#hooting and hollering for each and every word i write on this fic

[taniushka12]

alice and barry post aw1 telling each other stories abt alan, being like "you know how he was.." before saying smth the other had no fucking clue about and feeling the old, deep rooted contempt for the other mixing w/ their newfound friendship and also their love for alan send post

[silens-oro]

Sin

Osferth x f!reader

Masterlist

Synopsis: Some teasing on the road. Word Count: 516 Content Warning: Some talks of humping, but this is pure fluff.

AN: I've been absent from this blog for a very long time and wanted to write a quick drabble to get me back on track with my other open fics. Osferth and his silly lil haircut are a good place to start.

This blog is 18+ only

The Last Kingdom requests are OPEN

“You’re tellin’ me that our fiercest maiden to grace our presence hasn’t humped you yet?” Osferth’s face turned beet red at Finan’s question. 

“The monk remains pure, Finan.” You called back over your shoulder with a laugh. “I do not wish to be the reason his soul suffers in -what did you call it, Osferth?” You asked with a snap of your fingers, “-Ah! The flames of eternal damnation,” You looked to a blushing Osferth who merely nodded with his head down, trying hard not to laugh lest he be smited by God himself. 

You winked at Osferth when his eyes met yours before you turned forward once more. 

“He has his reasoning,” You shrugged, “and I respect him for it. Not every man has the will to stave off the serpent of temptation, Finan. You least of all.” You teased.

“Eternal damnation?” Finan wrapped his arm around Osferth’s neck and pulled him close to speak into his ear. “You’d be witnessing the gardens of Eden, Baby Monk. The second best wonder next to the Pearly Gates,” He led Osferth’s gaze to your strong backside as you walked ahead of them none the wiser. The men’s eyes met each other once more, identical grins overtaking their features. 

“That is your devil talking into your ear, Osferth,” Uhtred chuckled beside you, joining in. He glanced back. “Do not fall for his tricks.” Osferth signed the cross on his chest but the smile never left his face. 

“I don’t know, Uhtred,” You started, “what is life without a little bit of sin?”

“Boring,” Sihtric called back with a chuckle. You gave him a pointed look in agreeance.

“Exactly!” You exclaimed, walking a few more paces before you turned back to Osferth and continued on, “One of these days I will bewitch you, Osferth. It is not a matter of if…but a matter of when.” The men hooted and hollered at the monk’s expense, but the teasing was all in good fun. You sent him a soft smile and another wink before turning back to keep up with Uhtred.

Osferth’s eyes never left you and neither did the smile on his lips.

“You’re thinkin’ about it too much, Baby Monk.” Finan coached Osferth.

“I know she is just jesting.” He spoke softly with a sigh. “I could never be worthy of her gaze, let alone her touch.” Finan pulled Osferth to a stop. Sihtric gave them both a look as he passed them. “And it would be a sin to act on those urges even if they were reciprocated.”

“The fiercest woman in the entirety of the Heptarchy has her sights set on you, whether you can believe it or not. She’s never given any of us sad sacks the time of day, but she extends herself to you. That’s got to count for something?”

Osferth thought for a moment. He looked to you once more, laughing at something Uhtred said before punching him on the arm.

“She is a sight to behold.” Osferth breathed with a lovesick look overtaking him as he continued on, leaving Finan to watch with his jaw dropped in gleeful shock.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century

AYO! Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle! Team Enemies-to-Lovers for the win. I bring you another oneshot. but this time i used 3 prompts like a dumbass.

Fics Masterlist

Daminette Oneshot 4.3K words (no warnings except slight cursing)

Summary:

“Marinette is invited to the Super-Rockin' Wedding of the Century and she needs a date. Alya is both her best and worst wingman.”

Day 2 of MGI Trope Tussle, I used 3 prompts to make this thing: 1. "You don't have to like me, you just need to pretend you do." 2. "I like your costume. You look very cute." "Are you making fun of me?" 3. 'Write about a very unusual wedding proposal.' this is the culmination of all my efforts.

without further ado:

It was the biggest news on the internet. Global sensation, international rockstar, Jagged Stone, was officially engaged to childhood friend turned manager, Penny Rolling. Memes and fan theories stormed every corner of the web. Trending topics including #rockstar_wedding and #RollingStone permeated every social media platform. Guest lists were speculated, dress designers were tagged in every post that even mentioned the words ‘wedding’ or ‘bride’. It was total mayhem but none felt it worse than up-and-coming Parisian designer, M. D. Cheng, privately known as Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

The young adult was up to her neck in design templates, and was drowning in half-baked ideas and sketches. While the internet has only heard about the proposal for a solid two weeks at this point, Marinette was in the know for six months. Jagged Stone had contacted her in advance because he needed her help with the proposal itself.

And what a proposal it was.  

Jagged had outlined his idea in simple terms but it was still so mind-boggling that Marinette needed him to draw some visual aids to completely convey his idea. Initially it sounded simple enough but the more the man spoke, the more Marinette felt her brain fry at the mental picture. It first involved recreating a scene from Penny’s favourite movie. Which sounded rather romantic, if you ignored the fact that her favourite movie was Bride of Chucky. Then it involved Jagged dressed as the Tinman from Wizard of Oz. Oh, and the proposal had to happen on Halloween because that was the anniversary of their first date apparently, and based on everything else this plan entailed it might as well have been. Marinette’s role in all of this was to simply re-make the white wedding dress Chucky’s bride, Tiffany, wore because Penny already had the leather jacket to match. Of course she did. She didn’t even want to know how Jagged acquired the Tinman suit. Not her barrel of monkeys.

While many thought Jagged was the eccentric one of the pair, due to his loud personality and being an actual rockstar, the more Marinette worked for the two of them over the years, the more she learned how absolutely wrong they all were. It turned out it was Penny’s idea for Jagged to dye his hair purple, and she was the one to ask him out on Halloween all those faithful years ago. Her calm and collected demeanor was an impressive cover for the absolute weirdo she actually was. And Jagged had planned a proposal that was undoubtedly perfect for her. Regardless of how abso-fucking-lutely bizarre it was.

To each their own and let’s move on.

The set-up for the proposal started with Jagged, dressed as the Tinman, playing the part of Chucky, who begins the body-switching chant from the movie. Everything from that point on was resting on Penny’s love for the movie. Without hesitating, Penny, dressed as Tiffany, and playing her part, knew the lines by heart and immediately began reenacting the scene with Jagged. Her lines involved telling ‘Chucky’ to kiss her while she reaches for a knife that’s supposed to be in his pocket. Instead, as Jagged was still dressed as the Tinman, Penny pulled out a slip of paper. On said paper, the words ‘All the Tinman wanted was a heart’ were written in Jagged’s almost illegible chicken scratch. When Penny was distracted with the piece of paper, Jagged had gotten down on one knee and pulled out the engagement ring. The actual words of his proposal were never actually said because, upon seeing the ring, Penny flung herself into the man, clipping her chin into his metal-plated shoulder, but she wasn’t complaining.  

So that was how the proposal went.

Wedding planning started almost immediately since the newly engaged had already picked a theme. And this is where Marinette began to regret every life choice she has made since she was thirteen; starting with opening the mysterious box she found on her desk and ending with agreeing to being the main designer for the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. One thing that wasn’t well-known but not a secret about Jagged was that he was a superhero fan. He grew up enjoying the fictional ones in his childhood comic books and he adored the real ones he witnessed in his adult life. His song that he dedicated to the teenage Ladybug was only one part of his… appreciation. His hero-worship went so far as to beieve that a hero-themed wedding was appropriate. Or he didn’t, but also didn’t care about adhering to societal propriety and went with that theme anyways. So the Rockin’ Wedding of the Century was now the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. And twenty-three year old Marinette was incharge of the entire wedding party’s outfits.

Perfect.

As a small mercy from some god, both the bride and groom to-be had a rather short list of people in their parties. Marinette was also able to design appropriate hero-themed outfits for all of them and scheduled them for fittings in the coming weeks. That, surprisingly, was the easy part as there were plenty of heroes to draw inspiration from. However, that wasn’t the cause of her current crisis right now.

No. Marinette was up to her neck in unnecessary designs and ideas because she’s been avoiding one particular contingency in her acceptance of the wedding invitation.

She needed a date.

She needed a date because she had promised Penny that she wasn’t overworking herself and to prove it, she would bring a date to the wedding. Rather than call any of the people who expressed interest in her at some point in time, she designated herself to wallow in her situation and distract herself with designs. In the midst of her one person pity party, her phone rang under the sea of ripped out pages. She scoured for the device and hastily answered before she could accidently send the caller to voicemail.

“Hello?” She didn’t check the caller ID and was delighted at the sound of her best friend answering her.

“Marinette! How’s it going over there?” Alya’s voice was mixed in with the busy street life of Metropolis. She had moved there immediately after high school, snatching an internship with the Daily Planet and attending the local community college. She and Marinette don’t call often due to time differences, but when they do it’s like they’ve never parted. She always looked forward to her calls.

“It’s going great, Als,” if she ignored her current dilemma, then yeah, everything was perfect. “But you wouldn’t happen to have an available bachelor willing to be my date to the ‘Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century’ in your back pocket, would you?”  

Alya’s answering laugh was both comforting and teasing and Marinette felt herself missing her even more. What she said next, however, took Marinette by surprise.

“Actually I do.”

“Pardon?”

“Well,” she took a pause to build suspense. “I know a guy who knows a guy. But it’s nothing shady, I swear.”

“That’s not comforting.” Oh god. What has she unintentionally signed herself up for?

“You know my coworker, Jon? The guy who does the photography for all my field work?” Alya had met Jon as soon as she had started her internship. Both of his parents were top journalists at the Daily Planet so he volunteered to act as tour guide for all the new interns. He and Alya, from the exasperated stories Marinette has heard from Nino, got along like a house on fire. If he was involved, Marinette was starting to doubt even further that this was going to end well for her.

“Yes, I know Jon. How is he by the way?”

“He’s fine, but I remember him telling me how he tried to set up his best friend on several dates over the years and how they all ended poorly. He’s as approachable as a brick wall; not just a prick but the whole damn cactus. Or so Jon says.” How does that sound like someone Marinette wanted to bring along with her to the wedding? “But he’s totally your type so I could ask Jon to wrap him up in bubblewrap and send him your way whenever you want.”

“How,” and Marinette said this with a lot of feeling, “is he my type exactly?”

“Green eyes with daddy issues.”

“ALYA!” Marinette was absolutely floored at her bluntness. She wasn’t even sorry about shouting into the receiver.

“Am I wrong? You have a type and he fits that type. Jon mentioned how this guy and his dad hit several roadblocks when they first met. And I’ve seen pictures of him so ‘green eyes’ checks too.”

“That is not my type of guy.” She can’t believe this was how this conversation was going.

“Adrien.”

“I didn’t even know who his father was at the time, Alya.”

“Felix.”

“His dad is dead! That doesn’t count as ‘daddy issues.’” She can feel her cheeks flaming as the call went on. Any hotter and she was going to set her sketchbooks on fire. “Besides, I dated Luka so he doesn’t fit the criteria.”

“He’s an outlier and that’s only because his eyes are blue.” Okay, fine she had a type. “And besides, you don’t even have to date the guy. You only need him to accompany you to the wedding and you both go your separate ways after. No harm, no foul.”

Right. That was true. No strings attached. She could do that.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but,” she held her breath and let it out loudly, ignoring Alya’s chuckle at her dramatics.” Give Jon my number to give this guy. And send his number to me.”

“Wahoo! Look at you, girl,” Alya was hooting and hollering over the speaker and Marinette found herself going along with the theatrics. “Okay, I will. But I gotta go, my cab is here. Bye!”

“Bye! Stay safe. Oh before you go, what’s Jon’s friend’s name anyways?”

“Uh, Damian, I think.” The call ended before Marinette could respond, but it was okay she mused. Tossing her phone onto her couch, she flopped down onto her floor and stared at her ceiling contemplatively.

What could go wrong?

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

When Alya had described this Damian guy as ‘not just a prick but the whole damn cactus,’ she was right. Marinette had been texting back and forth with Damian for a month, and the guy was making this idea seem less and less worth it by the day. Whenever Marinette tried to learn more about the guy, he would ghost her for days on end before replying with a half-assed response at best. She knew nothing about him other than that his first name was Damian and that he was from Gotham. She had no idea how the ball of life that was Jon was even friends with someone like Damian. She asked as much to Alya in their most recent call.

“How did they even meet?” She was pacing the floor plan of her apartment, ready to tear her hair out. “Did Damian bully him in school or something?”

“Apparently their dads knew each other and introduced them,” Alya sounded half awake, stifling a yawn; probably because Marinette had called her at 1 am, Metropolis’s time. “Their brothers being friends also forced them to get along.”

“And that’s another thing!” Marinette had paused in her pacing and was now staring intently at a potted plant in the corner of her living room. Any more rage in her glare and the plant would have wilted and died. “He doesn’t tell me anything about him. I don’t need to know all his personal information, but if he’s going to be flying out to Paris on my behalf, I think I at least deserve to know his last name.”

“Hey, M,” another yawn echoed through the speaker, “I love you, truly, but maybe this could wait for holier day time hours?”

“I guess,” a vindictive part of Marinette felt like this was payback for all those inopportune calls when Marinette was busy with clients. “Sorry for interrupting your sleep.”

“It’s no big deal. But have you tried talking to him about it? If he’s ghosting your texts, try calling him. If he ignores you then too then maybe you should try finding another person to be your plus one.”

“The wedding is in two weeks, Alya!” Marinette partially regrets waiting so long to vent her frustration about the situation but she had tried to tough it out. “I would have much preferred if you were my plus one. You sure there’s no way to convince your parents to skip out on the family trip?”

“Sorry, M. Once the news about the proposal hit the internet, I tried everything. I even tried to use work, saying that I could cover the ceremony for the newspaper. My folks won’t budge though. My dad’s aunt is important to him and he wants us all at the funeral.”

“Right, right, I forgot about that.” Now she felt like an ass. “Send you dad my condolences when you see him again.”

“Will do. Good morning, Marinette. And don’t worry too much about the guy. Everything will turn up great. I can feel it.”

“Thanks, Alya. Good night, get some sleep.”

The line went dead and Marinette let out a rather weary exhale. She had no idea how this was going to work. She pulled up her contacts and searched for what she had Damian saved as.

‘Douche’ flashed on her screen and she hit the call button without remorse. She didn’t care that it was also currently 1 am in Gotham. He didn’t deserve that much consideration from her.

“What?” His voice was gravely and deep. And also really pissed if his clipped tone was anything to go by.

“Damian? Hi, this is Marinette, the girl you’re accompanying to the wedding in two weeks?” Her voice was pitched as if she was dealing with an irritating customer. Fake and polite.

“I know who you are. Why are you calling me at this unreasonable hour?” Fair, but Marinette was still aggravated at him so she wouldn’t concede.

“I’m calling because we need to talk.” She heard him scoff over the line and she felt her blood boil even hotter. She took several calming breaths to reign her temper in. “Don’t hang up.”

“Look,” She didn’t give him a chance to refuse and kept talking, getting everything off her chest. “This wedding is important to me and I promised the bride I would bring a date. After that you can delete my number and we never have to speak to each other ever. You don’t have to like me, you just need to pretend you do.”

“Whatever,” he sounded less annoyed from when he first answered the phone. “I will act as cordial as the situation requires, and nothing more. I also have my attire secured for the wedding and accommodations in Paris already prepared. I will see you at the wedding.”

“Than—” The sound of the call ending interrupted her and her frustration was back tenfold. With a cry in anguish she flung her phone onto her couch and stomped into her kitchen to channel her rage into baking.

Three loaves of bread and a dozen eclairs later, Marinette felt calm enough to finish the final touches on her outfit for the wedding.

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

It was the day of the Super-Rockin’ Wedding of the Century. The Rolling-Stone’s, as they were asking to be called, had kept the ceremony small. Relatively. Only two hundred invited guests, few of which were asked to bring a plus one. Marinette was over the moon at the array of outfits people were sporting. Some chose full-on cosplay while others, like herself, went for more subtle nods to the heroes. In honour of a previous Ladybug, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, Marinette based her outfit off of Wonder Woman’s uniform, Hippolyta’s daughter. A navy blue sequined halter top bodice that flows into a blood red A-line skirt. She paired it with a thick silver belt, silver gladiator heels rather than boots and broad silver arm cuffs. It was simple but effective. Besides, all attention should be on the bride and groom today.

A tap on her shoulder caught her attention and she turned only to come face first with red with black spots. Ladybug. Someone chose her as inspiration. How flattering. Looking up to see who was wearing the Ladybug-themed suit jacket, she stared at a pair of deep forest green eyes and a sneer to ruin that ridiculously handsome face. She recognized him from the photo Alya had sent some time ago. Damian.

“Hi, Damian,” at least one of them had to be civil and Marinette knew it was going to be her. But the idea that of all the heroes for him to choose from he chose her sent her into poorly stifled fits of giggling. Images of him going ‘Lucky Charm’ and ‘Miraculous Ladybug’ were almost too much to bear.

“I don’t know what’s so amusing about my choice of attire,” his face was starting to flush in similar shades to his jacket and that made Marinette laugh harder. “Ladybug is a well respected heroine and I thought it appropriate to pay homage while in her home city.”

“No. No no. There is nothing wrong with it. I like your costume, you look very cute.”

“Are you making fun of me?” His irritation was rather cathartic for the still giggling woman.

“No, I just didn’t think you would have put that much thought into your outfit for today. You always gave me the impression that you were ready to back out at any time.”

“I made a commitment and I had all intentions to see it through the end.”

“Could have fooled me.” And her snark was back. Now was not the time to pick a fight with the guy, he did fly all the way to Paris on her behalf after all.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” and Marinette wanted to know how he managed to sound so condescending with that statement. “How did you even get an invitation to this wedding anyways? You’re not a celebrity and you don’t look like family either.”

“Actually,” she said it with more force than what was probably necessary but his slightly accusatory tone was just so irritating. “I am the lead designer for the wedding party,” her chest was swimming with confidence at the chance to talk about her job. “I’ve worked with the bride and groom for years; M. D. Cheng, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette will deny to her grave the rush of satisfaction at the absolute gobsmacked look on Damian’s face. A real fish out of water. Mouth open wide ready to catch flies. She wished she could capture this moment forever.

The moment was over too soon because Damian was regaining his composure and slipping into his default stoic expression. He cleared his throat and fixed a look at Marinette. It was rather intense.

“I believe I owe you an apology then.” He looked put-out at admitting something so menial. “I believed you were nothing more than a socialite chain climber.”

“A what?”

“When Jon reached out to me saying that a friend of one of his coworkers needed a date for an event, and when that event turned out to be the wedding of someone of such popularity, I figured you were only trying to increase your own social status by showing up with me on your arm.”

“And you said ‘yes’ anyways?” Marinette was confused but pieces of the mystery that is Damian were starting to fit in place. But something else stuck out as odd to her. “Also, how would you being my date increase my social status anyhow?”

He scoffs before answering. Bitch.

“What? It wouldn’t be the first time one of Jon’s set-ups ended that way. Besides, we’ve had an agreement that I can’t turn down an offer until meeting the person face to face.” Weird deal but some friendships are just like, Marinette supposes. “And being seen with me is enough to make anyone more popular.”

“...And you are?”

“Damian… Wayne…” He spoke as if he was talking to a small child. As if it should be obvious who he was like he was some celeb— Oh shit.

A name had flashed into her mind. On the finalised guest list, Marinette had only seen it once in passing, there was a name that belonged to someone Jagged was rather excited to see. He said the friend was an old college buddy. She remembered that much. She had completely forgotten that ‘a billionaire playboy’ was also attached to the name. Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne. Suddenly everything in the past few months made perfect sense. The cold shoulder, the ghosting, and his prickly disposition. He was overly guarded because he had justified reasons to be. Now she felt like an ass.

“Oh.” Real intelligent, Marinette.

“Oh? What, you didn’t know?” He sounded incredulous at the notion and he had every right to be. Marinette could only shake her head. Words were failing her now, her brain trying to rewrite the memories of every interaction the two ever had.

She was saved from further mortification by a call for everyone to find their seats. The wedding was about to begin.

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

The ceremony was beautiful. Penny’s dress was a silver grey, tied back with a golden belt. Instead of a long train, Marinette had attached a black cape that shimmered in the right lighting. Penny wore a tiara with two peaks to imitate the ‘bat-ears.’ A Batman-themed wedding dress was not something she ever saw herself making, but she was proud at how beautiful and confident Penny looked in it. Jagged was adorn in a royal blue suit with bold red lapels. He also had a matching red cape. His hair was styled in the familiar sleek way Superman wears it. The two made quite the pair.  

The reception was a lively affair. Jagged had dedicated several songs to his new wife and they dazzled the crowd on the dance floor. Marinette didn’t pay much attention to the speeches beyond a quick glance at Damian when his own father stepped up to the podium. He had buried his head in his hands, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. A courtesy pat on the back was all Marinette gave to him.

The two hadn’t really spoken much since the revelation that they had completely misjudged each other. The awkward tension was almost palpable. As Marinette was gathering the courage to speak to him, to try and officially clear the air, she was being dragged by one of the bridesmaids onto the dancefloor. It was time for the bride to throw the bouquet. All the unmarried women were being corralled into a tight cluster and Marinette got swept up in the tide.

Marinette wasn’t focusing on the actual game, trying her hardest not to get trampled, when she saw something move in her periphery. Years of being Ladybug had left her with finely honed instincts so she could not be blamed when she immediately jumped and caught the incoming object. The bouquet. She had caught the bouquet. Oh that was just her luck. Deafening squeals of delight brought her out of her own head and she was suddenly being embraced in Penny’s arms. She returned the hug, sharing in her delight, before breaking away to sit down.

“Nice catch.” His voice had surprised her, she hadn’t expected him to speak to her for the rest of the night.

“Uh, thank you. Just lucky, I guess.” Damian didn’t get the chance to respond because he was being dragged by his own father to join all the bachelors in catching the garter. Marinette was equally uninterested in this spectacle and had let her mind wander to other things.

