, too.

Your eyes start to droop as they start making quiet conversation; not about anything particular, but then Taehyung starts talking about what it's like to live with Jimin and dramatizes how romantic it is until Jimin pipes up saying they'd spent Valentine's day playing Minecraft last year, and Jungkook laughs so hard he snorts and does that thing where he starts randomly slapping people's shoulders.

They check up on you too, sometimes, pressing little kisses to your exposed skin with whispers of you awake, baby? and go to sleep, little love, and you're so pretty, noona-- and it's all a pretty dream, you decide. You'll stay here in this pretty dream and listen while the three tell you pretty things.

You feel Taehyung tug lightly at your hair, and you turn to face him and he grins so softly you turn to mush. His fingers stroke low on your waistband, your hipbone, and you feel him pull you closer before he even does, lifts you with a happy hum and then you're kissing and kissing and kissing, lips catching over and over until you're warm and pliant and melted into Jungkook.

"Pretty," Jungkook sighs, crawling up higher to press kisses to the nape of your neck, pull you flush against him.

Taehyung kisses you soft and sweet and then not so sweet but slow slow slow, just the way he likes to be kissed. Your hand reaches to cup his cheek and tilt his head just so, trace his jaw, tug at his hair to hear his breath hitch.

Jimin, with a deadpanned voice, says, "Well, this is fun," and you snort into Taehyung's mouth as he half-laughs, half-shrieks, then you all pile onto the vampire to tickle him and it's a mess and an even bigger mess when you almost knock him off the bed.

There's something nice about knowing that you'll wake up to all this tomorrow, to feather soft touches and lingering kisses. You like all your mornings with them, even the hectic ones, with toast crumbs and rushing around Yeontan and strings of panicked I'm late, shit, I'm—can you, will you—and lingering touches that shouldn't linger because you're all late.

But this is gentle, tender. Push too hard and it hurts because everything is exposed and vulnerable kind of tender.

You press a kiss goodnight to each of them, playfully slap Jimin's chest when he tries to keep you close and blow raspberries into Jungkook's mouth when he tries to tickle you, too, and when you move to kiss Taehyung's knuckles you smile at the little tattooed moon on his inner wrist, and you realize that you want to kiss it. Realize, too, that you are so deeply in love you don't know what to do with all of it.

So you kiss it. And you kiss him. And everything is warm.

"You look different these days," Seokjin murmurs, gaze more focused on squeezing the little plastic ketchup onto his french fries. Empty packets are already starting to pile around his plate, and his arm is kind of shaking from the strain, and it's. A little funny. You pinch the soft spot of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing.

"If you're just going to call me ugly, Jin, then just save it." You say, pretend to be annoyed, down some more of your drink like it's vodka.

"That's not what I meant at all! I'm saying something happened," he takes one sweeping look over your bundled frame and announces proudly, "You got laid! Holy shit. I never thought I'd see the day. My baby's growing up."

Namjoon nearly chokes beside him, looks around frantically, "Hyung, we're in public. Also, please never call Y/n that ever again."

"But it's true. You're all my babies," He announced without chagrin, popping a fry into his mouth. Namjoon attempts to look smaller, then mumbles a small prayer towards the ceiling.

"I didn't get laid." You deadpan, cupping a hand over your mug. You mutter a small incantation and feel it warm in your palm.

Seokjin continues his coos as Namjoon reaches over the table to clap your back, either as a form of support or an apology, you'll never know.

"You should ask them to move in, I'm sure they'll say yes," Jin continues, chewing thoughtfully.

"I've only been dating them for like three months." You say, but only receive a shrug in response.

"That's, like, a year in Y/n time."

"That doesn't make sense."

"You're right. Six months in Y/n time. Maybe seven."

You groan.

Namjoon then starts talking about the concept of time, which leads into the concept of beauty, which segways into a heated debate about toxic masculinity in the beauty industry, and then suddenly you're sitting amidst a conversation about gender norms and queer theory and it's. Too much.

Seokjin turns to you when he notices you've been quiet for too long, "Y/n-ah? You okay? Is this about the whole getting laid thing? I wasn't actually serious! Mostly."

"No," you say, feeling small suddenly, "'M just happy."

“Oh.” His eyes soften. "Good. That's good. Yoongi-chi said so, too."

Your heart warms. Warms at the thought that there are friends looking out for you, careful and caring, friends that notice when you're fine, notice when you're not. It grows a bit overwhelming sometimes, this small little reassurance you have, tucked away from prying eyes in a place where everything is soft. Little reassurance that says these, these-- these are the kinds of people I want to keep close.

"Yeah," You smile, say again but softer, "Yeah."

"Ask 'em to move in," Namjoon hums, "It'll be good for you all."

"Hey, Jungkook?" You ask one night when you two have been up too long, and it's late enough for words to spill more easily as if drunk. The werewolf hums and you continue, "Do you wanna move in?"

Jungkook stills and you feel something like bile start to surface up, up, but then he giggles and pats blindly at the mattress until he finds your hand and laces your fingers together.

"We're already roommates, Noona."

"I know, but like," you pause and peel open an eye and find Jungkook's gaze in the dark and he's already looking at you. You wonder if he'd ever looked away. "But like-- move in, you know? Like, boyfriend move in, because we weren't dating when you did move in, and—Don't look at me like that! You know what I mean!"

He's smiling, amused and fond, then says, "Are you gonna make me write a proper lease? Are you a nice landlord?"

"Forget I said anything."

"No," he drawls with a whine, giggles when you shift and turn so you're facing the other way. His hand snakes up your shirt, a finger trailing down the dip in your back. His nose tickles your neck as he continues, "Come back, noona. Baby."

He says it the same way he did before, when you'd first kissed and were both pretending it hadn't happened. Even before that, too. Saying it like it means something else.

Jungkook pulls you so that you're facing him and then you're nose to nose and he's grinning unabashedly, "Noona, I would love to boyfriend move in with you." He says adamantly, then he's pulling you in and tugging you close and kissing you hard, biting your lips cherry red until he slows and it's soft, soft, soft.

When you're both pulling back with droopy eyes and lazy touches is when you curl in small, feel him peppering kisses over your collarbone, "Can our boyfriends boyfriend move in with us, too?"

And then you look up and he's grinning big and soft and shy and-- Jungkook. "Yeah," he breathes, something deep and shuddering, "I'd like that a lot."

("Does this mean I can husband move in with you one day, too?"

"Go to sleep Guk," you say, hushed, then whisper, "That sounds nice."

You feel his smile on your neck and your heart soars up, up, up.)

There are new flowers on the table.

They're pretty, reds and purples and pinks dissolving into white. You smile, murmur sweet nothings to the one drooping outside the vase, watch as it perks slowly into place, petals fluttering. You'll make sure to sprinkle something on them later, help them stay for maybe a few weeks more. It's sweet, smells a bit like honey and marmalade.

"Peonies," you muse to yourself. You'd have to thank Jimin later. You can feel that Jungkook's a little calmer than usual, all safe and warm somewhere close, so maybe you won't have to wait long.

Footsteps pad softly over the creaking floorboards, and you turn to a sleepy Taehyung trudging towards you, rubbing at his eyes.

"Do you like peonies?" Taehyung asks as he watches you gently tuck the flowers into a vase, placing it somewhere where you can see, where the whole world can see.

You think for a long while, tracing a hand lightly over the petals, watch as they melt into your touch. The room gets warmer. It's always like that these days, you think-- warm, warm, warm.

Today, just outside, there are dandelions growing through cracks in the sidewalk. There's an old couple sitting by their porch holding hands. There’s a lizard resting in the morning sun, trying to grow a new tail. There is life. And you're learning to love yours quite a bit, too.

"Yeah," you say, not quite looking at him but you don't need to. He knows. Always does, really. "I think I do."

a/n: this is the end folks :( I’m gonna miss this bumbling trio :(( i’d like to thank u all so much for all the support on this lil series, hopefully this ending is satisfactory djksjd?? i might maybe write some drabbles for them at some point tho!! this was plotless and had like zero angst this is my level of longing for romance. ty for reading g’day

[madam-turtlerabbitkim]

༘𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓₊˚ˑ༄ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓 !!

this man has taken over my mind for today so i decided to make this. i love him. he is perfect. note that these aren’t by the true meaning behind the songs but only the lyrics. with that, enjoy ig 🧍

╰┈➤ ❝ [K/DA - VILLAIN] ❞

   must i explain more? the lyrics match him so well and also the snake on his arm just becoming real would be- [ dies ] also the M/V has hella snakes so yuh-

lyrics that fit him the most: " i'll stay so deep inside your brain, and take you somewhere far away. " " do just what i said. i'm straight up villain, straight up villain , yeah no feelin’, yeah no feelin’. " " i'm alive but i'm dead, hear my voice up in your head, watch it fill you full of dread, till you go pow. Is it really a surprise if I'm playing with your mind, and I treat you like prize, then I throw you to the side? " " In control, that's how I like it, and I'm never letting go, nah. never had a soul, so you ain't taking anything from me when you go, nah "

╰┈➤ ❝ [K/DA - I'LL SHOW YOU] ❞

   okay okay, a little odd, but lemme explain >:( so, jamil is always pretending to be someone around kalim ( kinda ). always has to obey, gets bad grades on purpose, sucks at anything kalim likes on purpose, etc. but he just wants to be himself.

lyrics that fit him the most:

" wanna be myself, wanna leave this hell. but i know i won’t. stuck in a place between the space of heart and mind. the dreams i chase are in a race against time. " " and i’ll show you what i’m made of, a heart full of fire, looking at a fighter. " " hard on myself, put my heart on a shelf, cause i forget that myself need lovin’ " " don’t let those moments outweigh all other times. they say some moments you wait for all your life. you know the darker the day, the more you shine. you know the darker the day, the more you shine babe. you don’t have to be afraid. "

╰┈➤ ❝ [ALADDIN MOVIE - SPEECHLESS] ❞

UGH HIM SINGING THIS <333 anyways, it makes sense. jamil was always taught to shut the fuck up and obey 😀✋ but, he refused in chapter 4[?] also this song is amazing idk why anyone would stop listening to it like huh 🤨

lyrics that fit him the most: " But I won't cry, And I won't start to crumble. Whenever they try, To shut me or cut me down. I won't be silenced, You can't keep me quiet. Won't tremble when you try it, All I know is I won't go speechless. " " Written in stone, Every rule, every word. Centuries old and unbending. Stay in your place, Better seen and not heard, But now that story is ending. " " Try to lock me in this cage? I won't just lay me down and die. I will take these broken wings, And watch me burn across the sky. "

╰┈➤ ❝ [MELANIE MARTINEZ - CAKE] ❞

yeah so what if i put a more romantic song in here you got a problem 🤨 anyways, if we wanna get romantic in here then imagine jamil having a past lover that was only using him to get closer to kalim </3

lyrics that fit him the most: " You've got all the ingredients, Except you loving me. And respectfully, I'm not a piece of cake for you to just discard, While you walk away with the frosting of my heart.So I'm taking back what's mine, you'll miss, The slice of heaven that i gave to you last night. " " If I am just a piece of cake, I am just a piece of cake (cake), Then, you're just a piece of meat, You're just a piece of meat to me. "

╰┈➤ ❝ [GRANDSON - BLOOD // WATER] ❞

i don’t have a reason except the lyrics lol

lyrics that fit him the most: " Look me in my eyes, Tell me everything's not fine. Or the people ain't happy, And the river has run dry. You thought you could go free, But the system is done for. If you listen real closely, There's a knock at your front door " " Beg me for mercy, Admit you were toxic. You poisoned me just for, Another dollar in your pocket. " " Won't accept your silence, Beg me for forgiveness. " " Money won't solve it. What's your alibi? "

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

OC Kiss Week Day 2: Blanket

WIP: To Annex the Kid/The Invention of Fire Pairing: Works x Russell (with a cameo by one of Works’ aliases) Timeline: TIoF CW: More yearning! Yay! Rating: T Words: 1,653

***

Cady shivered and pulled her blanket tighter around her small shoulders, teeth chattering against the frigid cold seeping mercilessly through the doors of the coach. Works turned to her in alarm at the sound.

“My goodness,” he exclaimed, squeezing her to his side on the seat. He rubbed her arms to force warmth into her wiry frame. “Why didn’t you tell me you were this cold?”

Sitting across from this display and facing the rear of the coach, Russell watched Works take a spare blanket from his satchel and tuck it under Cady’s chin, wrapping it tight across her chest and essentially swaddling her within thick wool, and after a few moments the chattering stopped.

“Sorry, Mr. Works,” Cady said. “Guess I didn’t think much of it.”

“Nonsense.” Works peered through the window as best as he could through the endless snow and fog hiding London from view. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times not to feel that you’re being an inconvenience by asking for ordinary things such as an extra blanket.” He swung around and affected a humorously severe face, brows drawn too tight together and mouth tugged down in an exaggerated frown. “Can you imagine the inconvenience if you’d expired?”

Cady belly-laughed and Russell shook his head, bewildered.

"I do not understand why y’all think the things you think is so funny is so funny sometimes," he muttered, though he let out a quiet snort anyway if for no other reason than because he enjoyed when they interacted with such familiarity.

Still laughing, Cady buried her face in her blanket. “It’s not my fault!”

"There isn’t a lot to envy in the way of having a macabre sense of humor,” Works said. He looked at Russell with an expression of false surprise. “Some say it’s a sign of low intelligence or maturity, you know.”

“Low intelligence, no.” Russell’s face split into an playful grin. “Maturity? That might be up for discussion.”

Works pretended to be affronted and placed a firm hand on the top of Cady’s head. “This is a child!”

Russell opened his mouth to respond when the coach came to a rolling stop. One glance outside told him they’d arrived at the house rented out to them by Dr. Keller, and an overwhelming yawn burst forth from him in anticipation of stretching out on the most comfortable bed he’d ever experienced.

And stretch out he did some minutes later, with a steaming cup of tea brewed by the housekeeper, reclined on a sofa in the well-lit drawing room and another five or six blankets piled onto his lap. He wasn’t sure how he got to that point or why begging Mrs. Gabb to leave him be just this once always resulted in a cup of tea that went to waste.

“Y’ever been dragged along the dirt behind a galloping horse for thirty seconds?” he asked.

Works, freshly changed into a gemstone-hued dressing gown, stifled the sounds of Cady enjoying a lively song with Mrs. Gabb in the kitchen as he pushed the doors closed. “...I can’t say I have.”

“Well, it feels kinda like this.” Russell deposited the teacup along with its saucer onto the table in front of him.

A pause settled over the floor and Works slid his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to speak to you about that, actually.” He hesitated. “About you being here, with me—”

“Works,” Russell interjected, holding up a hand to stop him, “we already talked about it enough.”

Works spared a cautionary look over his shoulder at the doors, where the jovial noise continued from further into the house. The chances of being interrupted were low, yet he dropped his voice anyway. “I still need you to know how much it means to me that you’d come so far from home, into such foreign waters for the sole purpose—”

“Works....”

“—For the sole purpose of letting me pursue a silly whim.” Works’ eyes followed Russell as he got to his feet, leaving the blanket pile behind. “I can see how uncomfortable you are here.”

“First of all, if you call this...this....”

“Symposium.”

“If you call this symposium a silly whim again, you’re gonna have to answer to me. Also, I would let you drag me along the dirt into the deepest depths of the ocean, McCoy.”

The silence that followed surprised them both. Not even Mrs. Gabb’s distant and boisterous laughter could stop the furious blush from cropping up on Russell’s face as he realized he’d taken Works’ shoulder in hand, fingers digging into the muscle meeting his neck, and they stood impeccably close to one another.

“I get seasick,” Works murmured.

“I am all too familiar with the concept.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about what you said to me up in that balloon.” Works made eye contact and held it for ages. “I fear I’ve underplayed what hearing those words from you has done to me emotionally.”

Russell swallowed. “Yeah...I actually think this might be the first time you’ve looked me in the eye since we left home.” He, too, glanced to the doors. “You’re lookin’ a little like you wanna make somethin’ right, however.”

Magnetically, Works bowed toward Russell, pressing a purposeful kiss to the hollow of his cheek. The flutter of his nervous breath against Russell’s skin sprouted a shiver.

“Works,” he said with finality. Concession.

Taking that cue, Works met his lips, gathering the fabric of the waistcoat Russell hated wearing into tight fists and backing him into the wall with aggression so suppressed it almost snapped like a dry and brittle branch across Russell’s shoulders. Works kissed him like he needed to taste him or accept death, and Russell felt a rumble of courage in his stomach he hadn’t felt in quite a few years that allowed him to hold Works in place by the back of the neck and reciprocate enthusiastically.

Russell had the belt of the dressing gown open and his arms around Works’ waist so quickly the chill of the air hadn’t set in yet. Works inhaled sharp, shuddering under the pressure of large palms splayed flat against the curve of his backside, caught between his trousers and the softness of the robe.

Works tangled his fingers within Russell’s previously kempt hair, and the crash of a dish breaking in the kitchen followed by an undistressed yelp fueled Russell into pushing Works in the direction of the door to his own bedroom on the other side of the drawing room, to get out of open space, to sate the clawing hunger in privacy.

Russell’s famished mouth found its way to Works’ jawline, hands preoccupied by the buttons of his shirt, completely in a haze that he wouldn’t have given an ounce of recognition had it not been for Works suddenly gripping the door frame to stop them with immediacy.

“Russell...” Works hissed. He took hold of Russell’s chin. “Russ, darling....”

Russell gazed up at him with glossy eyes. “Yeah.”

“Not like this.” Works touched his forehead to Russell’s, nails so far into the wall that he tore a bit of the paper, breath coming out in forceful gusts. “I would never forgive myself.”

Russell kissed him again, slow, heart humming into his bones, parts of him aching low and urgent, and though he agreed with Works in the end, he couldn’t help but feel a sting of frustration at the tables being turned for once.

Footsteps in the hall forced them apart, and Works helped flatten Russell’s hair while simultaneously re-tying the dressing gown. He was still in the process of securing the knot in the belt when the drawing room doors opened.

“Sirs,” Mrs. Gabb sang upon entering the room. “Nothing to worry about! I’ve made a right mess is all."

“Everything alright?” Works asked, and only Russell picked up on the strained way he talked.

“Oh, yes. I dropped a teacup. Shattered it to pieces.”

Russell exchanged a look with Works. “Tragic.”

“I’ve sent the young Miss to freshen up for supper while I clean up.”

Works coughed a bit. “Allow me to help, Mrs. Gabb—”

“No, no, Mr. Robinson, I won’t have it at all. You’re guests to this house! What would Dr. Keller say?”

“Let ‘im help,” Russell grunted. “He won’t leave you alone if you don’t.”

Mrs. Gabb’s rosy cheeks pinched out as she grinned. “Well, alright. I’ve got a broom this way....”

The remainder of the evening went on much like nothing had transpired, other than Russell occasionally catching Works in the act of watching him as if he had a particularly puzzling riddle marked on his forehead from across the dinner table. The intensity of his clear blue stare gave him goosebumps.

A knock on Russell’s door much later, after he’d assumed everyone else had retired for the night, startled him. He looked up from his lettering book and tensed up. “...Whozit?”

“It’s me,” Works said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Russell tossed the book onto the bed and pulled the door open just enough to see Works silhouetted by the hall light, bottom lip between his teeth and worry lines aging him somewhat.

They stood unspeaking for a moment.

Works took a calming breath. “I love you.”

Russell nodded. He’d heard it before, but it still made his entire body warm. Insecurity prevented him from repeating what he’d said in the balloon. “I know.”

“I didn’t want you to think...I apologize if I gave you the impression that I wasn’t....”

“Gimme a kiss g’night, McCoy.”

Works leaned in to press a chaste kiss, the softest kiss to his lips. Russell let it course into his veins.

“Good night,” Works whispered.

Russell found it a little easy to fall asleep that night. If he’d known it could’ve ended up being the last time he’d ever kiss Works McCoy, however...he sure would’ve changed his mind about a lot of things.

[timextoxhajima]

HOSTIS, Chapter XVII.5: Inevitabilis, Inevitable

HOSTIS PLAYLIST: WONHO - LOSING YOU

Previous Chapter (XVII: Et Universum Parallel)

Member: Lee Hyunjae (tbz) 

Genre (by chapter): drama, angst

Category: Short Novel/Long Series

Dana’s A/N: this is a special piece written by @vxstarlightxv​ who has been feeding me ideas to fuel this story. i did not write this chapter, i only merely proof-read it/gave her tips etc, but otherwise the beauty of this chapter will never be able to be my own original work.

P.S: if you’re emotional, please keep a box of tissues with you 

“there is no escape from you, not now, not ever. you are inevitable.”