A loud uproar caught her attention again and her eyes zeroed in on Damian holding the tossed garter. He made his way back over to her, dropping himself into his seat gracelessly. The two sat in silence, contemplating the implications of them both catching the garter and bouquet. The games were done purely for tradition’s sake, with total disregard of what it was supposed to symbolise. Still. One’s mind couldn’t help but wander. Minutes ticked passed and Marinette was beginning to wonder if someone was going to talk about the elephant in the room.

“So,” Damian’s voice was slightly strained, like he wasn’t used to being this flustered. It was kind of endearing. Wait what?

“So.”

“While marriage seems far out of reach for right now,” Oh god. He was going to talk about it. “How does dinner sound, next Friday?”

“Wait,” he wanted to spend more time with her? After their disastrous first impressions? “Really?”

“Really. I believe we started off on the wrong foot,” he let out a soft chuckle, almost self-deprecating. “Which isn’t really new for me, but it’s not everyday I meet someone who doesn’t recognise me at first glance. I think you’re someone who I would like to get to know better. If that is something you are also interested in.”

“Yeah,” Marinette knows all about wanting to get acquainted with someone who she’s had a bad first impression of. Just look at her past relationships. Wow, she really does have a type. Damning thoughts for later. “Friday works for me. Seven pm?”

“Perfect. I’ll text you the details then.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait.”

The rest of the evening was spent in companionable silence with small bouts of conversation in between. They shared a couple dances on the floor and parted ways at the end of the night with budding anticipation for Friday.

As Marinette was preparing for bed that night in the comfort of her apartment, she sent a text to Alya that her friend would see later in the day.

You were right, I do have a type :(

[entishramblings]

The Essence of Arda [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: whoA okay so this fic took me on a whole ass adventure. I kinda just let the story go where it wanted to and ya know I’m kinda happy with how it turned out. Also, “(h/c)” means hair color...there is something I included but I wanted to make sure you guys could still see yourself as the character so yeah! Another also...I’m sorry....this was requested literally so long ago.

Request: @sokkasdarling — heyhey im gonna request smth cus i LOVE U AND UR WRITING HHHH okay so how about a jealous legolas fic where he thinks the reader and aragorn have a lil thing going on but they're just really great friends and she actually likes legolas very much?? please and thank you<3333

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: (Y/N) and Legolas’s paths cross in an unexpected way and the two develop feelings for each other. However, Legolas is unsure and gets jealous bc of the way Aragorn and (Y/N) interact.

Word Count: 3,661 (sorry I got a little carried away)

Warnings: angst, fluff, cuteness, jealousy, the tiniest amount of nudity

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST | AO3

Legolas had met many wandering souls throughout his travels of middle earth—weathered, withered, and warped humans in particular, for the elements and loneliness seemed to affect them more so. Elves, on the other hand, were bound to nature. It was where their hearts rested and their spirits thrived; therefore, the desperation of the empty lands of Arda did not affect him. However, that didn’t mean he did not wish for company. So, on that account, Legolas made his way north towards the Dundain, in hopes to see his good friend Aragorn once more.

It was there, in the northern wilderness, where he met the most riveting and thought-provoking individual. The intriguing nature that compelled his attention was that she was so unlike the other humans he ventured upon, specifically because she wasn’t exactly human.

The first time he had met (Y/N) was when her sharp canine teeth were at his throat.

A (h/c) she-wolf had launched herself at him with an unhinged jaw and barring teeth. The nimble creature had been so swift that he, even as an elf, did not have time to react. The wolf had pinned him down with a viscous expression—laughing at his surprise. Legolas was only quick enough to pull a knife from his belt once he was already knocked down upon the mud. However, he hesitated just before he was going to strike the blade into the beasts’ belly.

As intimidated as he was, something in those vibrant earthy eyes made him halt. Was it the deep churning of the sea? The fresh breath of the sky? The moisture of the leaves? The pooling of sun-kissed honey? The thickness of clay-like soil? Legolas was unsure why exactly, but those eyes reflected the essence of Arda—they reflected it right back into his soul. And here was his miscalculation, for the natural instincts of a wolf would not suspend for its prey—well, not without a familiar voice calling out....?

“(Y/N), NO!”

The creature froze. She reluctantly backed off of his form but she did not let her guard down. Instead, she circled him with those same barring teeth and low growls.

Legolas inhaled a deep breath of cold air as he tried to re-center himself, for it was not often an elf got knocked on their ass and enthralled so deep in a beauty.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and focused in on his elvish senses—feeling every nerve in his body scream out to be alert.

Legolas’s ears picked up the first indication—the speaker.

A sound of rough, ragged panting carried through the breeze as his gaze whispered upon the being who had previously hollered—a worn down Ranger.

A small grin crossed the elf’s face. Aragon stood before Legolas, with hands on his knees, sucking in deep breathes. An entirely human action. The Ranger clearly had a hard time keeping up with the canine creature—which he surprisingly seemed to be acquainted with.

“Legolas, by the Valar, I didn’t know you were traveling through these parts,” He exclaimed.

The elf chuckled as he stood, brushing dirt off his palms.

“Well, I suppose I am lucky for she listens to you well,” He nodding at the wolf for reference.

The Ranger shook his head and let out an amused laugh. “She never listens to a thing I say. So, you are lucky, indeed.”

The wolf released a snort-like sound as if she was retorting to his words.

The Ranger rolled his eyes before speaking to Legolas again, “Let me show you to where we are camped. A hot meal will be waiting.”

Legolas smiled softly, “Thank you, Mellon Nin (my friend).”

The group—consisting of man, elf, and wolf—traveled through the woodland tundra with small conversation between the two who could speak. They shared their recent adventures and current news across the lands until they come upon a handful of Rangers around a blazing fire. They were clad in similar attire as Aragorn, being worn leather boots and thick fraying fabrics. Each of them had the same haunted expressions as many people Legolas had met, yet nothing like the joyful grin that pulled slightly at Aragorn’s lips.

The Ranger introduced each of his companions to the elf as he settled down upon a log. Legolas did the same, allowing himself to become enthralled by the brilliant flames. The she-wolf left his thoughts.

As the moon rose high and stars stretched across the sky, the rangers began to settle for the evening. It was then when the elf ducked away to relieve himself.

He made his way through the twisting trees in silence for he enjoyed listening to the sounds of night’s nature. But the normal chirps and hoots was not what met his ears; rather it was snapping bones and ripping skin, small groans and weak whimpers—it was pain.

Legolas narrowed his eyes and crept forward cautiously, fearful of what he might find.

The sounds let him towards a rather large bolder that was impeded in the ground and covered in thick moss. He was startled as he laid a hand on the cold stone, for a leg protruded upon the side—a leg belonging to the canine species.

It bended and it snapped, morphing into one of human nature—much like his own. It then disappeared behind the rock once more. He could not hold back the gasp that left his lips for witnessing such a thing was—shocking, confusing, terrifying. It was unnatural, but then again, what was ever natural within the lands of Arda?

Legolas’s attention was drawn upwards as a naked figure shakily stood before him.

She stood straight, with impeccable posture, and a head held high; but that is not what claimed his consciousness. It was that vibrant gaze, burning angry holes into him.

She spoke sharply, “Well, are you going to pass me my clothing?”

Instead of responding or making any motion, he froze as if he was deer hiding from the predator once more. His blue orbs locked onto hers, for he dared not let his gaze wander.

Dreadful silence hung in their air as he processed that the person before him indeed was a wolf moments before—the wolf.

However, that antagonizing absence of sound was disrupted when life was breathed back into him and he could finally move his lips. Though it came out as a whisper, for elves were conservative creatures and such a sight had caught him off guard, it still came out nonetheless.

“You are—are not entirely human.” He stated with an expression that seeped curiousness and inquiry.

“Though, currently, I am shaped like one. So, as you are in my way, I will ask you once again to pass me my clothing.” She reiterated.

Legolas’s brows pulled together and his lips mumbled her words back to her as he searched his mind for the meaning. He twisted around and around until a pile of dark fabrics caught his eye. He grasped them gently and passed it over the boulder between them into her calloused hands.

He turned so his back was facing her. His anxiety and awkwardness reverberated off of every word that non-consensually tumbled from his lips. “You are a shifter then—able to alter your form? A wolf....so I suppose it was you who almost tore my throat out.” He paused before recalling her name, “(Y/N).” He should have stopped there if he could, but alas, he couldn’t. “I have only ever met one other like you. His name was Beorn—a great black bear he was—“

She interrupted him, “Most elves I come across are not so verbal. Though, Strider had mentioned you before, Legolas. A strange fellow you are indeed.”

A small grin of embarrassment flickered across his face, not that she could see. “He called me strange?”

A laugh, sounding of blades of grass rubbing together against the wind, struck the air. (Y/N) spoke, “For an elf he had said. But truly, he was too generous with those extra words.”

Legolas tilted his head at that for it seemed to be an insult; but before he could decide on such a matter, she called out to him again—this time fully clothed and ten feet in front of him.

“Are you coming?”

He quickly scampered after her.

As he and (Y/N) entered the area, Aragorn, who still sat by the fire, glanced up with a shimmer in his eye.

Legolas gridded his teeth and sat down next to the man. In a voice as low and quiet as he could muster, he spoke to the Ranger. “Why didn’t you tell me she was the wolf?”

Aragorn smirked in amusement before whispering back, “I figured you would eventually come to that conclusion and by your expression it was not of the best experiences.”

Legolas shot his friend a glare, but that only made the Ranger grin more.

Luckily for the elf, (Y/N) interrupted the moment. “Strider, did you save me some stew? I’m starved.”

The man passed a bowl to her as he spoke, “You know I always do, (Y/N).”

She smiled gratefully.

The Ranger stood and made his way to his bedroll, clapping the elf on the shoulder as he went.

Legolas took notice of the interaction between the two and turned his attention to the woman sitting across from him.

Once he was sure Aragorn was out of ear shot, he spoke quite bluntly, “You and Strider....are you—“

She snorted, “No, no. His heart lies in Rivendell.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow, “And yours?”

(Y/N) shrugged and glanced up at the scenery around them. “Here. In the lands of middle earth.”

The elf tilted his head, examining her again.

She stopped her chewing and sent him an accusatory look. “What?”

Legolas smiled softly, “I sense that shifters are much like elves in that regard—bound to nature and tethered in the sky.”

She raised a brow, “And what makes you think that?”

He chuckled lightly at her bold fierceness, “Your eyes. I can see the essence of Arda in them.”

(Y/N) shook her head in amusement, “Elves and their poetry.” She paused, taking a moment to think. “Although what you say is true, it is within that where I think we differ. You elves are laced up spiritually whereas shifters are tied animalisticly.” When the elf did not respond she continued, “You care for morals, I care to survive.”

Legolas nodded in understanding, “Yet we both appreciate the beauty of it.”

The corner of her lip pulled upwards and she shook her head in agreement.

......

As time went on and the small group traveled, the female shifter and the elf became great friends—bonding over their infinity with nature. The two had split off from the rangers for a little while because (Y/N) wanted to see the forest of Greenwood and examine what seemed to be haunting it. However, after approximately two moon cycles, they met with Aragorn once more. He was not with his previous companions though, so it was only the three of them.

The months had gotten colder and they traveled upon open plains so (Y/N) stayed in her wolf form. It was easier for the time being. And it was in this shape that she came bounding towards the ranger that she had not seen in a while.

She jumped up upon him, knocking him to the ground as she had once done to Legolas. She plastered wet slobbery licks upon his face as his chest rumbled with laughter.

The elf could not help but feel a pang of jealous encase his heart. He had grown to develop feelings for the shifter as they had grown close over their journey. 

Just as he felt bound to nature, he felt bound to her.

So he stood, with a fire burning in his heart, as he watched (Y/N) give canine affection to his human friend.

As the days continued on, Legolas’s irritation grew. (Y/N) strayed closer to Aragorn’s side—rubbing her face against his leg and pawing at his feet in attempt to trip him.

Of course, Aragorn could pick up on the elf’s mood and angry looks. He had thought Legolas was aware of his lover in Rivendell, but perhaps not. The Ranger had wanted to find a moment alone with the elf so he could assure him of the sibling-like relationship between him and the shifter; but with open freezing lands like this, there was no privacy.

The small trio had settled upon large rocks for the night as that was the only shelter available. They lit a brilliant fire in attempt to starve off the nipping wind, but it only did so much.

Aragorn, wrapped in blankets, had fallen asleep quite quickly; whereas Legolas sat brooding, leaning against a boulder.

It was a moment before he noticed those curious eyes on him. They twinkled with the emotions of Arda, searching his soul. With a tilted head, the wolf approached him slowly.

She crawled forward, so close that her wet nose was inches from his own. She resting one large paw upon his thigh but her weight did not hurt him.

Legolas did not move because he was taken by surprise. (Y/N), as partially human, did understand boundaries; yet, she did not seem to care about them in this instance. Instead, she studied him—up close.

The elf knew that she was searching him for answers given she had noticed his mood as well. However, Legolas did not wish to give any. Therefore, he held his porcelain elf features strong, not bending to her intimidation. He starred right back at her. Though this time, his eyes were filled with anger and frustration—and (Y/N) could tell.

Legolas was upset with her for she blatantly gave Aragorn affections.

Could she not see his heart?

He had said he would not bend to her will and intimidation. He had decided he would be cold towards her. He had made a choice—a choice that he could not uphold as he gazed into her soft eyes of nature.

Slowly, he raised a gentle hand. He brought it close to her face. When she did not pull away, he cupped the canine’s features.

To his disbelief, (Y/N) completed an action he had never seen her do before—even with Aragorn. She leaned into his touch.

Legolas’s lips parted as the moment encapsulated his mind.

He let his hand fall slowly and (Y/N) leaped off his lap. But she did not scamper off in a different direction. Instead, she ducked into his side and curled up against him. She let her head rest on his lap.

Cautiously, Legolas began to stroke her soft, (h/c) fur. He let the short strands slip through his fingers, lulling her to sleep.

.....

When Legolas woke, (Y/N) was not in his sights. He sent a confused expression towards Aragorn who was tending to the dwindling flames.

“She will be back,” the Ranger stated simply.

The elf stood and walked towards Aragorn. “Where did she go?”

The ranger shrugged while biting back a smile.

Legolas frowned at his playful expression, “I know you know something, Aragorn.”

The man raised his brows. “I woke sometime in the night. You and (Y/N) seemed quite close.” He paused, the tone of his voice changing, “You know, she never lets anyone touch her like that.”

“Never have you....?” Legolas let his sentence trail off as the ranger shook his head.

Aragorn spoke again, “My heart rests with another.”

Their conversation was cut short by a feminine voice. “Have either of you seen my cloak?”

Legolas’s head snapped in the direction of the sound for it had been long since (Y/N) was in her human form.

The shifter stood before them shivering slightly in her clothes. They were clearly not fit for the freezing air as the fabric was thin—so thin that her the curve of her breasts and nipples was easily seen.

Legolas adverted his eyes and instantly began to ruffle through his bag as he spoke with concern in his tone. “(Y/N), why have you shifted to your human form? Did you not say it was safer for you to travel through this weather as a wolf?”

She sighed, “It is harder to communicate in my animal form.”

Both of the men knew what she was alluding to.

Legolas cleared his throat and pulled out a couple fabrics from his bag. “I have been carrying your cloak.” He moved towards her as he continued speaking. “Wear this as well. It is an elvish tunic weaved from my homeland; it will keep you warm.”

“Legolas, you don’t ha—“

He shook his head, “Please, I insist.”

(Y/N) reluctantly took it and pulled the fabric over her head. She frowned as she handled the wrap around ties, not quite able to figure out how they were supposed to lay.

The elf smiled softly, “Here, let me.”

Ever so gently he took the extra fabric in his hands and begun to weave it around her form. He tied the delicate cloths in a simple knot before moving to fasten her cloak under her chin.

“Thank you, Legolas.”

He tucked a stray hair behind her ear, “It is no problem.”

He turned to gather his belongings as they were to continue their way through Arda. However, as he did so, Aragorn shot him an amused playful look. The elf sent him a sharp glare in retribution.

.....

Within a couple days, a winter storm hit the group. Luckily, they were not far from a human town which they gratefully took refuge in. Of course, as they busted into the inn, many weird looks were thrown their direction. It was not often this area was crossed by elves and rangers—and skin changers, but they were unaware of (Y/N)’s less than human nature.

They each paid for a room and took time to settle into the warmth.

Legolas rested on the edge of the cot, fiddling with one of his blades. He had let his thoughts wander to a place he had been avoiding. A bond with nature was one thing he knew deep within his soul, but a bond with another was something untouched and left uncovered. Of course he had had acquaintances with friends and family; however, the bond he was debating over was one with a lover. He knew where his heart craved to be, yet he was unsure how to proceed.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the frame of his open door.

Legolas looked up to see (Y/N). She was wearing fresh clothing, likely washed and pressed by a maid. All the filth and grim had been scrubbed from her skin and her wet hair was pulled into a tight braid.

“(Y/N),” he stated simply. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head as she stepped into his room, “Well, not entirely.”

Legolas frowned at that comment.

The shifter walked closer until she stood only a foot from the elf.

He looked up into her vibrant eyes with question.

(Y/N) cleared her throat as she gently placed something soft and neatly folded into his hands. “Thank you for lending me your extra tunic.”

He smiled softly at her, “Won’t you need it again when we depart? The weather isn’t getting warmer anytime soon.”

A light chuckle rumbled in her chest and she shook her head in response.

Legolas placed the fabric next to him and looked up at her again. He did not notice he was staring until she whispered his name.

“Legolas, why do you do that?”

He tilted his head trying to hid his embarrassment, “What do you mean?”

Her teeth scraped her bottom lip, “Why do you look at me like that?”

The elf adverted his gaze, “My apologizes. I did not mean to offend you—“

(Y/N) interrupted him, “It is not an offense.” She sighed before speaking again. “You look at me like you marvel at nature—as if I am something so breath taking.”

“You are.” He frowned, “Do you not think so of yourself?”

The woman did not say a word; instead, she shifted her vision to the floor.

Legolas reached outwards and took her hand in his own. “You are breath taking, (Y/N)—even more so than nature.”

She shook her head, “I—I don’t understand.”

Legolas could not hold back any longer. He knew he needed to explain what he meant but no words could formulate such a thing. Therefore, he gave into his impulses and did the only thing he could think of to demonstrate it. The elf pulled her into him and grasped her cheeks with his hands. Legolas drew her face downward and smashed his lips against hers. When she did not reiterate any action he instantly pulled away. Had he taken a step too far?

“Legolas,” she breathed out in a whisper.

“I...I am sorry...I didn’t—“

She shook her head and clasped his cheeks, bringing his mouth to hers once again. Their lips moved together like the rhythmic dance of the wind—swirling and intertwining with eagerness. Legolas could taste the essence of Arda upon her lips—the sweet honey from east of the Anduin, the fresh berries from the region of Eriador, the bitter nuts from the mountains of Angmar. (Y/N) moved her body in-between his legs, but she decided that that was not close enough. So, she lifted herself into his lap, letting his calloused hands encircle her waist and hold her steady. She could feel the warmth of sparking fires, the comfort of soft wool, the shield of shelter from harsh winds. Legolas laid down upon the bed, pulling her form with him. He could hear the pounding of her heart and the gasps of her breath. Every sound she made did not escape him, it fueled him. (Y/N) tangled her fingers in his blonde locks and smiled against his lips for she recognized every aspect of nature within the elf, for it was in her too. It was the essence of Arda.

.....

Everything Tag: @sokkasdarling @scxundress @quilledinkpen @hufflepuffinblr @lea----b @aredhel-of-gondolin @princecami @the-fandoms-georgie @jazziwritestolkienprimary @swimming-in-stardust

Legolas Tag: @dark-angel-is-back @mylittle-escapingdreams @arandomfandomblog @moriamithril

[rons-wheezely]

Cedric || Congratulations

Genre: fluff, Cedric Diggory x reader

Summary: [B&W soulmate!AU] when everything is black and white until you hear your soulmates voice for the first time. “Congratulations, Diggory!” 

A/N: sorry for the lack of activity!! I’m trying to think outside of the box with these fics, so it’ll take some time :)

--x--

Everyone hooped and hollered at the new Prefects list. You were a year younger than the qualifying age, but you practically jumped out of your seat when people you knew were called. Fred and George looked at you incredulously as you joined the masses of excited cheers. You’ve always wanted to be a Prefect, despite what your friends thought about it.

“A Prefect?” George questioned when you told him afterwards. You two were walking in the hallways after the announcements.

Fred popped up on the other side,” --More like a prat.” The two of them snickered to each other, and you could only roll your eyes at their usual antics. 

Your eyes land on the new Hufflepuff prefects who were now making their way out of the Great Hall. You cupped your hands and shouted to them,“Congratulations, Diggory!” You smiled and waved at Cedric, who had a look of shock overwhelm him. Before he could call out to you, he was swept away by the other Hufflepuffs.

“How’d you even meet Cedric?” Fred looked at you and then at George. “He’s not in our house, plus isn’t Cedric a year older?”

“How would you know what house he’s in? All of the houses look the same.” You responded. The houses were various shades of black and white, so it was hard to differentiate or remember what house you were actually in. Knowing Diggory though, was a different story. You shrug, pretending to not get the hint,”...Everyone knows Diggory.”

“Okay, but how do you actually know him?”

You mulled over your words before casually responding. “He may or may not have passed me a note with answers to a potions exam.” 

The Weasley boys feign a gasp of shock and horror. “Our y/n could never!” Fred screeched and dramatically placed the back of his hand on his forehead like he was starring in a soap opera. 

“Y/n cheating? Merlin, that’s unheard of!” George added in.

They both had a look of agony as if the thought had tormented them for years,”A future Prefect who breaks school rules?” The two circle around you as you walked through the hallway. 

“I might as well auction my left pinky toe to potions...” Fred shakes his head in dismay. You know he’s only joking, but you wouldn’t be surprised if it ended up happening.

You laugh, amused by their usual antics. “It’s not that extreme, I can assure you. Cedric and I are friends; we pass notes sometimes during class is all.” You shrug again, but for the longest that had been a secret you kept to yourself. You had never really spoken to Cedric, but with how frequently you two passed notes, it seemed only right to be called friends.