The day the kids at school start calling you Ares is the day Hyunjae loses faith in humanity. You are a spineless, low-life coward, who hardly deserves to be bestowed with the same title as himself. Yet here you are, acting as though you were worth being on the same plane as him.

He hates you. Oh god, he truly does.

He remembers the way you fucked him over so well and thoroughly, and in front of the whole school that too. Granted, he may have screwed with your equipment, but maybe if you didn’t suck so bad you wouldn’t have failed.

Blaming him for your shortcomings. How typical.

But showing Minhee ​that picture of the accidental kiss (that meant ​nothing​) for the sole purpose of destroying his relationship? That was a bitch move right there. So he has no regrets when he posts a cleverly edited picture of your lab teacher with his girlfriend. None at all. In fact, the sight of your tears when that himbo Younghoon dumps you is something that brings him delight.

His heart definitely did not twist when he saw you cry, because he definitely does not care. You hurt him, and it’s only fair that you’re hurting too.

Nonetheless, he is pleasantly surprised at how fast you bounce back. His breakup with Minhee was a huge watery mess, and he cannot help his grudging admiration for your strength when you power through your own with Younghoon.

It is only admiration, for he definitely still hates you.

When the time comes to choose a medical school, he chooses the one that seems the furthest away from you. But fate hates him, so after 4 years of respite, he is dumped back on your doorstep as your fellow intern in the neurology department.

Of all the fucky coincidences.

~~~

Ares is a brutal god. He is the fire of war, wild and relentless.

Hyunjae is furious when he finds out you’ve stolen his report, but he’s not surprised. Not when he would’ve done the same thing. Then again, he was kind of hoping you would leave him alone. Naturally, you’ve done the opposite. He wonders if his emotional response is a little… disproportionate, given the situation, but he’s not going to let you fuck him over like this and escape unscathed. He isn’t a fucking pussy, your thoughts on the matter be damned.

Silly little kitten. Put your paws in the fire, and watch the heat bubble your skin.

He is simmering as he bangs on your door. He hears you screaming some nonsense about your mother, but he’s too pissed to process anything. You open the door, face falling as you see him. He cannot help but reach out a hand and grab you by your pretty throat.

He shoves you into the house, fuelled by the magnitude of his anger. You’ve hurt his pride, made a fool out of him in front of Dr Kim. He wants to shred you to pieces, get you on your knees and rip the apologies from your mouth.

Tonight you will understand why the other gods fear the wrath of Ares.

 ~~~

Hyunjae replays the encounter in his head as he drives home. He has never once considered you as anything but an enemy. But today, something of seismic proportion has shifted in your dynamic.

The flutter of your lips against his, like butterfly wings on a flower. The warmth of your chest against his in a tight alcove, hiding from Dr Shin. The way you felt when you took him in, the way you cried when he hit every single spot that made your toes curl. The way you purred when he called you kitten and mewled as you fell apart on his cock.

In retrospect, he hopes that he didn’t hurt you. He usually likes to stick around for aftercare, but he didn’t want to ruin your pride even more. You’d already been dealt with a devastating blow, and he didn’t want to make it worse, regardless of how big of a dick you think he is.

(Ring, ring)

The sharp blare of his ringtone shatters the silence of his ride home. He glances at the screen, smiling when he sees the caller id.

“What’s up, Juyeonie? Are you finally back?” Hyunjae is thrilled to hear his best friend’s voice. Juyeon is very busy these days, being a commercial pilot and all, so these rare moments they have with each other are more precious than gold.

“Hey, hyung! Yes I am! On that note, are you free next Friday? Let’s get drinks and catch up!” Juyeon sounds so eager and hopeful that Hyunjae can’t help but say yes, no matter how packed his schedule might be. The rest of the conversation proceeds pleasantly, and he is happy to forget the day’s drama.

It is only when he reaches home that he realises that the thought of you has never quite left his head.

~~~

“So what happened? The last I heard, she left you high and dry in JFK.” 

He watches as feline eyes crinkle with delight at his question. His friend launches into a happy tirade about his mystery girl, going on and on about fate and chance encounters and love lost and found. Hyunjae listens carefully, admiring the way Juyeon has changed. He wonders for a moment if he'll ever experience something as profound as Juyeon has, will ever wake up one day knowing that his heart sits in the palms of another person, and will not fear the idea.

The image of your eyes dancing with wicked laughter arises unbidden, and it punches the breath out of him.

He is jostled out of his thoughts when a hand lands on his thigh. It is so abrupt, so sudden that he all but jumps out of his skin.

“Long time no see, stranger.”

Choi Minhee is standing in front of him, batting her mascara-painted eyelashes at him seductively. She is as pretty as ever, with her delicate collarbones and anime-girl eyes.

But she is not you.

The thought is so dreadful and unsettling that he cannot help but flirt with her the whole night in order to get it out of his head.

When have you become anything but an annoyance, anything but a pest that’s been shoved down his throat?

It is pleasant, talking to someone who he hasn’t met in a long time. He remembers her fondly, despite how miserable their parting was. Minhee is soft and kind, a gentle cherry-blossom compared to your ever-burning inferno. She complements him well (not perfectly, because only ​one​person does), and for a second he feels white-hot annoyance at you for fucking him over in this regard. Hyunjae cannot help but wonder if they would have been married by now had you not intervened with that photo. Would they be living the white-picket fence dream? What would their kids have looked like?

All he can see are children with your ash-brown hair and his almond eyes. The image causes his gut to clench so tightly that he wonders if something inside him might have cracked open.

“Have you and Y/N gotten together yet? I figured that after we broke up the two of you would end up going out. You were always kinda obsessed with each other.” The question jolts him out of his reverie. Juyeon, who has been listening politely so far, decides to insert himself into the conversation.

“Yeah, hyung. The two of you have always had something special, right? What was that stupid nickname we gave you? Paris and Helen?”

The irony is not lost to him. Enemies, being compared to the two greatest lovers of all time. A face that launched a thousand ships, a blaze of love that destroyed a nation. Only fools succumb to Aphrodite, the cruelest of the divine hosts.

“Ares and Ares. And for fuck’s sake, I will never be attracted to that hag. You won’t believe what she did at work last week-”

Hyunjae misses the knowing look Minhee and Juyeon exchange. He’s only seeing you.

~~~

If there is one thing that Hyunjae hates, it is surprises. So he really, really hates it when he sees you flirting with the intern as though ​he ​doesn’t exist.

The day had actually started off pretty well. He came into work feeling all pleased with himself. Not only did he break you down, but he also figured out a solid way to keep you in line. You were reacting beautifully to his taunts, and seeing you unable to walk made something vicious inside him preen.

And then, before he can breathe, you are making stupid cow-eyes at the snot-faced little intern as though he created entire galaxies in your honour.

How dare you, honestly? You’re wearing ​his ​hickeys on your neck, limping and ​sore because ​he​ripped you apart last night. How can you even ​think​of flirting with another man? Are you doing this on purpose, to get some semblance of power back?

This is not jealousy. It definitely is NOT jealousy because that would mean he would have to be attracted to your hideous hag face. No, it was an issue of pride. And no, he definitely was not deluding himself right now.

Nonetheless, watching Eric help you into his car after work makes him want to vomit.

~~~

It is the party incident that truly knocks it into his head. He spends the entire night seething over your flirtations with Eric, with even ​Sangyeon. He glares at you, but you pretend to not see, and it shoves him off the edge.

Why won’t you look at him? A room full of people, but you are the only one he sees. So why aren’t you seeing him too?

He reminds you that night, who is the only one who knows how to pick you apart, snap you in half. He reminds you who is the only one who can make your body thrum and vibrate, who is the only one who can coax tears from your eyes and pleasured sobs from your throat. But he is also tender with you after, because under that diamond-hard exterior is a heart wrapped in silks and satin. Hurting you is the last thing he wants to do.

It is only when he wakes up alone in the morning that he realises that maybe, just maybe, he wishes he could see you in his bed again, hair spilled across the sheets as your breathing slowly evens out into slumber. He wants to coo over your keening wails, drink the moans from your mouth.

A thought, fleeting and profound, surfaces.

He wants you to be his.

~~~

He goes to work on Sunday with iron resolve. He has spent the entirety of Saturday thinking hard about you, and the relationship you shared with him. The line between obsession and infatuation is a thin one, one that the two of you have been dancing on for 10 whole years. When did his foot slip? When did the late nights plotting revenge mutate into candied dreams of your lips, of your body, singing for him?

But of course, who else could it be? You have always been, will always be, his forever other half.

Ares and Ares, locked in their death dance. But when did Ares become Aphrodite? War has become Love, and Love has become War.

Somewhere along the way, something has gone wrong. At some point or the other, he has forgotten the hatred that sizzled through him like blazing poison. He has forgotten that you are annoying, that you are competitive, and that you get revenge in the sleaziest ways possible. He has forgotten everything, because all that remains is the way your smile looks like a flashing ray of sunlight, like a tendril of shimmering starlight. All that remains is the sound of your wind chime laughter, the softness of your small hands on his heated skin. All that remains is the memory of how good you are for him, how addictive the juxtaposition between your submissive sweetness in bed and your fiery heat outside of it is.

So he decides that he is going to make you his. Granted, the order of things was completely wrong, but he would fix it. He would cook you dinner, press kisses onto your cherry mouth, and then love you till morning comes. And then he would repeat it every day, till the day the two of you are cradled in the eternal embrace of death.

Surely, surely you reciprocate his feelings? How can you not, when your body weeps for him the way it does?

He likes to think you do, when he admires the way your eyes flutter closed when he steals kisses in the pantry. He likes to think you do, when you stay four hours past your shift and order takeaway for him. He likes to think you do, when you dangle Eric in front of him in order to get him to fuck you ​hard,​just the way you like it.

You are his, now.

~~~

Hyunjae’s love for you grows like tender flowers. It starts off small, but grows into something lovely and heartbreaking. You have carved your way into him, nestling against the walls of his heart and beseeching him to let you in with your stupid almond eyes.

He loves your stupid almond eyes.

He is on a cloud these days, brimming with affection that lights up his every step. He never considered himself to be one of those annoying, lovey-dovey honeymooners, but he can definitely see where they get their joy from.

Lovers alone wear sunlight.

You become his greatest delight. When you are around, even dust seems to sparkle like a thousand tiny diamonds. He loves waking up with you, your eyes half lidded and neck covered in his marks. He loves to see you in his clothes, smelling of his body wash, smelling of ​him.

(He has an extra special fondness for the days in which you are soft and pliant, allowing him to dress you like a doll. It makes his internal organs feel like they are tumbling over each other, and it makes him a little giddy. He loves taking care of you.)

But if he really had to pick a moment, he supposes he loves you most when you are with your patients, hands calm and steady and strong. It reminds him of everything beautiful there is about his profession, and he cannot get enough.

You are beautiful, in all the ways there are to be beautiful. You race through him like lightning, and he is sucked further into your orbit everyday. You carry his heart with you (inside yours), and you are never without it.

So he is overflowing with love when he picks you up and tastes your peach-covered mouth. He is overflowing with love when you smile at him with a sort of lightness that he's never quite seen directed at him before. He is overflowing with love as he goes to your favourite cafe one day to pick up the chowder you never stop talking about. Tonight, he will ask you to be his girlfriend, make this tentative little dance official.

Perhaps that is why the pain is so exquisite when he sees you with Younghoon, and hears you talking about Eric with such tenderness in your eyes.

“​He’s super enthusiastic and there’s just something about him that’s so... comforting. I see him and I think about nothing but sunshine and warmth and laughter. He’s just... so cheerful, compared to whatever i’ve been used to.​​” Something inside him shatters into a million jagged pieces when he hears the words, and every breath becomes as a blood-drenched ordeal.

Sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine and warmth and laughter. The words ring like alarm bells.

Fool. Naive, hopeless fool. You were never really his, were you? You might be the light by which his spirit is born, you might be his sun, moon and stars, but he? He is your nothing. He is the shadow that is birthed of your radiance, forever connected and forever forgotten.

Is this is why storms are named after people? You have destroyed him in the sweetest of ways. Is this taste of heartbreak? Rust coats his tastebuds. Is this how tears are born? The agony is magnificent and all-encompassing. There is nothing left for him here. He has never been enough, never will be.

He leaves quietly, chowder forgotten.

~~~

It is truly repulsive, the fact that he can see what you adore about Eric. The intern is strong and sweet, kind in all the ways Hyunjae is not. He is soft and mellow, and will cool your scalding tantrums with gentle words. He will not stir up the embers of your fury the way Hyunjae does, hoping for a reaction. He will be tender with you, gently laying you out and coaxing your body to sing. He will not be harsh and hard and possessive like Hyunjae, claiming you with bites and bruises and writing his possession into your blood.

He has been measured, and he has been found lacking. Eric is the perfect Hephaesthus, a sweet spring dandelion, and it is no surprise that Zeus will give you to him.

Aphrodite never belonged to Ares, after all.

“Hey, Eric! Do you have a moment?” By some miracle, his voice doesn’t crack.

“Hey, hyung! What can I do for you?” Eric is as mirthful as ever, and Hyunjae wishes they weren’t fighting over the same girl because he might actually ​like the​ intern otherwise.

“Have you gotten Y/N’s number yet?” He pauses to watch the bashful amusement dance across the intern’s face, and waits for the head shake he knows is coming. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but she’s very into you. So here’s her number, and make sure you call her, alright?” The teasing lilt he’s going for comes off more as a hoarse croak, and he realises belatedly that he really needs to be less of a shit actor.

“Thank you so much, hyung! But hey, don’t you hate Y/N? Why are you helping her out?” The intern offers him a cheeky grin, and all Hyunjae wants to do is knock his teeth out. But he’s a ​professional,​so he offers Eric a tight smile (read: grimace) and says “Well, maybe I’m hoping you’ll distract her from work so that I’ll get the promotion first.” He tosses a wink in for good measure, before reaching out to ruffle Eric’s hair with a certain sadistic pleasure.

That’s thirty minutes in the bathroom gone down the drain. But that’s what he gets for stealing Hyunjae’s girl.

Of course, because Eric is quite literally an angel who can apparently do no wrong, he gives Hyunjae a sweet smile and rolls away happily in his chair, high off his excitement at finally getting the girl he’s been after for ​ages.

And then Hyunjae is left alone to drown in self-loathing.

Hyunjae is clearly a masochist who likes to hurt himself, so that’s why he decides to tell you to meet him at the carpark after work. One last time, he’ll be the one to drive you home, the one who kisses you goodnight.

He promises he’ll let you go after this.

~~~

The car ride is as quiet as ever. You enjoy being left alone with your thoughts, and Hyunjae isn’t about to interrupt you when he’s being pummeled by his own.

The Japanese once made up a fictional disease to describe the horrors of unrequited love. They call it ​Hanahaki​, in which flowers grow in the lungs of the victims, causing them to cough up petals when they suffer from one-sided love.

He supposes that it is the exact feeling that he feels now. His love for you coils in his chest, choking leaves and thorns that crush his internal organs. It is rooted so deep that it might never leave, killing him softly but surely. The petals tickle his throat in an insidious kiss as he chokes on his desire for you, their softness a poisonous taunt of your lips against his, a feeling he might never know again.

“Are you okay?” Your voice is a balm to his wounded heart.

Of course he’s not okay. He’s in love with you, but you’re not in love with him. He knows that he is nothing without you, and that knowledge is somehow everything.

All this time he wanted to make you his, but you have made him yours.

He cannot form words, so he looks at you, really, really looks at you. He memorises the contours of your face, the slender bone of your nose, the tilt of your eyes, the exact shade of red your lips are. He'll hold every little detail close, remember the last night you're his and his alone, because tomorrow Eric will ask you out and his Aphrodite will never be his again.

He wants to pretend like the sudden moisture in his eyes is surprising, but he can't lie to himself anymore.

Liar, liar. Ares is a liar.

Is this how Lucifer felt when he fell from heaven? You are life, you are life and light and everything bright. And he is cold, dark and alone. He has fallen from grace, and all that is left are the coiling tendrils of hubris keeping his spine straight and gluing the shattered pieces of his heart together. He is heartbroken, but he will clench his teeth and grit through it. Your joy is worth it. His ego won't let him fall apart. He's stronger than this. Isn't he?

Break my heart. Break it into a thousand pieces and then some. It was only ever yours to break anyways.

“Why wouldn’t I be? Anyways, we’re here now. Get out already.” Your scoff is musical. He is aching and he is broken, so he does not have the strength to resist the screaming in his head to steal one last kiss from you. He luxuriates in the feeling of your petal-soft lips against his, before pulling away reluctantly.

Everything is more beautiful because the two of you are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. You will never share this moment again.

“Goodbye, kitten.”

The words are far more permanent than he likes. You don’t hear them.

His tears run as he pulls out of your driveway. He allows himself one last look at you, confusion blossoming on the face he once swore was hideous but now haunts his every moment.

Love is fire. It burns as much as it warms, and he is the poor fool who allowed himself to get scarred.

~~~

Crossing the line from enemies to lovers was a wheeling drop of ecstasy and biting kisses. Crossing the line from lovers back to co-workers is a study in heartbreak, and Hyunjae doesn't know how much longer he can handle it.

How do I forget you? I've tasted your secrets on my lips and drank the whispers of your body. You are the weakness in my bones and the hollowness in my lungs. How do I cleave my soul from yours, when you are the drum that my heart beats to?

It is an awful sort of pain, feeling his chest cave in when he watches Eric roll over to you from his cubicle. You find him cute, it's obvious from the way your eyes crinkle like little stars when you regard him.

Look at me. Look only at me.

You look up, searching for his eyes like you’ve heard his prayer. You're expecting jealousy, disdain, fury. You're expecting him to drag you to the pantry, to call you ​kitten ​and kiss you till you bleed. But Hyunjae has no more poison to offer you. He is empty, and all he can do is give you a blank look. He hopes you will be happy, silently wishing you the best.

Hephaestus gets Aphrodite, and all Ares can do is watch. Bloody, brutal Ares is never the winner.

His lack of response throws you off. By now, you are used to his hissy fits, his seething rages. But who is he? What right does he have? You are not his to rage over, or his to claim. You might wear his marks on your neck, but you are definitely not ​his.

How he wishes you were. But wishes are like pixie dust, and this is no fairytale.

The rest of the day is agonising. His body is so keenly attuned to yours now, and he doesn’t know how to rewire himself. He keeps a cool distance from you, but every molecule in his being roars in fury at the forced detachment.

He misses you already.

You continue to press him, trying to push his buttons and rile him up. Hyunjae studiously ignores you, hoping his coldness will further fray the ropes holding up the fragile bridge of a relationship that the two of you have developed. You are looking at him with a strange mix of anger, disdain and annoyance. For a second, he thinks he might even see-

Is that? Could it be? Longing? Do you miss him like he misses you?

Wishful thinking. That’s what it is. But it hurts so bad that he decides that he’s just going to avoid you from now on, until he finds a more appropriate coping mechanism than simply crying like a toddler when he can’t get his way.

Maybe he should call Minhee, and try to rekindle-

He cuts the thought off before it dredges up more painful memories. All he can see when he thinks of Minhee are the one-thousand-and-one different ways you exceed her.

You’re fiercer, with more spine. You don’t give in as easily. You’re not afraid to fight with him. You have a kinder heart. You are so much smarter. Your lips are softer. Your hand fits into his so much more perfectly. You are lovely in all the ways she never was, never will be.

It is a numbing, novocaine relief when Dr Choi summons him for rounds. If Hyunjae is left for even a second longer with his thoughts, he might just spiral into a pit of depressed longing and self pity that he might never emerge from.