“Cheating and passing notes?” Fred quirks

“We might as well be triplets, y/n.” George’s arm is slung around your shoulder. “We should head to Fortescue’s Ice cream parlor to celebrate our third twin; what do you blokes think?”

You agree along with Fred, already watering at the thought of Fortescue’s ice cream. When you arrive though, it seems that everyone else had the same idea. The shop is practically overflowing with customers who were eager to get their hands on some sweets. You sigh, already preparing yourself to leave before you even go in.

“Wow y/n, you think they’re celebrating too?” Fred smiles to reassure you when he sees your disappointed face. “They might be here for the prefects, but it’s better to think they’re here for little miss Weasley.” He hoots and hollers along with the crowd as he winks to you.

George and Fred guide you safely to the counter. The shop is loud and bustling with chatter, but you manage to order as you please and find a nearby table to wait. It comes soon enough and the sugary sweets fill your mouth. Fred and George are talking to a couple of other kids they knew when you make eye contact with Diggory from across the room. Has he been there the whole time? Nevertheless, you give him a small wave and a friendly smile.

He waves back and opens his mouth to call out to you, but the twins pull you (quite literally) into their conversation. “--and this is the lovely prat who won the bet! She robbed me of half my supply of joke inventions, didn’t ya?”

You laugh,” How could I forget! The look on your face when I used every single one of ‘em on you; you never even saw it coming!”

Ice cream and treat bowls were empty, and customers had started wearing thin. You turn to clean up after yourself while the twins try to bargain for more. Stuck onto the side of your sundae cup was a note. You immediately recognized it as Diggory’s writing, and picked it up gingerly. 

Can we meet in the courtyard? I’d really like to say thank you in person, but I understand if you have other plans tonight. See you at 9? :)

A quick glance at the clock on the wall reads as 8:32, so you start packing up your things in a faster pace. “--what do you say? My brother and I--”

“Fred,” you looked at the two,” George, are you ready to go?”

“We’re always ready, y/n.” the twins smirk, but they wave goodbye to Mr. Fortescue and leave minutes after you do. “What’s the rush?” They ask in their unsettling unison. You all arrive on campus when you turn to look at them.

“Curfew is at ten, boys,” you look back at them. “I’m going to need this extra hour to study, which you would understand if you actually studied.” 

They chuckle amongst themselves,”We’re just naturally gifted; built for wizarding already. I guess we’ll head back to our dorms then? Since joining you is out of the question.” Then look at each other and nod like they know exactly what they plan to do when they get there. “See you later, y/n!”

After you were sure they left, you turn the corner towards the courtyard. Of course you had to study, but you could always do it inside the dorms after call time. “...Diggory?” You called out. You spot him just on the other side of the fountain, and you walk over to meet up with him. “This is a little too ominous for a little thank you, don’t you think?” 

He was looking down at the floor with his eyebrows furrowed, but relief is washed over him when he sees you. You walk closer and watch as the moonlight highlights his features in a glowing hue. The courtyard is desolate, with the exception that you two were there and the usual nightlife that animals got up to. 

He walks closer to you and meets halfway. Cedric’s voice is barely above a whisper when he says,” I think we’re soulmates?” 

And just like that, the face you were looking at flushed with color. His house color was a soft, warm tone that accented his robes, and his hair was tussled with deep locks of a rich color. His eyes were still grey, but you’d love him all the same. He’s smiling at you as you take in all of your surroundings, breathing in the view of this new world.

The longer he smiled at you, the more desperate you’d become to knowing the name of the color on his lips. Maybe it was the same color of love, you thought to yourself. Dumbfounded, you find yourself closing the gap between you two, a hug filled with more vibrancy and warmth than you had ever known. This was just the beginning, and soon you’d know the taste of his lips too.

--x--

A/N: requests are open! I am working on a requested date with Ron, so stay tuned my loves <3

[jade-marie]

Top 10 books fics I read in 2020

Tagged by @sothischickshe

I don’t read books. I’m trash. So have my top 10 fics. These aren’t in any real order, btw.

Finally got round to adding some content to each one. Send word to my family, I died doing this. All the fluffy goodness is hitting me right in the feels😭😭😭

Do not collect $200 by @mrslackles

My OG favourite series. I will talk about this till the cows come home, I will read it over and over again until the day I die. So fucking good. The plot, the characterisation, the angst, the fluff, it just has everything and I fucking love it.

Favourite snippet:

Her touch is so light that Rio shivers and his tongue darts out for a second, meeting two of her fingers, and it makes their eyes meet.

And the look she finds there, god, it’s indescribable – no words, there are no words. Yet she knows what it means. Nobody’s ever told me I’m a good kisser and nobody’s ever touched you like this.

She doesn’t say it aloud but it doesn’t matter, not really. They both know it.

And Beth doesn't know when she falls asleep, only that it's with her palm on his throat and her fingers splayed over his lips.

Lush life by @hereliesbb

Lush life is basically my comfort blanket. I have a bad day, I read it and I’m smiling again. Every time. Without fail. The fluffiest fucking shit I’ve ever read in my life, even the angst is fluffy. I love it so much, I cannot find the words. 

Favourite snippet:

“What?” she asked when she saw he was staring. She looked back in the mirror to make sure she didn’t have anything in her teeth.

“You’re beautiful,” he said and then huffed like he was making fun of himself. Beth felt her face flush and about a hundred thousand butterflies take flight inside of her.

Warm water by @inyoursheets

Angst, yearning, friends to lovers, slow burn AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES. Such a good read omg 😫

Favourite snippet:

She kisses him.

Elizabeth. Elizabeth kisses him.

He can’t move—can’t think, not with her up close, her scent overwhelming him, her soft body pressed into him—when she’s already pulling back, jerking to a halt.

And just like that, he’s done. Finished. Can no longer find it in him to keep it up, his carefully crafted indifference, the control he tried to grasp so eagerly. No point guarding it from her any longer, not with those wild, wide eyes peering up at him like he can give her something, here, now.

Good sport by fireinsideforfun

Again, phenominal characterisation. I love the way she portrays their vulnerability. It’s just so so so beautifully written. 

Also, the image of Rio drowning in a pair of ginormous pyjamas makes me feel some shit🤣

 Favourite snippet:

“You’re not going to go rotten on me, are you darlin’?” he quietly asks her.

The question takes her aback, because although his voice is gentle his eyes are speaking volumes, something dark and desolate brewing.

“No. Never,” she says to him and means it.

He scoffs. “How can you know?”

“Because we’ve already been there before,” she says, and she can tell he knows what she’s referring to. “I already tried to get rid of the king and I couldn’t do it. We’ve been through those motions together. It’s done.”

Milkshakes by @emilykolburn

Dad Rio vibes, Rio and babies. Milkshake meetcute. I cannot. Literally so adorable.

Favourite snippet:

Rio was looking her up and down, slowly taking in every inch of her that he could, and she noted that he had that twinkle in his eyes again. When his eyes eventually found hers, he tilted his head to the side a little, tongue running slowly across his bottom lip. The intensity in the eye contact alone made her want to shrink away. She wasn’t used to it, she realised, but the longer they looked into each other’s eyes, and the way the corner of his mouth slowly twitched up into a smirk, she found she liked it.

Irresistible by @wakeupflawless

Highschool au. Enemies to lovers. I eat that shit UP.

Before anyone could say anything, she grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him down to her for a very public, very dirty kiss.

“Oh, shit,” She heard Pedro say.

For once in his life Rio must have been stunned, because he was frozen against her for a moment. He grabbed her hips, pulling her closer to him and deepening the kiss. The bystanders erupted, she heard hoots and hollers coming from the guys and exclamations of “Oh my God!” from the girls.

“Hey! That’s enough” Called the Vice Principal, “Everyone get to class!”

Beth broke their kiss, panting slightly and grinning ear to ear.

“What was that?” Rio asked, raising his eyebrows.

“So everyone knows I’m hittin’ it,” Beth replied, smirking, “And also to say sorry,”

Love despite by @itsbriology

Dad Rio strikes again. If Lindsay throws in one more big-hand-small-baby-ratio reference... i’m pretty sure my ovaries will explode inside of my body and I’ll die of internal bleeding 🙃🙃🙃

Favourite snippet:

The hiccups lasted longer than he thought, almost to the point he wondered if there wasn’t something else he could do for her. But they eventually slowed and so did her tears, and then he stopped and looked down at her little head full of soft brown hair that had landed on his chest and watched her eyes drift shut again from the pure exhaustion of the near traumatizing event.

“There ya go, sleepy head. See, I told ya.” He laughed down at her as he continued holding her and pushing the cart down the aisle. A little old lady stopped and took in the sight of them.

“Someone’s a good daddy,” She smiled up at him with Jane cozy in his arms and he stopped. The lady looked to be about eighty and probably weighed seventy pounds.

“Uhh, no… this ain’t…” He tried telling her but she interrupted.

“What an adorable little girl you’ve got there.”

The lady looked up at them grinning.“Thank you.” He smiled back, not knowing what else to say in that moment.

Criminology 101 by @sdktrs12

College au. Cars being destroyed. Fluffy shit. Idiots being idiots. LOVE ITTTTT

He moves one hand up to brush her hair out of her face. “Do you trust me?”

I do that’s the whole problem, she wants to scream. She finds herself nodding quietly instead.

“That’s good.” He leans down, presses his lips against her temple in a soft kiss that makes her heart skip a beat.

Beth closes her eyes as she leans into him, giving in and letting herself fall into the dark abyss that is his touch, his smell, his voice.

Shit.

She’s in so much trouble.

Both sides of the law by @joeyjoeylee

Slow burn. Y E A R N I N G. But they don’t even know they’re yearning. Taking the constant oneupmanship and translating it into a law school setting - genius. So so good.

Favourite snippet:

“Shouldn’t you be at the bar?” She really needed to let Gretchen know some of the staff had a distinct professionalism problem. If, or when, she was in charge of throwing the party next year, she’d have to make sure they did a better job of recruiting the help.

“Was just there, actually.” He wiggled his hand to show her the beer bottle he was holding. “But Gretch got on me ‘bout not having my nametag.”

She was confused and a little scandalized. Was he really drinking on the job? And…”Gretch”? He had to mean Gretchen? Granted, Beth barely knew her, but Gretchen hadn’t seemed like someone who would be on a first name basis with the staff. And why would he have a nametag? Nametags were for the students, and he was just a bartender…

Oh.

Oh no.

Everything seemed suddenly to be moving very slowly and she seemed to be watching it all unfold from outside her own body.

She watched him lean closer again to reach behind her and pick up the last nametag from the table.

She watched him pluck the Sharpie from her hand and use it to cross out “Christopher” then write “Rio” in big block letters that still managed to look messy.

Then she watched as he made a production of pinning the nametag just so to his lapel, mirroring her, exact and mocking, grinning down at her all the while.

Oh no.

A time to kill @sothischickshe

JUSTICE FOR MICK. And his shirt. Poor bby did not sign up for dealing with these two dumbasses and their dumbassery. Grumpy Rio pov is always a winner in my book. It’s comedy gold.

Favourite snippet:

Jesus, her hair is past lank. He sniffs. “You’re ripe. Go shower, man.”

Elizabeth grumbles incessantly until he agrees she can have coffee first, but he draws a line under a single cup, demanding she hurry.

Rio opens the windows wide as they allow. There’s a distinct scent of manure in the air, but it honestly might be preferable.

“That shirt needs washing too!” he yells from a safe nasal distance.

She literally punts the shirt at him from the bathroom, before slamming then locking the door. The handle vibrates for ages after.

He debates sourcing some tongs to handle the offending item with. When he can’t find any, considers setting fire to it instead. Surely Elizabeth can make herself a dress outta all the hair she incessantly moults over every inch or some shit.

Eventually he chucks it in for a wash with some other bits, holding his nose closed.

Elizabeth’s in the bathroom for fucking ages. He assumes it’s payback for pointing out she stunk, or whatever. But it ain’t cute.

He jiggles the handle, knocks on the door. There’s no response.

“Oi!” Rio shouts. “Hurry up, I gotta piss!” It’s not, strictly speaking, true. But. It could be. Hogging the bathroom’s just rude.

“Go away!” she squawks. Then, “Go outside!”

He keeps it up, and she mostly ignores him. Though when he insinuates she’s taking the world’s longest shit, she does straight up tell him to fuck off.

Tagging @purplemagic @wakeupflawless @00gangfriend00 @joeyjoeylee

[themuseic]

Only Fools (Chapter 1)

Fic Summary: Sent to Boone County, West Virginia on an assignment, you find yourself engulfed your work. How could you possibly find time for anything else? Even if “anything else” includes the tall, kind, and handsome bartender from down the road?

Word Count: 2.2k

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: Use of alcohol.

Author’s Note: Hi everyone!! I started a fic! It’s the first fic I’ve written, so please, I would love any and all feedback. I want to grow and constantly get better, so if you have any advice, I will be more than willing to listen! But I really want to give a huge shout out to @mind-p0llution​, who not only encouraged me to write and beta read this for me, but has been nothing but supportive and kind to me! I hope y’all enjoy. 

Ten hours on the road today, and you had finally, finally, reached your destination. A small town in Boone County. You hadn’t seen another car in miles, and the lights of Route 64 had long since faded behind the horizon. A yawn overtook you, and you tilted your head to one side, and back, a satisfying crack sounding as you relieved the pressure in your tense neck. Straight to the hotel then, you thought, ready for a shower and a comfortable bed to sleep in. As much as you loved a long road trip coupled with the beautiful vistas of rural America, you could only listen to so many podcasts, playlists, and radio stations.

You turned off of the road, following the directions of the robotic voice to your hotel, when something caught your eye. A wood paneled building sat on the side of the road boasting a red and green fluorescent sign that read “The Duck Tape Bar and Grill”. It wasn’t an overly impressive building, but the amount of cars parked outside suggested otherwise. Vehicles spilled out of the asphalt parking lot and onto the shoulder of the road. Some were even parked half into the drainage canal and half onto the street in order to secure their spot. It seemed as if every person in a 50 mile radius had found themselves at this one bar all on the same night. 

You bit your lip in consideration. The bed at the hotel still called you, but that voice seemed to diminish to a whisper as the prospect of a nightcap looked better and better. What’s one drink? you thought to yourself, as you pulled over and threw the car into park. Grabbing your wallet and a stick of gum to suppress the stale road breath on your tongue, you hopped out of the car and strode towards the building.

~~~

The tinkling of a bell and a gust frigid air followed you into the bar as you slipped through the door, spinning to push it closed behind you. You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the warm lights that lined the space. It was a welcome change from the harsh headlights that you had found yourself driving into on the highway, and you were happy for it. The air was filled with happy, lilting voices and soft music that made you feel at home almost immediately and the sounds of glasses clinking and… the strongest smell of apples? You inhaled deeply, warmed to the bone by the spiciness of the scent, and tilted your face slightly to take it in. Like a dog to a bone, you scurried to the bar, hoping to snag a glass of whatever it was you were smelling. 

You settled onto a high backed barstool and leaned forward, chin perched on your palm. It most definitely was a busy night, but the one bartender in the place looked like he was handling himself just fine. You looked down the bar, taking in the face of every patron as they chatted away. Entranced by the mirth that each exuded, you didn’t realize the bartender had noticed a new face at the bar until he was standing right in front of you. 

“Hey darlin’, what can I get ya?” 

Your head snapped forward at the deep rumble and you locked eyes with the man. He was, in a few words, breathtaking. He had bright hazel eyes framed by long dark hair, and the kindest gaze you had seen this side of the Mississippi. He was freckled and scruffy and just about the largest man you had ever laid eyes on. He entranced you, and you found your eyes gently tracing his every feature. 

“Uh, darlin’?” he cautiously asked again, as if he was trying not to scare you, and you snapped from your reverie. “Oh, god, sorry. I guess I’m a little tired from my drive,” you laughed. 

“S’no problem ma’am,” he smiled shyly, “You lookin’ for something to drink?” 

“Yeah you know, I think I am. I can’t help but smell those apples, what is that?” you asked, and his face lit up immediately. “That’s my mama’s cider, I’ve got a batch goin’. Wanna try it?” he offered. He was already reaching to grab a mug before you nodded, which you did eagerly. He smiled again - oh, did that look good on him - and he turned to ladle some of the steaming liquid into the mug. The nameless man handed it back to you, your fingers brushing softly as the mug changed possession. You felt your cheeks warm as they did, a reaction to the light touch and your embarrassment that you were so flustered by this man. At least, you assured yourself, anyone in your position would be too. How could you not be?

“Thank you…” you started to inquire, and he eagerly interjected, “Clyde! M’names Clyde ma’am,” as he reached his arm towards you in his haste, fingers splayed. You giggled as you offered up your own, your eyes softening. “Well Clyde,” you sipped the warm liquid, ”you and your mama have a really good recipe for cider.” He beamed back at you, his cheeks reddening and his eyes crinkling as his dimples pushed . “Thanks darlin’, I try to do the recipe justice. Threw some V.S.O.P. in tonight instead of the regular brandy.”

“Oh?” you asked. “Special occasion, or just wanting to spice up your Saturday night?” 

He huffed the lightest laugh in response. “T’be honest, I ran out of the normal stuff. I don’t think it’s tastin’ quite right.” His eyes fell to the mug in your hand, and he nodded at it. “Well darlin, let me know if you need anything else tonight. I’ll be around.” 

He turned away over his right shoulder as he moved to the next patron seated at the bar, and a glint of metal caught your eye. You saw how he kept that arm, the one with the robotic attachment, mostly below the top of the bar. He didn’t even use it to emphasize his words, though he didn’t seem to offer up too many to begin with. There was a quiet beauty to him, and you were entranced by it. But, you reminded yourself, this was a small bar, in a small town. There was no reason for you to try anything. He was probably involved with someone, or you assumed at least, because anyone that looked like that should already be committed to another. Anyway, once you finished up your job in Boone County, who knew where you’d be headed to next? No, better to keep your head down, your connections loose, and your job short. You exhaled softly, sipped your cider, and struck up a conversation with your neighbor as the comforting warmth spread through you.

~~~~

“No way, a puma in town? We haven’t had too much news since… well you know,” Mellie wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Clyde huffed a laugh, shaking his head slightly. 

“Yeah, Earl was just tellin’ me that Brett lost another cow down the road. Looked like it was attacked by somethin’,” Clyde drawled, swirling the dark amber liquid in his glass. 

“That so?” Mellie cocked her eyebrow. “Haven’t heard of anything like that happening round here before.” Seated next to her, Joe pulled Mellie flush to his body, tickling her side and making her burst out in giggles. “Seems like we gotta keep our ladies safe then!” he hollered, prompting an eye roll from Mellie, Clyde, and even Jimmy and Sylvia over in the next stools. Clyde leaned back against the bar, glancing over at you, the new girl in the bar tonight. You were making polite conversation with the person next to you, and he found it impossible to tear his eyes away. 

“Clyde,” Jimmy hissed from his stool a few people down, “get yer ass over here.” Clyde sighed, set his glass down, and walked over to Jimmy. “Need another beer?” he asked, reaching towards Jimmy’s bottle. 

“Nah I’m good, thanks though. But boy, I have seen you lookin’ at that girl all night. What are you gonna do about it?” Jimmy stared him down. It was never easy to escape the laser gaze of his older brother, and Clyde shifted uncomfortably. “Now, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he tried to deflect, suddenly very interested in the hem of his shirt. 

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed at this. “Clyde, you ain’t gettin’ out of this that easy. Listen, I know it hasn’t been easy for you since your last girl, but look. If my eyes are right, she’s been lookin’ over at you too, and if that ain’t true, I’ll eat my hat.” 

Clyde chuckled quietly, but his face dropped again straight away. “Nah Jimmy, I’m sure she’s just passin through. Ain’t no point in tryin’ to go about startin’ anything.” 

“Clyde, you’re never gonna know if you don’t say anything right?” Sylvia interjected as she leaned in encouragingly. 

“I don’t think so. What’s the point?” Clyde shook his head, subconsciously rubbing the junction of his prosthetic and arm. “Clyde, if you don’t go talk to her, I bet someone in here is going to snatch her up real quick,” Jimmy leaned back in his chair, shrugging. “It’s now or never kid.” 

“No Jimmy!” Clyde insisted, glancing your way. The man seated next to you was messing with your hair a bit, and he couldn’t help how his ears flushed and his heart clenched. 