Mighty Ares, on his knees. Aphrodite’s laughter perfumes the air, irresistible and menacing.

~~~

He is on his final round when he meets Mrs Kang. The kind, old lady takes one look at him, eyes lighting up with knowledge that he wishes she wasn’t able to glean so easily.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Well he doesn’t, but the words explode out of his bleeding heart like ink spilling on ivory pages.

“I... I thought that it would be okay, that I could forget and let go and that it would all be fine and good but then… I saw her--” his voice cracks miserably as a lump etches itself into his throat. His heart is racing, and every inhale feels like swallowing glass shards.

“I saw her and something went terribly wrong because I couldn’t forget and my heart was remembering and I felt like I was dying but I couldn’t do anything because all I want is for her to be happy and I know that happiness isn’t with me and I hate it, I hate it, I HATE IT.”

Mrs Kang is silent, regarding him with a look he can’t quite decipher. He takes it as an invitation to continue.

“I wish I was him. I wish I was the one who could make her smile, make her laugh. But I’m angry, I’m jealous and I’m immature. I’m overly competitive, and I don’t know how to lose graciously. When I’m pissed, I do stupid, radical things.”

Silence. Inside, outside. It is deafening.

“Why would she want me? I don’t deserve her, and knowing that I’ll have to live my life watching her in another man’s arms is ripping me apart.”

He’s breathing hard, like he just ran a marathon. It’s a terrifying prospect, facing his feelings head on. Until now, they were swirling around his head in an ugly tangle of emotion. Verbalising them, hearing them out loud, is painful and cathartic at once. But he’s already feeling like a pathetic little sap. He wonders if you would sneer at him if you heard. Is this what it feels like to lose? Is this how you felt, lifetimes ago, on your sofa? The two of you have always been push and pull, a forever impasse. But today, you’ve finally shoved him off balance.

Who is the stronger Ares now? Your kisses are his kryptonite.

A hand comes to rest over his.

“Love always finds a way. I know you’re feeling hopeless now, but know that if you are meant for each other, you will always find your way back,” Mrs Kang finishes with a gentle smile. The pretty words do not reassure him.

If only love was as perfect as love seems to be, if only his flaws and broken edges could be hidden away. But this is a dream that will never come to life, a flower that will never grow to bloom.

She does not know who it is that he is fighting with, who it is that is slipping away from him with every passing second. She thinks that it will be okay, but she does not know that Ares has no mercy. He expects none from you. Nonetheless, he gives her a watery grin in return before standing up to complete his rounds. He may have lost, but he has enough composure to know better than to break in public.

It is a monumental effort, holding it together.

Hyunjae makes it to the lift in peace, stepping in through the shiny doors and slamming the button for the fifth floor. When they slide open, the sight before him makes his heart drop like a wineglass.

You and Eric are standing across him, hand in hand. Eric’s foot is tapping impatiently, eager to drag you off to wherever he was taking you for dinner.

For a second, he loses control over his emotions. Agony crumples his face, and you, because you’re just that smart and just that perceptive, register it. He doesn’t have the heart to pretend anymore.

Hyunjae brushes past the two of you, ignoring your questioning look, ignoring Eric’s cheerful greeting, and most importantly ignoring the writhing in his chest. He goes straight for his briefcase and shoves his belongings in, flicking the lights off and rushing to the carpark. He does not want to see anyone. He does not want to process anything.

He is empty. So, so empty, and hollow. The void inside him threatens to consume him whole.

The moment he reaches home, he goes straight to his spirits. There’s a bottle of whiskey sitting in the top most shelf of his kitchen, a birthday gift from his father. He pulls it down, slamming the glass decanter onto the kitchen counter, and the pressure nearly cracks it open.

He remembers the sight of you pressed up against this very counter, squirming under his ministrations. He remembers your lips fall open in a sigh, and then to beg. He remembers standing between your thighs, feeding you and then licking cream off your lips. Memories swirl through his head, cutting through his ribcage and slicing his heart open.

He doesn’t bother to grab a glass, pouring the scorching liquid down his throat. It claws at him, and he welcomes the pain.

Love is cruel, love is cold. When it kills, it does it slow.

He knows the tears are coming. The pressure has been building in his head for the last twenty-four hours. They fall as he walks over to the living room, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

The mirror you clutched when you moaned wretchedly, promising him that HE was the only one who could ever ruin you this way.

He lifts the bottle, forcing himself to look his reflection in the eye as he drinks a toast to Eric. ​Here’s to you, buddy.

His reflection sneers back, bloodshot and desolate. A half of a whole, incomplete. This is what he is without you.

Hyunjae sinks to the ground, bottle thumping down on the carpet. It rolls once, twice, and rivulets of alcohol splash across the floor. Another memory lunges up.

There is nothing more striking than red on white. Blood on snow. Wine on cream skin, tracing paths his eager tongue follows. A hiss of anger that softens into a sigh.

The sofa smells like you. The study smells like you. You are everywhere, and it breaks him, tearing a wail of grief out of his chest.

One day, the smell of you will fade. You will slip between his fingers like the wisp of a dream, and all he will be left with is the recollection of the fleeting seconds you were his and his alone.

Too much. This is too much. He cannot think, he cannot see, he cannot ​breathe,​without being haunted by you. You are in every orifice, in every nook and cranny and cell. You are in the water of his blood and in the porous hollows of his bones. You are in the fibre between his atoms, you are in the electricity racing across his neurons. 

There is no escape from you, not now, not ever.

You are inevitable.

(Knock, knock)

It takes him a moment to realise that the pounding is not from the blood rushing in his head, but from someone impatiently banging on his door. He picks himself off the floor, not bothering to fix his appearance.

By now, you must be in Eric’s arms. He would kiss you softly, like summer rain. You would sigh into his lips, and he would look at you like you hung the moon. He would take you home, and press more kisses into your silk skin as he whispers his love. One day, he would get on one knee and present you with a diamond. You would say yes, because Eric is sunshine and warmth and laughter. Sunshine. Warmth. Laughter.

This, this is what you deserve. Not him, not his twisted mess of anger and jealousy. He is a stinging scorpion, and you deserve more than his petty poisons. But his heart still lurches at the thought of you, nestled into Eric.

The gods have always feared Aphrodite more than Ares. He thinks he can finally understand why.

He swings the door open, and once again forgets how to breathe, forgets how to think, forgets that he kinda hates you but now kinda loves you because there you are, raindrops glistening in your eyelashes, and you eclipse every star in the sky. There is nothing but you and you alone, and his withered little heart is shooting to life because ​that’s just what you do to him. There’s so much he wants to say, so many thoughts tumbling through his head. But he’s a frightful, useless coward, so all that flies out of his mouth is:

“Why the fuck are you--”

And then your lips are cushioned against his, kissing the venom out of him. He cannot help the sigh he breathes into your mouth at the way your body slots so perfectly against his.

Home, home is in your arms. He has been running all his life, and you have always been his only destination.

Tears slip out, hot and fast, washing the festering wound inside him clean. The cracked pieces of his soul begin to lift up and fuse together.

The light of a thousand suns slices through the void in him, and the darkness melts like ice on a hot summer day.

He is shuddering, wrecked by the sheer ​force​ of the emotions in him. But you are holding him tight, so very tight. He hopes you will never let him go. ​Never ever, ever let him go.

He is yours, and you are his. Where he ends, you begin and where you end, he begins. There is nothing else, no one else, because there was never anyone for him but you. Love not at first sight, or even the second, but at last sight and at ever and ever sight.

When you finally pull away to murmur the words he would have never even dreamed of hearing from you, it’s like starlight is filling the dusty hollows of his chest, sewing the pieces that have fallen apart back into the tapestry that is you. He is surprised, he really is, but something inside him has always known, has always clung to the hope that you would choose him, despite everything.

All that matters, is that you’ve come back to him. You are the only truth he’s ever known.

~~~ 

Later in the evening, when the two of you are spent from your love-making and coiled so tightly that your breaths have become one, Hyunjae takes a moment to contemplate the situation. You have won this competition between the two of you. You have planted yourself as first in his life, and for once (​and of course, the only time ever, because he is still going to get that damn promotion before you)​, he is happy to cede to you. This is what love is, to break and to be broken, to be full and to be empty, to win and to lose. He would have it no other way. All that he is, and all that he will be, center around the axis that is you.

Do you feel like this too? Like your heart is bursting from the seams?

You sigh in your sleep, seemingly agreeing. He loves you so much, it hurts. But there is one final thing to do.

He lifts his head to the stars, who have been waiting for this collision of souls for a long, long time.

Thank you, he whispers.

And for once, Zeus smiles down on his Ares.

ENDING THOUGHTS:

First of all, a very big thank you to everyone who made it to the end!! This piece has been a wild, emotional ride from start to finish and I understand that the sudden change in style can be jarring for some. As such, I am very grateful to everyone who took the time to read it :)

Hyunjae has always been a very complicated character. We’ve seen him through Y/N’s eyes for the last 17 or so chapters, and she is definitely not the most reliable of narrators. Many of her thoughts regarding his actions and motivations are shadowed by her own negative emotions, and he has come off as a rather poisonous character, except for the rare moments of tenderness he seems to show. Hopefully this will help you get a glimpse into Hyunjae’s psyche, in a way that is untainted by Y/N. I’ve seen many of your asks about Hyunjae and his behaviour, and perhaps you will see this as a sort of redemption for him, in the sense that he is so much deeper and complex than the seething neanderthal Y/N sees him as.

Writing this was a challenge nonetheless, and I think we should all be very grateful to Dana for powering through Y/N and Hyunjae’s story, given how much of a hot mess this couple is! It’s very hard to write an enemies-to-lovers fic without it coming off as corny and shallow, and she had the double struggle of writing that dynamic in a medical setting. The fact that we’re all whipped for these two is testament to her brilliant writing, so let’s all say a big thank you for that :))

Before I end, I’d like to pay homage to some of the writers that have inspired this fic. Reading through, you will see quotes inspired by the likes of Nabokov, Cummings and Homer. If I’m not wrong, there’s a little bit of Sarah J Maas and Caitlyn Siehl in there as well. And of course, who can forget the little bits of mythology peeking out here and there? If you happened to notice these references, feel free to scream in Dana’s ask box! It’ll be fun to read your thoughts :)

Once again, a very big thank you for following Hostis so devotedly, and showering Dana with your love. I hope you’ll continue to give her all your love and support the rest of her works.

(P.S Did anyone notice Pilot! Juyeon? If you didn’t, you should 1000% check out his story too, here.)

Love Always,

V

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

Chapter XVIII: Renuntiatio

[scavengerbird]

TJ & the Angel

The angel’s got a thousand eyes and they’re all looking at TJ.

He guesses it’s an angel. That’s what it said it was. Or that’s what it told him it was. It didn’t really say, TJ guesses, ‘cuz it didn’t make any sound. There were just words in his head, all a sudden, without any kinda sound or sight or shape except an understanding of their meaning. It sorta burned, but not in a bad way.

He figures it can’t really speak with sound ‘cuz it hasn’t got a mouth as far as he can tell, just all those wide brown eyes, movin’ and spinnin’ round each other and never blinkin’. It’s like a Ferris wheel got tangled up with a couple other Ferris wheels but the cars are eyes and the whole things on fire. Kinda.

TJ’s all soaked through and shivering still, ‘cuz apparently the angel can pull his body outta the river and pull the riverwater outta his lungs, but it can’t dry his clothes off. Or maybe it could, if he asks, but he can’t figure out if that would be rude or not.

He wants to get home before Dad, so he can sit by the radiator and have a cigarette in the house and not have to explain why he’s got half the water from the Missouri with him. But it’s bad manners to leave when someone’s in the middle of talkin’ to you, and he figures it’s probably double bad if that someone just saved your life, and triple bad if that someone is an angel of the Lord. He can’t even imagine what Ma would say, if he just up and walked off right now.

So he tries to pay attention.

Hearing the angel is hard, but in a way that feels good. Like the burn in his legs when he runs, except instead of just his legs, it’s his whole body, or, more than that even, his whole self. The angel’s sayin’ lots of grand sounding things, about destiny and purpose, a higher calling and his own free choice, watching over him and waiting for the right time and love and repeating history and hope.  

TJ’s brain is starting to go a little fuzzy trying to hold it all in. It’s like being drunk, on the good whiskey Cecily lifted from her grandad’s cabinet that one time, not the cheap shit beer they usually get Armani’s older brother to buy them. Everything feels far away and a little funny. An angel pulled him from a river. He was dying and then he wasn’t. The angel wants something from him. He wants to laugh, but he doesn’t have to think about if that’s rude or not, he knows it is.

Something warm is dripping from his nose, and he thinks it must be runny from the cold, except when he wipes at it with the back of his hand what comes away is red.

*

TJ wakes up in his own bed and tries to pretend to himself the angel and the river and the blood was a dream. He lies there for a moment, tellin’ that to himself over and over, but he’s never been much good at lying. Always gets caught, even by himself.

           When he finally gives in and opens his eyes, he just about shits himself. There’s a boy’s face hovering over his own, just a few inches away. The eyes are wide and brown and very familiar, but that doesn’t stop TJ from startling so bad he rolls back and off the side of his bed, knocking his head on the hardwood.

           “Jesus,” he mutters, once he’s got his breath back. The angel tilts its head at him. It looks like a boy now, instead of a burning storm cloud raining eyes. A boy about his age, scrawny and brown-skinned and with those same eyes, just set still in a face under thick eyebrows and a few pimples. It’s followed him, crawling onto his bed to keep peering at him by leaning over the side.

           “NO,” it says, “NOT QUITE. NOT EVEN CLOSE, REALLY.” TJ can’t tell if it’s serious or if that’s supposed to be a joke. He doesn’t know if angels make jokes, doesn’t know if they can. He wonders if it’ll smite him, for taking the lord’s name in vain. Ma’d say it’d serve him right.

It’s making actual sound now, but there’s still something about its voice that burns on the way down, makes him feel warm all over. “ARE YOU OKAY?” it asks, forehead wrinkling in concern.

“Yeah,” TJ sighs, “I’m alright. Just hit my head.” He tries to sit up, but the world spins a little and he has to catch himself on the bedframe to keep from flopping right back down.

“HERE,” the angel says. And then it reaches out to cup the goose egg growing on the back of his head, and before he can even finish wincing from being touched there a white-hot flash sears through his skull, and he gasps and his whole body jerks and he sorta notices that the angel has to reach out and grab his arm with its other hand to keep him mostly upright. And then the heat is gone. So is the dizziness, and the pain, and the goose egg.

TJ gently touches the back of his own head, where it felt like he got stabbed and then felt like nothing had happened at all. His fingers brush against the angel’s and he pulls back.

“What was that?” he asks, voice ragged.

“I HEALED YOU,” the angel says simply.

“Then why did it hurt?” TJ asks, trying to swallow something down, but his throat is dry.

The angel shrugs, looks sad for just a second, and says, “HEALING USUALLY DOES.”

           TJ hasn’t really got anything to say to that, so he just shrugs outta the angel’s arms and heaves himself to his feet.

           TJ’s starvin’, so he makes the angel follow him down to the kitchen. He musta slept for hours, ‘cuz it’s dark outside the window. He pokes his head outta his room real quick to make sure the coast is clear. The door to Dad’s room is firmly shut, and the house is quiet, so TJ gives the angel a thumbs up and waves it out after him.

           Downstairs, TJ doesn’t bother with the kitchen light switch. He likes the nighttime too much, feels safer in the dark. The soft yellow slice of light that comes out the fridge when he opens it is good enough. The angel wanders over to stare out the window above the kitchen sink while TJ digs out grape jelly and bread and peanut butter. He can tell it’s gettin’ antsy, that its just waitin’ to give him the speech it started at the edge of the river. He’s not sure what it’s waitin’ for. Maybe it feels bad about him passin’ out and thinks he’ll have a better chance with something in his stomach. Maybe its waitin’ for him to ask.

           He asks it, “Do you want one?”

           The angel turns to look at him and the sandwich he’s holdin’ out. Then it just keeps lookin’, so he repeats himself, and then he starts to feel like maybe he’s askin’ a dumb question, so he starts rambling. “I mean, uh, I guess I don’t know if you eat, really. But I thought’cha did, or, I mean, thought angels did, you know? In the bible. The Old Testament part. At Sodom, I think? Or Gomorrah. One of ‘em. Or maybe that was God. Or maybe I’m just remembrin’ the whole thing wrong,” he mutters, huffing a quiet laugh that he hopes doesn’t sound too nervous.

           The angel blinks, finally, real slow, and then holds it’s hand out. TJ puts the sandwich in it, relieved, then turns back ‘round to make one for himself. “YOU ARE NOT REMEMBERING WRONG,” the angel says, slow and quiet, the way you talk when you’re bein’ gentle. “IT HAS BEEN MANY CENTURIES SINCE A HUMAN LAST OFFERED ME FOOD.”

           “Oh,” TJ says, turnin’ back to the angel as he finishes spreading jelly and slaps his two pieces of bread together. The angel’s still holdin’ its sandwich, just starin’ at it like it’s made of gold or some other precious thing. TJ feels like maybe he did something wrong, except he’s pretty sure the opposite’s true, and he doesn’t know why anyone would look at PB&J he made on wonder bread the way the angel’s lookin’ at it. He kinda can’t stand it, so he shoves his own sandwich in his mouth so he’s talkin’ with his mouth full when he says, “Ya gotta bite it, ya know.”

           The angel laughs, just a small laugh, but TJ didn’t know angels could laugh at all. The sound makes his bones feel ‘bout as sturdy as the jelly in his sandwich. He leans against the counter. The angel finally takes a bite, and it closes its eyes again, the way you do when you’re eatin’ somethin’ real good and all you wanna focus on is tastin’ it. It’s ridiculous. It chews real slow, swallows, and says “THANK YOU” in that same quiet voice.

           “Don’t mention it, uh-” TJ says, and then realizes suddenly he doesn’t even know what to call it. Ma really would cuff his ear if she could see how bad his manners have slipped. He pushes that thought away.

           “You got a name?” he asks the angel. It sorta smirks at him, and he doesn’t get why ‘till the angel opens its mouth and makes a sound it shouldn’t be able to make with a human’s mouth, one that sounds the way honey tastes. “Right,” TJ says, noddin’. Angel will have to do.

           He watches the angel eat the rest of its sandwich in those same slow, savorin’ bites. Makes himself another and wolfs it down before the angel’s half done and hopes that’s not rude of him, but he really is hungry. It looks so happy eating that he makes himself wait ‘till its finished the whole thing and licked the stray smears of jelly off its fingers before he lets himself say, “I didn’t know you could do that, ya know, make yourself look different,” with a wave at its body.

           The angel looks down at itself. “YES,” it explains, “I SHOULD HAVE DONE THIS BEFORE I APPEARED TO YOU. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU WOULD NOT YET BE READY TO BEAR WITNESS TO A TRUE ANGELIC FORM. MY APOLOGIES.”

           TJ sniffs, remembers the copper tang of blood in his nose, says, “No harm done.” Then he thinks for a minute about the parts of what the angel just said that weren’t an apology and says, “Wait, what do you mean I’m not ready yet?”

           The angel snaps its head up and TJ’s heart sinks. This is the question the angel’s been waitin’ for him to ask. He’s not real sure he wants the answer.

           “AS YOU GROW INTO YOUR ROLE AS PROPHET,” it answers, “YOUR MIND WILL EXPAND. YOU WILL BECOME CAPABLE OF PERCIEVING MUCH MORE OF THE TRUE NATURE OF THINGS. AREADY YOU CAN SEE MORE THAN THE AVERAGE HUMAN. ONE LOOK AT MY ANGELIC FORM WOULD HAVE KILLED MOST OF THEM.”

           “Oh,” TJ says, ‘cuz he’s not real sure what else to say. And then, “Sorry, uh, my role as – did you say prophet?”

           “YES. CONGRATULATIONS.”

           TJ lets himself slide slowly down the kitchen cabinets behind him, sinkin’ to the floor. He puts his head between his knees and breathes. Tries his best to count sevens while he does.

           He feels the angel’s hand light on his back, its fingertips ghostin’ over him through his t-shirt. “ARE YOU HURT?” it asks, and all TJ can do is shake his head.

*

TJ doesn’t know how to turn down bein’ a prophet. He’s pretty sure he remembers at least one of ‘em tryin’, in the bible, but it didn’t do ‘em much good, in the end.

He thinks he mighta freaked Angel out, just a bit, ‘cuz it didn’t really say much else about the whole prophet thing, just kept a hand on his back ‘till he got his panicked breaths evened back out to a normal rhythm, then took his hand and guided him back upstairs to his room. It tucked him into bed like a kid, but he didn’t really mind. It was kinda nice, feelin’ like somebody was lookin’ after him again.

It’s less nice now, with the angel just hoverin’ over him while he’s tryin’ to fall asleep. He’s got as many questions for it as it has eyes in it’s true form. He thought it might have somethin’ better to do than watch him sleep, but it seems content to just stand next to his bed and keep those brown eyes fixed on him.

He sighs and cracks one of his own eyes open to look at it. It shoots him a small smile. He gives in. “Do you sleep?”

The angel looks surprised. “I DO NOT THINK SO. I HAVE NEVER TRIED.”

“Try now,” TJ suggests, scootin’ over to one edge of the bed. “It’s too weird, tryin’ to sleep with you standin’ there and starin’.”

“OH,” the angel says, and starts to reach for the bed before it hesitates, like it’s not sure TJ really meant what he said. He sighs and pulls the covers back, pats the mattress.

The angel gets into bed slowly and settles on its back, eyes still wide open, limbs stiff at its side. It’s kinda unsettlin’, like that. Looks like a corpse. TJ pokes it in the arm.

Touching its bare skin gives him a little static shock, but in a nice way. It turns its head to look at him, and TJ realizes that it’s very close to him again. He swallows. “C’mon then,” he says, “Get comfortable.”