“Clyde,” Jimmy insisted once more. “Cauliflower.” Clyde met eyes with his brother, who nodded in response. The bartender rolled his eyes again, exasperated. “Ya know sometimes? I really hate these cauliflower plans.” Clyde yanked his brother's empty beer bottle from in front of him, replaced it with another, and straightened his shirt. Jimmy hooted from behind him, whistling just loud enough for their immediate group to hear. Clyde shot him a dirty look, but grabbed a glass to wipe down nonetheless and made his way over to where you sat. 

~~~

“So… why ya in Boone?” Clyde spoke up, lifting his eyebrow and gazing at the girl from under his mop of hair. 

You choked on your drink as you tried to respond before realizing your mouth was still full. Smiling, you wiped off your chin. “You keep sneaking up on me, Clyde!” you laughed, and he flushed for the thousandth time that night. “Sorry. It’s just, we don’t have a lot of people passin’ through here.” He gestured around the room with his right hand. “I’ve known all these folks' names since I was five, but yours I learnt tonight. Why?”

You downed the remainder of your current cider, and Clyde automatically stuck out his hand to take the glass and switch it for a fresh one, complete with a refill. “I’m in town on a big cat chase. Eastern cougars. We’ve got some reports of possible sightings in this area. Oh, thank you,” you replied, accepting the steaming mug from Clyde. 

“Well, round here we have been having some weird livestock deaths lately,” Clyde shrugged. “Maybe it’s got somethin’ to do with that?” 

“Sounds like it. I’m gonna be in the area for a little bit seeing if I can get some documented sightings, some photos, and maybe even a tag on a cougar so we can keep tabs on them.” You shrugged, sipping on the cider.  

“Well, if you’d like, I’d be more than happy to show you round some of the game trails near town?” Clyde offered, the glint in his eye shining bright as he smiled, almost bashful, back at you. Your heart skipped a beat as you stared into his eyes, and your soft smile widened, if anything in pity for him, given what you knew was coming out of your mouth next. “Thank you so much for the offer Clyde, but I think I’ll be just fine. Anyway,” you took another swig of your second drink. You could feel your heart racing, and you knew you had to remove yourself before you had full heart palpitations. “Looks like the bar here keeps your hands full. Thanks for the drinks!” You placed a few bills on the bar to cover the bill (and then some). Clyde looked like a deer in the headlights, trying to keep up with your nervous chatting. 

“Oh no, no problem, I-I just thought, that ya know, if you wanted…” he stuttered. His eyes flicked down to the still warm, half drunk mug on the bar top. You could see his plush lower lip jutting out slightly as he chewed on his upper one.  

“I appreciate the offer Clyde. Really I do! But I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll see you around soon,” you said, and patted his hand. He looked up briefly and you made eye contact for a fraction of a second. It almost pained you to tear away, but you were on the precipice of being engulfed by them. A moment longer and you knew would be diving headfirst into a myriad of problems that would come with getting involved with someone you knew for certain you would have to leave in a few short weeks. So instead, you pushed yourself away from the bar with a small smile and a wave, headed towards the door, and left without even a second glance back.

Taglist: @mind-p0llution​ (comment or message me to be added!)

[himbowelsh]

Ahaha sorry for more shifty/tab but imagine shifty as the little mermaid and tab as the prince? I feel like that would be soo cute!

so, i am  i n c r e d i b l y  sorry this took so long??  i loved this idea so much that it just had to be a fic, and i started it over a month ago, got 500 words in, and my brain just...  roadblocked.  fell into an abyss and could not write another word.  and then last night, for some reason, i sat down with it and just??  knocked it out??  like, 2000 words in an hour.  so hopefully this gives you a taste of this au, because it’d be the sweetest thing, and i love the idea of little mermaid!shifty!!  (please don’t imagine sobel as ursula holy heck)

Before a great storm, the oceans writhe and roil, charged with an energy far beyond the imagination of landborne things. No one can predict what the sea will do; when she lashes out, roaring fury with waves towering high, all are powerless against it. No force in the world is as powerful as the ocean, or as willful. She is alive — alive with sealife as well as her own tempestuous nature — and to underestimate her is the doom of any living thing.

Now, when a body spends their entire life below the waves, they learn the waters easy as breathing. It all becomes familiar after a while. The buzz in the water right before a big storm; the shifting of the tides; how schools of fish swim against the currents, as if they’re escaping something… it all adds up, like the ocean itself is whispering a warning out loud. Bound to be a storm tonight. Gonna be a big one. Get ready.

Above the waves, great storms are something to be feared. To those below, they don’t make more than a ripple’s worth of difference.

Popeye had raised his eyebrows when Shifty declared he’d be going to the surface that night, all signs of an imminent storm be damned. Some things are worth getting tossed around by angry waves for. Last Shifty checked, the supermoon wouldn’t come around again for months, and he needed some fresh supermoon water to last that long. Llŷr knows he wouldn’t be the only one who dared risk it.

He couldn't have predicted the calm before the storm, though. It was rare, in this corner of the ocean — as rare as seeing a ship passing through, which happened once in a blue moon. They weren’t that far off from the coast, but most Man made vessels had better things to do with their time than drift so near land. There were more exciting waters to be found than the quiet currents Shifty called home.

As soon as he surfaced to spot a brightly-lit vessel only a few dozen yards away, Shifty should have known. He ought to have known, and really, he did. Darrell Powers, the voice in his head that sounded much like his Mamma scolded, if you have half the sense Llŷr have a guppy, you’ll make yourself scarce. No moon was worth getting caught by the Men up above. Every Mer was taught to fear them from the moment they could flip their fins. Shifty wasn’t any different — he knew better.

So nothing could explain the strange pull he felt towards the vessel — like he was caught up in a current, drawn closer whether he wanted to or not. The nearer he got, the clearer the great ship became… and it surely was something to see. Like a massive star on the waterline, it twinkled and danced, lit from above with gleaming lanterns strung across the deck. The great wooden hull stretched up from the water, towering overhead; it’s darkness was a stark contrast to the light crowning it. Music carried through the air, over the softly-churning waves — a lively tune, from some instrument Shifty had never heard before. Voices shouted, hooted, hollered; silhouettes galloped across the deck, caught in some rollicking dance. And in the middle of it all, at the center of this storm of Men, was…

Shifty’s breath caught in his throat; the gills along his ribs momentarily stuttered, scales at his neck suddenly feeling dry. He drew even closer, unconscious of his own movements. Treading water along the bow, his powerful, silver-finned tail kept him afloat. Were the ship moving, he might have to work to keep up… but with it anchored, his only preoccupation was remaining unseen. He pressed into the shadows, gaping up at the brightly lit deck. Wide brown eyes followed the man, golden and glowing, as he twirled and danced across the deck.

The grin on his face was near-blinding. His hair was closely-cut, messy, as though he’d run his fingers through it too many times; his white shirt was loosely buttoned, revealing a toned chest. When he tossed his head back, the torchlight caught against the tan of his skin, and he seemed to glow.

So this was a Man. Shifty had never seen one in person before, certainly not this close. Never before had he been seized with the desire to study, to follow the fellow’s movements and keep track of each leap. Not once, in a lifetime of sometimes-questionable choices — thank you, Popeye — had he ever wanted to get close to the world above.

Would being seen by this Man be a bad thing? He didn’t sport any fangs, no malicious gleam in his eye; he wasn’t hurling harpoons or fishing nets to catch ignorant Merfolk unawares. Surely there were bad Men, like all the stories said… but for the life of him, Shifty could not believe this was one. 

He seemed too gentle to hurt anybody. Too joy-filled, too… alive. His soul shone through his smile, and my, was it beautiful. 

The music died down as the song came to an end. It’s absence was drowned out by laughter from above. In the middle of the fray, Shifty’s gaze could not leave that Man, even for a moment. His fellow sailors slapped his back, dancing around him. His grin shone brighter. Clearly, he reveled in the company.

“I’m here,” Shifty breathed, too low to be heard over the noise from up above. “I’m here too. Right below you. Can you feel me?”

Cupping his hands around his mouth, the Man turned, hollering something to the band. Seconds later, the music picked up once again with a new tune. The Man seized a young lady by the arm, reeling her towards him. Together they began to prance across the deck, buoyed by the lively melody.

All Shifty could do was gaze up. The shadowed distance separating that brightly lit deck from the fathoms below created both a veil and a barrier. He could not cross it; to those golden people up above, he did not exist. Something inside of him churned, like the tempestuous sea itself. Feelings he’d never before even contemplated bubbled within him, one after the other, threatening to wash him away. Hunger… no, different. Excitement… yes, but something else too, something stronger and emptier, something aching within him…

Yearning. There it was.

My, how he yearned.

To be held in the golden limelight of that handsome man’s stare; to be met with his smile, to be the one held close to him, leaping and twirling around the deck. Oh, to be among that happy crowd — to be beside him! What would it be like? How would it feel? 

Now, you know that can’t be so, the sensible voice in the back of his mind scolded. Men and merfolk don’t mix. We stay apart for good reasons.

Even so, all those sensible reasons were drowned out by the Man’s laughter, rising above the waves.

The waves — rising. Llŷr’s sake, they were! As soon as the realization dawned on him, Shifty cursed himself for being so careless. In the countless minutes he’d wasted, soaking in the antics of the Men up above, the ocean’s pitch had picked up. No longer were the waves churning ominously; they’d moved beyond that, into full pitch-and-roll. As they lashed the sides of the ship, the people above fought to keep their footing. Laughter rang out louder, raising over the music. To them, it was all a game.

Shifty knew better. He felt it in his veins, thrumming through his blood. The waters were angry. 

Being above wasn’t safe any longer. He ducked below the waves; as the water closed over his head, he half-hoped whatever instinct tethering him to the people above would be severed. No such luck. Instead, something inside of him bellowed, an incoherent roar of urgency. They weren’t paying one lick of attention, too caught up in their own fun. They couldn’t feel the ocean like Shifty could. They didn’t know.

With one flick of his powerful tail, the waters parted effortlessly for him. Shifty surged below the ship like a bullet, finding himself on the other side in seconds. He hovered a safe distance below, gazing up as the great shadowy beast overhead began to thrash.

Buffeted by the ocean’s growing fury, the ship was helpless. As the waves stirred up, they pitched and rolled within it, forced down low in the waves before surging back up on another outraged swell. Though blind to the struggle of the crew above, Shifty could see it in flashes: ropes lashing out for purchase, lantern flames catching and igniting, sails going up in a matter of seconds… and the bodies as they hit the water, flung one after the other from their safe berth into the abyss. From such a distance, they were nothing but silhouettes, thrashing and writhing in the waters above…  but it did not take long for the thrashing to stop. They grew more defined as they sunk. Shifty studied a man’s bearded face as he drifted past on his way to the bottom; his fingers caught in a woman’s loose moonsilver hair. A face drifted by, mouth agape and eyes wide, and for a moment, Shifty was sure he’d been spotted… but the man’s eyes were empty, dull. They shone like black diamonds on his way to the bottom.

This was the natural order of life. Men were not meant for the sea. It would swallow them whole, given half the chance, and still they did not fear it enough. Shifty felt no grief as the souls slowly foundered… only a great hollow in his chest where his heart should have been.

The Man. That golden, dancing Man. Where was he?

A sudden urgency spiked within him. Shifty looked up at the mass of dark forms thrashing in the water above. The ship was a roaring ball of flame; as the sails burned, the waters were thrust into eerie orange oblivion. It wasn’t much light… but as Shifty propelled himself upwards, slicing through the drowning figures, it was just enough. He darted from body to body, too focused to worry about being seen, and moving too fast to register in the minds of desperate, drowning people. He couldn’t save everyone, even if he tried. But that Man —

No, sir, the law of the sea shouldn’t be his undoing. Not a Man like that, so full of life. Not a man who glowed like the spirit of the full moon was within him, shining from the inside-out… Shifty remembered every detail of his silhouette, had a clumsy outline of his face memorized from a distance. He could spot him in a tidal wave; he could spot him in a storm; he could recognize him even in the darkness, where the ocean ends and the abyss begins.

And there  ---  there. He saw him now — just another figure, lurching and thrashing as the waves drag him down.

Shifty’s arms caught around his waist, stopping his descent. The Man was a heavy weight against his chest, violently thrashing — not at Shifty, but at the waters themselves, the only enemy he was coherent enough to recognize. Fighting wouldn’t do either of them much good, but Shifty didn’t give up so easy. Instead, he locked on tight, refusing to let the Man thrash his way out of his grasp, and kicked his tail upwards. They shot towards the surface.

It was one thing to see it from below… but above, the ship was a colossus from hell itself, a great monster in its death throes fighting not to sink below the waves. Flames reached out with rabid tendrils, catching on debris and bodies tumbling over the burning rails; with the rain still holding itself at bay, waiting out this great fury, the ship’s only relief was the sea. Fire waged war against the waves eager to consume it… but against the brutal winds and thrashing waters, it could not hold out for long.

The Man gave one massive sputter, and what felt like a breath. After that, he was nothing but dead weight in Shifty’s grasp.

With fire in his eyes and the sky burning above, Shifty turned his back on the burning vessel, and focused on the task at hand. A body can only do what it can, he told himself, propelling away from the shipwreck. And this fella here has done enough.

Now, it was Shifty’s turn.

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

Floyd faded back to consciousness to a burning in his chest, and warmth like honey flowing through his limbs.

It took him a moment to gather his bearings, and he collected them all before trying to open his eyes. He was on solid ground — sand, if the grittiness against his bare skin was any clue — and his clothes were soaked. Even the sunlight, beating directly down on his body, could only dry him so fast. From what his hazy mind recalled, he’d gotten one hell of a soaking. His entire body ached, the exhaustion threading through his limbs maybe the only thing holding him together at all… and somewhere, as if from very far away, someone was speaking to him. Someone with a voice like a familiar memory, soft and gentle as a dream.

His eyes fluttered open — just in time to see a silhouette above him startle and dart out of view.

He tried to call for them to wait, It came out as a croak. His throat was scraped ragged, burning worse than his lungs with each breath he sucked in. Vision still hazy, Floyd struggled to force himself up. His body gave out on him not even halfway through the effort. He collapsed back onto the sand with a groan. For the moment, it was all he could do to soak in the sun, and appreciate being alive.

He was alive, somehow. The how’s-and-why’s of that were a mystery. Last he could recall, he was fighting the water, and the water was winning. As panic locked itself around his chest, squeezing the last of his air out in a rush of bubbles, his last hope of survival evaporated with it.

Yet here he was, with fresh air in his lungs and — unless this was some kind of heaven — life in his body. It shouldn’t be possible. Was it… a miracle?

Had he been saved?

“You.” That word did come out clear, at least. With all the energy he could summon, he locked his grip around the mysterious stranger’s wrist. A broad hand went still, hovering just over Floyd’s chest. Floyd tugged it down, so that they were pressing down on him, touching him, even in a small way. When he forced his eyes open again, they were still too blurred to make anything out clearly… he could see a silhouette in plain view, with muscled shoulders and dark eyes looking down at him.

Something in that gaze was so impossibly kind, It brought tears to his eyes.

“You saved me. Saved my life.” He could barely croak out the words, but he needed confirmation. It came in a single nod of the stranger’s head. “Th-thank you.”

For a moment, the stranger said nothing at all. Then Floyd felt another hand press down on his shoulder, massaging lightly into the sore muscles while urging him back down onto the sand. Floyd slumped, all his energy spent; it was all he could do to keep his eyes half-open.

“There, now. You’ve had an awful time, and I declare, it’ll take you a good while to recover. Once you’re well again... you won’t recall this at all.”

“Not true,” Floyd murmured. “I’ll remember you.”

The stranger was quiet for a moment, before heaving a sigh. “You don’t need to.”

“I want to see you again. Want to… thank you.” Floyd’s grip on the man’s hand tightened, weak but earnest. “You gotta let me thank you.”

“So long as you’re alive, that’s all the thanks I need.”

“You… you’re an angel,” Floyd couldn’t help murmuring — and maybe all that seawater was making him delirious, because he usually had much better game. His mysterious savior laughed anyways.

“No, certainly not. I declare, my Mama might’ve been, she was the most patient woman you ever did meet, but —“ He cut off, sighing. Floyd felt a rough-palmed hand caress his jaw. “You’re a very lucky man.”

“Be the luckiest fella in the world... if I knew your name.”

Leave it to Floyd Talbert to still flirt while laying half-drowned on a beach.

The man chuckled again, and his touch left Floyd’s cheek. He missed it immediately, like a bandage torn from a wound and stinging something fierce. He made a murmur of disapproval, but it was no use. The man’s other hand pulled away too, leaving Floyd suddenly feeling alone, deafened by the absence of him.

For a moment, he was sure his savior had gone entirely… until he felt a breath against his ear, and a voice, soft as a sigh.

“Maybe we’ll find each other again. Maybe you’ll know me.”

“I will,” Floyd replied, resolute. “No doubt. I promise you that.”

The presence lingered at his side for a moment longer… and then, a splash echoed from the distance, and Floyd knew he was alone.

It took a long time for him to summon the energy to sit up; it was an even longer time before he could make it to his hands and knees, and crawl his way up the beach. No surprise that his rescuer left nothing behind, not even footprints in the sand… but disappointment rang in Floyd’s chest anyways, to be left without a trace of him.

That night, and many nights afterwards, he stared out at the sea from his bedroom window, and imagined he could hear a soft voice calling for him. A half-forgotten caress tingled on his cheek; a promise rang in his ears.

Floyd Talbert kept his word, and this one he was bound to keep. He’d find his rescuer… even if he had to comb every inch of the sea, and search til his dying day.

The moment he saw him again, he’d know.

[apparentlynotreallyfinnish]

Night Before

Honestly, nothing happens in this fic but for some reason I was compelled to write it. If you read Morning After and liked it, you might want to read this one too. 

---

Rhett was trying to move through the office floor but he was constantly stopped and pulled into conversations he didn’t actually care about. He nodded his way through them, smiling a smile that barely reached his eyes and fled when the opportunity presented itself. His gaze jumped from person to person, hoping to spot the one he wanted to see. So far, no luck.

He wasn’t even supposed to be here. Office parties had never been his thing. He didn’t exactly enjoy crowds, and drunken crowds were twice as awful. One of his team members had asked him the previous day whether he was coming and he’d said no. At the time, he’d been telling the truth. He’d had no intention of coming.

But for some reason, a few hours ago he had found himself standing in front of his bathroom mirror, trimming his beard and trying to decide what shirt to wear.

Wondering what shirt he might like.  

“McLaughlin!” someone hollered and waved from a group of people crowding near the entrance of the lunch room. Rhett spotted the blond, smiling man and changed his course towards the group.

“Matt, hi,” Rhett greeted the man who had waved him over with a genuine, warm smile. He nodded to the other people in the group as well, getting a few friendly greetings in return.

“I thought you weren’t coming! Something about a scheduling conflict?” Matt asked leaning closer. He was looking at Rhett with glazed eyes and holding a beer that was definitely not his first one. He didn’t sound accusing, just curious and jovial.  

“Oh, yeah. The um… other thing. It was moved to next week. So, here I am!” Rhett lied trying to maintain eye contact with the man’s drifting gaze. Matt smiled at him and attempted to slap Rhett’s shoulder missing it and hitting his bicep instead. Rhett felt like sighing. Matt was a good guy, one of Rhett’s favorite team members, but Rhett had no interest on having a conversation with a drunken version of him.

“That’s great, man. You came at the perfect time. The party’s just getting started!” Matt hollered and lifted his bottle above his head sloshing the golden liquid on Rhett’s sleeve. A few people from the group hooted and cheered and lifted their drinks. Rhett nodded, brushed off the beer droplets and smiled tightly.

“Get yourself a drink! You’ve got a lot of catching up to do!” Matt said with a slight slur. He motioned towards the door behind him. Rhett took the offered excuse to leave and stepped inside the dimly lit cafeteria.

He immediately wanted to walk out of the room – possibly the whole party. A band consisting of employees Rhett didn’t really know was playing way too loudly and slightly out of tune. Strings of colorful fairy lights hung haphazardly from the ceiling and the whole room was drowned in tinsel. Some of the tables had been moved to the side at the far end of the room and there was a group of people gathered around the makeshift dance floor nudging each other and tittering into each other’s ears.

Rhett ignored the crowd and walked up to the buffet. He might as well have a drink since he’d come all this way. One drink, one walk around the office and then he’d go home. Link wasn’t here. Why would he be? He wasn’t exactly a people person. Always sitting alone at lunch and honestly, Rhett had never seen him talk to anyone about anything else but work. He’d been a fool to think he might find him here.

And come Monday, he would have certainly lost his nerve again.

Rhett eyed the drinks and grabbed an okay-looking bottle of beer from a cooler. He twisted the cap off and turned to go and do another round. As he was about to step out of the cacophony he caught a flash of dark hair and glasses between the aforementioned crowd. Rhett’s heart leapt and he changed course, heading towards the crowd. He’s here!

Loud laughter could be heard now and as he advanced on the dance floor, it was dawning on Rhett that it was not the nice kind. Rhett frowned and quickened his step.

A few people Rhett didn’t know by name passed him and he heard a snippet of their conversation.

“What an idiot…”

“Well, you’d be an idiot too if someone had spiked your drink!”

Heart in his throat Rhett abandoned his beer onto a side table and rushed forward pushing his way through the throng of on-lookers.

In the middle of the dance floor was indeed Link. He had on tight black jeans and a colorful button-down that hugged his shoulders in just the right way. His hair was mussed up and his eyes were closed behind his glasses that had slipped down his nose and hung crooked on his face. He was holding a half-finished drink in his hand and his lips were moving a little; he might have been mouthing the words of the song under his breath. He was dancing wildly; swaying his hips almost pornographically, the empty hand lifted above his head drawing invisible swirls into the air. Rhett’s mind only barely managed to note how gorgeous he looked before he was by his side and guiding him off of the dance floor.

“McLaughlin!” someone complained. “Let him be! He’s just providing us some entertainment.”

There were a few dirty laughs and Rhett threw the crowd a look sharp enough to cut glass.

“This is not over,” he growled and left the people muttering amongst themselves. His hand was wrapped around Link’s slim waist and they were fast moving out of the room.

“Wha – ?” Link muttered and his face tilted to look at Rhett.

“You’re okay. Don’t worry. I’ll get you home,” Rhett murmured as they passed the group of people outside the cafeteria.

Matt called after them but Rhett ignored him and pulled Link with him towards the elevators.

“Oh. Rhett. I – I didn’t think you’d… be here,” Link muttered. Rhett pushed the call button of the elevator and turned to look at Link. He seemed to be having trouble focusing his gaze; his blue eyes flitted from Rhett’s eyes to the wall behind him and then back to Rhett.