The angel’s brow furrows as it studies him, like it’s not really sure what he means, and TJ feels kinda sad for it. Finally, it nods and rolls over so it’s lyin’ on its stomach, turnin’ its head again so it keeps lookin’ at TJ. And then it reaches out the arm closest to him and takes one of TJ’s hands in its own. His breath stutters.

“I FEEL COMFORTABLE KNOWING YOU ARE SAFE,” the angel says, and then it closes its eyes. TJ really thought he was gonna have to tell it to do that part, what with all the unbroken eye contact and refusing to blink. He gently rubs the back of the angel’s hand with his thumb and it does something he wants to call purring, even though it’s not a cat. TJ nestles down in his blankets and falls into an easier sleep than he’s had in months..

*

Dad’s already gone when he wakes up, and the angel’s still there, layin’ right where he left it like it hasn’t so much as twitched all night. TJ swears when he gets a look at his clock, manages to catch himself in time to switch from “Goddamnit” to “shit,” though. Then he hauls his ass outta bed and digs around his dresser for a t-shirt without anything too stupid written on it.

“I gotta go to work,” he tells the angel, as it watches him get dressed. He thinks about tellin’ it to turn around, but he’s pretty sure that just ‘cuz he can’t see any eyes in the back of its head don’t mean they’re not there, and he hasn’t got anything it hasn’t already seen a billion times before, if it’s been watching over humanity since the beginning of creation or whatever.

           “OK,” is all the angel says.

           TJ glances up at it as he ties his shoe. “So, are you just gonna hang out in my bedroom all day or…?”

The angel does another one of its quiet laughs and then says, “NO. I WILL GO WHERE YOU GO.”

*

Grover gives the angel a funny look when it shows up with TJ, but he doesn’t say anything. Grover’s never cared too much what TJ does while he minds the roadside stand the old man sells his vegetables out of, as long as he’s polite to everybody who comes by. He’s pretty sure Grover doesn’t even make a profit with the thing, or need to, just has it ‘cuz he doesn’t know what else to do with all the tomatoes and squash he grows. He’s also pretty sure Grover only offered to give him a few bucks an hour to keep an eye on it so he could keep an eye on TJ, at least a little bit. He always liked Ma a lot, definitely enough to try watchin’ out for her son after she couldn’t anymore, but TJ tries not to let himself think about that too much.

The angel wanders around for a while, pickin’ up all the tomatoes that have gone just past the right side of ripe, and when it sets them back down they look perfect again, so TJ doesn’t have to go around chuckin’ any of ‘em over the fence. Since he didn’t have time for breakfast, TJ picks out a watermelon and busts it open on the corner of one of the wooden tables.

“C’mere,” he calls to the angel, and it does, quick and curious. TJ scoops the heart outta the melon and offers it. “Try this.”

The angel does, and its eyes go even wider than they already are and it sucks the juice off its own fingers. It plops down in the dirt with him and they scoop the rest of the melon outta the rind with their hands.

TJ thinks he should feel weirder about watchin’ an angel dribble watermelon juice down its chin and onto its shirt, but he doesn’t. It just feels nice, to sit here with someone. Everyone looks at him different, since Ma, it’s like they can’t really see him, behind this big-awful thing that happened to him. He can’t say he doesn’t feel seen by the angel.

But he knows it can’t last. Grover’s out in the fields, ridin’ around on his tractor, and no one ever comes by this early, so TJ feels safe enough to pull out a cigarette and take a few drags, get himself steadied. He offers it to the angel, half ‘cuz not sharin’ feels rude and half just to see what it’ll say.

It just shakes its head, but TJ raises an eyebrow and says, “What, you gonna tell me angels can get cancer?”

The angel glares at him, but there’s no heat in it. “I DO NOT WANT TO SET A BAD EXAMPLE.”

TJ snorts. “A bad example for who? Me? Don’t’cha think it’s kinda late for that? I’m already smokin’ ‘em.” The angel still hesitates, but TJ can see the curiosity on its face. He grins, “I know you’re wonderin’ what they’re like.”

The angel shakes its head even as it’s reachin’ out to take the smoke from TJ’s hand. “WONDER CAN BE A DANGEROUS THING.”

TJ laughs. The angel puts the cigarette up to its mouth and breathes in. It hasn’t really got the hang of it, keeps its mouth too open, but it coughs anyway, and TJ laughs again and claps it on the back.

“I PREFER THE WATERMELON,” the angel says as it hands his cigarette back, so TJ reaches up and swipes a peach off the table they’re leanin’ against.

“Here,” he says. “You’ll like this better. ‘S lot closer to the watermelon. Promise.”

The angel takes the peach and TJ lets himself watch it enjoy the first few bites before he takes a deep breath and makes himself say “So, about this whole prophet thing.”

He can’t look at the angel straight on while he’s sayin’ it, ‘cuz he’s a coward, but he still sees it straighten up in the corner of his eye. Sittin’ at attention. Didn’t it say somethin’ yesterday, about bein’ a soldier of heaven?

He keeps his eyes fixed on the orange tip of his cigarette as he talks. “Thing is, my Ma made sure I knew my way ‘round a bible before she…” he swallows, gives his cigarette a bitter smile before he keeps talking. “Well, I’m sure you know, you said you been watchin’. ‘S what you do, right? Hang around prophets before they become prophets.”

The angel nods in his periphery. He wants to ask it how long it’s been watching him, how many others came before him, if it likes what it does, if it even has a choice in somethin’ like that. Instead he shakes his head, makes himself focus.

“Point is,” he forges on “I read ‘bout the prophets. And bein’ one? Well, it kinda sounds like a shit gig.”

The angel doesn’t say anything, so TJ keeps talking. “I mean, I can’t remember anythin’ good ever happenin’ to any of ‘em. They’re always watchin’ their city get burned down, and everybody they know get tortured, and gettin’ treated like a loon ‘cuz the Lord’s got ‘em runnin’ ‘rond lightin’ their own hair on fire and shit.”

His voice is shaking now, in fear or anger or both, and the angel still doesn’t seem like it’s got anything to say. He turns on it.

“And here’s the thing about all that. I don’t got a city for y’all to burn, and I already watched the person I loved best die, slow and awful with her lungs full o’ tar, so nobody here would be surprised if I went loony. Sometimes I think they’re all just waitin’ ‘round for it to happen, so none of ‘em would listen to single goddamned word I had to say, even if it was prophecy from on high.”

His face is warm and wet. He wonders if he’s bleedin’ again, but when the angel reaches out and brushes his cheek there’s no red on its fingers. It’s just tears. He flinches back from it. And it looks sad.

“What?” he asks it. “Aren’t’cha s’possed to be down here convincin’ me or somethin’? Where’s that grand speech o’ yours? You ain’t got anythin’ else to say to me ‘bout destiny and plans o’ higher powers and shit that’s more important than lil ol’ me?”

“YOU ARE IMPORTANT, TJ.”

He laughs, and it comes out wet-sounding. “Yeah? Well maybe I don’t wanna be. Why’re you here now? Why not six months ago? You could’a saved her. Don’t tell me you couldn’t’ve. Why wasn’t she important enough to save? She prayed for it. Hell, I prayed for it. Every night. And nobody answered. She fought right up ‘til the very end. ‘Til your stupid god let her die. Took her.”

His whole body’s shaking now and he has to stop talkin’ ‘cuz he’s chokin’ on sobs. The angel’s looking at him with those big eyes, sad and somethin’ else too. It’s not pity. He almost thinks it’s understanding.

“WHY DID YOU STOP SWIMMING, TJ?” it asks. And that brings him up short.

“What?” he manages through his tears.

“YOU FELL INTO THE RIVER YESTERDAY. YOU DID NOT JUMP. BUT UNDER THE WATER, YOU STOPPED SWIMMING AND LET THE CURRENT TAKE YOU. YOU STOPPED FIGHTING.”

TJ stares at it. He remembers the cold rush of the water all around him. The way his clothes pulled him down, like all the metaphorical weight around his neck suddenly made physical. He remembers the moment he wondered what would happen if he just gave up, let himself be too tired to keep trying to push his head above the surface. When he let go.

The angel’s the one who looks away for once, like whatever’s on his face is too much for even it. It turns its half-eaten peach over in its hands.

“IT IS IN THE MOMENT WHEN YOU STUMBLE, WHEN YOU CAN NO LONGER WALK, WHEN YOU LAY DOWN READY TO DIE, THAT THE LORD OFFERS TO CARRY YOU.”

TJ doesn’t even think he feels angry anymore. Just hollow, and tired, and bitter, and oh, he guesses, actually still a little bit angry. He spits in the dirt.

“Well, what happens if I decide I can walk just fine after all? You gonna toss me back in the river where you found me?”

“I DO NOT UNDERSTAND.”

“What happens if I say no? ‘Cuz I’m sayin’ no. D’you just fuck off back to heaven now?”

The angel frowns at him. “YOU WILL NOT SAY NO.”

TJ stiffens. “I know you said somethin’ yesterday about this bein’ a choice so-”

“IT IS A CHOICE,” the angel interrupts, “I WILL STAY ON EARTH WITH YOU AND WAIT UNTIL YOU CHOOSE TO ANSWER YOUR CALLING, BUT YOU WILL CHOOSE TO ANSWER IT.” It sounds almost sad, when it says, “THEY ALWAYS DO.”

TJ doesn’t have anythin’ to say to that, just spits in the dirt again.

*

TJ hates the idea of thinkin’ anything good coulda come outta what happened to Ma, but he has noticed that most o’ the kids who used to pick on him at school have slacked off. Nobody’s heartless enough to shove around the kid whose mom got lung cancer, even if he is queer and bad at pretending not to be. Well, almost nobody.

TJ lets himself swear good and hard when he sees David comin’ up the dirt road towards ‘em. It’s dusk and they’re halfway home, him and the angel, and he knows he’s faster than David, could probably go across the field and up Ms. Feldman’s fence and loop around the back way and make it, but he doesn’t know if the angel’s gonna slow him down. Its human body isn’t what he’d call athletic-lookin’.

David smiles at him, big and wide and mean, and TJ decides they’re just gonna have to take their chances runnin’, grabs the angel’s hand and starts to pull it outta the road, but it doesn’t budge. TJ looks back at it.

It’s standin’ there starin’ David down. “YOU FEAR THIS BOY,” the angel says.

It’s not a question but TJ answers anyway. “Well, yeah, he’ll do his best to beat the shit outta us if he catches us. So let’s not get caught.” He tugs on the angel’s hand again. “C’mon.”

The angel looks at him and then it lifts its free hand up to his face, brushes its fingertips gently along his cheek. He holds his breath.

“BE NOT AFRAID,” it tells him. Then it lets go and steps forward, towards David.

And then it explodes.

Maybe bursts is a better word. It comes outta its human skin in flash of heat and light. It’s a pillar of fire and TJ can taste ash. Its thousand eyes are back and each one is a million swirling shades of brown, like churning earth, and looking into them feels like falling. The air around the angel is electric and there’s lightning dancing over TJ’s skin. TJ thinks this is not just an angel, this is an avenging angel. And this is the most terrible thing I have ever seen. And also the most beautiful.

And then it’s over. Just as sudden as it expanded, the angel shrinks back into a boy’s shape at TJ’s side.

TJ’s brain doesn’t feel quite so liquefied this time. More like it’s turned the consistency of silly putty and its bein’ stretched out. It doesn’t hurt, though. And TJ realizes he could keep lookin’ at the angel. That his brain, or maybe its his soul, could keep stretchin’ to make this glimpse of the infinite fit. That this is what’s bein’ offered to him. That if he stops fightin’ it, stops tryin’ to live his life his own way, gives in to this calling, he gets to see this. He gets to see more. Not just a split second’s glimpse of one angel, but whole visions of Truths. Revelations. He can taste them on his tongue and his mouth is watering.

The angel’s lookin’ at him, it’s eyes just the one shade of brown again, and it looks sorta resigned, like it knows what hit’s comin’ and it’s just waitin’ for the blow to land.

TJ touches his own face, under his nose, checks for blood. There isn’t any.

“He still alive?” TJ asks, jerking his chin at David where he’s lying in the road, curled on his side like a baby in a womb.

The angel looks surprised. TJ knows this isn’t what it expected him to say.

“YES.”

“He gonna be okay?”

“THAT DEPENDS ON THE DEFINITION OF ‘OKAY.’”

TJ rolls his eyes. “Are you even allowed to do stuff like that?”

“NOT EXACTLY.”

TJ frowns. “Are you gonna get in trouble?”

“NOT RIGHT NOW.”

“Right. I guess we should drag him outta the road, at least.” He starts toward David, but the angel flaps its hand abruptly, and David vanishes. TJ makes a stuttering noise.

“I SENT HIM TO HIS HOME,” the angel explains.

TJ huffs. “Well, if you can teleport people then why the hell are we walkin’ home?”

The angel makes a noise somewhere between distress and desperation. It’s starin’ at TJ with its big eyes full of confusion and disbelief and maybe hope. He’s gone off script.

TJ understands now, why the angel was so certain he’d say yes to bein’ a prophet. He can feel a pull in the back of his brain, the tips of his fingers, the soles of his feet. He can feel how easy it would be. How enlightening. He could stop worryin’ ‘bout how late Dad gets home every night and how even though he doesn’t get pushed around much anymore he’s still only got the two friends and Armani can’t even look at him without pity on her face anymore and how he’s gonna get lung cancer and go in an awful way just like Ma but he can’t quit smokin’ ‘cuz the smell reminds him of her. He could stop missing her. He could let himself be emptied of all that, become a vessel for knowledge of things so bright they burn. Fulfilled. And it would be so easy. So much easier than living his own life.

TJ knows all that, and he also knows Ma never backed down from a challenge. Knows she said the right thing to do is almost always the harder thing to do.

He knows the angel said it could stick around ‘til he caves.

TJ smiles at the angel. It’s a tired smile, but it’s real.

The angel stares at him for a long moment. And then, slow and careful, it smiles back.

[goatbi]

I Never Wanted It (But I Always Did)

Why the hell Uryu had to go to these with Ryuken anyways was unknown to him. The Manor that Ryuken was never at anyways was filled for once, Ryuken, the head of the hospital, too full of politics to really notice or care that his son wanted to not be here.

Though, maybe he was doing it on purpose. Ryuken was like that, of course. It was made worse by Ryuken not... actually knowing that Uryu was his son, and thus, Uryu had to dress up appropriately, how Ryuken thought was appropriate.

Well, that was really a lie. Ryuken knew, but wanted it to stay a secret, hidden, shameful. Uryu, on the other hand... well he was going with this.

It had started when Uryu had told them about the party Ryuken was going to host. It spawned the argument that always came up when they talked about Ryuken

"How much do you really rely on him though?" Ichigo asked, not looking up from his manga, leaning against the headboard of his bed. Uryu knew he was paying attention, however, so he really didn't care. And Ichigo had a point, one that Orihime had made to him before.

"I... Don't. I really don't. I just live with him, but most of my stuff is in a storage shed he doesn't know about. Finding a place to stay-"

"You already know my dad would love to have you."

Uryu sighed again, leaning back. "I know."

Ichigo glanced up, looking towards him for a moment, eyes narrowed. "I get it, I do, but you need to get out of that house, and we both know it."

They did. Everyone knew it. Uryu sighed again, leaning his chin on his knees and staring at the wall, letting it lapse into silence.

"If you don't wanna leave, then we gotta try something. Test him."

Uryu glanced up, eyes narrowing. "Test him how?"

"Go as Uryu Ishida, son of Ryuken Ishida." Ichigo shrugged. "Show him you're done hiding. He either accepts it, or he stops hiding behind the 'i want to protect you from pain' bullshit he's been giving you and finally come clean."

Uryu had a preferred option. It was the least likely one, which hurt a bit, but he still had hope. Which. Kinda sucked.

"I don't... wanna do that alone." Uryu chose instead of voicing all the nonsense worry that Ichigo already knew.

"Well, yeah, you get a plus one. Drag me along, and Chad and Orihime can hide under my spiritual energy and float around."

Uryu snorted. "He'll see them."

"And? He won't be able to do anything once they're there and mingling." Ichigo flipped his page, leaning over to open the window to let Renji in before he crashed through the window again, thus ending the conversation.

Uryu stayed on the floor the entire time Renji was there though, staring off at the wall in thought.

And thus, here he was, staring at his face in the mirror of his bathroom, with Orihime sitting on the bathtub ledge with him.

"You don't have to."

"I know."

"I think you're strong enough to though."

Uryu sighed softly, finally tearing his gaze away from the mirror, looking towards Orihime. She was wearing the dress Ryuken thought he was going to wear, a pale blue fluffy mess that Uryu wasn't exactly the proudest of, but Orihime loved. Uryu, however, was in a fitted suit, one he hadn't made. Ichigo had forbade him, for good reason, but Uryu replaced the buttons when he got it. There was no getting around him doing at least that.

"We can leave." Ryuken would be upset, but not surprised. That would be okay, but.

"No, no... I wanna do this."

Orihime smiled slightly, standing from her spot and moving over, leaning her head on his shoulder. It pushed up her hair a bit, but Uryu didn't mention it, since she would double down on it, and ruin it even more.

"Then let's go."

Uryu stepped out of the bathroom, Orihime following, and very pointedly ignored the way Chad stepped away from Ichigo, who was leaning against the wall, as if he hadn't just been leaning over him. Ichigo straightened his suit jacket, looking over at the two of them. "We good?"

Orihime looked up at Uryu, who sighed, then nodded. "Let's do this."

The ball room was one room in this too big house that Uryu rarely went into. Ryuken was in the middle of the room, mingling and wandering about, and Uryu pushed open the door, ignoring the fact that people looked over, ignoring it all and heading directly for the snacks. Food would help.

The other three were wandering around, talking to each other and only each other, and Uryu pretended not to feel Ryuken's eyes digging into the back of his skull. It was fine, it would be fine, it would all-

Ryuken's hand settled on his shoulder, fingers digging into the meat of it, and Uryu didn't flinch. That was probably the worst of it, the fact that he didn't flinch, too used to it.

"Let's talk." was all he said before letting go, having refilled his drink and wandering away. Uryu didn't move to follow for a moment, until he felt Ryuken's eyes boring holes into his body once more, and then he turned, following out the door into the hall, watching Ryuken disappear into the kitchen.

Behind him, the door opened again, but no one followed. He could feel Ichigo sitting at the door, but knew Orihime and Chad had him. It would be fine.

Uryu went to the kitchen.

Ryuken was standing there, staring hard at the door. Uryu shut it behind him carefully, looking over towards him carefully. Neither spoke at first, as Ryuken carefully looked Uryu up and down, eyes narrowed. Uryu chose not to speak, letting Ryuken size him up.

"You didn't make that."

"No. I was told it would be too much work, what with me making Orihime's dress as well."

"What was supposed to be your dress."

"It was never mine. I made it to fit Orihime the entire time, even if I was to wear it, she's got different measurements than me."

"You told me it was yours." Ryuken focused his glare up again, and Uryu didn't flinch, he didn't.

"I am capable of lying to you, you know."

Ryuken's eyes narrowed further. Uryu sighed, keeping his gaze locked, refusing to show weakness to him.

"I've been out to you for two years now. I'm not hiding it. If people don't like it, than fine, but I'm not gonna sit behind you and be the little girl you still want me to be. I was never her."

"Your mother-"

"You have no right to tell me what she would have felt about this." Uryu's voice grew tight, harsh, getting quieter despite it, and Ryuken huffed, emptying his wine glass and digging into the fridge for where Uryu knew he kept the harder liqour. Of course.

"You are an insolent child. Nothing but trouble, and rebellion."

"I'm a teenager. Rebellion is what we do."

"I raised you better than that."

Uryu couldn't help but scoff. "Barely."

Ryuken empted his glass once more, filled it. Stared. Took the bottle and held it in his hand, glaring towards Uryu again.

"This proves nothing, but that you're willing to stake my reputation on your stupid whims."

There it was. Uryu felt his heart tighten, clench around the truth, and he stood up just a bit straighter. "I've been this way my entire life-"

"That's a lie and you know it. You were such a good girl-"

"I never was!" Uryu forced the rage back down. "I pretended, and it was wrong, and it hurt. You never cared that it hurt me to pretend."

"This will be over soon enough. I didn't want you to have to face going back like you will-"

"All you care about is yourself, Ryuken. I have been your son this entire time-"

"You were never my son, and you never will be!" Ryuken turned, knocking his glass to the floor.

It shattered into pieces, and Uryu didn't flinch. Instead, he stared at Ryuken's glare, his anger and pride, before turning towards the door, clicking it open quietly. "That's fine. I never wanted to be your son anyways." He said, quiet in the near silence, shutting the door behind him.