“Yeah. Me neither,” Rhett said more to himself than to Link.

The elevator doors opened and Link’s gaze jumped inside it.

“Are we going somewhere?” he asked, words tumbling out of him slowly and with obvious difficulty. Rhett still had his arm around him and he gently nudged him forward. Link moved as if in a dream, gliding towards the metal cage.

“Mm-hmm. Gonna take you home,” Rhett repeated softly.

“Oh. Yours or mine?” Link asked and giggled as if he’d told a joke. He was leaning against the wall of the elevator and Rhett was thankful that he could turn his back on him to push the button. The blush that was rising up his neck would be obvious even in Link’s altered state.

“Come on,” Rhett coaxed as they reached the parking garage. Link followed him without question, trailing behind Rhett as he strode towards his car. Good thing I didn’t have time to drink that beer.

Rhett opened the passenger side door for Link and watched as he slumped to the seat. Link’s head immediately lolled to the side and his eyes flitted closed.

“Seat belt, please,” Rhett instructed gently but Link just hummed a low sound and did not move a muscle. Rhett sighed, crouched down and leaned over Link. With a bit of grunting and maneuvering he managed to buckle him in. Rhett’s fumbling seemed to bring him to a bit and Link opened his eyes just as Rhett was backing out of the car. Their eyes met only centimeters apart, making Rhett’s heart race and his blush deepen.

Those eyes… They‘d been the first thing that had caught Rhett’s attention when he started at the company six months ago. They’d bumped into each other at the cafeteria and Link had apologized profusely even though it wasn’t his fault. Rhett barely heard anything he was saying; he just stared at those piercing blue eyes. They’d done something to him; kick started a part of him he hadn’t known existed.

After that first encounter Rhett couldn’t keep his eyes off of Link. It seemed like almost every day he noticed something new about him. How he kept mussing up his hair when he was thinking. The way his hips swayed when he walked. How his nose scrunched adorably when he was concentrating. How he sometimes smiled to himself when he was eating as if he had thought of something funny. How his collar bones poked through a particularly tight t-shirt. All these things and hundreds more crowded Rhett’s brain as Link took up more and more real estate in Rhett’s mind.

Everything about Link was fascinating to Rhett.

Everything about Link was terrifying to Rhett.

He’d never had feelings for a guy before and it took him a while to admit to himself that his feelings towards Link were romantic in nature. And even after realizing it and coming to terms with it in some way, he still didn’t have enough courage to go and talk to him. Link was something else; almost ethereal in his beauty. In what universe would he be interested in a hairy behemoth like me?

“Thank you,” Link whispered with a dopey smile, snapping Rhett back into reality. “You’re so nice to me. You’re so nice, Rhett. Have I ever told you that?”

Rhett bit his lip and tried to dampen the heat sloshing around in his belly.

“You haven’t,” Rhett said. “But what you really need to tell me is your address so I can drive you home.”

Link just stared at him with that adorable smile and nodded. Rhett frowned, closed the door and rounded the car before climbing onto the driver’s seat. It only took him a moment to get there but when he got settled, Link had already fallen asleep. His head was leaning against the window and his jaw was hanging slack. Rhett tried shaking him a few times but Link just muttered something unintelligible and pushed Rhett away.

Rhett had no idea where Link lived. For a few minutes, he toyed with the idea of going back inside and trying to find the info from Link’s employee files but that felt like too big of a violation despite the good intent behind it.

So, with no other choice, Rhett decided to take Link to his place. He could sleep off the effects of alcohol and whatever else was in his system and Rhett could keep an eye on him and make sure he was safe.

The city streets were almost empty. Rhett rolled down his window and dipped his elbow out of it, enjoying the cool night breeze. His gaze kept slipping towards the sleeping figure next to him. Link looked so serene and totally vulnerable. It was too much. The whole scene felt too intimate. It felt like Rhett had stolen this moment from Link and he was ashamed of how much he was enjoying it.

This was almost exactly what he’d wanted to happen tonight, though in his dreams Link would’ve been awake and excited to go home with Rhett. In some strange fit of self-confidence he’d decided that tonight was the night when he would tell Link how he felt about him. He’d been so ready and so certain he could finally do it.

But now the moment was gone; washed down a drain by some idiot who’d decided it would be fun to play a horrible prank on Link. Who would do such a thing? And why? Rhett had always thought that Link’s solitude was of his own volition but now he wondered if that was not the case. Rhett’s insides squirmed uncomfortably and anger flared in his chest. He was going to figure out who’d done this and make them pay.

The drive was soon over and Rhett parked the car in his driveway. Link roused as the engine cut off.

“Where‘re we?” Link mumbled and peeked out the window.

“My place,” Rhett said and got out of the car. He opened the door for Link who’d managed to open the seat belt himself this time. Rhett offered his hand to him and Link took it without pause. His palm was soft and warm and Rhett hated himself for the effect that Link’s innocent touch had on him. He felt like admonishing his overexcited dick. It’s not like that. Calm down!

“Come on then. I’ll get you some water and then you can sleep this off.”

Link followed him inside the house. He moved slowly. Rhett had to gently guide him again and when they got in, Link suddenly slumped forwards almost falling over.

“Wow there, slugger!” Rhett exclaimed and caught Link at the last second. For a moment that felt like eternity, they stood there, in the darkness of Rhett’s foyer, chest to chest. Link was holding onto Rhett’s shirt, making the buttons on it strain against the pull. He was looking at Rhett under his long lashes, his chin tilted up in the most inviting way. Rhett wanted to grab it and pull him into a kiss. Rhett wanted to take him to his bed and undress him and see if the things he’d been fantasizing about these past few months could ever measure up against reality.

But obviously he wouldn’t. Not with Link in this condition.

Link was oblivious to Rhett’s inner dialogue and he sighed.

“What?” Rhett asked and tried to prop him to stand on his own which Link refused to do.

“You’re so beautiful,” Link whispered, igniting a roaring fire inside Rhett’s belly. He felt the heat of it radiating all the way up to his cheeks that started to burn as Link’s words sank into his brain.

“You really are out of it,” Rhett said whit a forced laugh while silently hoping that Link was merely emboldened by his altered state not totally addled with it.

“No,” Link said and slowly shook his head.”No, I’m not. Well, yeah. I feel a bit funny. But I always think you’re beautiful. And have I told you how nice you are?”

Rhett’s cheeks burned brighter and he huffed a laugh.

“You might have mentioned. But I gotta get you to bed now.”

“Always wanted to get into your bed,” Link murmured and refused to let go of Rhett’s shirt.

Rhett swallowed. He must have heard wrong. Link couldn’t possibly mean what Rhett wanted him to mean. Rhett searched his face for clues, something that would tell him if it was really Link speaking or the drugs. Link just kept staring him, eyes soft and pupils blown wide. Rhett had to turn away. It hurt too much to think that this might be the only time he got to be this close to Link.

Getting him to drink a glass of water was easy. As soon as Rhett placed the chilled glass into his hand, Link promptly emptied its contents and let out a satisfied moan after the glass was empty. Getting him upstairs to the bedroom was another thing altogether. Link’s leg seemed to be losing a fight with whatever he had been dosed with and he wobbled on them, missing steps and swaying dangerously backwards. In the end, Rhett scooped him up on his arms and carried him the rest of the way.

Link’s head lolled against Rhett’s shoulder and his warm breath tickled Rhett’s skin. Rhett felt his weight in his arms, he felt the strain on his muscles and he made a point to record the exact feeling into his memories. Link felt like he belonged in his arms. It felt right even though the way he had ended up there was totally wrong.

Maybe some day…

Rhett gently placed Link’s pliant body onto his bed and kneeled down to take off his shoes. He placed them at the foot of the bed and turned to tuck him in. The sight before him stopped him in his tracks. Link had gotten up and was fast on his way to be completely naked. His shirt was unbuttoned half-way down and he was yanking down his jeans. Rhett caught the dip of his hipbones and the dark curly hair that they lead to before he understood what was happening.

“Oh! Wow, hey!” Rhett yelped and slammed a hand over his eyes. He could still hear tiny grunts and the soft thuds of clothes being thrown on the floor. Then his bed creaked and he heard some shuffling that might have been Link sliding under his covers.

Rhett ventured a peek from behind his fingers and let out a relieved breath. Link was snuggled up on his side of the bed. Messy hair fanned on his pillow and eyes already closed.

“Okay, well. That’s good,” Rhett said, voice trembling more than he cared for. He quickly picked up Link’s discarded clothes and folded them into a neat pile. He tried very hard not to think about the fact that Link’s boxer briefs were on the pile as well.

There’s a naked man in my bed! His mind screamed. The thought was not nearly as scary as the one following it. And I would very much like to be naked and next to him.

Rhett was almost out the door when Link spoke again.

“Hey,” he muttered and Rhett turned to look at him. His eyes were barely open and he was reaching towards Rhett with his hand.

“Yeah?”

“Can I get a good night kiss? Please.”

Rhett felt light-headed as he drifted back to the bed. He bent down and brushed Link’s hair off of his forehead. Link’s eyes closed and he let out a sound that could almost be described as a purr. Rhett couldn’t help but to smile as he placed the softest of kisses on his forehead. Link sighed.

“Thank you,” he murmured and then his face relaxed and his mouth opened to a tiny o-shape as he drifted off to sleep. Rhett stood there for a minute, marveling the beauty that had captured his bed and his heart. Then he slowly backed away.

“Good night, Link,” Rhett whispered with a wildly beating heart before stepping out of the room.

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

A Magic Kingdom Love : Epilogue

Title: A Magic Kingdom Love

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Destiel

Tags: fluff, just so much fluff. It gets a little heated at one point but that’s it. 

Summary:

     “An AU where Dean and Cas are both working for Disney and have been cast as the very first gay princes. And at first they hate each other but it’s hard to pretend you’re in love all day for sweet, shy kids, and then not makeout under the bridge of the magic kingdom castle.”

AO3 Link

Masterlist

A/N: 

     So, all of you are so freaking amazing, and the love I got for this story from both here and AO3 made my heart absolutely melt. So many people wanted the epilogue and so, I have gifted to all of you, the epilogue you all have been so patiently waiting for!!

     I do want to say thank you to everyone who read this, and commented, you are so sweet and I love each and every single one of you! Your words always inspire me to write more, so from the bottom of my heart, thank-you all <3<3<3

     And so without further adieu, please enjoy!! And if anyone is interested in being tagged in future destiel fics let me know :) 

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

Epilogue

     Dean found himself in an all too familiar place, a place he had been in many times over the last two years, and it never got old. 

     Standing backstage of the balcony to the Magic Kingdom Castle, Dean took the few steps to close the gap between him and Cas, holding out his hands for Cas to take. He took them, pulling Dean in closer to him, their noses touching as Dean whispered, “You ready?”

     Cas nodded, leaning in to touch his lips gently to Dean’s in a simple kiss, “Ready,” he whispered back with a smile. 

     Dean turned them just as Ellen’s voice was heard over the sound system announcing their names, held his arm out for Cas, and walked them through the curtain and out onto the balcony.

     They smiled and waved to the crowd below, Dean holding Cas tightly to his side as Ellen came to stand beside them.

     She placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder as the crowd died down and spoke into the mic, “Two years ago we welcomed Prince Dean and Prince Castiel into our home here at the Magic Kingdom, and they very quickly became a very big part of our family. And today, we bring you all together to make yet another announcement!” Ellen gave the crowd a second to cheer then settle again before she continued, “This is one of the biggest announcements we have ever had here at the Magic Kingdom and I am so honoured to be the one to announce to you all the engagement of Prince Dean and Prince Castiel!”

     The crowd blew up into cheers, hoots and hollers, whistles and screams. Prince Dean and Prince Castiel had become such a big part of the park, it was only expected that the guests would be over the moon about the announcement of their engagement. The two stood together wrapped in each others arms and waved to the crowd, the thick gold band on Cas’s left hand now being the centre of everyone's gaze.

     Once the crowd began to die down, Ellen stepped up placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder to address the crowd once again, “Now there is more that Prince Dean and Prince Castiel would like to share with you all, so I will pass the mic off to our Prince Dean.”

     She handed the mic to Dean and he took it, turning back to the crowd. “Hello everyone! Prince Cas and I are so excited to finally be able to share this exciting news with you! Cas and I would like to thank our friends Bobby and Ellen for managing to keep it a secret this long,” both Ellen and Bobby winked at the boys, both shooting them a thumbs up from the sidelines, “we would also like to announce that Prince Cas and I will be getting married right here in the park, at the Magic Kingdom Castle, and we are extending an invitation to all of the people of the kingdom!”

     The crowd went wild, everyone more than thrilled to be invited to the wedding of the year, the century, probably even the millenium. Surely the turn out for the wedding would be far larger than anything the park had ever experienced before. 

     “We can’t wait to see you all there and be able to share this happy day with everyone!” He then turned to Cas who was still wrapped up against his side, smiling up at him with adoring eyes, ‘Would you like to tell the wonderful people of the kingdom the date of our wedding, Honey?”

     Cas smiled even wider at his fiance, leaning in to the mic Dean was holding towards him, much more confident now than he was when he first started at the park, especially with Dean by his side, “Prince Dean and I will be getting married on August nineteenth.”

     “Would you like to tell them why we picked that particular date, my love.”

     Cas grinned, using his finger to turn Dean’s face from the crowd towards him, their noses now touching, “Because that’s the date we first met each other, and the day I fell in love with you.”

     Dean leaned in, their lips ghosting each others and whispered, “Me too, Cas.”

     The crowd awed at the coupe before them, and though he would be the last to admit it, Dean would tell you he was sure he saw Bobby sniffling off to the side as Ellen came over and took the mic. 

     Wiping away a tear of her own, she spoke as clearly as she could to the crowd, “Let’s hear it for Prince Dean and Prince Castiel! May your wedding day be filled with joy and love to hold you till the end of time.”

     As the crowd cheered again with her words, she took her two boys in for a hug. The couple gave a few last waves before turning to leave the balcony, though Cas couldn't resist stopping them just before the curtain, where the crowd was still able to see them both, and pulling Dean’s face to his for a long sweet kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “You really don't have to do this.”

     Dean stood with his arms crossed in the driveway, watching as Sam placed the last box of his belongings in the moving truck he had rented. He pulled the back closed and locked it before turning back to Dean with a small smile, “It's time, Dean. And tomorrow you and Cas will be married and I’m not about to impose on that. I’m finished school now and about to start at a new firm, time to be a big boy.”

     “But you don't have to, Sammy,” Dean took a step forwards, brows furrowed, “you can stay if you’re not ready to leave. Cas and I both agree that you’re welcome here.”

     Sam gave Dean that little knowing smirk, the one that said he knew Dean all too well for his own good, and clasped his hand over his shoulder, “Dean, you’re gunna be fine. I know this is going to be new for you, not having me here as much, especially without the promise of me coming back for summers after school anymore. But I’m not far, just around the corner, and you and Cas need to start your lives together the right way. And that’s without a little brother in the way. Trust me, you and Cas will be fine without me.”

     Dean sighed. Maybe Sam was right, he was panicking over the change, but with Cas by his side and Sammy just around the corner, he would get through it. “I’ll still miss you.”

     “You can come over any time,” he smiled as Dean pulled him in for a hug, “and I’m sure I’ll be over raiding your fridge on more than one occasion.”

     “You better,” Dean gave his back a pat before pulling back and clearing his throat, just in time to see Cas coming out of the house with Charlie, “You heading out, babe?”

     “Yes,” Cas nodded, coming to stand beside Dean who kissed his temple, “Charlie is taking me to a bar then we will be heading back to her place.”

     “What bar are you going to-”

     “Ah! Nice try, Dean Winchester,” Charlie jumped in and cut him off before Cas could answer, “you know the rules, no seeing the groom until you’re walking down the aisle tomorrow. And don't even think about trying to trick Sam into finding us. We have already collaborated and planned it so that you and Cas will not cross paths at all until tomorrow at the wedding.”

     Dean gave his shoulders a shrug with a sheepish grin, “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

     Everyone chuckled at him, and Cas suddenly found his eyes wandering towards the small moving truck behind Sam, his smile quickly fading, “Sam, you know you do not have to move, Dean and I are not forcing you out.”

     Sam quickly raised his hands, “It's nothing to worry about, Cas. I know you and Dean have both made it very clear that I can stay but I want to give you two the space you deserve. And I’m actually excited to move into my house and maybe even start a life and family of my own.”

     “Well, I am glad to hear that,” Cas’s smile returned, then he turned to lean into Dean’s space once again, “we should get going.”

     Dean nodded as he pulled Cas in by the waist, “I don't like this tradition of not seeing each other until tomorrow, who am I gunna cuddle with while I sleep?”

     “You mean cling to and droll on?” Dean chuckled and Cas laughed too as he wrapped his hands around Dean’s neck to lean in and whisper, “It will just make tomorrow night all the more thrilling.”

     Dean hummed and ran his lips over Cas’s and rubbed their noses together, “You’re right,” he leaned closer to run his lips over Cas’s neck, “I know you’re gunna look great in your wedding outfit, but I also know you’ll look much better with it off-”

     “Okay!” Charlie grabbed Cas by the back of the shirt and gave a soft tug, “Time to go, Sam and I don't wanna hear this!”

     The two of them laughed and Dean pulled back from Cas’s neck, “I’ll see you tomorrow, be safe and have fun.”

     “You too.”

     “I love you, Cas,” Dean closed the gap to place a lingering sweet kiss on Cas’s lips.

     “I love you too, Dean,” and before they could manage much more Cas was being pulled towards his car by Charlie, the two waving to Sam and Dean as they drove down the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     The two boys came stomping into the house a little louder than usual that night. Sam had taken them to a few different bars, they laughed and talked about all the good times they had together, and how their lives had gotten even better with Cas now in them. 

     After a fun night out with his brother, Dean was definitely ready to crash, then tomorrow was the big day. The day he would marry the love of his life and become the happiest man alive. 

     Sam kicked off his shoes and grabbed Dean’s shoulder with a smile, “My last night in this house and your last night as an unmarried man, look at us moving up in the world.”

     “I can’t believe I’m getting married tomorrow,” Dean ran a hand down his face and shook his head, “never thought I would have someone like Cas.”

     “You two deserve it,” Sam gave Dean’s shoulder a small shake, then yawned as he said, “I’m heading to bed, I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, and you might wanna grab a water before bed, or a snack. You know, something from the fridge.”

     Dean looked at Sam in confusion but he merely winked and took the stairs to his room two at a time. Dean turned into the kitchen, still confused but certain something was up, and took cautious steps towards the fridge. He was about to slowly pull it open, ready for anything, when a shimmering silver envelope caught his eye on the fridge door. On the front, in all to familiar handwriting, was one simple word, “Dean”.

     He pulled it out and unfolded the paper inside and read it to himself with a smile. 

     “Dean,

          I know that as tradition states we cannot see each other until the day of the wedding, but I wanted to share my thoughts with you before then.

          I know that as I am, you are probably nervous too. Not nervous in a bad way, but more so filled with anticipation. I cannot wait to marry you tomorrow Dean, to walk down the aisle and with your hand in mine, say I do and become Castiel Winchester, finally. 

          I cannot wait to see what life will hold for us, but no matter how good or bad it may be, I will always be happy knowing that you will be by my side no matter what. That together we will get through any obstacle that may come our way. 

          I never in my life thought I would be here, the day before my wedding, ready to marry the man of my dreams, the love of my life. And when I saw you on our first day of work, two years ago all done up in your prince costume with that big goofy smile on your face, I knew no one else would ever compare to you. And somehow I was lucky enough to be able to call you mine, and tomorrow I will finally be able to call you my husband. 

          Tonight is a night of fun for both of us before tomorrow, but know that the only thing I will be thinking of is you. You are my world, Dean, and will be for the rest of time. 

          Sweet dreams, my love, and I will be counting down the minutes until I can walk down that aisle and have you in my arms again. 

     Love always, 

          Your future, Mr. Castiel Winchester.”

     Dean couldn't help it if a few tears managed to escape him, but Cas always did have a way of saying it all for the both of them. And in that moment Dean was thankful for everything that had brought him to Cas, hell even that bitch who rejected him for the first interview, for if not for that he would never have met Cas. He would have never been his prince and they would never have fallen in love. 

     After a few moments and a second read of the letter, Dean folded it up and held it close to his heart as he made his way towards the stairs. As he began the climb he looked up to see Sammy standing at the top, leaning on the railing with a soft smile on his face. Dean smiled back and held the letter closer to his chest as Sam gave a nod and disappeared into his room. 

     Dean followed suit, heading for his own room. He placed the letter on the nightstand on his side of the bed and laid down. The bed was cold and extremely empty without Cas by his side, but he went to sleep with Cas’s loving words on his mind and the thought of just one more night. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     The day had finally arrived. 

     Dean found himself pacing in the dressing room where it had all began two years ago, as Sam watched him with a smirk from across the room. He was nervous. He wanted everything to be perfect for Cas. This was literally a fairy tale wedding, and not only that, but since they had become such a monumental part of the park, Cas and Dean had jumped at the thought when Ellen asked if it could be televised. They were more than thrilled to extend their reach beyond the park and continue to be the amazing role models they had become. So, Dean was a little nervous. 

     “Dude,” Sam chuckled, “it's gunna be fine, relax.”

     “I just want this to be perfect, Sammy, Cas deserves perfect.”

     “And I’m sure that’s exactly what he’ll get.” Sam pushed off from the wall where he was leaning and walked over to Dean, the cape of his own customized prince outfit flowing as he did. “You and Cas have both worked so hard on making this wedding everything that you’ve both ever dreamed of, and Ellen and Bobby have done an amazing job with the park side of things. But no matter what, as long as you’re standing at the end of the aisle when Cas steps out of that carriage, that’s all he’s gunna care about. So just breathe, man.”

     Dean did as Sam said and let out a slow puff of air, nodding his head. “Yeah, you’re right. All Cas and I need is each other.”

     “See,” Sam gave his shoulder a forceful pat causing Dean to smirk, “it's already the perfect day.”

     The door to the dressing room opened slightly and Bobby popped his head in, “You boys ready? It's just about time.”

     Dean looked to Sam once more before looking back to Bobby and nodding with a new found confidence, “Yeah, we’re ready.”

     “Good,” he waved for them to follow him out, “the carriages that will take you boys to the steps of the castle are waiting out back. There’s quite a large crowd, so be prepared.”

     They walked out to the back doors and Bobby took Dean to the horse drawn carriage at the front of the line and opened the door for him to get in. “The carriage will take you through the streets to the bottom of the stairs. When you get there, someone will open the door for you and all you have to do is walk to the top of the stairs and wait there. Sam and Charlie will follow, along with the ring bearer and flower girl, and Cas will come out last. And from there it's all a piece of cake.”

     Dean felt like he was in a whirlwind but nodded anyways, trusting his uncle had it all under control. 

     Sam gave Dean one last thumbs up as Bobby closed the door, and watched as Sam was then ushered to the next carriage and Dean was taken away.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Bobby wasn’t kidding when he said there was a huge crowd. Dean looked out the window of the carriage as he was taken through the streets of the park and he was surrounded by a sea of people, all who came to witness the wedding of himself and Cas. It made him slightly more nervous but it also made him swell with pride to know that he and Cas had made such an impact on so many people over the last few years. 

     Eventually the carriage came to a stop at the base of the stairs and a young boy dressed in emerald green clothes, stepped forwards to open the door. Dean stepped out as the crowd cheered and waved. The cameras placed all around the castle steps were all pointed at him, and he smiled and waved back as he began to climb the steps towards Ellen who was waiting for him at the top. 

     When he finally reached her she took both his hands and pulled him in for a long hug, placing a kiss on his cheek before she pulled back, “My, don't you look handsome.”

     “Thanks,” he blushed, moving to take a step back to the side. 

     “Nervous?”

     Dean smiled, “I was, but Sammy sort of cleared that all up for me. As long as Cas is here with me, I don't care what happens, I’ll be happy.”

     She leaned over and gave him another kiss on the cheek and smiled brightly at him, “I love you boys, all of you.”

     “We love you too, Ellen.”

     The crowd began to cheer again, bringing their attention back to the bottom of the stairs where another carriage was slowly pulling up. 

     Ellen stood back in her place at the end of the aisle, and winked to Dean as she whispered, “Here we go,” and Dean let out one last calming breath, turning to watch in anticipation for the love of his life.

     As the carriage came to a stop, the young boy who opened Dean’s door moved to open this one, and Sam stepped out. He was all smiles and just as handsome as Dean in his ruby red prince outfit. And Sam, the natural he was, gave the crowd a small wave before he turned back to hold a hand inside the carriage to help Charlie out. 

     She looked beautiful in a dress to match Sam’s ruby red, and arm in arm the two walked up the steps together to join Dean at the top. The day before the wedding the two had been officially appointed Prince Samuel and Lady Charlotte, both thrilled to be a part of this amazing journey. 

     When the two reached the top and went to stand on their respective sides, a third carriage pulled up and Dean couldn't help but smile as wide as he could as their ring bearer and flower girl were lifted out of the carriage. Dean waved down at the little boy who waved back with enthusiasm. The young Andrew walked up the steps, holding the hand of his almost three year old little sister. Both of which had joined Sam and Charlie in the ceremony the day before and been named Prince Andrew and Princess Anna.

     When the two young ones had reached the top and were standing to the side with their mom, horns went off and everyone who was seated stood as the last carriage pulled up, and Dean attempted to shake his anticipation out as the door was slowly opened. 

     Dean had never seen a sight more beautiful in his life as Cas stepped out of the carriage. He was dressed in a pure white outfit with black accents, his hair in that slightly mussed way Dean liked it, and his blue eyes fixed on only one thing. Dean. 

     Dean made to move towards Cas, but Sam’s hand came out to catch him and keep him still as Cas began the climb to the top. 

     It felt like a lifetime to both of them before he was finally standing face to face with Dean, finally holding his hands in his, and both ready to take this step together. 

     Cas moved to stand on the other side of Ellen, hands still tightly held in Dean’s, and he leaned over to whisper, “Ready?”

     Dean smiled at Cas, lifting his hands to his lips to place two kisses on them before whispering back, “Definitely,” as Ellen started talking. 

     “Well,” she began with a smile, barely able to contain her joy, “today is a wondrous day as we all gather to witness the marriage of Prince Dean Winchester, and Prince Castiel Novak. Now, before we get to the good stuff, you boys have written your own vows. Dean, you first.”

     Dean shifted on his feet, turning his gaze away from Ellen and back to Cas, taking a breath before he spoke, “Cas, I never thought I would ever be standing here, across from the love of my life, ready to say I do. And to be honest, when I first met you two years ago, I never would have thought it would be you that I would be standing with.” Cas chuckled at the memory. “When I asked you to marry me, under the Magic Kingdom Bridge, I thought I could never be happier than I was when you said yes, but I was wrong. When I hear you say I do today, and I get to take you in my arms as my husband, I will be the happiest man alive. And from here on out, it's you and me. I will always be here for you no matter what, I will always love you, and you will always be my world. I love you, Cas.”

     Cas gave Dean’s hands a squeeze in his as Ellen turned to him and said, “Castiel, you’re turn.

     “Dean, when we first met I fell in love with you instantly, and I knew I would never be able to fall for anyone else after laying eyes on you.” Dean smiled and looked down, a slight blush covering his cheeks. “But I was worried that I would never be able to get the courage up to talk to you, or tell you how I felt, but you managed to bring out a side of me that I never even knew existed. With you by my side I have become a stronger, more confident and capable man, and that is all thanks to your endless amounts of love. I could not ask for a better husband then I know you will be, and I will forever be thankful that I was somehow lucky enough to cross paths with you. I love you so much Dean, and I always will.”

     Everyone around them, themselves included, took a moment to wipe away a few stray tears before Ellen cleared her throat and managed to croak out, “Alright, time for the rings now boys. Come on over Prince Andrew.”

     Little Andrew hopped over carrying a small white pillow, and on top were two matching golden bands. He stood between Cas and Dean and held the pillow up towards them, and both leaned down with a smile at Andrew as they took the rings, and the boy returned to his mom. 

     Both boys turned back to one another, Dean looking Cas straight in the eye as he took his left hand in his own and slipped the band onto his finger, and with a smile as bright as the sun he said, “With this ring, Cas, I thee wed.”

     “Dean,” Cas returned his beaming smile and took Dean’s left hand in his, “with this ring, I thee wed, finally.”

     “Well, boys,” Ellen took a step forward and placed a hand on their shoulders, looking between them, “it is my honour to announce you husbands as Dean and Castiel Winchester. Prince Dean, you may kiss Prince Castiel.”

     Without a moment's hesitation Dean practically leapt forwards, taking Cas’s face in his hands, and pulling him in for a long sweet kiss. The crowd and their friends around them cheered and clapped, but the two boys were only focused on each other, everything else around them was a mere blurr in their happiness together in that moment. 

     As they pulled apart the horns went off again, confetti was suddenly flying through the air around them, and Ellen was ushering them down the stairs. Hand in hand they turned and made their way down the steps, halfway down Dean swooped his arms down and carried Cas the rest of the way, right to the carriage that was waiting for them at the bottom. 

     With one last wave, Dean opened the door and helped Cas into the carriage and then jumped in beside him. The most nerve wracking part of the day was over. They had finally married each other, in front of their friends and family, and everyone at the park, and now they were off to the smaller and more intimate reception they had planned for themselves. Just a small room in one of the parks banquet halls were they could celebrate the night and their marriage with their close friends and family. Where they could eat, drink, and dance the night away before Dean swept Cas off for their long awaited honeymoon. 

     And as the carriage pulled away and began taking them back through the streets of the Magic Kingdom, they locked eyes and both couldn't help but think that they had never been happier. And neither could wait to finally start their journeys together as husbands, as Dean and Castiel Winchester. 

     Dean took Cas’s hand in his and placed his other hand on Cas’s cheek and whispered softly, “I love you, Cas, so much.”

     “I love you too, Dean.”

     And just as Sam and Charlie made it down the steps to get into their waiting carriage, they looked through the back window of Dean and Cas’s carriage in front of them, just in time to see the two lean into each other and melt into the most breathtaking kiss either of them had ever seen. The two remained locked in each others embrace until the carriage had taken them out of sight, and Sam couldn't help but smile and watch them go as he thought to himself, finally.

End

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

A/N: 

     Well, that's it guys! All though..... I did have an interesting request that I rewrite the story, but this time make it from the perspective of Cas instead of Dean, and I am super intrigued by the idea and might possibly (more then likely will) do just that!

     But thank you all again for sticking around, I would absolutely LOVE to hear what you think of our boys happy ending!! And don't forget to check out my other destiel fics (smut and fluff promised and delivered lol) I love you all <3<3<3

Tags: @kitsunecastiel @florenciareiser @soulmatchortega @sugarbae128 @deeutdutdutdoh @willastar23 @quillsandink-writes @theninthdutchessofhell @bbotts9797 @supernaturalbaesduh @deanwithhisimpala @deanssidechick @mishka-the-angel-of-saturday @thekingofgreenapples @say-it-aint-so-bro @idontwantpeopletoknowmyname @markpellegrincs @pooffa @all-time-fall-out-panic-pilots @myessenceconsistsofdeadmemes @petertingle3000 @ractna @but-for-the-gods-three-days @thefourthheadofcerberus

[gukyi]

moonlight melody (ii.) | jjk

summary: when your loving best friend playfully pranks you one too many times, you decide that revenge is best served hot, over a period of thirty days, and with a little extra help from the best violinist you know (sorry jimin).

or, the one where during your month-long vacation in italy with your youth orchestra, you realize that vengeance is sweet but fake dating jungkook is sweeter.

{fake dating!au, university orchestra!au, vacation!au}

pairing: jungkook x female reader word count: 25k (still sorry mobile users) genre: fluff, minor angst warnings: more obnoxious slow burn. lots of comparing jungkook to famous italian renaissance artwork. characters being oblivious. the usual in your fake dating lineup. the beautiful image of hoseok wearing bright yellow shorts with green polka dots. a/n: i said a week, i actually meant a week and a day. here she is, folks. this fic is straight up 104 pages in my google doc, what a beast. is this the monster or am i? the world will never know. big thanks to everyone who’s been waiting so patiently for this fic!! you guys are the reason i even finished it. im now going to hole myself up in my room and watch my concert vids.  edit (4.16.20): the very wonderful @jtrbluv​ made this incredible playlist for this fic and i can’t recommend listening to it enough!!!!! please put this on while you read <3

part one | part two (finale)

The first thing that Seokjin says when your train pulls into the Santa Lucia station in Venice is, “if I don’t become an Instagram model and make thousands of dollars off of tea detoxes and teeth-whitening products after this trip, then I don’t want to hear it.”

The first thing that Yoongi says when your train pulls into the Santa Lucia station is, “You have fifty-three followers and all of them are fake accounts you made to follow yourself.”

Seokjin gasps, appalled at such an accusation thrown his way. “How dare you challenge my integrity, my honor, and my dignity.” He asks like a presidential candidate being insulted during a televised public debate. The comparison honestly isn’t that far off.

“You had any of those to begin with?” Jimin mutters under his breath, but it’s loud enough for everyone within a five feet radius of him to hear it. Taehyung chokes back something between a bark of laughter and a snort, and winks when Seokjin turns his head around to glare at him both threateningly and affectionately.

“Okay, second of all, fuck you,” Seokjin spits out, the resolve of the aforementioned presidential candidate shattering. Though, with any hint at how politics is turning out these days, you suppose swears probably aren’t off the table just yet.

Namjoon scrunches up his nose, looking as lost as he always is. “What happened to the first of all?” Seokjin shrugs because it’s incredibly clear that he has no idea where the first part went either.

“Feels like just yesterday we were in Rome,” Taehyung muses to himself, false-nostalgia tainting his tone. He looks thoughtfully up to the sky as if reflecting on past memories.

“It was yesterday,” Hoseok interrupts. “In fact, it was this morning, too.”

“Did. I. Stutter.” Taehyung says sharply without turning his head. Perhaps he would look a little more menacing if he didn’t have this absolutely horrendous sunburn decorating his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, making him look more like a Strawberry Shortcake character than a university student. It doesn’t help that his shirt is almost comically frilly. He looks like he walked right off of a high fashion runway.

You barely notice Jungkook coming up behind you, suitcase and violin in hand. He touches your side to get your attention, and when you turn to him you make no effort to fight the smile that grows on your face. His being always seems to lighten up your mood.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey,” he replies. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Bang wants to give us this week off to explore Venice on our own,” he whispers, out of earshot of everyone else. You know that the second Jimin is going to hear this he’s going to beat his chest and holler like Tarzan. Jungkook knows better than to speak loudly.

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. Even if you are all college students you are, quite frankly, shocked that Bang would give you that much freedom. A whole week all to yourselves? It sounds like a recipe for disaster, but everyone always says to try new things.

“Seriously,” Jungkook confirms with a nod. “I think Bang’s gotten so sick of us that he’s willing to let us loose like animals for a week so he can recover his lost brain cells.”

You hum in agreement, Jungkook’s suspicion probably not that far off. A middle-aged man can only take so much from fifty college students before he is driven off the edge. You don’t blame Bang in the slightest, especially because on your last night in Rome, it took seven of you to convince Taehyung not to sneak into Bang’s room and write the entire Bee Movie script on the complimentary notepad. You are wholly unsurprised that Taehyung still has at least the first 300 words memorized.

“We don’t have any performances here, do we?” You ask Jungkook.

Jungkook shakes his head, purses his lips. “Don’t think so. They start back up in Florence.”

It’s hard to think about Florence, now that you’re here. But Florence is only a week away and then you only have about ten days there before your trip is over, your time is up and you have to board a plane back home. It feels so far away and yet at the same time, you know that it is right at your doorstep.

“Really?” You ask, skeptical. “I’m surprised Bang didn’t schedule any.”

“I will bet you all of my college tuition that Bang organized this trip so he would have this week of peace right in the middle of all the chaos. The eye of the storm.”

“Are we the storm, Jungkook?” You ask even if you already know the answer.

Next to you, it seems that Jimin has convinced Hoseok to play his newest piece out loud, and so Hoseok’s grainy rap blares through his grainy speakers as everyone hoots and hollers. You are pretty sure that Taehyung is doing every outdated dance he can think of to the beat, crying out in enthusiasm at Hoseok’s song. It’s a good song, you’ll admit that much. If this were a movie, then some agent or music producer would coincidentally be walking by, hear Hoseok’s song, and offer him a prestigious record deal right on the spot. Instead, the only passersby are disgruntled tourists who frown as they pass your rambunctious crew, shaking their heads to themselves.

Jungkook nods. “We’re the storm.”

You wish you could say you were shocked.

Bang rounds everybody up at the lobby of the hotel you’re staying at, not necessarily one of those chain lodgings but also not a tiny alleyway of a place. Behind you, you can hear Jimin and Taehyung plotting to steal Seokjin’s clean underwear. Boys are disgusting.

“Okay, everyone,” Bang announces with a clap of his hands, loud like the beat of a snare drum. “As you may already know, I don’t have any performances planned for this week in Venice.”

Small gasps and very loud whispers break out throughout the orchestra. Jungkook reaches down, and for a second you think he’s going to grab your hand, but instead he pinches the side of your shirt and makes you squeak, much to the disruption of everyone else. As the blood rushes to your cheeks you give Jungkook a heavy shove, your upper body strength from all that cello-lifting paying off when he stumbles slightly. Fucker.

“And I am making the slightly-unsettling decision to give you all this week off to do what you please,” Bang continues, and so do the gasps. You can hear the smack of skin that signifies a high five, and turn around to find Jimin wincing slightly as he caresses his reddened palm. Next to him, Taehyung grins, almost proudly. “Nothing is planned save for a couple of small things closer to the end of our stay here in Venice, so you all have until then to do what you wish.” He eyes Taehyung and Jimin suspiciously. “Please don’t make me regret this decision.”

And even if Taehyung and Jimin are orchestral hooligans at best, you know that they’ll keep on Bang’s good side.

Bang ends his announcement there and goes to speak with the hotel staff to check in.

Namjoon clasps his hands together as the seven of you turn to face him, waiting for his next move. “Now that Bang’s not going to be breathing down our necks, I say that we take our time in Venice to go—”

“Sightseeing.”

“Drinking.”

Seokjin and Yoongi glare at each other.

“Uh, I was going to say we go and explore, but alright, I guess,” Namjoon says tentatively. “I think that we should divide up into two groups just to make travel a little easier, though. I don’t think the water taxis outside can handle eight fully-grown college students.”

“Well,” Taehyung interrupts. “Seven fully-grown college students and Yoongi.”

Yoongi tweaks Taehyung’s nipple in retaliation, eliciting something between a hiccup and a squeak from the latter.

“Okay, I call Namjoon,” Jimin announces, latching himself onto Namjoon’s arm. The process feels eerily similar to when you had to pick groups for projects in high school.

“I call Jimin,” Taehyung mimics, and suddenly Namjoon’s got himself an entire conga line on his arm. He sends something of a pained look Yoongi’s way, and you’re pretty sure that it is out of pity that he joins Namjoon’s group, leaving you with Jungkook, Hoseok, and Seokjin.

“Have fun losing all of your brain cells, fuckers,” Seokjin teases. Namjoon’s face, if possible, becomes even more distorted.

“Bold of you to assume I had any of those to begin with,” Taehyung responds cheekily, just the right amount of self-deprecation evident in his voice. “At least we’re not stuck with Mr. and Mrs. Lovebird McLovebirdson.”

“Excuse you?” You say, only mildly offended that Taehyung would tack a name such as that onto you and Jungkook’s relationship or whatever the hell it is that the two of you have going on.

“Leave him, Thumper,” Jungkook says with a fond smile. Taehyung glares at him suspiciously. “He’s just teasing you.”

“You’re the only one allowed to do that,” you say with a pout, making Jungkook poke a pointer finger into your chipmunk cheeks.

“Is that right, Thumper?” He asks with a smirk.

Seokjin huffs out a sigh. He looks about as pained as Namjoon, but for an entirely different reason. With a groan, he asks, “Anyone willing to trade?”

The films that romanticize early mornings in foreign countries and strolls along cobblestone alleys are bold-faced lies, that’s what they are. They are ridden with the sweet, deceitful art of movie-magic and morphed into constructions designed to appeal to the losers in their bedrooms watching them on their shitty Windows laptops. They are anything but the truth.

It is six in the morning when Jeon Soyeon is shaking you awake, and six-thirty in the morning when a certain fake boyfriend is outside your door, a guilty grin on his face.

“Care to explain why I’m up at the ass-crack of dawn, Jungkook?” You ask with a single raised, eyebrow, tapping your foot impatiently with your hand resting on the side of the open door.

“Okay, first of all, the sun rose like, an hour ago, so I don’t wanna hear it,” Jungkook points out. “Second of all, Seokjin and Hoseok said that they’d meet us in San Marco at eight, so I thought we could grab breakfast together.”

“Did you text Soyeon and ask her to wake me up for you?” You continue to interrogate, paying little attention to the plans at hand that Jungkook’s suggested.

Jungkook smiles guiltily. “I wanted to surprise you?” He says it more like it’s a question that he’s asking you rather than something akin to a romantic statement.

You turn your head around to sneer at Soyeon, who is honestly too kind to be blackmailed into doing Jungkook’s dirty work. She’s pretending not to listen to your conversation, whistling loudly to herself as she stares at the corner of your hotel room, acting natural. You know you won’t be getting any direct eye contact from her before you leave for the day, so you exchange the glare on your face for a sigh, looking back to Jungkook. He’s looking as hopeful as ever, though you have a sneaking suspicion he already knows you won’t turn him down.

“Fine,” you relent, rolling your eyes. You grab your mini backpack from where it rests against the television stand/dresser hybrid. “You owe Soyeon a gelato for getting her to do this for you.”

“Believe me, I know,” Jungkook says with a nod, clicking his tongue and sending a finger gun Soyeon’s way. She grins in response, waving wildly to the both of you. At least someone’s getting something out of this ridiculous deal. “Come on, we better go before Bang catches us up this early.”

And this is how you land up at a small Venetian café far from any major tourist sites after stumbling around the slowly-waking city. The tourists aren’t awake yet, the busy streets aren’t filled yet, and it feels sort of like this is your everyday reality: a coffee in the morning on a sidestreet in Venice with your boyfriend. Well. Almost boyfriend. Very close to being a real boyfriend boyfriend. Fake boyfriend.

“You ever crave something disgustingly unhealthy for breakfast?” Jungkook asks as he digs into his breakfast pastry, berry-colored jam leaking from the sides.

“As in?”

“Some healthy, hearty Shin ramen.”

“Don’t tell me you eat that for breakfast,” you say in slightly horror, looking up at Jungkook. Sure, you’ve had your fair share of ramen for meals, but at least you tend you gravitate towards granola bars for most of your morning meals.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, instead choosing to grimace as his answer.

“That is absolutely horrifying,” you tell him.

“It does a fantastic job of waking you up, that I can confirm,” Jungkook tells you, pointing at you with the spoon by his untouched caffé latte. You told Jungkook he could just order a hot chocolate since he hated coffee anyway, but the latte was barely two Euros and Jungkook honestly panicked at the last second. You feel bad, because he’s wasted his money either way, so he might as well do it on something he’ll enjoy.

“If you won’t drink your latte, can I have it?” You ask tentatively, motioning to it. Nothing like a good bit of caffeine in the morning to get you ready for action.

Jungkook nods, almost too enthusiastically, even going so far as to push the saucer towards you, the pattern in the cup swishing with the movement. “Sure, go ahead.”

You take his cup and bring it to your lips, sipping softly as the hot liquid runs down your tongue, stinging your taste buds just the right amount. Your group doesn’t have too much on your itinerary for today, which must be the reason why he’s so resigned, so laid back. Or perhaps that’s just his normal disposition. Regardless, watching Jungkook as he plays around on his phone distracts you enough while you’re drinking to give you an awful foam moustache, much to Jungkook’s enjoyment.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jungkook says as you’re reaching for your napkin. “Let me take a picture of you.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you mutter to yourself. “Must you?”

Jungkook’s adamant. “Yes. I don’t have a single photo of you on my phone and we’ve just spent the last week and a half in Italy.”

“So the first one has to be of me with a coffee moustache?”

“You look cute!” Jungkook insists.

You scoff. “I beg to differ.”

“The more you talk the more your moustache fades,” Jungkook tells you with a pout. “C’mon, Thumper, please?”

You resign. “Quickly.”

Jungkook silently fist-pumps the air before snapping a photo of your pout. The moment his camera begins to lower you wipe off the remains of your coffee moustache with your finger, sticking it in your mouth to finish the job. You paid money for this thing. Actually, he paid money for this thing. And you’re not going to let it go to waste either way.