Ichigo was still at the ballroom door, they all were, waiting for him, but Uryu couldn't face it. He walked away, calm, collected, measured, trying not to appear like he was fleeing. Ryuken couldn't know, he couldn't let Ryuken know he had been hurt.

He got out of the house, and then he couldn't help it. The stupid shoes pinched his feet, so he kicked them off, then took off. Didn't matter he was in socks that didn't match, didn't matter that it was dark, didn't matter that he had left them behind.

Because Uryu had lied.

For awhile, he had hoped, against all hope, that maybe Ryuken could see the light, could see who Uryu really was, and accept him, that they could fix this whatever between them, but now?

It was confirmed, and Uryu couldn't breathe.

The park was silent, and Uryu stumbled into the wet grass, which soaked his clothing, he didn't care anymore. It wasn't important. It was cool, calm, and Uryu sunk into it, curling his arms around his legs and let the damn break, sobbing into his knees, breaking the silence of the night.

It hurt. Despite saying it, Uryu had wanted nothing more than maybe, just maybe, get that glimpse of approval in Ryuken's eyes, the moment of care or love, or anything positive that came from Uryu finally doing something right by him, but it was never enough, even as Uryu tore himself into a memory of who he really was in despreate attempts to just be who Ryuken wanted.

But Ryuken had never even wanted a daughter. Why would he ever accept a son?

"There!" To hear Chad yelling was new, but Uryu didn't bother to look up, tears running dry, but the dry sobbing continuing past the dehydration, heaving in air and choking on it. Ichigo slid in front of him, probably leaving grass stains on his nice suit, pulling him up, forcing him to sit up more, uncurling his chest, opening his lungs more, and Uryu gulped at the air, hiccuping through the sob.

He couldn't see well. He couldn't tell if that was his glasses being gone, or his eyes being too filled up, but that didn't matter too much, as Orihime carefully coached him through a grounding technique he had taught her, Chad's heavy back pressed up against his, and Ichigo at his front, knees pressing against his. Uryu breathed, didn't choke on it.

It hurt. It would hurt, forever probably, at least that's what it felt like. Orihime held onto his hand, and brought tissues from god knows where, and Ichigo quietly teased her about it, and Uryu coughed out a laugh, shaking as he took the pack of tissues from Orihime's hands, and held then, as she dragged one out to wipe his face, clearing the tear tracks away carefully, smiling so kindly at him.

He didn't speak, didn't say a word, but they all knew, as Chad pulled them all up to standing, then lifted Uryu onto his back, holding onto his knees to carry him home, Ichigo holding his forgotten and abandoned shoes in one hand, his other settled on Uryu's back, and Uryu sniffled, as Orihime filled the silence with nonsense stories about everything and nothing, and Uryu closed his eyes tight, and hoped against hope that it would work.

Ryuken wasn't worth it anyways.

[spaceskam]

follow up to this (ao3)

“Wait, start from the beginning.”

Alex let out a straight giddy laugh as he complied. He ended up skipping his programming fundamentals class in favor of pacing around Maria’s dorm to try to put together what the hell happened that morning. He’d done his best during Calc, but ended up being nothing more than a total waste of space trying to pretend he could think about something other than those lips and that tongue.

“Okay, so, I was sitting on the dresser, right? And we were just talking like normal and I was drying his hair and‒”

“I can’t believe he asked you to dry his hair for him and you thought he was straight.”

Alex pursed his lips for a moment and thought about. “Okay, but considering he’s a 5’11 baby, I feel like he’d have me do that if he was straight.”

Maria tilted her head back and forth as she considered it. “Okay, valid, continue.”

“So he just kinda stares at me for a moment and I was like ‘what are you doing?’ and he was like ‘I’m gonna go take my test’ and I told him to go and then he pulled me off the dresser,” Alex said, feeling flustered all over again as he thought about it. In the moment, it’d startled him due to the quick movement, but now it made his heart race for a completely different reason. 

“Like, by what? Arms, thighs, waist?” Maria quizzed, clearly trying to picture it in her mind. Alex giggled again and she just smiled at him.

“No, it was by my literal foot. I tried to kick him and he pulled me off by my foot,” he explained.

“And he managed to catch you?” Maria clarified.

“Yeah, he caught me and pulled me like real close, like, full-on chest to chest, I could smell his toothpaste and stale vodka kinda close,” Alex said. Maria gave an impressed look.

“Damn.”

“Right? And then I was like ‘hey, are you fucking with me because that’s rude’ and shit, but then he just kissed me.”

“What kinda kiss? Like, a peck or, like, the Notebook, kissing in the rain kinda kiss?”

“It was just a little peck,” Alex said, bitting down on his bottom lip as he played it over in his mind for the billionth time, “At first.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know! So, he gives me a little peck and then he pulls back just enough to make sure I was into and then I was just suddenly it was like all tongue and skilled shit that I barely knew how to follow and he was basically holding me up at that point because I think I was dying. Seriously, Maria, I know I don’t have much to compare it to, but he kisses like a fucking god,” Alex groaned, but he was still feeling fuzzy. She was smiling at him all the same.

“I bet, he’s got great lips,” she pointed out. Alex tossed his head back as he thought about them. They really were great. “So now what?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted, “I haven’t talked to him since it happened. He had a Chem test this morning and then he probably took a nap while I was in Calc, so no time to talk. Then he should be getting out of Philosophy and heading to his Calc class right now.” Maria snorted, shaking her head.

“You have his schedule memorized?” she asked.

“Well, yeah,” Alex said like it was obvious. Maria pressed her fingers to her lips.

“I don’t have my roommate’s schedule memorized,” she said, biting back a teasing laugh, “I don’t even know her last name.” 

Alex shrugged again. She knew that he was weirdly close to Michael and that he posed as some sort of caretaker, but she didn’t really know the extent. He didn’t want to share that he washed his clothes and pulled him out of bed and packed his backpack. He knew from an outsider perspective, he sounded like a pushover, but he wasn’t really ready to face that fact.

Instead, he’d much rather focus on the fact that he’d been kissed.

“Oh, you’re such a goner,” Maria laughed, “But he really hasn’t even texted you?”

“No,” he admitted, pouting slightly as reality slowly began to seep in, “What if he doesn’t actually feel the same and he just kissed me for no reason? What if it makes things weird? Or, worse, what if he moves out because he did it while he was drunk and he’s embarrassed?”

“Okay, now you’re just overreacting,” she teased, “I’m sure he’s just busy with school.”

“Knowing him, his phone is probably dead,” Alex said, blowing out a breath of air, “I’m kinda scared to go back to my dorm.”

“Why?” she scoffed.

“Because what if he doesn’t come back?” he pointed out, “He goes and gets plastered every night. What are the odds he’s going to actually come and have an adult conversation with me?”

“Oh, honey,” Maria said, “You expect a boy like that to have an adult conversation with you?” 

Alex stared at her for a moment and painfully realized she was right. There was no adult conversation to be had. They kissed, it was good, but that was probably it. Maybe it would happen again, but the chances were that he would be confused the whole time.

“I’m stupid for liking him, aren’t I?”

“It happens to the best of us.”

-

Sure enough, Alex was right. Michael didn’t come back after class.

Instead, he stumbled in at 2 in the morning, bringing the strong scent of weed with him and waking him up in the process. Alex didn’t show any signs that he’d woken up because he didn’t really want to speak to him again until he was sober. He knew he wouldn’t be getting the benefit of an adult conversation, but he could confront him Michael knew where he stood. 

And where he stood was this: stupidly in love with his roommate who he’d known for, like, two months and had already become his mother.

“Hey,” Michael said, voice soft as though he was trying to be quiet despite the fact he was literally right beside Alex’s bed. Alex tried not to react, keeping his face to the wall and staying still as he felt Michael touch his shoulder. “Hey, Alex, wake up.”

“Why?” he asked tiredly, “It’s two in the morning.”

“Prime time for talking,” Michael decided. That caught Alex’s attention and he rolled over, facing the man who was just high enough to look at him with a sweet smile. 

“Talking?” Alex asked, rubbing his fist against his eye, “You wanna talk about why you kissed me?” Michael searched his face with his bloodshot eyes, smile falling just a little bit.

“Thought you didn’t mind.”

“I don’t,” Alex yawned, “I do mind that you proceeded to ghost me for 18 hours after.”

“I didn’t ghost you.”

Alex pushed himself up onto his elbow and scoffed, “Oh, yeah? What do you call it when you kiss someone and then ignore them until you’re high again?”

Michael didn’t answer, just stared at him for a moment. It had Alex questioning why he even woke him up in the first place. Clearly, all he wanted to do was stare at him. Or maybe he was high enough to think this was a successful conversation. Alex wouldn’t put it past him.

Before Alex could tell him to go to bed, however, Michael leaned in for another kiss. His breath wasn’t great and the tip of his nose was fucking freezing where it pressed in beside Alex’s, but the idea of pulling away seemed beyond his better judgment. Because Alex was sleepy and desperate and he couldn’t seem to think of a reason not to kiss most boys back, much less this one in particular.

Michael’s hand reached for his face after the first, closed-mouth kiss, using it as leverage as he pushed himself up onto his toes to get in a better one. Alex could feel his heart picking up the pace and something low in his stomach turned as he parted his lips first this time. Michael smiled at the sensation and tilted his head, placing one open-mouthed kiss on his lips that seemed to only serve the purpose of catching Alex’s bottom lip between his teeth. He pulled back, bringing Alex with him just a little and just smiled at him when he let go. That’s when Alex should’ve stopped it, should’ve said, “you can’t just seduce me like that” and sent him to his own bed.

But, instead, he grabbed the back of Michael’s head and pushed his tongue into his mouth despite the fact he tasted like pot. If Michael was going to act like that, Alex was going to at least get something out of it.

So, they stayed in that uncomfortable position, Alex’s hand in his hair and kissing him feverishly. Michael kissed back with just as much desperation, his inebriated state causing him to make little content, desperate noises over and over. Each time Alex tugged on his hair or held him in place to kiss him harder or did something that should’ve been gross or sloppy but felt hot in the moment, he’d make those little noises and it was driving Alex insane.

Michael was trying hard to get closer, all but balancing on the edge of Alex’s bed by his chest and hands. It made it sort of hard for him to breathe and yet he still never stopped kissing him, choosing that over breathing. Alex moved his hand to his bicep, squeezing it as he pulled away slightly.

“Okay, you are basically panting into my mouth right now,” Alex whispered, “And that’s really only hot when you’re wearing less clothing.”

Michael blinked hard, seeming to marvel at him with a look that again had Alex feeling like it was a glitch. If he had any sort of faith that Michael liked him that way, he may have even considered it to be lovesick.

But then, in the blink of an eye, Michael hoisted himself up and scrambled onto the bed. Alex couldn’t help but laugh as Michael squished into the small bed with him, moving in for another kiss which he accepted willingly. His hand stayed in Michael’s hair and Michael’s hand went to his waist, legs interlocking as they pressed close. He wasn’t sure if it was required since the bed was so small or because he just wanted to be that close.

They kissed for awhile, kissed until fatigue started taking over again, kissed until Alex was too tired to kiss back. That in itself was strange. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever been that comfortable. And, technically, this whole thing made him anxious because he had no idea what Michael wanted. But here he was, falling asleep.

“Hey,” Michael whispered, placing a hand on his cheek and smoothing out one of his eyebrows. Alex lazily opened his eyes to try to stay away for him, but he was tired and the feeling of Michael’s leg in between his was possibly his new favorite comfort method and his eyes closed right back. “I’m sorry I’m fucked up. I don’t wanna fuck you up.”

Alex hummed in response, fading even more until he was asleep entirely. Still, Michael pressed a kiss to his forehead and held him.

When Alex woke up the next morning, Michael had already gotten up and gone to class all by himself.

[lavenderslotus]

Macarons and Chill

My first BakuCamie fic!! Hope you guys enjoy 🤗 Also cross posted on FF.N and AO3!

Summary: In which Bakugo and Camie try to make macarons in the midst of a global pandemic. 

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

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick you out of my goddamn apartment, woman.” Bakugo snarls as he nearly rips the door off its hinges.

Camie merely blinks, clearly nonplussed by his tone. “Chill, Bakubae. I’m not even inside yet. Were you trying to hide your porn stash?”

“Can’t you see I’m in the fucking middle of something?!” Bakugo ignores her obvious jibe.

It’s only then Camie registers his uncharacteristically disheveled appearance. Donned in a black tank top that was smeared with flour and an orange Ground Zero apron that hung haphazardly on his hips, Bakugo looks positively dripping with annoyance. His already unkempt hair is matted in several different directions and if Camie didn't know any better, she would say that whatever he was attempting to bake was currently besting him.

Despite the atmosphere of the room, Camie pushes her way around Bakugo and flounces into the living room. “Ojamashimasu!” She sings as she kicks off her shoes in a hurry and practically runs into the kitchen.

“Fuck me, right?” Bakugo mutters as he bends down to fix her shoes so that they were perfectly aligned. She had been appearing more times on his doorstep than he cared for during this whole quarantine bullshit yet still didn’t have the decency to pick up after herself. “Oi, get out the hell out of my kitchen before you ruin shit!”

Camie turns around, already tugging on a bubblegum pink apron that Bakugo definitely does not keep around just for her. She juts out her lower lip. “I'm just trying to help out my favorite next-door neighbor.” She peers over at the bowl of whipped meringue on the kitchen counter. “Macarons, Bakubro? Do you have a death wish or something? Those are like, mad hard to bake, even for you!”

Bakugo resists the urge to thump her on the head. Instead, he settled for aggressively whisking the meringue once more, nearly ripping the appliance in two. “As if I’m going to be shown up by some shitty wannabe sandwiches. Tch.”

“Ehhhh? Is that so?” Camie tip-toes to place her chin on the shoulder that wasn’t vigorously moving with his stirring. Bakugo tries to ignore how close her cheek is to his, the soft plush nearly grazing him. “Well, no doubt they’ll be totally delish when you’re done! Anything I can do to help?”

Bakugo smirks, a cocky grin splitting his face. “Fuck yeah they will be. Go pick out the food coloring.” As Camie sashays away happily (“These are totes gonna be the prettiest macarons bae!”), he tries not to let his eyes linger. It’s like Camie intentionally picks clothes that loves her as much as she loves herself, because they cling to her figure like glue.

Their relationship was… Complicated. After they both graduated high school, her a year before him, Bakugo had no intention of keeping contact with anybody, save for maybe shitty hair. What was the point? He knew he’d see his former idiots of classmates and peers eventually. They all entered the same fucking industry; if anything, he had a feeling he’d them too often. It was only by chance that he and Camie wound up at the same agency, and it was even more of a twisted fate that he had happened to be assigned to live one door down from her. Which meant slowly but surely, Camie Utsushimi forcibly wedged her and her love for K-Pop into his life (and his apartment).

He didn’t know why she was so adamant on getting to know him. At first, he had thought it was just out of the pure convenience of living so close. He figured she would lay off after shutting her out a couple times. But goddamn, this woman was persistent. When she wanted something, she sure as hell knew how to get it. And he still didn’t know what it was she wanted from him. He never knew what she was thinking, for better or for worse.

“You know what’d be lit? If you had edible glitter.” Camie sighs wistfully as she lines up the bottles of food coloring. Bakugo grimaces at the array of pinks and purples but doesn’t say anything.

“What the fuck for?” Bakugo huffs as turned the bowl upside down. A smug expression flits his face when nothing falls out, a testament to the stiff peaks of the frosting.

Camie stares at him as if he had sprouted a tail. “Hell-oh! To decorate the macarons?! Jeez Bakubae, it’s like you have no eye for pretty things in life. No wonder you haven’t asked me out on a date yet.”

Then there was that. There always seemed to be something simmering between them, and it pissed Bakugo off to no end that he couldn’t figure out what the hell it was. Irritation? Sexual tension? Both? He didn’t know when she was serious or joking when she said shit like that.

Bakugo snorts to cover his inner turmoil and sticks his hand out. Camie wordlessly passes him a small bottle of food coloring. Without even looking at the color, his hand steadies as he carefully squeezes the gel into the meringue – bright pink, he discovers. Gross. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“You already know I’m not gonna. Am I not your type?” Camie twirls a strand of her fawn-colored hair around her finger pensively. “You’re gonna die a virgin if you don’t hop on the dating scene, you know. Such a waste of a handsome face.”

“Fuck you.” Bakugo snaps as he stirs to incorporate the color. His grip is tight around the rubber spatula. “As if you have it any better, hag. You should stop hanging around this apartment if you want to put your money where your mouth is.”

Camie sighs contemplatively. “The hero life really doesn’t allow any time for dating, huh? We sure have it rough.” She cracks her knuckles and grins. “Not that we can go on dates or anything during this quarantine. I’m lucky I have you to bother, Bakuboo!”

“Yeah, so lucky.” Bakugo mumbles sarcastically under his breath. “Gimme that bowl.”

“But like seriously, what is your type fam?” Camie asks. Bakugo dumps the dry ingredients and begins to macaronage. “For a while, I totally thought you and Deku were gonna get it on.”

“Fuck no. Weak ass Deku wouldn’t be able to handle me, I’d rock his shit.” Bakugo scoffs. Camie lets out a delighted peal of laughter at that. “Besides, I ain’t gay. Can’t speak for him though.”

Camie raises a brow. “You do know that Deku and Uraraka-san are like, def canon right?”

Bakugo hates how he knows what ‘canon’ means because of her. He grunts. “I don’t give a shit. Hand me that piping bag and a tray, quick.”

“Don’t be like that Bakubae,” Camie chides as she bends over to reach for the baking trays stashed inside his oven. He averts his eyes at the way she juts her hips and arches her back. “You noticed it too, right? All our peers are like, getting it on. I’m banking on Todomomo next.”

Bakugo works quickly to transfer the macaron batter into the piping bag. The bright pink is an eyesore and he frowns. “Like I said, I don’t give a shit.”

“You’re totes gonna care when your options dwindle down to no one.” Camie taps her nails against the counter. “And you’re already picky as it is.”

Bakugo scoffs again as he rips out a sheet of parchment paper. It tears through the air like a record scratch. “How would you know that? I haven’t said shit. For all you know, I could have a secret fetish.”

“Do you?” Camie’s voice heightens with interest. Bakugo glares at her, but the curiosity in her face doesn’t waver.

“No, you sicko. Even if I did, it’s not like I’d tell you.” Bakugo begins to pipe the macarons onto the parchment paper in earnest.

“Everyone has their kinks,” Camie sing-songs. She walks two fingers up Bakugo’s arm and he would smack her arm away if he wasn’t already preoccupied. If each macaron wasn’t exactly 1½-inches, he was going to lose his shit. “It’s only a matter of time until I find out yours, bae.”

Bakugo pipes the last macaron onto the tray and tosses the piping bag. It tumbles away on the counter, smearing pink meringue everywhere. Great. He pretends not to notice her hand still resting on his upper bicep and rolls his eyes. “Good luck with that.”

“I bet you’re really into the whole power dynamics thing.” Bakugo chokes and Camie removes her hand to place both on her hips. “Y’know, all that sub and dom stuff. Kind of a mild kink if you ask me. Personally, I’m down for whatevs but idk, I think I draw the line at tentacles, not that I judge –”

“Yeah well, luckily no one fucking asked.” Bakugo barks as he airs out the bubbles in the batter by repeatedly slamming the baking tray onto the counter. Camie yanks the tray out of his hands and begins to tap the tray much more gently. He scowls and crosses his arms. “You know an awful lot about kinks for someone who doesn’t get laid.”

Camie winks and leans forward. She purposely pushes her cleavage together so that it spills over, her up-and-down ministrations of bumping the tray against the counter making them jiggle. Bakugo stubbornly doesn’t give her the satisfaction of looking down and meets her gaze dead-on. “How do you know I’m not getting laid?”

Bakugo feels an uncomfortable twist in his chest, but the sudden anger that floods him is almost unbearable. Camie? Having a fuck buddy? The thought stamps a hot iron brand of jealousy in his stomach. What the fuck? In an instant, he sees a vision of another pair of arms wrapped around Camie’s tiny waist, kissing her, tousling her hair. A throb of possessiveness goes through him. It’s what makes him snap, “Yeah fucking right. Why the fuck are you here and not with him then?”

“I mean, we are kinda in the middle of a global pandemic.” Camie drawls. She pushes back from the macaron tray. She cocks a head and her eyes rake his face. The tension that normally simmers between them at a tolerable five has knocked its way up to an insufferable ten. “��Sides, even if I had one, I’d rather be here.”

Bakugo deflates but only slightly. The crease between his eyebrows deepen and the feelings of anger, jealousy, and irritation still make him see red. “So you don’t have one.” He says it like a statement of verification rather than a question.