“See? Cute,” Jungkook says, shoving his iPhone in your face to reveal your glowing, coffee moustache-laden grin as his lockscreen, visible to anybody who turns on his phone and swipes left to spam his camera roll. You have to admit, even with the unflattering view Jungkook’s knack for photography still shines through. The photo looks much better than anything you could ever do. “You look great, Thumper. Lockscreen-worthy.”

“Can you explain to me where the Thumper came from? I feel like I never got the memo,” you ask, the thought just popping into your head. The nickname is endearing, sure, much more so than something basic like “baby” or “angel” and much less greasy than “darling” or “sweetheart”, but you’re not exactly sure where it came from. Not that you’re complaining.

“When your cheeks puff up,” Jungkook says over a mouthful of pastry, “you look like Thumper from Bambi. You know, the rabbit. The resemblance is, quite frankly, uncanny.”

“You’re saying I look like a cartoon bunny.”

“In a cute way!” Jungkook emphasizes. And then, softly, “You should know by now that I think everything you do is cute, Y/N.” Jungkook says it like he’s discussing the weather, taking another bite of his breakfast.

You pause, parted lips slowly sealing themselves as you sink back in your chair.

You didn’t know that at all.

Piazza San Marco has already begun to overflow with tourists by the time you and Jungkook arrive, seeking out familiar faces. The conversation from earlier is almost entirely forgotten, save for you. Sometimes, in fake relationships, you’re starting to think you prefer it when everything is a lie rather than hearing the truth come out.

Jungkook, on the other hand, is as normal as ever, tugging you with your hand in his own when he spots Seokjin and his bright red baseball cap, worn backwards like a frat boy. You can only hope that he’s got SPF 100 on his face, because the sun already seems to be burning right through the pavement. Hoseok has on his terrible shorts. Maybe you should stare into the sun, go blind just so you don’t have to lay your eyes on those monstrosities. Permanent retina damage doesn’t seem like the worst idea in the world.

“I cannot believe you are wearing those,” you say when you walk up to them, staring Hoseok’s shorts down. He flaunts them, feeds off of your disgust. They look just as awful now as they did in eighth grade. Not much has really changed since then. Maybe your heights.

“Were you under the impression that I wouldn’t?” Hoseok challenges, posing a valid question. Perhaps Hoseok packed them just to spite you at eleven at night, three hours before you had to go to the airport, but he also definitely fully intended on wearing them, and now, here you are.

You narrow your eyes. “Touché.”

“What are we doing today, Less Important ‘Seok?” Hoseok asks enthusiastically, hands on his hips like a superhero from a cartoon. He turns to Seokjin with a grin on his face like he didn’t just send him a thinly-veiled insult, one that takes Seokjin approximately five seconds to process.

Then Seokjin says, “Excuse me?”

And Hoseok smiles.

“I say we go explore,” Jungkook suggests, adjusting the straps of his backpack. He’s got luggage locks on the damn zippers like the world’s most cautious tourist, but you find the neon green locks quite endearing. Nothing like the fluorescent color of a Sharpie highlighter to deter those pesky pickpockets. “Today’s a great day for all of those Instagram shots you want.”

Seokjin seems to perk up at that idea. “Nice, brand deals here I come,” he says, rubbing his hands together evil-villain-style.

“I could really use some photos for my portfolio,” Jungkook says, sort of like an aside.

“You’re making a portfolio?” You ask him, curious. It’s incredible, that Jungkook has so many projects going on at once, so many talents that he’s already refined, perfected. You can barely walk in a straight line, sober.

“Yeah,” Jungkook tells you softly, hand reaching up to tug on the camera strap around his neck. “To remember the, uh, the trip. It’s very picturesque here.”

Seokjin’s loud voice interrupts the both of you, shifting to see him standing in the center of the piazza with a peace sign by his face. “If it’s so picturesque then why am I not being photographed for my very first sponsorship?” He shouts, motioning to Jungkook’s camera like a CEO standing at the top of a skyscraper, watching down at his minions doing his dirty work. If Seokjin, God forbid, ever became Instagram famous, you know that all of you would end up suffering. He would hold his follower count over your heads for everything.

Jungkook sighs, pressing the silver button on his camera without even bringing it up to eye level to peer into the screen, haphazardly clicking away after making an educated guess as to the lens view. He’s either right on the money or currently taking about ten shots of Seokjin’s knees and nothing else. Either way they are Instagram-worthy.

Seokjin takes absolutely no notice of the fact that Jungkook is half-assing his photos and moves back towards the group after about thirty seconds of random camera-clicking, satisfied. You wonder why Hoseok always has it out for you with his outlandish pranks when you are almost certain that Seokjin is infinitely more gullible than you in every sense of the word. There have been multiple occasions during in which Seokjin has searched for his glasses, only to find out that they were not only on his head, he was also wearing them.

“Okay, the sun is shining, the clouds are gone, it’s only marginally burning temperatures, which means that we are going to avoid every tourist attraction in this city for the entire day,” you declare, clapping your hands together. Nothing sounds truly more awful than marching around a densely-packed part of town with no air conditioning and a million other people with a million other body heats.

“Dude, I’m sweating just standing here,” Hoseok says, taking his grossly-fluorescent visor off of his head and fanning himself with it.

“We could probably alleviate that problem by moving into the side streets, which are shaded,” you say.

Jungkook chuckles, but the lot of you are already moving out of Piazza San Marco, veering towards the nearest side street that you can find, eyes scanning for shade. “Emphasis on the word ‘probably,’” he jokes, an entirely valid statement because even in the shade you can feel the sweat running down your back.

Even without the use of water travel, you manage to find some pretty spectacular places within walking distance. Venice is like playing legato notes in an allegro piece, the kind of city where you hold onto each moment for as long as you can even though your days there are numbered, even though the fast pace of your travel will catch up to you eventually. Bang always reminds the orchestra that you can’t cut legato notes short otherwise they just become mundane, average notes. That’s Venice.

There is no method to your madness, if you could even call it that. Without the pressure to see all of the tourist sites at once, time limits and schedules entirely vacant, you are not walking around Venice so much as you are strolling around Venice, taking in the scenery and landscape without a rush to be anywhere at all.

You would almost imagine that it would be just you and Jungkook together, hand-in-hand as you waltz down the pavement in a gorgeous foreign city, if it weren’t for Hoseok cracking jokes next to you and Seokjin stopping your entire group every block in order to snag another photo. Not that you can really blame him any more, now that you think about it. You’d want to remember as much of this trip as possible too.

“We’re gonna get back to the hotel and I’m gonna plug in my camera and every single photo is going to be Seokjin with a peace sign in front of his face,” Jungkook tells you in mock exasperation, rolling his eyes as Seokjin beckons him over towards a piece of street art that he wants a photo in front of. It’s a very tasteful street art image, an incredibly bright red stack of buildings with a face coming out of it. You laugh at Jungkook’s expense, because that’s what he gets for being a kind, giving, and photographically talented individual.

The two of them prance over to pose in front of the wall as Hoseok and you stay back, hanging around on the opposite side of the street.

“Y/N,” Hoseok says, nudging your side. His voice is soft, muted, meaning that he’s about to tell you something he doesn’t want the other two to know about. “You and Jungkook seem to really enjoy each other’s company.”

You scoff, a little concerned about what direction this conversation is about to go to. “Why wouldn’t we? We’re dating.” Fake dating.

“Well,” Hoseok says hesitantly. “I mean, you’ve barely ever spoken to each other prior to this trip but after you guys got off the plane it just… it seemed like you were happier. You know? Especially this past week in Rome, and now. You just seem really happy.”

“Am I typically unhappy?” You ask with your eyebrows raised.

“No, not like that,” Hoseok says. He lets out a big sigh and keeps his eyes trained on Seokjin and Jungkook, who are still fooling around across the street. “You just seem to really like him. I’m glad.”

You keep silent. For a split second, you feel guilty again, guilty that you’re tricking your best friend into thinking that something so real, so genuine, is a sham.

“I’m glad he’s making you happy,” Hoseok continues, and as bad as it sounds, you want your best friend to shut up and stop talking. Stop saying these things because they make you feel bad and confused and worried all at once. “You deserve someone like Jungkook.” And, as if that isn’t enough, he says, “He looks like he loves you a lot.”

Does he really?

It’s then that Hoseok straightens out his posture and returns to his smiling self as Jungkook and Seokjin make their way over, giggling about something stupid that you didn’t notice. You wonder if Seokjin got some good photos, but then you realize that with Jungkook, they won’t be anything less than perfect.

(Jungkook looks gorgeous when he giggles. His nose scrunches up and his eyes crinkle and he laughs like he doesn’t know how to stop laughing.)

“Ready to go, Thumper?” Jungkook asks, reaching a hand out. You take it without a shadow of a doubt. It’s strange. It’s beginning to feel like it belongs there.

“Where to next?” You ask, facing a crossroads. Each way leads down a different path, one that could lead you somewhere else, but that’s the beauty of it all.

Jungkook grins. “Anywhere.”

You make a vow to yourself that you’ll come back to Italy when you’re rich and famous and can afford to splurge on ten thousand dollar Dior dresses and fast passes to the biggest attractions, but even as a college student with an exponentially increasing amount of student loans and about four dollars and thirty-three cents in your bank account you know that there are some things that you just have to do in Italy.

One of which being a gondola tour.

“You know,” Namjoon says matter-of-factly with his mouth filled with some sort of unnamed pastry with jam, “the gondola tours are 100% not worth your time. You’d do better just walking around yourself.”

The eight of you are gathered at the same café that you and Jungkook found on your first full day here, far from any tourist traps and bustling morning crowds. The old lady who seems to be the only employee speaks very little English, but even though you, a youth orchestra group in which none of you speak Italian, are her only customers at such an early morning hour, she is making a wonderful effort at communicating with you.

Namjoon has already picked up the vernacular of the region. No big deal.

“Okay Mr. I Spent Fifty Euros on the Doge’s Palace,” Hoseok mocks pointedly, drinking his latte with a very unappealing slurp. “Stop being such a hater.”

“In Namjoon’s defense, it’s called the Doge’s Palace,” Taehyung points out.

“Yes, because a hallmark of Venetian Gothic architecture and its rich history have anything to do with a deceased meme from five years ago,” Yoongi deadpans, downing another one of those tiny little espresso shots like it’s nothing. It travels down his esophagus and lights everything on fire along the way and he doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“Doge may be dead in our minds but he will live on in our hearts,” Taehyung preaches.

Namjoon rolls his eyes and turns back to you, the genius who had the idea of an overpriced gondola tour for the four of you in the first place. “They’re overpriced, overrated, and severely underwhelming,” he continues like some politician trying to convince you to join his cause against overpriced gondola tours for the sake of his campaign. Since when did he become the end-all be-all of tour guides? He bought that one travel book on Venice and suddenly he thinks he’s—

“I don’t know, I thought it was a good idea,” Jungkook adds in, swinging an arm over your shoulder as moral support.

Taehyung frowns. “That’s because you’re in love with her, dumbass.”

Jungkook chuckles at that, but you can tell that it’s forced and awkward and uncomfortable from the way his body stiffens beside yours and the way his eyes begin to dart around. He must feel just as guilty as you about this whole arrangement, grimacing at the way everyone thinks he’s in love with you.

(“He looks like he loves you a lot.”)

“Very funny,” Jungkook says with a glare to his best friend.

Taehyung winks.

“Listen, if you guys wanna spend your money that way, be my guest,” Namjoon says, resigning his argument. It’s very clear that his debate skills will only get him so far when he’s trying to utilize them with a group of college youths in a foreign country very recently hopped up on caffeine. “But it’ll be a waste of your money.”

Hoseok scoffs. “We’re in Italy on a school-sponsored trip and we already have thousands of dollars in debt because the American banking system is ass,” he reasons. “What’s a couple more dollars going to do?”

To that, everyone cheers.

The last time you were on a boat, you had accompanied Hoseok’s family on his annual fishing trip during spring break when the both of you were twelve. Against both of your better judgement, you and Hoseok climbed into his father’s kayak to boat around the lake that your lodging rested up against despite the fact that neither of you knew how to kayak. Five minutes later the both of you were held up by your lifejackets as the kayak floated away, unmanned, far out of reach as the both of you tread the freezing cold water. It’s one of your fondest memories.

It’s been six years since you were on a boat and the uneasy, queasy feeling you receive from being on one still hasn’t faded. In fact, it seems to be amplified now that you are surrounded by new friends who haven’t seen you throw up before, unlike Hoseok.

Granted, a gondola is kind of the Venetian dream, when you think about it. The kind of activity that everyone in the movies does whenever they visit Venice, and soft violin music is playing in the background as an unnamed man steers the main character and their love interest and everything is romantic and soft and not at all sweaty and crowded.

This is not a Venetian dream. It’s more like a Venetian reality.

Seokjin and Hoseok have been bickering for the past ten minutes on the correct way to put on a lifejacket when neither of them are wearing theirs correctly, and your fake boyfriend is paying you hardly any attention because his face has been stuck in his camera ever since you boarded. The added cushioning is causing sweat to dribble down your back in droplets, turning the part where your shorts meet your t-shirt into a damp, uncomfortable mess. This kind of sucks and yet, you don’t think you’d rather be anywhere else.

Seokjin sighs, looking towards the back row, where you and Jungkook are sitting. He’s got one arm wrapped around your waist—you feel bad because his hand is most definitely damp from your sweat—and the other is holding his camera up to his eye, snapping as many photos as he can as the boat travels down the water, like he’s going to make some stop-motion animation film. “You guys are so lucky,” he says.

“Us?” You ask, confused.

“When I’m rich and famous I want to bring my significant other here and get a gondola tour and travel the city together, and you guys get to do it even though you are neither rich nor famous,” Seokjin declares, exasperated, envious of whatever the hell you and Jungkook have. “This is like, a prime love location.”

“Yeah, because you’d know anything about love,” Hoseok says with a taunting sneer. “Pretty sure the only girl in your life is your bassoon.”

“Talk about her behind my back all you want, but do not insult Bessy in front of me,” Seokjin says, a hard glare etched on his face. The expression makes Hoseok double over in laughter. You’re almost 100% sure that if it were socially acceptable, Seokjin would sleep with his bassoon every night just to make sure it was warm and protected. You know, like a sentient being. Except it’s a wooden instrument. With keys that can bend very, very easily.

“You and your bassoon can suck my ass,” Hoseok continues just to be unbearable. You know Seokjin isn’t taking what he says to the heart, but it doesn’t stop the older from reaching over to ruffle Hoseok’s hair. You swear you can see droplets of maroon sweat fall from his locks as Seokjin gives them a good shake.

“You guys are some lucky motherfuckers, I hope you know that,” Seokjin says, pointing to the both of you accusingly. He’s got something in between a fond look and a sneer on his face. You know he means nothing but the best.

Jungkook pulls you in for a side hug, your body squishing against the heat of his own for a brief second before he lets go. “What can I say, you’re a catch, Thumper.” He presses a sweat-laden kiss to your cheek, but the touch of his lips on your skin no longer catches you off guard. In fact, it’s almost like you were waiting for the next time he would kiss you. Almost.

“I think I might throw up and not from seasickness,” Hoseok says with the most horrified look on his face.

You turn to Jungkook, only to find him grinning unbearably wide, a sun of a smile on his face as he looks down at you. Looks at you like he’s spent all this money just so he could be in a gondola with you in Venice, not for any of the sights along the way. His camera’s still held up in his hand but he’s no longer clicking away, instead savoring the view right in front of him. You can’t imagine what sort of otherworldly acting skills Jungkook might have if he’s able to see some façade of beauty in your sweaty, heat-stricken body, but you suppose that anything’s a stretch at this point. You’re already head-deep into this fake dating thing. How much further can you go?

“Oh!” Seokjin gasps aloud. “The lighting is perfect here! Quick, Jungkook, take a photo of me!” Immediately the man strikes a perfectly constructed pose, pretending to look off into the unknown distance with his head turned away from the camera, faking a candid photo to the soft sloshing of the water against the boat. Seokjin, quite frankly, looks ridiculous, but you have to admit that the light gives him a sort of heavenly glow. One that will probably translate very well on Instagram.

“He’s right, Thumper,” Jungkook says, bringing his camera up to his eye. “The lighting is perfect.”

And without warning, suddenly Jungkook is turning himself ninety degrees and snapping a photo of you before you can stop him, the fond smile on your face too slow to be erased before the camera click goes off.

“Jungkook!” You hiss.

“What?” He asks defensively. Seokjin’s still posing with his head facing away from the camera, and so he’s been totally bamboozled into thinking that Jungkook is snapping photos of him. Hoseok seems to have noticed this fact, and is trying to muffle his laughter as best as he can without giving it all away. “The lighting really is perfect.”

“I look and feel like a pile of sweat in a plastic bag,” you tell him like it’s obvious that he should have noticed how truly disgusting you look. Even though you are by the water it feels like your body is burning from the inside out as a result of the blazing sun despite the copious amounts of sunscreen you’ve been layering on your body. Your hair is matted down and everything is sticky.

“Drifting through the wind?” Hoseok supplies unhelpfully, making you reach over and smack him.

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook corrects, and he takes another photo, just for good measure. “I don’t have enough photos of you on my camera, Thumper. You’re my girlfriend and I’ve barely been taking pictures of you.”

“So?”

“‘So?’” Jungkook repeats. “Thumper, everything you do deserves to become a memory.”

For the rest of the day tour, Jungkook snaps countless photos of you, ones of you posing and ones of you caught off guard, refusing to stop despite Seokjin’s indignant cries of “I asked first!”. He says it’s because he doesn’t have enough on his camera, because of all the places you’ve been to in Italy thus far this is the one where he wants to remember you most.

You wish you were good at photography. Maybe then this whole fake-dating thing would seem a lot less fake.

When Yoongi suggested drinking as a legitimate activity that the eight of you did together while in Venice, he genuinely wasn’t kidding. Jungkook texts you after another long day of walking around and avoiding tourist sites together, skipping down side streets and eating big cups of gelato, while you’re fresh out of the shower in your room. The rest of the girls are all out, so this is the only time you can secure a nice wash other than a rather unholy two in the morning. You just want to decompress, maybe go out in a little for some bruschetta but nothing else, when you read:

going out tonight gonna crack open a lot of cold ones with all the bois

please come with taehyung really wants to try italian alcohol

And then, because you apparently have no choice when it comes to him:

dropping by ur room to pick u up in twenty minutes

Which leaves you twenty minutes to get dressed, dry your hair, and put on some makeup before Jungkook is knock, knock, knocking at your door. The only reason you’re even putting effort into your appearance for such an excursion is because said excursion is occurring at a time when the sun is not beating down your back, and therefore copious amounts of sweat are no longer a factor. Well. If Taehyung has a club in mind, then maybe copious amounts of sweat will be a factor. But that is a bridge you will burn when you get to it.

You don’t really know what nightclub life will be like in Italy, though you’re fairly certain sleazebags of the male specimen are probably a universal issue. Luckily, you’ve got yourself a very handy dandy fake boyfriend to rescue you should any trouble arise.

To be quite honest, you’re surprised that nobody in your group’s made any effort to legally acquire some booze beforehand. You’d think that they’d take advantage of the lower legal alcohol limit as soon as they set foot in the country, but it doesn’t seem to be very high on their list of priorities. That is, until now.

You have just finished adjusting the collar of your dress when Jungkook knocks on your door, the sound of his fist against the wood reverberating around your entire hotel room like an echo getting farther and farther away.

“No entourage?” You ask, surprised to see him standing alone. You’d been half-expecting him to knock on your door with the entire possy behind him, waiting. He’s been fidgeting, that much you can tell, by the way his hands have been clasped together and his right foot’s unnatural position towards the left one.

“Just me, Thumper,” Jungkook admits guiltily. “Ready to go?” He holds out his hand, warm palm waiting for your softer, rounder fingers to join with his long, slender ones.

“Nothing quite like getting drunk in Venice on a university-sponsored vacation,” you say in lieu of any sort of greeting. You figure that your hand intertwined with his is enough of a hello.

He grins. “If the entire world turns to shit, we can blame Taehyung.”

It seems like a good enough plan to you.

Speaking of the devil himself, you and Jungkook meet him and the rest of the bunch in the lobby. Taehyung’s got sunglasses on the head—even though it’s eight at night—for the aesthetic and a very nice satin shirt you are absolutely positive is going to be going into the garbage after tonight. Not that you have ever had any drunk experiences with any of them besides the occasional thing with Hoseok in high school (you drank together in your bedroom without your parents knowing, how scandalous), and even then it was in the comfort of your own home without much of a risk factor.

“You are going to lose those sunglasses so damn quick, Tae,” Jimin says as you walk out of the hotel, already beginning to scan the streets for the closest bar. He even makes a show of snatching them off Taehyung’s head, wearing them himself just for fun. Taehyung makes grabby hands and says some stupid insult about Jimin’s height as he retrieves them from Jimin’s nose bridge. “Last time you got drunk you lost your Epipen. Who the fuck brings an Epipen out to go drinking?”

Taehyung gasps. “You never know which places might have corn!”

“In their drinks?”

“Is Taehyung allergic to corn? Is that what I’m getting here?” You ask, leaning over to ask into Jungkook’s ear. Not that Taehyung wouldn’t answer you perfectly fine either, you just think he seems rather busy, bickering with Jimin and playing a game of capture the flag with his sunglasses that he’s wearing at night.

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods. “But it’s like, just raw corn. The moment you cook it, he’s not allergic to it anymore.”

Not that you’re one to judge allergies or the people who have them, but Taehyung’s allergy is so specific that it fits him perfectly. Like, if nothing else, that is the most Taehyung thing about him. His allergy to raw corn.

“Hey! There’s a bar!” Seokjin shouts as you stumble across a little nook tucked away on one of the Venetian side streets, a wooden sign hanging above the open archway that reads BAR. Not many people are frequenting said joint, mostly because it’s a weekday at eight and literally nobody except people with a lot of free time (i.e. college tourists) go drinking on weekdays at eight.

You don’t rush into the bar per se, but the average speed of the group overall seems to increase before becoming a constant rate of significantly-faster-than-before as everyone gets to the bar, ready to live the dream of being zazzed in a foreign country to the highest degree possible. You know, even if you’ve never gotten drunk with him before, that Taehyung would immediately go up to the bartender and demand the strongest thing they have if the two spoke the same language. Unfortunately, Taehyung’s trapped looking at the chalkboard with fun chalk colors and hoping that his alcoholic beverage translations are accurate.