“No,” Camie shakes her head. She sounds a bit breathless. “I don’t.”

In two strides, Bakugo has her pinned against the wall. Camie’s eyes are wide as she takes in his narrowed ones, zeroing in on her like prey. Her arms are locked above her head, held by Bakugo’s, and he leans dangerously close. Their noses graze and Camie barely has a second to register just how long his eyelashes are when their mouths fuse together. Bakugo isn’t gentle but he sure as hell is an amazing kisser – Camie has to hold back a chuckle. He totes has to be the best at everything, huh? He claims it all, tongue sweeping and staking hold of everything that’s hers. She can hear the subliminal message being conveyed. Mine. Mine. Mine. His hands are greedy, falling from her wrists to touching her everywhere, gripping, pulling, pinching. She scrapes her hands along the hard muscle, equally as needy and lets him take and take.

“Bakugo,” Camie finally manages to gasp as he trails down her neck, sucking, biting, kissing. She can feel her skin puckering under his assault. “The macarons –”

“Fuck ‘em.” He grunts. “They need to chill for an hour anyway.”

Sorry Todomomo, Camie thinks to herself as she grins wildly. Looks like Bakucamie’s beat you to the punch.

[darlinrogue]

“ sometimes i realize one day i could die, i could just disappear and the world would be none the wiser. there’d be no one to miss me and that terrifies me more than death itself. ” — kenny @ adam!

It’s All Down Hill From Here Ya’ll

Adam and Kenny || @ofgrief

Adam woke-up with the hangover of a lifetime. A whole ass construction crew wedged inside his cranium going to demolition town. Big, sweaty, muscly guys with jackhammers, wrecking balls, and heavy machinery. For some stupid reason he left the curtain open last night. Morning light spilled into the room and stabbed his eyeballs with serrated knives. Adam groaned and rolled over. He pressed his face into the pillow. His body ached, his head hurt, he was nauseous, and he kinda had to pee— shit, he hadn’t woken-up like this in a minute. Someone needed to shut-up their phone, the incessant chiming was getting on his last nerve. Then it hit him. That was his phone and his alarm going off at God’s forsaken hour of six-thirty. 

Adam slapped at the nightstand. He smacked the shit out of the alarm clock and knocked his car keys to the floor, no phone. Adam weathered the agony of lifting his head-up enough to look and hear the blasted thing beneath him. He slid halfway out of the bed and clawed at the floor beneath the headboard. Then, bingo, his hand closed around the phone and he pressed the power button to shut it up. With most of his upper body hanging off the mattress, Adam crumpled to the floor. His calves tangled with the blankets and he dragged the sheets clean off the bed with him. Flopped against the carpet, he massaged the bridge of his nose. There was a black hairband around his wrist and he had no clue where it came from. Adam yanked back his tangled, frizzy hair into a ponytail to get it out of his eyes. He laid there, blithe and numb, letting incoherent thoughts skim the surface of his consciousness. Bit-by-bit, Adam reconstructed the past twenty-four hours and it was enough to make him laugh. 

Damn, he was good.  

Eager to bask in a rare accomplishment, Adam turned his attention to his phone. He blinked and wiped the grit from his eyes as the screen flicked to life. He had one text message in his notifications. Kenny Omega, at a little past midnight texted him: [Wanna hang out?]

Adam let that time bomb tick as he unlocked his phone and checked Twitter instead. He searched Matt Hardy and perused the iconic’s Twitter feed. Another grin cracked Adam’s face down the middle. Hardy had no idea. That little task of self aggrandization done, Adam opened the messaging app. He stared at the screen and the little bubble of text from Kenny. Absent-minded, Adam reached down and yanked his belt off— only now realizing he never took it off. Then he answered Kenny’s question with a question.

[Got anything in mind?]

He paused, tongue running over his lips. Then, he untangled his legs from the sheets and blankets. Adam pushed to his feet and stumbled across the room to his bag on the desk. Inside he found Advil and a flask of whiskey. He washed the pain medicine down with a generous swig of alcohol. Adam coughed, beating on his chest to clear his dry throat. On the way to the bathroom he stripped out of his jeans. While brushing his teeth, his phone chimed. Adam spat into the sink and leaned over to read Kenny’s reply.

[My place. Dinner at six?] 

Okay, so that wasn’t ‘hanging-out.’ In Adam’s book, ‘hanging-out’ with Kenny was playing video games or going to an arcade. Maybe they’d work-out, train and drill in the ring, sit around the hotel room and watch movies. All the little things they did as a tag-team to kill time on the road or between matches. What Kenny proposed sounded like a —dare Adam say it— a date. Like two adults, sitting down over a candle-lit table, and talking about serious things for a couple of hours. Which, it was Kenny, so not a big deal, but at the same time, it was Kenny, which was a big deal. 

Since, November their relationship had been stuck in this weird, strange, gray, Twilight-Zone that was neither friendship or anything else. Cuddling in bed or on a couch, flirting, lingering too close, heady with physical desire, and softened by intimacy. Stablemates were always close, stuck on buses and planes for hours together enforced liking someone. Kenny and Adam had seen each other at the worst, at their best. This thing went beyond that. They were friends, tag-partners for a period, all they had left, and yet, nothing at all. Adam could ask Kenny: ‘What the fuck are we?’ If he thought he’d get a straight answer.

Unwilling to unpack all that, Adam dressed to work-out. He left his hotel room and started down the stairs to the lobby. He thought about dinner at six. Today’s original plan was to drive seven hours back to North Carolina, shooting straight-up I-95 along the coast. If Adam left after breakfast he’d be back in the afternoon. Staying another evening in Jacksonville wasn’t a big deal. Such were the benefits of a lonely bachelor life. A neighborhood girl usually took care of Adam’s dogs on Wednesdays. He could call her, offer a generous tip, and get another night. Around the sixth floor landing, he yanked his phone out of his pocket and gave Kenny his answer. 

[Sure, I’ll bring milk and beer. Give me your address.]

Down in the hotel gym he started his work-out, running through reps with almost memorized, mechanical ease. While Adam counted bicep curls, his phone chimed and he glanced at it long enough to see that Kenny had sent the address. Between sets, Adam popped the address into Google Maps. The house was a little over a half-hour drive away on Pointe Verde Beach, just outside of Jacksonville. Strange, because Adam had no memory of Kenny owning a house in or around Jacksonville. He heard whisper of a house near Orlando. He was vaguely aware that Kenny had stayed with Callis or Nakazawa a few times. Adam shuffled this mystery home off as another thing he just didn’t know about Kenny. He finished his work-out on the treadmill, running until endorphins blasted Kenny and the last of the hang-over from his brain. Adam returned to his hotel room to shower. 

While hot water rolled down his back and he scrubbed conditioner from his hair, Adam wondered after Kenny’s ulterior motives. Back in December Kenny made it clear what he wanted from Adam: sex. That wasn’t Adam’s own ego talking, that was straight out of the horse’s mouth. Kenny had said he wanted Adam to kiss him, touch him, and fuck him. That was what he said, almost verbatim. Adam was an adult. He spent a significant chunk of his twenties sexually active. He wasn’t shy or prudish, he had no hang-ups. He could do all the things Kenny wanted. Hell, he’d gladly do them, under the right circumstances. Provided Adam could negotiate the differences between male and female anatomy with any competence. Physical desire was absolutely a dimension of his attraction to Kenny. Except, he wasn’t sure if this was the right circumstances. The thought that Kenny was inviting Adam over to dinner for the sole purpose of propositioning him for sex, turned Adam’s stomach over. He cranked the water cold and sobered beneath the icy spray, jaw tight. He turned off the water and toweled off. Adam texted Kenny again. 

[Nak’s not going to be there, is he?]

Two seconds later, Kenny replied: 

[Nope, just us.]

And to keep some kinda banter, Adam texted him back, hoping that the words read as teasing.

[No Callis, either?]

[lmao no he’s in Tennessee doing Impact crap for the PPV. He left this morning.]

And Adam hadn’t felt this nervous about being alone with Kenny since the first time they played Mario Tennis with Chase Owens. Because shit, he’d been stringing Kenny along for months now. Sure, Callis had been a consistent cock block, but Adam wouldn’t pretend he and Kenny weren’t playing some kinda game. A no-rules, Calvinball-Esque, game with moving goalposts. There were no boundaries because Kenny and Adam never set any. That would imply proper and honest communication. All of it was impromptu and they were living on a prayer that neither of them stepped on any toes. In a way, Daily’s place was a blessing. The presence of others acted as a natural check-and-balance on Kenny and Adam’s weird dynamic. So long as they didn't talk about it, didn't acknowledge the elephant in the room, everything was fine. An evening alone felt like cutting the breaks. It wasn’t that Adam feared having sex with Kenny or Kenny outright trying to jump his bones. It wasn’t that he didn’t want that, or that he hadn’t thought about it. 

It was just that he wanted more.

Call him a sap, but Adam loved Kenny and he wanted Kenny to love him too. He wanted to go on dates. He wanted to wake-up in the same bed in the morning and to kiss Kenny awake. He wanted the small pleasure of fixing breakfast for both of them. Even to do the dishes together and all the boring domestic tasks of day-to-day life. To talk about how their days went but also to exist in quiet intimacy. He wanted to walk down the street holding Kenny’s hand. To drop casually in conversations, “My boyfriend Kenny—” To argue, make-up, and do better next time, all of it. And they were so off the rails because Adam was afraid that saying ‘no’ to Kenny in any capacity would kill what little they had. The what-ifs piled in Adam’s brain. Kenny using him for sex and then never talking to him again. Kenny telling him off for introducing more emotion that was necessary to a physical relationship. Kenny letting Adam know that he had finally moved on from his hot cowboy tag-partner and he won’t be needed anymore. The moment Kenny figured-out that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted from Adam— was the moment Adam lost him. 

Adam ate breakfast at the hotel hot bar. He had yogurt, an orange, eggs, and some links of sausage. He arranged for an extra night at the hotel and texted the girl who took care of his dogs. Then he got hustled by said teenager for almost twice the usual rate because she had, ‘lots of homework.’ Adam couldn’t complain because he was honestly kinda proud. She’d make a great carny one day. With not much else to do in Jacksonville, he left the hotel to go shopping. Adam had only packed for one night and not for a maybe-date with Kenny. He bought a white button down at a clothing store. Then, stopped by an uptown grocery store to buy 2% milk and local IPAs. Adam spent about three minutes lingering by a display of pre-arranged bouquets at the store, wondering if flowers would be too much. He walked away from the display, walked back, almost walked away again, stopped, and then stared a little longer. His hand fluttered by his side and before he could stop himself, Adam grabbed a bouquet of yellow flowers. Shit, he was an idiot. 

He thought, as the cashier rang him up, that Kenny was going to laugh at him. 

He took a lunch break at a small Mexican hole-in-the-wall because his diet was shot to hell today and he’d just have to admit it. Back at the hotel, he did his second work-out, showered again, and then realized he had three whole hours to kill. Three hours to get dressed, fuss over his hair, sit around, stare at the dumb flowers he bought, and consider if waterboarding would be a more or less effective form of torture. He scrolled Twitter, did some Duolingo. His body was tense, a live wire, his heart pounding. Adam left thirty minutes early and so took a twenty-minute detour, just to kill time. All so he wouldn’t look like a complete, desperate dweeb— showing-up early and with flowers? That would be way too much. 

The house was situated in an upscale, rich and retired, suburb nestled by the ocean. It was smaller, blander than the two, three story beach homes that towered around it, with their sparse lawns and obnoxious, pastel colors. It was a one-story, Spanish-style home with a brown roof and off-white siding. Palm trees and shaped topiary decorated the well-tended front yard. The sun back dropped the city to the West, burning gold. The angles of light painted the thin, sparse clouds pink, purple, and orange creamsicle. Adam parked in the driveway in front of the garage. He stepped out of his car and the wind, tasting of salt, pulled at his hair. Between the neighbor’s fence and the sand dunes, he caught sight of the Atlantic. The waves rolled and churned, edged by white foam-like lace. Adam walked around to the other side of the car. On the floorboards were the milk and beer, and on the passenger seat were the flowers. His hands trembled and his heart thudded against his chest like a hammer. Do or die, he had to commit now— fuck it, life was short and that bouquet was like twenty bucks. He tucked the beers under his arm, picked-up the milk in one hand, and the flowers in the other, 

Adam walked up to the front porch and used his elbow to ring the bell. Before Adam even retracted his hand, the door opened. Kenny stood on the other side of the threshold. His hair was yanked back into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. Flour dusted his pink t-shirt across the chest. Adam’s eyes drifted down to khaki shorts and the loafers he wore without any socks. For a brief second, Kenny stared at Adam, also giving him a once-over. Adam hesitated, trying to decide if he should give Kenny the flowers or put something down to offer a handshake— like a dork. He managed neither before Kenny cussed. 

“Son of a bitch, you dressed nice, shit, stay there.” Kenny pointed at Adam to indicate where he should 'stay.' Then, Kenny vanished into the house, leaving the door ajar. Adam gaped, brow furrowed and blinking like an owl. A Gregorian choir in his brain chanted, ‘dork, dork, massive dork!’ 

Kenny hadn’t come back by the time Adam processed his absence. So, he took the first step over the threshold. “Uh, Kenny? I’m coming in?” Adam called, to no reply. 

The inside of the house had a blandly typical beach house vibe. White walls, seashell decor, stock paintings of the ocean, and blue accents. There was a wood sign on the entry hall wall that read: Happiness comes in waves. To his left was the kitchen, a large space, with expansive white countertops and black appliances. There were a few bowls and dishes left out, with signs of being used. The sink was to put it lightly, a wreck, filled with utensils, cutting boards, and knives. Adam put the milk and beer in the fridge. Then noted that the dining room table was set. Each place had a gleaming crimson plate. No forks or knives, just chopsticks. A drinking glass for water. Kenny even had even folded the cloth napkins. All set on a black placemat. Adam wandered on into the rest of the house in search of Kenny. Connected to the dining room was the living room. Tall windows on the East wall allowed an expansive view over the pool, yard, and ocean. The sliding glass back door had been left cracked, to allow the cool and brisk breeze in. Adam pushed his hands into his pockets and soaked in the ocean at sunset. 

Footsteps echoed down the far hall. Kenny passed the living room doorway, on the way to the kitchen. He caught Adam out of the corner of his eye and pulled back, changing direction at the last second. Kenny smiled and spread his arms wide so Adam could admire new outfit. He’d changed into dark jeans, a red v-neck, and a black blazer. Still in the loafers, Adam noted, but that was just part of the Kenny charm. 

“Better, right?” Kenny asked. He did a full turnaround and then jaunted over to Adam. He smoothed the lapel of his blazer down. “I didn’t give you a dress code, so I packed something nice to wear just in case. Didn’t wanna feel awkward in khakis, ya know?”

“Yeah, you look good,” Adam agreed, returning Kenny’s grin. They diverted their gaze to the floor together. Adam, trying to find something to say, exaggerated a  look around the house. “Is this your uh, home?”

“Nope! I rented it on Air BnB,” Kenny said, proudly. “I’ve never used the app before, but it found this pretty sweet crib, so I’m impressed. A little pricey maybe, but for an evening, just for us? Worth it, I’d say.”

Adam heard Kenny but he couldn’t think of a response. It hit him that the food on the counter, the set table, the entire house, pointed-to one thing. Kenny had planned this. He had to look for a house, find one, pay for it, plan a menu, buy food, bring tableware, find time. He had planned this at personal expense. He had put real thought into setting-up a dinner for him and Adam.  This wasn’t some off-the-cuff idea. The only improvised part about this was inviting Adam himself. And to think, Adam thought Kenny only wanted to Netflix and chill. 

“I, uh, I got you these,” Adam stammered. He held out the flowers to Kenny. “Just, a housewarming, gift, I guess for — for you.”

“Oh, you did, thank you, Cowboy,” Kenny smiled, he took the bouquet from Adam. He hesitated, awkwardly gripping the plastic casing of the flowers. 

“I guess, you can put it in some water?” Adam suggested. He scratched at the back of his head. 

“Yeah, right, good idea,” Kenny nodded, he stepped back from Adam, lingered for a second, and then headed to the kitchen. 

Adam followed Kenny and while Kenny tore through the cabinets in search of a vase, Adam took a second look. Beside the stove were three white bowls with flour, eggs, and panko crumbs. On the burner sat a large, cast-iron pot filled several inches deep with cooking oil. A thermometer rested beside the burner. Kenny exclaimed, “ah-ha,” When he came up with a vase. He filled it with water and settled the flowers in. Brow furrowed he poked a couple daisies upright. Kenny set the vase with the flowers in the middle of the table, as an impromptu centerpiece.

“There, that livens-up the place,” Kenny said, putting his hands on his hips. He smiled at Adam and the ocean, through the windows behind him, framed his face. His eyes bluer than the sea and Adam only just noticed he didn’t have his glasses on. Instead, the glasses were hooked in the pocket of his blazer. Adam was invited here, talking with Kenny, about to have dinner, and his trepidation only grew.

“Is this all for us?” Adam asked, he leaned against the kitchen doorway and shoved his hand in his pocket. With his other he gestured broadly at everything. 

“Yeah, I thought it would be nice?” Kenny admitted, it was his turn to shrug. “Just us, for once. We haven't gotten to spend a lot of time together recently and there's some, some things I wanted to talk to you about. Stuff that's— that's better here maybe than at Daily’s Place. Is it too much?”

Kenny looked bashful, his smile soft, peering at Adam, his hand working over the back of a chair. It was nervous and sweet, open in a way that Adam hadn’t seen in months. Words were hard, but pushing off the doorpost and walking over to Kenny was easier. For a second, Adam’s hands hovered between them, and then he hooked his fingers beneath Kenny’s lapel. Kenny giggled and rested his forehead against Adam’s, his breath tickling Adam’s bottom lip. 

“It’s perfect,” Adam murmured. He untangled from Kenny’s jacket and slid his hands down Kenny’s sides until Adam held his hips. Adam pushed his palms against the jut of Kenny's bone, “What's for dinner, chef Kenny?”

Kenny giggled and gripped at Adam’s hands. “Well, I was thinking,” he glanced back at the kitchen, “I’d make us Tonkatsu, you know, those pork cutlets you get in Japan, with the breading and cabbage? I haven’t had any in a while and it’s one of my favorite dishes. And I ordered sushi, and dessert, from a couple local places—”

“So, you’re cooking?” Adam asked, he quirked an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, what’s so bad about that? I can cook,” Kenny protested. He pulled back from Adam and moved into the kitchen. Adam returned to his position by the doorpost as Kenny rummaged in the fridge. He pulled-out a bag of plastic boxes and then a platter of salted pork. Kenny rolled his eyes, “Don’t tell me you’re afraid I’ll burn it? I promise only a little singe, for flavor. I mean it’s Tonkatsu, grade school children can make it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Adam laughed, he lifted his hands to placate Kenny. “It’s just, you never hit me as the cooking type. Order in and dine-out always seemed more your style.”

Kenny stuck his tongue out at Adam. He laughed though and turned the stove on to heat the oil. The plastic bag crinkled as Kenny sorted through small platters of elegant sushi and laid each on the counter. “We can eat this while the oil heats. I wish I had a nicer serving tray but I didn’t think to bring one, and this house doesn’t have one— I looked. Oh, and I don’t know how you feel about it, but I got some sake too. It’s in the fridge. Do you like it hot? I’ve never had it, so, I don’t know what’s better.”

“Man, I don’t even know,” Adam said. He never liked the flavor of sake —too dry for his taste— so he’d let the discussion drop and hope that was better than rejecting Kenny’s offer. Adam walked over to help Kenny carry the sushi to the table. “I got you milk, though, two percent. I uh— put it in the fridge.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Kenny smiled.  

While Kenny removed the covers from the sushi, Adam fetched his meager contributions to the meal. He returned with the gallon of milk and an IPA. Adam poured Kenny a tall glass of milk and Kenny poured Adam’s beer. Teeth buried in his bottom lip, like this task was monumental, Kenny dumped the bottle into the glass. By the time the bubbles fizzed down, Adam’s ‘beer’ was mostly air. It was the thought that counted and Kenny looked pleased. Before sitting down himself, Kenny pulled-out Adam’s chair for him. Adam muttered his thanks and sat down. Kenny took his place on the opposite side of the table and used his chopsticks to divvy up the sushi pieces between them. 

“Where’d you get this?” Adam asked. 

“Sushiko, a small place by the river, Cody recommended it,” Kenny said. “It’s a nice little restaurant and we’re by the coast so the seafood is fresh. I mean it’s not really, authentic, but that’s hard to get in America anyway.”

“Yeah, but it’ll be good,” Adam countered. “Do you want the ginger?”

“Nah, you can have it,” Kenny said, to punctuate his point he picked up a heap of the ginger and plopped it onto Adam’s plate. “Do you remember how to use the chopsticks? It hasn’t been that long since you were last in Japan, right?”

“I order take-out once a month to keep my skills sharp,” Adam promised. He picked-up the chopsticks by his plate. Then, took the ends and stuck them beneath his top lip like a walrus, “Goes like this right?”

Kenny laughed, hand lifting to cover his mouth as his shoulders shook with racks of giggles. Adam smiled and wiped off his chopsticks with his napkin. It was the kinda joke he’d crack when he was ten, on the rare occasion his parents took the family out to eat. His sister would find it hilarious, his father and mother less so. Yet, it seemed to amuse Kenny to no end, and all that bashful shyness was gone when the laughter subsided. 

“Yeah, close enough,” Kenny said, waving his hand. “Here you should try the tempura roll, it’s my favorite of all the inaccurate American sushis.”

Kenny picked up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks and offered it over the table for Adam to try. Adam didn’t point out that he already had a piece of that type on his plate. He only leaned forward and opened his mouth so Kenny could feed him the sushi. Adam bit down and savored the taste of shrimp, rice, and crunchy breading. 

“It’s good,” he said, nodding and humming his approval.

“Isn’t it?” Kenny asked, he jammed a roll with avocado in his mouth and grinned, pleased. “It’s kinda cliché, but I love this stuff.” 

Adam took a sip from his beer to wash down the rice gummed behind his teeth.

“I’ve always meant to ask,” Kenny said, he pointed with his chopsticks at the beer. “Do you... like that stuff?”

“Beer? Yeah, pretty well, it’s not my favorite drink,” Adam admitted. He ate another piece of sushi and chewed through his thoughts. “It has to be a good beer, the cheap crap isn’t worth the calories. Pleases the hell out of a crowd though.”

“Yeah, don’t you have to drive back?” Kenny’s brow furrowed. 

Adam laughed, “A beer or two isn’t going to send me over, Kenny. It's not like liquor, it's a much lower alcohol content. I probably won't even feel the buzz, especially drinking on food. By the time I leave, I'll be close to zero. I try to keep track of my limits these days, and you know, it’s hard to be no carb and take shots.”

“Trainers got you on no carb?” Kenny asked, with a lifted brow. It was a quick change of topic and Adam appreciated the tact. 

“Yeah, have been for a while now, it’s probably better that way,” Adam shrugged. “You know not all of us shred fat like you.”

“Well, that’s not so easy these days,” Kenny admitted. “Not all of us are as young as you.”

“Hey, a few months and I’ll be thirty,” Adam pointed-out. “Or like, twenty-four by Cody’s metric, something like that.”

“You can’t say that being youngest wasn’t a good shake,” Kenny said. “You never had to pay for anything.”

“Just all the ribbing,” Adam grinned.

Adam popped some ginger in his mouth and waggled his eyebrows for emphasis. Kenny was all grins and the smiles were a relief. This wasn’t a total cluster fuck and Adam hadn’t said something to screw-up the mood. This was going much better than his anxiety allowed him to anticipate. A pause to eat lulled the conversation to a brief silence. Yet, Adam could tell by the way Kenny studied his Philadelphia roll, there was something on his mind. 

“So, uh, last night,” Kenny said, he placed his elbow on the table. “Did you sign a contract with Matt Hardy? Did I interpret that segment correctly? I was preparing for my match so I wasn’t really paying attention, but—”

Adam paused, chopsticks halfway to his mouth, and then he grinned. “I did.”

“Did you read that contract?” Kenny probed. “Listen, I know you and Hardy go back but I’m not sure you should trust that guy, Page. He’s a bit of a carny— I mean his gimmick is ‘Big Money Matt.’ That has got to be a warning sign. I know Matt and Nick brought him in by burying his vessel or whatever, but he’s changed a lot since the Stadium Stampede. He’s got the whole, I guess split personality thing going on?”

“Oh, I read the contract I signed,” Adam nodded. He savored the taste of a Dragon roll, fishy and popping with acidity. “Hardy didn’t, but I did.”

“Oh, really,” Kenny waxed, he pressed his finger tips to his chin. “Something you wanna fill me in on?”

“Yeah, I switched the contracts,” Adam said. 

Kenny gasped, “You switched the contracts?! Oh, ho, Page, I knew you were smart, brilliant, tell me everything.”

“Well, I knew he was going to invite me to a bar, because he said so on Twitter,” Adam began. “Like, you said, I’ve known Matt for a while and he’s always been a dick. He was talking all about how I’m going to be some great star or the ‘top guy’ in AEW, or whatever, some bullshit, but I kinda figured his plan was to get me drunk and willing to sign something stupid.”

He leaned back in his chair, sipping on his beer and thinking. Adam couldn’t get why every other manager in AEW was salivating at the idea of getting him on their payroll. The Dark Order was trying to recruit him. Taz was talking about him. Matt Hardy seemed to think Adam was the second coming of Jesus. Adam assumed that he was so sought after because the actual best wrestler in AEW was already spoken-for. And Jon Moxley wasn’t the type to tolerate companionship. So, that left Adam Page. Talk about scraping the bottom of the barrel. 

“So, I uh, had a little something prepared for him,” Adam shrugged. “I don’t think he’s figured it out yet, so like, don’t go spreading it around? Snitches get stitches, Kenny, and I mean it.”

“My lips are sealed,” Kenny promised. He pantomimed zipping-up his mouth, locking it, and throwing away the key. He leaned forward, hand bracing against the table. “But really, what was in the contract?’

“You wanna know?” Adam asked. 

“Yeah, I wanna know!” Kenny said. 

“Well, I’m not going to tell you,” Adam smirked. “You’ll just have to find-out with Matt Hardy and everyone else. I don’t wanna pop the surprise.”

“Aw, Pizz, you’re killing me, now that’s all I’m going to think about for the rest of the night!” Kenny laughed, he deflated into his chair. Then he bounced back, livened with an idea. “Oh, I know, you made it so you get a third of his merch sales? A half?! Man, that’s brutal. Ooh, I know what you should’ve done, what I would do? Make him your butler for a few weeks, that would be funny.”

Adam chuckled, cheeks flushed with amusement. All he did was shake his head and keep his mouth shut. Kenny gave-up, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. While they ate, Kenny talked about the Women’s Title Eliminator tournament and all that went into organizing it. He seemed excited to debut the woman’s bracket next week. He promised that he had seen the matches, and they were, “fantastic.” In particular he was ecstatic about Aja Kong and Yuka progressing. Adam had no idea who Maki Itoh was beyond her Twitter, but Kenny was adamant she get a contract at some point. On his part Adam was happy to sit back —long after polishing off his own plate— and listen to Kenny, occasionally interjecting a question or an affirming, “mhm.” Eventually, Kenny got around to eating his last piece of sushi. His eyes darted beyond Adam’s shoulder and pushed himself to his feet to go check on the oil. 

Adam turned in his seat to watch Kenny in the kitchen. He was eyeing a thermometer dipped in the pot. Pleased with the temperature, he moved to start working with the meat. Kenny used a skewer to dip a pork cutlet into the flour, then egg, then back into the flour. Adam cleared the sushi plates from the table. He rinsed them in the sink. He cleaned a few other dishes, cutting boards, and knives, listening to Kenny complain about getting flour on his fingers. Adam put the dishes on the rack and dried his hands on a towel. He wandered to Kenny’s side. Kenny had coated two cutlets in panko crumbs and the breaded meat sat on a plate ready to go. He fiddled with the thermometer, brow furrowed in concentration. He adjusted the temperature on the stove and then gripped the pot handle to center it on the burner. He hissed when his hand touched hot metal. Kenny stuck his finger in his mouth. 

“Hot,” he breathed to Adam. 

“Yeah, no shit, go rinse it under the cold water,” Adam ordered. “Are you okay?”

“Just my pride,” Kenny said, as he ran his finger under the faucet and washed his hands of flour. “I thought I was going to be so cool, making Tonkatsu for you, and you’d be like, ‘wow, look at Kenny be a boss in the kitchen,’ and now I’m just kinda—”

He returned to the stove and looked at the simmering oil with particular trepidation. 

“Now, I’m just kinda nervous,” he admitted, smiling again. “Like, I don’t want to fuck this up and ruin the evening, or something.”

“Do you want help?” Adam asked.

“How heroic,” Kenny pined. “A cowboy come to save me.”

“Yeah, yeah, mostly I just don’t want the food burned,” Adam said, stepping to Kenny’s side. He nudged his hip against Kenny’s and picked-up a skewer. The task was simple, pick-up the two pieces of meat and plunge them into the boiling oil. Yet, when Adam did it, Kenny looked at him like he did something astounding. Adam handed the tongs to Kenny, “you can flip them on your own, right?”

“Pfft, I got that,” Kenny bragged, taking the utensil from Adam. He positioned himself, watching as bubbles formed around the meat. The panko browned to an appetizing gold. As the meat cooked, it exuded juices that caused the oil to spit. Kenny yelped, when some struck his arm, shifting behind Adam. “Unless it fights back?!”

“Aren’t you the guy who fought a G1 with a fractured heel?!” Adam snapped. “Don’t be a baby, it’s just oil, it’s not going to bite you! Get in there.”

Kenny patted Adam’s shoulder and shifted to plunge the tongs into the oil. He flipped both pieces of meat. Although, he held the tongs at the furthest extent to avoid oil splatter. Adam placed his hand on the small of Kenny’s back to hold him steady as they waited the last minute for the meat to finish. It was such a simple gesture but Kenny’s nerves seemed to evaporate under his touch. Kenny fished out the cutlets and placed them diagonally on a draining rack. The cooking done, Kenny kicked Adam out of the kitchen while he finished the rest of the meal. Adam returned to the dining table, sat down, and enjoyed his beer. The soothing melody of Kenny banging around behind him as background noise. 

A few minutes later, Kenny placed a plate in front of Adam. The cutlet had been sliced thin and fanned across the edge of the plate. A generous heap of shredded cabbage piled in the middle garnished with a slice of tomato and lemon. On the side were pickled radishes. The colors popped and the meat smelled delicious. Kenny laid a small container of pouring sauce between them on the table. Kenny sat down with his own plate across from Adam.

“This is so— great, Kenny,” Adam breathed, looking over the food. He picked-up his chopsticks and dove in for the Tonkatsu. It was juicy and savory, with a nice crunch. Adam groaned, “It tastes fantastic.”

“Thanks, I was worried about overcooking it, but with you at my side, it was easy,” Kenny said, he smiled. He poured some sauce on his cutlet. “We make a great team.” 

Adam focused on pinching some cabbage between his chopsticks, eyes casting down to the plate. “Yeah, I— I guess we do.”

“Hey, it was just an observation,” Kenny said, he nudged Adam’s foot under the table with his own. "It doesn't have to mean anything."

“No, no, it’s fine,” Adam said. He took a sip of beer but didn’t taste it. “You’re right, I was just thinking— I’ve tagged with a lot of people lately, and none of them are like you. You really are the best.”

“That’s sweet, cowboy,” Kenny grinned, but Adam sensed the need to change the conversation. Mourning the tag-team wasn’t uplifting for either of them. 

“So, where did you learn to make this?” Adam asked. He gestured at the Tonkatsu. “’Cause it’s really good. Not going to lie, that’s what I miss about Japan— the food. They just don’t have the same, I don’t know, style? Yeah, style, in America.”

“Well, I learned from one of the ladies I stayed with when I first moved to Japan in, 2008, well, kinda learned,” Kenny elaborated. He shrugged, “mostly I just watched her cook and sometimes she let me help. She always did the bits with the oil because she was afraid I’d burn myself. My Japanese wasn’t good back then but I’m pretty sure she thought I was just an idiot.”

“I mean, you can be a bit,” Adam paused. Kenny pressed his lips thin, so he picked his next word carefully, “ditzy?”

“I’ll give you that,” Kenny said. “I wouldn’t trust me around a big pot of boiling oil either. You handled yourself pretty well in there, though.”

“Deep fried is a staple food in the rural south," Adam said. "It's a survival skill, where I'm from. It's okay, Kenny, you can kick my ass Street Fighter, later, so that way we're even."

The conversation slowed so they could finish eating. Just the sounds of chewing and chopsticks clacking. It was good, the cabbage contrasting to the meat, and the sauce adding a hint of sweetness. It wasn't an awkward or uncomfy silence, Adam wasn't looking for an excuse to breach it. It was just them, together, enjoying the mutual company. When Adam finished eating, just to gross out Kenny, he picked up his plate and licked it clean. The gesture had the intended effect of making Kenny screw-up his nose and expression. Adam took his last swig of beer and then carried both their plates to the sink. Adam helped Kenny tidy-up the kitchen. Adam washed the dishes and Kenny dried, putting the plates away on the shelves. They moved around each other like this was something they did every night. Yet, each time Kenny’s elbow jostled Adam or he moved a step closer, a warm heat spread across Adam’s skin. It was dark outside when they finished and Kenny turned on lights in the house to illuminate the rooms. 

“You up for cake, cowboy?” Kenny asked as he returned. He took a box out from the fridge and finagled the lid open. Inside the box was a small, white cake decorated with vanilla icing, raspberries, and fancy swirls. Kenny smacked Adam’s hand away when he tried to taste the frosting. 

"Ow," Adam grunted. He cradled his hand to his chest.

“I didn’t really know what you liked, but everyone likes vanilla, so I figured I couldn't go wrong,” Kenny admitted as he took the cake out of the box. Adam got plates and a knife to cut with. Kenny stuck his tongue out as he sliced into the cake. It was obnoxiously cute. He pointed with the knife, “Is this big enough?”

“That’ll do it,” Adam said.

 Kenny sliced the cake and put a piece on a plate that he handed to Adam, then cut his own piece. The inner filling of the cake was a bright red raspberry and Adam hummed, eager. to try Kenny took a fork and cut off a small piece of his cake slice. He offered the morsel to Adam. Once again, Adam let Kenny feed him. It was sweet, with a delicate crumb, and acidic with the fruit. Kenny opened his mouth, making an ‘ah’ sound, to indicate he wanted Adam to return the gesture. Adam obliged, watching with fascination as Kenny’s lips closed around the fork. A speck of icing trapped at the corner of his mouth. Before he could stop himself, Adam leaned forward and kissed it off— grinning all the way back as Kenny’s cheeks flushed. 

“You remember when we tricked that waitress into giving us free cake?” Kenny asked. His eyes lit-up, to divert his attention though, he glanced down for another bite. “That was— fun.”

“I don’t think we tricked anybody,” Adam laughed. "I think the waitress knew what was up the whole damn time."

“What, we weren’t a convincing couple?” Kenny asked. The question so earnest, his voice so soft, that Adam almost dropped his plate. Deep in Kenny's eyes hid a kernel of curious probing. Like he was testing the waters. Wading-out waist high in a surging tide.

“I— um, I guess we were.” Adam ducked his head, but Kenny shoved at his shoulder and the tension dissipated. 

“I’m just teasing you, Hangers,” he laughed. “Eat your cake, before I do. Hey, I know, why don’t we go sit outside? C’mon.”

Kenny had already split off and so that settled it. Adam got a beer from the fridge and followed Kenny out the back door. At the edge of the pool was a small sitting area with chairs and a couch. The ocean crashed against the shore, loud and echoing in Adam's inner-ear. He felt the tide wearing away the sand in his teeth. Kenny sat down on the couch, tossing his phone on the coffee table. He crossed his legs up and finished off his cake. Adam joined him on the other side of the couch. They remarked on the flavors of the cake and speculated if the icing was cream cheese or not. Finished eating, Kenny put his plate down and lounged back against the cushions. 

Adam studied Kenny’s profile. His straight nose and angular jaw, the untamed stubble on his cheeks. His lips pink with red raspberries. In red and black, he looked marvelous. The wind tussling his curls. And his eyes, so scarce these days, holding every emotion Adam hoped to see reflected in them. Adam’s heart collided with the inside of his ribs. He took his last bite of cake and put aside the dishes. Then, for courage, he swigged on his beer and set that aside too. He leaned into the cushions, adjusting a pillow underneath his right elbow. 

“Hey,” he said, voice coarse and weak, the word lost to the ocean. Kenny looked at him, hearing him anyway, and Adam opened his arms wide, “What are you doing over there? Get your ass over here.”

Kenny slid over until he leaned against Adam’s side. Adam swung his legs up onto the couch and pulled Kenny against his chest. Kenny settled between his legs and Adam draped his arm over Kenny’s back. Something dislodged in Adam’s lungs and he breathed easy for the first time in months. Kenny sighed and pressed his cheek to Adam’s collarbone. His hand ran over Adam’s bicep. Adam reached over Kenny, picked-up his beer, and took another casual swig. Part of him regretted the alcohol because now his breath must smell like beer and cake. The other part of him needed it to function in this moment. 

Adam drew broad circles between Kenny’s shoulder blades, feeling each hard muscle, defined and strong beneath his hand. Kenny was warm in contrast to the cool night, like a little personal heater. Adam chuckled, content as he leaned back against the arm rest. Kenny turned his face into Adam’s chest and buried his nose into Adam’s shirt. He shuddered in Adam’s arms, a full body tremble working all the way down his spine. Adam lifted his hand to work his fingers through Kenny’s hair and curls. A little coarser now since he dyed it, black and silver. Adam didn’t know what else to say or think, or do. Didn’t know if this was Kenny using him for comfort or something more. If he was supposed to read between the lines, look for the fine text, or just be a quiet and good pillow. Maybe, he'd just pretend that the way Kenny clung to him was because of love. 

“I like your hair like this,” Adam mused. He ran his fingers through Kenny’s scalp. It was an easier question than: why did you bring me here? What do you want from me? What are we? 

“Thanks,” Kenny muttered. He turned his cheek to press against Adam’s chest. Adam considered that an improvement. 

“Are you okay?” He managed. 

Kenny sighed, shoulders heaving. He wrapped his arms around Adam’s waist and cinched in, holding him close. It was the total experience of being owned. That Adam was Kenny’s to have and hold onto. It was possessive in a way that thrilled Adam. That there were seven billion people on this planet and he was the one Kenny Omega invited to a rented house for dinner. Adam was the one who got to hold Kenny Omega, not anyone else. Adam was the one Kenny Omega wanted to be held by. It had to mean something. He wanted it to mean something. Please, let it mean something. 

“It’s just,” Kenny whispered. His voice soft, but Adam carded his fingers through Kenny’s hair to encourage each word forth. “Sometimes, I realize one day I could die. I could just disappear and the world would be none the wiser. There’s be no one to miss me and that— that terrifies me more than death itself.”

Then, Kenny laughed, shaking his head, giggling like he said something funny. Not something that Adam had no idea how to react to. Every word of it raised a protest inside Adam though. That he cared, that he would notice, that he would be devastated to lose Kenny. That he lost Kenny once and he had no intentions of ever doing it again. Except, Adam had no idea how to say all that in a way that made sense. When he opened his mouth to speak nothing came out but a huff of carbon dioxide. Kenny tensed, feeling Adam’s diaphragm tighten. It was as if Adam’s anxiety infused and intertwined with Kenny's, into something ugly between them. Adam could just hold Kenny tighter and that would make Kenny understand. Hold so tight to Kenny that he couldn’t leave, couldn’t go anywhere, and they’d just fit together, and it’d work. 

Except, Adam was no longer so young and stupid as to believe that would work. It wasn’t enough to ask Kenny, ‘do you trust me,’ when he already breached that trust. Adam couldn’t hold on alone, they had to meet in the middle. These things had to be mutual. This was a two street and Adam had no idea if Kenny was walking towards him or away. He was just a blur in the distance that he was chasing like hell. As if, when he caught Kenny, he’d get the answers to the questions he was too afraid to ask. 

Kenny shifted, pushing back against Adam and the awkward silence between them. The silence Adam let linger too long. He wondered if just screaming would work better than this. Kenny sat-up, and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. He clung to one of Adam’s hands like it was a life raft in the middle of that ocean out there. They sat thigh-to-thigh, hip-to-hip. Maybe, that’s how Adam felt, like Kenny was drowning and all he could do was yell advice from the shoreline. 

“Look,” Kenny began, he licked his lips. He stared at where their knees touched. Adam could feel Kenny's pulse fluttering beneath his fingers. “There’s something I gotta tell you.”

Kenny giggled again, shoulders shaking and Adam had no idea what the joke was. He placed his other, free hand on Kenny’s shoulder. 

“I set all of this up to tell you, but I— I don’t know what to say,” He admitted. He shook his head and squeezed Adam’s hand. 

“Whatever, whatever you feel, man,” Adam offered, lamely. “You know I’m here for you.”

“Look—” Kenny began.

He looked-up, gunmetal blue eyes matching Adam’s gaze. The warm glow from the house burned his cheeks gold and he shivered. Kenny was scared, the thought hit Adam like a gunshot. Terrified, looking at Adam, like Adam was going to hurt him. Like a whipped dog anticipating being taken out back.  

“Adam, I—”  he began, then a sharp chime cut him off.

Both Kenny and Adam looked down at Kenny’s phone on the coffee table. Don Callis, calling Kenny, the phone vibrating against the glass. Kenny withdrew his hand, untangling from Adam, scooting away. Like, he'd been burned and scalded, like he just put his hand back on that pot handle and this time gripped tight. “I’m not— I’m not going to answer it. I— I told him I’d be busy,” Kenny stammered, his hands working through his hair. There was a bite to his tone that set Adam’s heart on fire. “I don’t know why he’s calling me he should know.”

As Kenny’s pitch hitched and his voice cracked, Adam lunged forward to hit the decline button on the phone. The phone stopped ringing and Kenny sighed, his face stricken pale. Adam himself breathed for the first time in almost a minute, slowly leaning back into the couch. His hands rested on his knees. The ocean crashed and receded. 

“He can leave a damn voice mail,” Adam managed, cracking a half-grin but when he looked at Kenny it was not returned. Instead, Adam met wild eyes and a pale face, white with fear. In a few seconds it calmed, the war raging in Kenny dying down as he glanced away from Adam. As Adam watched Kenny pulled the glasses-free from his front pocket and shoved them on his face. He licked his lips, jaw working tight. “Kenny, is everything okay?”

“Fine, it’s fine, I’m fine,” Kenny repeated, his hands rubbed over his thighs. “I’m not— I’m not going to keep you, you can go. It was— It was fun tonight, thanks.”

Kenny lifted and waved his hand as if to dismiss Adam. Adam’s felt his temper go through the roof, just a moment of complete rage that calmed immediately. There were no words, just screaming like if he opened his mouth, a long drawn howl would escape instead of anything coherent. And that was the best he could do to express the emotions in his head. His teeth gritted and Adam rubbed his hands through his hair, trying to clear out the thoughts from his head. 

“No, wait, Kenny what did you want to tell me?” Adam asked. “What were you trying to say before Don called?”

“All, I wanted to do was just tell you that— that,” Kenny stuttered, and Adam had no faith that what came out of his mouth next was the truth. “That you can always talk to me if you need it. That, that I’m here for you, Page, and like, that you don’t need to go signing stupid contracts with Matt Hardy, but you didn’t so, it’s really not a problem. You— you didn’t need me.”

“Is that it?” Adam asked, he glanced around the house. Thought of the sushi and the home-cooked meal. Of cake and Kenny dressing nice just for Adam. “You did all this, just to tell me that? Are you sure that’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“What do you think?” Kenny asked, he peered at Adam. The glasses and his expression were like a brick wall. Impassive, unreadable, and drawing Adam to a total stop. Adam’s stomach twisted, lips parted in unvoiced confusion. Adam couldn’t answer the question because he was afraid of what Kenny thought. Kenny didn't love him, Kenny didn't care, Kenny was using him.

 “Seriously, Page, I’m fine— you can leave if you want,” Kenny repeated. “It was fun tonight.”

“No, no, no, Kenny,” Adam interjected. “No, I’m not just leaving, I’m not going anywhere until I get some damn answers about what the hell is going on. I’ve been out of my mind for months trying to figure us— this, out.  It ain’t even just about what you did to Moxley or any of the other crap. I was with you in Japan, I know how you are. Excalibur may be scandalized but I was there when you won the Intercontinental title off Tanahashi. I know how it goes. What gets me, is that you hadn’t done that shit since Japan. Ever since Don Callis came back you’ve been acting weird and I think by this point I deserve some damn answers.”

“Okay, fine, fine, what do you want to know?” Kenny demanded. He crossed his arms over his stomach. “I am an open book.”

“It’s just, I don’t know—” Adam stumbled over his words, the real questions getting in the way of the ones he could actually ask. What are we? So, instead, he stumbled-on, “Are you sure you can trust Don?”

“Of course, I can,” Kenny scoffed. “We’re changing the business Adam, changing the world, history! All those solid steel doors, those arbitrary barriers in our sport? They’re gone now! Impact, New Japan, NWA, Stardom, they’re all clamoring to get a spot on our show. We are the hottest thing in wrestling, not WWE, us. Tony Khan, the Bucks, and Cody, the whole locker room, they should be thanking us, we’re giving them jobs, improving their pay checks, and what do we get?! Just like you said, Excalibur on commentary with a bad attitude. No one else shares my vision, no one else gets it, not like Don does.”

Kenny shook his head, curls flopping around. He spoke fast, quickly, trying to get to the next words as soon as possible. 

“I thought that was all bullshit,” Adam admitted. “Just shit Don was making-up to justify taking the title.”

“Page, please!” Kenny said, his hand fluttering in Adam’s direction. “We’ve been planning something like this for years. This isn’t a mere money-making scheme, Don isn’t like Matt Hardy. And yeah, maybe that means I can’t be around Matt and Nick as much anymore, maybe the locker room hates me, maybe I’m not as popular with the audience— big deal. They’ll come around, they always come around, they’ll realize how much I’ve done for them. People change, this is— this is bigger than any one person.”

“Oh, Don isn’t like Matt Hardy?” Adam asked, he lifted an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Kenny pushed to his feet and Adam stood too. Kenny’s hands fluttered around and something flexed in his jaw like he was chewing on sand. His voice was darker, biting with anger as he shook his finger at Adam. “Don’t even start with me, Page, about who to trust. We both know your track record.”

“Matt Hardy doesn’t give a shit about me,” Adam stated. Kenny stepped-in like it was a warning, but Adam squared his shoulders and with a look wilted Kenny. Adam took sick satisfaction in the inch or two of height he had. To lift his chin, and stand his ground. “And Don Callis doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“Don is like family to me,” Kenny snapped, his finger jutted into Adam’s face, his voice lifting in pitch and volume. Adam couldn’t remember if they ever got to this point with each other, yelling. No, he remembered some shoves in the ring. “He cares about me. I know he does. I’ve known him since I was a child, Page. It’s not the same thing.”

Adam worked his teeth into his bottom lips. He placed his hand on his hips and glanced towards the ocean. Black and churning, the waves thrown in turmoil, rolling, clawing-up the beach to high tide. Adam let himself feel the wind in his hair and his pounding heart. He glanced back at Kenny. 

Back in the day, Biz Cliz days, the Bullet Club, and the Elite was Kenny’s family. They were the ones who looked after him after matches. They were the ones who fetched ice or hot packs for his injuries. They were the ones at ringside. The ones in his tag-teams. The ones who helped him pick-out clothes or get in his ring gear. Adam thought they were family and he had fought like hell for that family. Scrabbled to keep the little niche of home he’d found, that place he belonged. He spared a thought, that something had gone wrong, terribly wrong. So wrong, that Kenny, went to someone else instead of his family. FTR, the Dark Order, Matt Hardy, the Good Brothers, Don, all these side distractions instead of the stable that cared about them. Egos blew-up, friendships faded, but it took more than a couple of arguments to break the Elite. There was a looming specter, sticking his fingers in the crack. Adam may’ve left the Elite but he always thought there’d be something to go back to. He never thought his absence would unravel his friends— never dreamed it. 

He didn’t even think they’d notice he was gone. 

“Does your family usually hit you with a microphone?” Adam asked. 

Kenny’s lips parted, his jaw falling slack. His shoulders drooped and then he rubbed his hand beneath the rims of his glasses. He crossed his arms, gaze turning downwards. Adam’s hands fell to his sides, feeling that the fight was over. Kenny shook his head as if to physically dislodge Adam’s words from his skull. Kenny was a fighter, he was a leader, he was a crazy visionary, who did his own thing. He always had an argument in him. He always kicked-out. He fought sixty minute matches against Okada. The way he capitulated in defeat here and now was fascinating because it was so against him. It was like Adam pushed back and found nothing but dust. That he had glanced back over his shoulder and suddenly Kenny had turned to salt. A pillar of salt, crumbling in Adam’s hands. A divine and cruel trick, stealing from him what he most desired, at the last possible second. 

Adam sighed, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. Then, Kenny lurched forward and pressed his forehead into Adam’s shoulder. Adam closed his eyes and reached-up to tangle his fingers back in Kenny’s hair. He worked out a knot and then smoothed his palm down Kenny’s back. Kenny trembled against him, fingers twisted in Adam’s shirt. It was a desperate grip, like this attention and concern was foreign to Kenny. Like he was starved and Adam supposed that made sense because this didn’t feel like something Don Callis would do. Because Don Callis didn't care about Kenny. He wouldn't take care of Kenny, not like his friends would— like they were supposed to. They had failed Kenny and so he went to someone else. (They had failed Adam and so he had went to someone else). Adam hummed, low in his throat, and buried his nose in Kenny’s hair. He smelled of cologne and sea salt, and everything Adam missed. 

“Forget about Don,” Adam said. “I— I shouldn’t’ve said that, it’s none of my damn business.”

“I just don’t want to fight with you,” Kenny admitted. “I don’t— I don’t deserve you, Page.”

“Nah, don’t say that,” Adam shook his head. “Because if you were gone, you know I’d miss you, right? I ain’t got that many friends left, Kenny. You’re special to me.”

“Charmer,” Kenny grunted. 

“Can’t coast on just my good looks, you know,” Adam chuckled. He wrapped both his arms around Kenny and drew him tighter. Knowing that he was being used. Knowing that they were no closer now than they were before. “Gotta have some personality.”

“Hmm, but you are good-looking,” Kenny agreed. His hands smoothed down Adam’s side, unabashed in feeling the muscles and curves of his waist. “You’re very handsome, cowboy.”

Adam chuckled as Kenny wrapped his arms around him. It felt good to be needed. Good to be wanted and held. To be possessed by someone. Adam wanted Kenny to own him. But, he wasn’t sure if it was real or if Adam was just here, and hot, and it worked. 

“I can stay,” Adam murmured. “Just one night, you and me, like— like in the hotel.” 

“You— you want to?” Kenny asked. He pulled from Adam to look at him, or rather let Adam look at his glasses. “I have an extra toothbrush.”

“Good, because all my shit is at the hotel,” Adam said, flashing a grin. 

Adam tapped Kenny on the back to urge him back inside. Adam carried in the plates and his mostly undrunk beer. At the kitchen sink, he chugged a few big gulps and poured the rest of the alcohol down the drain. Adam rinsed and cleaned the dishes, while Kenny finished tidying-up behind him. The domesticity was intoxicating, giving Adam more of a buzz than the beer. It was deceptive too. For a second, Adam could pretend they did this little ritual every night. Clean-up after dinner, put-away all the dishes, and then, turn off the kitchen lights, head for bed. As Adam followed Kenny down the hall to the master bedroom, he rubbed the sweat off his palms and onto his pants legs. 

The master bedroom had a large bed, a couch, desk and chair, and a TV on a stand. A sliding door connected to the back patio outside. Airy, light blue curtain hung over the windows and glass. The walls were painted white and the bedding was blue. The typical beach decor was as bland as the rest of the house. Kenny rummaged around in a suitcase, left on a couch with a few stray articles of clothes on the cushions. He procured a set of soft fabric shorts and tossed them to Adam. 

“I don’t sleep in pajamas like you do, Pizz,” Kenny said. His early energy was gone and he said all of it like it was a statement of fact. Adam didn't doubt Kenny's ability to put on a show though. Even if he felt like shit he'd find a way to hide it. “So, you’ll just have to do with my work-out clothes. I washed them, I promise.”

“Are you going to sleep in your X-men undies again?” Adam teased. Kenny found a toothbrush but instead of handing it to Adam, he chucked it at Adam’s head. Adam caught the flung toothbrush with a clap of his hands. “Hey, I like Wolverine!”

“No, for the record I wore briefs this time,” Kenny said. He shrugged off his blazer and smiled softly, almost regretfully. “I came prepared.”

Adam stepped around the edge of the room, watching as Kenny peeled off his shirt. He’d seen Kenny shirtless a thousand times. He could map each expanse and stretch of muscle, the powerful curve of his back, his thick arms, and broad shoulders. This time felt special, significant, especially when Kenny glanced over his shoulder at Adam and caught him watching. Adam ducked his head and escaped into the bathroom. 

Once the door was closed behind him, he stared at himself in the mirror. Adam splashed cold water on his face and then brushed his teeth. He changed into Kenny’s shorts, used the toilet, and left, wiping his hands on the hand towel. Kenny had changed into a pair of sweat pants and he was yanking the curtains closed over the window. Adam walked-up behind him, hooked an arm around Kenny’s waist and pulling him back to his chest. 

“I’ll wait for you in bed,” Adam murmured, dipping his head to speak in Kenny’s ear. “Don’t take too long, I’m tired.” 

“Yes, sir,” Kenny chuckled. “You know, I like it when you boss me around.”

“Make sure you wash behind your ears,” Adam ordered, severely. 

Adam tapped Kenny’s hip and sent him off towards the bathroom. He turned off the bedroom lights and the nightstand lamp then slid underneath the covers of the bed. It felt like this would be easier if he didn’t have to look at Kenny. Then they wouldn’t have to face anything, just be with each other. The bed was softer than Adam was used to and he fought the mattress to roll over on his side, punching at the pillow to get it shaped right. The ocean rumbled and Adam sighed, exhaling with the tide. He heard the bathroom door open and the latch close behind Kenny. He heard each pad of Kenny’s footsteps on the carpet before the mattress dipped and Kenny slid into bed. Adam rolled over, reaching for Kenny and guiding him closer. Kenny shimmied over and Adam tucked his arm over Kenny’s side, his hand resting over Kenny’s stomach. He pressed his nose into Kenny’s neck and Kenny hooked his calf around Adam’s leg to bring them flush. Every inch of Kenny’s body pressed against Adam. Kenny laid his hand over Adam’s and intertwined their fingers. Kenny rumbled, content, then slid his foot down to put his ice cold toes on Adam’s ankle. Adam jerked, cussing, and Kenny giggled. 

Adam’s eyes fluttered closed. Kenny’s breath as gentle as the ocean. He’d been dreaming about this for months, having Kenny back here. The memory of the hotel room a poor substitute for having him under Adam’s arm. Warm, heavy, his pulse tangled with Adam’s. Adam wiggled his arm underneath Kenny and clutched him tighter. He nuzzled his nose into Kenny’s neck. Here he could say anything. Anything at all, whisper it and pretend Kenny was sleeping, and Kenny could pretend he was sleeping if he didn’t want to hear it. And it’d be like a confession, words lost to empty air, absolution offered to wash them clean. Adam opened his mouth and nothing came out. Instead his lips moved and he mouthed, “I love you.” Without uttering a single sound. Then again, “I love you.” 

“Adam,” Kenny grunted, and Adam almost panicked, wondering for a second if he had actually said those things out loud. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Adam asked, sleep dragged at his mind, making him a little dumb. 

“Staying,” Kenny said. “I know I— I freak-out on you there.”

“It's fine,” Adam whispered. “It happens. Wanna hear a crazy idea I have?”

Kenny shifted, wiggling in Adam’s arms to turn over. Adam grunted when Kenny dug his elbow into his ribs so he could leverage himself onto his opposite side. Kenny buried his face in Adam’s chest and Adam wondered if that was just how he preferred to sleep. Adam rolled onto his back and dragged Kenny with him. He let his fingers play with the ends of Kenny’s hair as the other hand interlaced with Kenny’s on his stomach. Kenny settled himself and Adam licked his lips, just stupid enough to share this crazy idea. 

“Hit me, cowboy,” Kenny ordered. 

“We leave in the morning,” Adam suggested. “I don’t know where to, maybe nowhere specific, but it’s just the two of us. Sleeping in motels, eating shit at dinners, and working the indies— making like fifty bucks a show, so there’s never enough money but we make it work. Maybe we’re a tag-team again or it’s just us in singles. We dominate the competition, earn those dumb little regional belts we used to own. No more stakes, no more crap, just— wrestling, fun as it used to be.”

“We’d be recognized,” Kenny muttered, and Adam remembered the goofy BTE bits he used to shoot down for Kenny. Poking holes in the logic or saying the joke wasn’t funny. All because he was afraid of committing to an idea. Turn about was fair play he guessed. “We could— we could wear masks.”

“You ever wrestle in a mask?” Adam asked. 

“No,” Kenny admitted.

“Sucks,” Adam grunted, “And the moment you did a One-Winged Angel, everyone would know who you are. It’d just be El Generico all over again.”

“We should go horse riding,” Kenny suggested, he yawned. “I haven’t done that in a long time.”

“Next time you’re in Virginia,” Adam promised. “I’ll take you.”

“Mhmm, maybe that should be sooner, rather than later,” Kenny smiled. He settled then and Adam shut-up so he could sleep. In a few moments Kenny breathed easily, and steadily, his eyes closed. Adam twirled a black curl around his finger, absent-minded. 

“I love you,” he said, to the empty room. An observation, a statement of fact, Adam kissed the top of Kenny’s head. This time, he whispered into those curls, “I love you.” 

And then he adjusted himself so he was comfortable in the pillows. Adam sagged, the tension bleeding out of his stiff frame like water. Kenny mumbled softly in his sleep and Adam tucked him close to his side. Thoughts twisted-up in his head, Adam drifted unconscious. Then, when his eyes opened, the room was bright, light spilling in through the thin curtain. The sea raged and the gulls cried. His arm was dead weight, asleep. Adam blinked, lifting his head. In the night, he and Kenny had shifted. Kenny’s head laid on his bicep as he slept. His hand rested on Adam’s chest, fingers crooked. Needing blood flow back in his fingers, Adam slipped his arm out from under Kenny’s head. He sat-up in the bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much. Adam opened and closed his hand, fingertips tingling painfully. He looked down at Kenny. 

His hair was in total disarray, tangled on the pillows. A little bit of drool welled at the corner of his parted lips and he breathed rough, long, slow. Without Adam, he turned onto his side. Adam slid out of the bed. He found his jeans and changed back into his clothes. Adam stepped into his boots and returned to the kitchen. He rummaged in the fridge, the options were meager. Eggs, ketchup, cheese, milk, and luckily, a pack of bacon— probably stuff Kenny bought specifically for breakfast, based on the large container of protein powder beside the fridge. He poked through the cabinets and found the flour from last night, but also sugar, baking powder, cheap imitation vanilla, and salt. 

Adam was methodical as he cracked eggs to scramble and for pancakes. He whipped-up the batter in a bowl and found the frying pans in a lower drawer. The back burner slow-cooked bacon with a tantalizing sizzle and on a front burner, Adam cooked the pancakes. Making just enough for him and Kenny. He cleaned-up as he went, leaving dishes on the drying rack. He did the eggs last, scrambling them with cheese and pepper, when he heard the water run, indicating Kenny was up and using the bathroom. A few minutes later Kenny wandered into the kitchen, rubbing the heel of his hands over his eyes. He paused in the doorway, gaping as Adam assembled two plates of pancakes, eggs, and bacon.

“Mornin’,” Adam grunted, as he took a knife and fork out of the drawer. He walked over to the table and sat down. 

“You made breakfast? I should invite you over more, geez,” Kenny said. He sat down with his plate. “Did you sleep, okay?”

“Not too bad,” Adam said. He watched as Kenny took a bite of eggs and grinned as Kenny moaned almost obscenely. “Was pretty nice sleeping next to you.”

“Well, cowboy, you can do that anytime you want,” Kenny promised. He tapped his fingers against the table. “So, I guess you’re heading out then?”

“Yeah, I gotta,” Adam said. “I got a seven-hour drive, training and working-out to get on, and like, I’m bleeding money paying my neighbor’s daughter to watch my dogs. But uh, this, thing, last night, it was fun? We should do it again.”

“Including the cuddling?” Kenny asked, propping his chin against his hand. He picked-up a piece of bacon between his fingers and cheekily tore a piece off. “I couldn’t agree more. Especially, if you’re going to cook like this.”

“Definitely the cuddling, you’re a pretty good hand warmer,” Adam nodded. He scrapped the last of the eggs onto his fork and polished it off with some pancake. He stood-up and took his plate to the sink while Kenny finished eating. 

Kenny followed Adam out as he returned to his car. They hugged and Adam settled into the driver seat. He recalled the inane story he spun last night, where they go back to the indies and pretended the past year didn’t happen. It wasn’t fleeting because it was impossible. It was simply too late. As Adam turned the ignition he wondered if he could convince Kenny to come back with him to North Carolina instead. Just hide there until the next Dynamite or something. Steal a little bit more time. He put the car in the reverse and let the thought die under the rear wheels.