Not that any of the drinks would have raw corn in them to begin with.

For a particularly bustling city, even on a pretty average day, it surprises you that despite the date and time, there are only a couple of other patrons in the bar. Venice is busy every hour of every day, even if some times are more packed than the others, but your group makes up a hefty majority of the people in here. Rambunctious, boisterous college students who don’t know good alcohol from bad because all alcohol tastes the exact same flavor of instant regret.

Even still, Italians are known for their booze, and that is simply something you cannot escape while here. It doesn’t take much, just a bit of clambering to order, before you can already feel the liquid going to your brain, a haze settling in in your mind that doesn’t seem to be able to dissipate. Not that anyone else in your group is faring any better, because quite frankly, none of you seem to be able to hold down your alcohol well. Besides Namjoon, who is doing remarkably well.

Hoseok is draped over Seokjin’s back, unintelligible moans leaving his lips and fanning out on his shoulder. The heat makes Seokjin drunkenly try to toss ice cubes Hoseok’s way, but his aim is very unsurprisingly terrible. You’re almost positive Seokjin doesn’t have that kind of hand-eye coordination even when sober. Yoongi has struck up a wordless conversation with the bartender and seems to keep receiving drinks upon drinks, but they are very obviously watered down with soda and lime. Jimin is only the slightest bit of a disaster, but it is Taehyung that is slowly jumping off of his rocker.

The alcohol seems to have subdued Jungkook slightly, leaving him in the same mindless fog that you’re in. Neither of you know what’s just happened in the past five minutes but you know that you’re in Venice, and you know that you’re together.

And that’s really all that matters.

Taehyung is in the middle of a recreation of the Bee Movie script yet again, only he is reciting it dramatic monologue-style, meaning he’s about to collapse on the table as part of the theatrics of it all, when Namjoon suggests that you leave and start heading back. It’s late. The time feels like it’s passed too quickly. Jungkook is warm and the alcohol has given him a soft glow. He is gorgeous and you adore him, really adore him, only the slightest bit.

Even if Namjoon is definitely the most sober one out of all of you—something you admire, especially since over the course of the evening he certainly didn’t shy away from the drinks when given—none of you really know where you’re headed. Your cardinal directions have switched and the sun is already far below the horizon so you can’t figure them out. Namjoon’s phone is on three percent. The world is your oyster.

There is nothing quite like the fantasy of stumbling around a romantic, street-light-laden city like Venice while inebriated. Not to the point of any serious harm and certainly not enough to incapacitate you so severely that you’re incapable of any sort of basic function, but enough to have your head spinning and for all of the lights that decorate the streets to bleed together, like a photo out of focus. Enough for the world to seem a little bit happier even if nothing has changed, and even if there has just been a new political campaign designed to ruin the very foundation of democracy.

When in Venice. When life hands you an instrument, it is music that you must play.

Somehow, someway, you get lost. Not that you’re at all surprised by this since it took five minutes to get from the hotel to the bar and you’ve been clambering around Venice for at least fifteen. Somehow the direction your group has vanishes and it is like all hell breaks loose but nothing actually escapes. Jimin and Taehyung are in a constant state of giggles, laughing and laughing and laughing about something that nobody else will find funny. Namjoon has somehow been coerced into giving Yoongi a piggyback ride, and so he trudges along as Yoongi sucks on an ice cube from the plastic cup in his hand, wincing whenever the cold touches the back of his front teeth. Somehow, Seokjin and Hoseok haven’t ripped each other’s heads off and are instead engaged in a very serious game of drunk chopsticks, Hoseok continuously pulling the move where he splits up his one hand into two, just to bother the elder.

Somehow, Jungkook hasn’t let go of your hand. Not since when you left to go down to the lobby a couple of hours ago. This entire time you’ve been connected by a lifeline, your two hands interlocked between your bodies as you sip your margaritas and cocktails and pretend just for a second, that none of this is fabricated. Pretend that just for a little bit, when your brains are clogged and your hearts are beating, that there is no big reveal at the end of this trip to devastate your friends, no messy breakup you have to stage all for the act. That Jungkook can be Jungkook and you can be you and the us, whatever us it is that you have, can just be an us.

Somehow, after another eight minutes of walking (and three of Jimin yodelling) you find yourselves in, of all places, Piazza San Marco. The tourist traps are closed for the night but the view will never die, the sight of such a gorgeous location will forever hold the same beauty. Not that Piazza San Marco was your intended destination, but it certainly is a stunning one. One that even at night, when all of the visitors have gone back to their hotels and only the locals, free to roam as they please, are out for a nighttime stroll, takes your breath away.

“Hey, I recognize this place,” Hoseok points out mindlessly. He won the game of Chopsticks, and now Seokjin wants a rematch.

“Piazza Marco Polo,” Jimin tacks on incorrectly, too busy trying to wrap Taehyung up in his sleeves. So far Taehyung’s shirt is wholly intact and his glasses have made their way from the top of his head to the back of it, hanging off of his ears like a true college student.

“Gorgeous here,” Namjoon comments aloud, only one who can articulate such an admiration for the view while mildly hammered. He’s one of the lucky ones; the alcohol flows in and out of his system at the snap of his fingers. “Even at night. Gorgeous.”

“Imagine living here,” you add on just for some food for thought.

Living in Italy would be as much of a dream as you could imagine. A little apartment in the good side of town, top floor with no elevator or air conditioning. Dark red shutters and a soft breeze that blows through the windows. Street music playing from below, history right at your doorstep. Art museums with the world’s treasures only a fifteen minute walk away. The best cheese, wine, meat in the world, at your fingertips.

And then suddenly the dream changes. You blame it on your drunkenness before you can make out the new image in front of you. You’re still in Italy, still have that apartment in the good side of town with a soft breeze and maroon shutters. But there’s a figure standing by the tiny kitchen island. A violin case by the couch. There are Polaroids decorating the walls, each with scrawled dates underneath them. The figure turns around and it’s Jungkook. Suddenly the image is different, you are in Italy and you have an apartment and you eat the best cheese and drink the best wine and Jungkook is with you every step of the way. Almost like it would feel strange if he wasn’t. Like he belongs here.

There is art, and there is art.

There is art that the world has analyzed, stared right through the cracks in the paint. Art that is revered, honored, with plaques and Wikipedia pages and courses dedicated to them. Art that is meant to be shown off, boasted by museums as if to say “Look what we have”, art meant for the human to look at.

And there is art, art that the world has ignored. Hidden art, shadowed by the things that people recognize, that people know. Art that peeks in through the cracks in the paint and raises its hand softly to say that “I’m here. Don’t forget about me.” Art that is meant to sit in plain sight, right in front of you but never obtrusively. Art that moves with you.

There is Jungkook.

Lost in thought, you turn to find Jungkook sitting down on an empty step, swallowing heavily as his body slowly but surely rids itself of the alcohol. The haze is still there but no longer is it growing. Only settling.

“Hey,” you say softly, finding yourself getting down next to him. Jungkook’s eyes are transfixed on the stars. “You’re drunk.”

“I am not,” Jungkook says, swaying only the slightest bit. You could blame it on the wind if there was any. He keeps his gaze trained on the sky above. Not many stars are visible from here, the city lights keeping them hidden from his view, but you can make out a few. The lucky ones, not shadowed by the weight of human life.

“You are,” you insist, and he doesn’t fight it. “What kind of a fake girlfriend am I supposed to be when my fake boyfriend is drunk?”

Jungkook forces a chuckle before pausing. You don’t really expect him to answer. When you look back down, the rest of your group are charging around Piazza San Marco, so much free space that they don’t know what to do with themselves. If you squint, you think you can see Yoongi and Taehyung sparring. Or at least, Naruto-running towards each other.

“You don’t have to be my fake girlfriend,” Jungkook suddenly blurts out. You turn to him, caught off guard and surprised he even responded to you when you had spoken to him well over thirty seconds ago. “You could… we could—” You don’t understand. What’s he trying to say?

“Jungkook?” You ask, leaning in, hoping that his eyes will meet yours, even just for a second. He sounds like he’s about to spill out his deepest secrets, his darkest fears, to an unsuspecting stranger.

“Oh, God,” Jungkook says before he rushes to his feet and beelines to the nearest public trash can. You gasp to yourself, watching in horror as Jungkook leans over, body rocking back and forth. He doesn’t actually vomit, nothing comes out of his mouth, but it is the sight of such uneasiness that has you truly worried.

“Jungkook!” You should, getting up yourself and jogging over to him. He still has yet to empty any of the contents from his stomach out of his mouth, and as you reach him his body seems to slow, like the whole thing was just a false alarm in the first place. “Jungkook, are you okay?”

Jungkook looks up at you, and even if you are both shrouded in the darkness of the night you can tell that he’s embarrassed. But it’s like his entire demeanor just shifts, a volta in his personality, when he sees you, his shoulders lightening up and a soft grin breaking out onto his face. “Yeah, Thumper,” he says, promises, even as he stands next to a public trash can. You swear someone wolf whistles, but you are hardly paying attention. “I’m okay.”

Venice ends like this: for once, the skies are cloudy. Not that the overcast weather makes the temperature any less boiling, because even if the sun is gone the humidity remains. But the clouds are nice. You’re leaving on a Thursday, when all of the other tourists who are leaving on the weekend are still in the heat of their explorations around the area, desperate to cram in as much as they can in a three-day period.

Venice ends like this: even though you’ve seen Jungkook plenty since then, he hasn’t made a single mention of what happened that night in Piazza San Marco, and you aren’t going to press him on it any further than you did then. What Jungkook said that night was a fragment, pieces of an incomplete sentence that his brain couldn’t add the finishing touches to, not necessarily just because he was drunk but because it didn’t seem like he had the final words to say anyway. Venice ends with what you are certain are memory cards after memory cards of Seokjin and you in Jungkook’s possession. He could never really keep himself from pressing the silver button on his camera.

Venice ends like this: with an unfinished story on a cloudy day.

“Florence, here we come!” Seokjin shouts as everyone is rolling out of the hotel, ready to head to the train to take you all the way down south, the final destination on your trip.

It feels bizarre, calling it the last stop. The final place. Because you still have over a week there, but it’s the last over-a-week you’ll have in Italy, the last several days before you inevitably have to fly back home, a plane ride you are absolutely dreading. Italy is the kind of place that makes you wonder why you didn’t visit sooner. Florence is where all of the lasts will be, last gelato, last museum, last sidestreet. Last performance, last painting. The very last of your relationship with Jungkook, whatever behemoth of a fake relationship it’s turned into.

Time flies so quickly, and yet you feel as though the next week will pass by like molasses. A last week to savor the best and forget the worst. The last week you will have to spend walking around Italy with your hand in Jungkook’s, with him taking an unnecessary amount of photos of you, with him stealing your pasta and you sharing his pizza.

Lots of lasts. Lots of firsts, too. Everything is unfinished but this feels final, no matter what.

“Can’t believe we’ll be home in ten days,” Namjoon says, his words eliciting a grumble from the rest of the group, who refuse to face the truth until it knocks them square in the nose.

“Feels like just yesterday Yoongi destroyed his internal organs by downing multiple shots of espresso,” Taehyung reminisces like Yoongi’s nothing but a memory, a piece of the past.

“I’m right here, fucker,” Yoongi mutters, standing next to him with his flute in his hand.

“Sometimes I can still hear his voice…” Taehyung trails off, purposefully looking in the opposite direction from where the flutist is standing just to bother him more. Yoongi then proceeds to practically knock Taehyung right into Seokjin, who then shoves him back, leaving Taehyung caught in a push-and-shove sandwich as the two go back and forth like Tweedledee and Tweedledum.

“Better make the most of this, right?” Jungkook asks to you as you slowly migrate from the hotel, saying goodbye to the staff as you shuffle out with your big suitcases and backpacks and instruments. You’re positive that the hotel employees are thrilled to be rid of you. “Only one place left.”

“So many things that we have to see there,” you say, already dreaming of the gorgeous artwork and the history-rich architecture that’s waiting for you a mere two hours by train away.

“Well,” Jungkook says somewhat haughtily. He can’t hold your hand because his are filled and so are yours, but he can nudge up against you, sticking close to your side, like he’s afraid that if he loses you he’ll never get you back. “We’ll just have to stick together, hmm?”

You think of Venice. And Rome. And the way that Jungkook can see the beauty in everything, the way he can capture it even better than he can view it. The way that with a simple change of degree the whole angle changes, the perspective alters and becomes something brand new but not any less beautiful. You think of Jungkook and you think that, if it’s your last week in Italy, you may as well milk this relationship dry while you still can. Before whatever comes after a fake relationship, be it friendship or that awkward limbo of acquaintances or barely acknowledging each other on the sidewalk. And even if you know that Jungkook is waiting for the day when you break up to come as well, you pray you won’t lose him to distance, to time. Pray, selfishly so, that he’ll stay close to you.

It is people like Jungkook, you recognize, that are people you need to cherish.

On the train, Hoseok and Jungkook play rock-paper-scissors to decide who gets to claim the seat next to you. What’s funny about this round, however, is the fact that Hoseok puts out scissors three times in a row, making it easy for Jungkook to beat him and secure the spot right beside yours as his home for the next two hours. Hoseok had taken a psychology course in freshman year and his professor taught him the most foolproof way to win at rock-paper-scissors every time and Hoseok disregarded it entirely. Curious.

Jungkook, having very evidently not gotten enough sleep the night before, settles in down next to you before saying, “I’m tired, can I use you as a pillow?” He leaves no space for a response as he places his head in the crook of your neck and his eyes flutter shut.

Florence does not need photos to take your breath away. Florence steals your lungs right from your body, leaving you no room to even try. Cuts off your air supply from the source in order to leave you in a permanent state of awe, like you’ll never get used to a city like this.

Granted, you’re extremely excited just to be here, an enthusiastic puppy getting taken to its new home for the very first time. Not unlike the other two cities you’ve visited thus far, Florence is rich with art, history, culture, and you simply cannot wait until you dive head first into it all. Florence is the type of city that always has you on the edge of your seat, wanting more. A perpetual cliffhanger.

The nicest thing about the city is that everything is within thirty minutes of everything else. At no point in time will you need to hop onto some form of public transportation, whether it be a train, a taxi, a gondola. Nothing is truly off limits in Florence, not when you have so much time to spare. Florence is the city where you are meant to get lost, begin wandering down some side streets and lose your way entirely, because what is the beauty in the destination if you ignore the beauty in the journey?

“I was supposed to be saving my money for textbooks next year but fuck that shit!” Jimin cries out as you head down towards the Arno, making your way right towards Ponte Vecchio. Not that any of you have any intentions of buying jewelry that costs more than a mortgage, but you know that the stores along the main street that takes you there are worth your while. “Thank you illegal PDFs!”

“What the hell are you even going to buy?” Seokjin asks, looking Jimin up and down like a mannequin. “You already own like, one of every single clothing item in existence.”

“I reject this statement,” Jimin declares, but it’s no use. Seokjin’s right. Jimin seems to own everything despite what you know is a lack of funding in his bank account. He must go thrifting a lot. “I’ll figure out a way to spend my money, don’t shame me.”

“Think about it, Seok, how often you gonna get to go shopping in Italy?” Namjoon reasons, the peacemaker within the group.

Seokjin scoffs, as if that’s even a question he’s being asked. “Lots, obviously? Just gotta wait until my Instagram career takes off. Then I’ll be here every summer, bitches!”

Everyone laughs, partly because Seokjin’s enthusiasm is just genuinely amusing and partly because you all know that his Instagram career is going nowhere except the garbage. Things like that only happen to people with connections or people who are rich. Seokjin is neither, though he swears that he has a second cousin who’s a K-pop star. You aren’t necessarily sure if you believe him.

“Have fun melting your goddamn face off,” Jimin comments bitterly. His pointer finger and thumb are pinching the collar of his shirt as he fans it out in the hopes that he’ll cool down what must be burning skin underneath. Jimin’s got a casual dress shirt and shorts on and his sweat stains are quite honestly, record-breaking. You can’t imagine yourself to be any better. Simply walking on the concrete makes your body temperature rise something fierce and unrelenting. “It’s balls hot here.”

“It’s balls hot here everywhere, climate change is real,” Yoongi says snidely, though he isn’t faring much better. “This is what greenhouse gases are doing to our goddamn ecosystem.”

“I’m sorry?” Taehyung asks, and you already know that whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to earn him some sort of physical response from Yoongi. “Global warming is a hoax created by China to steal American jobs. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Yoongi mutters even if the fondness peeks right through his words.

Fanning yourself as you beeline to the closest shaded part of the sidewalk, where the veranda offers a brief and weak respite from the blazing rays beating down on you, you heave out, “I could go for a water bottle. How about you Jungko—?” You turn to find the boy you thought had been walking right behind you gone, vanished into thin air. You know he couldn’t be far but the crowds on this road seem to be never-ending, and for a split second you’re worried you’ve lost him entirely.

“We lost Jungkook!” You shout to the rest of your friends, who are currently loitering outside a watch store as Jimin and Namjoon take a peek inside. They all shrug in response, none of them feeling any sort of a sense of urgency to find the boy. What if he’s been sucked into a black hole and none of you know because none of you bother to look for him?

“Of course we did!” Hoseok says, shrugging it off like it’s nothing. “He’s probably taking photos in one of the alleys!”

“I’ll go get him!” You shout to them. Hoseok gives you a thumbs up before he caves and walks into the watch store, desperate for any sort of air conditioned haven that he can find, even if not for very long.

Walking against the current of the crowd, your eyes scan the smaller streets that jut out from the main one, searching for the boy with the camera. He must be down one of these, in no scenario would he ever stop in such a busy road to take photos. And then, near the very beginning of the downhill slope, you see a mop of dark hair and a camera.

“Jungkook!” You call, rushing over to him. He’s looking at some smaller works of street art, tiny little drawings on the sides of buildings and walls of political cartoons, lips, stick figures. They look like tattoos on the skin, each with a different meaning, spread out along an arm or a chest or a back. Little drawings that make up a bigger picture. “Jungkook, you disappeared on us!”

“I hate being in the sun,” he tells you, which, valid. You hate it too. Never have you hated that ball of fire in the sky more than this vacation. “And these drawings are amazing. Very quirky, would probably get accepted into a top college.”

“You can’t just vanish like that, you know,” you tell him pointedly. “It’s busy as shit here. We’d lose you. I’d lose you!”

Jungkook places a hand on his heart, feigning appreciation. “Aw, would my girlfriend miss me if I was gone?”

You barely take notice of the way the word “fake” has slipped from his mind.

(Maybe if you pretend it’s not there this time, you can pretend that it was never there to begin with.)

You scoff, rolling your eyes even if his words cause a little grin to break out on your face. Jungkook seems to have this permanent effect on you where, in his presence, you’ll always end up smiling. He’s just a wonderful person. Someone worth smiling for. “No, just don’t wanna be held liable for your disappearance. I’d have to pay your college tuition. Fuck that.”

“Ever the romantic, Thumper,” Jungkook says. His smile reaches his eyes, makes little wrinkles appear at the corners of them. People say wrinkles are bad but wrinkles are proof that you are living your life the right way: filled with laughter and joy. Finding something truly wonderful and being unabashed about your admiration for it. That’s how you’re supposed to live your life. “Say Firenze!”

Yet another classic Jungkook as he catches you off guard, quickly pulling up his camera and snapping a photo before you can object, the familiar click of the camera ringing out throughout the alley. You know what the photo looks like before he can show it to you, know exactly what it’s going to be before seeing it yourself. It’ll be you, standing in front of the conjunction between the alleyway and the main street, the perpendicularly-moving crowd an unfocused blur behind you. It’ll be you, clear as day, with the beginnings of a giggle on your face.

(You. In love with the man behind the camera.)

“That’s going into the portfolio for sure,” Jungkook declares as he quickly scans through his most recent takes. “Some of my finest work, if I do say so myself.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jeon,” you say as a warning, even if you know he’s right. In everything that Jungkook does he is improving, getting one step closer and closer to complete and utmost perfection. Jungkook is the kind of person God created and then realized that they were too close to immaculate, but it was too late, because he was already here. “Come on, we gotta meet up with the rest of them. Pretty sure Jimin’s about to drop all of his money on a watch.”

Jungkook sighs. “Not again.”

This time, when you walk into a clothing store, it isn’t one with articles that cost more than a car. Luckily. Meaning you can comfortably shop without your eyes widening comically when you look at the price tag. It’s another one of those movie fantasies, shopping in a visually, culturally, and historically breathtaking place like Italy. Another one of those silly tourist things you’ll do just for the hell of it.

You’re in the middle of inspecting a button-down shirt, one that is entirely asymmetrical in both its design and its pattern, with horizontal and vertical stripes crashing into each other, when Hoseok comes up to you with the most obscene shorts you have ever seen (save for his awful, awful denim ones). They are a fluorescent canary yellow, the color you would find in a Crayola box for elementary students, and they have bright green polka dots covering them. They’re horrifying, and yet, only Hoseok would ever be able to pull them off.

“What in tarnation,” you say, not so much a question as it is a gasp, eyebrows furrowing instantly as Hoseok holds up the offending article of clothing. It looks more like a very diseased banana than a piece of clothing.

“Aren’t these great?” He asks enthusiastically. “And they’re on sale!”

You wonder why. Maybe if you were back home, at your own shopping mall, you would tell him that he’s about as fashionable as a colorblind giraffe and that it would be a waste of his money, but you’re not back home. You’re in Italy, and if in Italy Hoseok wants to buy what may or may not be the ugliest pair of shorts you’ve ever laid eyes on, then, well, who are you to stop him?

“You know what, Hoseok?” You say, nodding your head in support. He deserves to treat himself, even if his tastes are questionable at best. “You do you.”

“Treat myself, bitch,” Hoseok says confidently, turning to face what you’re browsing through. It’s mindful shopping, not the same kind that you do back home, because you only have one chance to buy something nice. No returns, refunds, or exchanges. “What are you gonna get?”

“I don’t know. Something nice.”

“Way to be specific, Y/N,” Hoseok says sarcastically.

You scoff, accosted. “You have no right to be talking to me about fashion when you have those monstrosities in your hand.”

Hoseok gasps. “How dare you insult these shorts. They are now my pride and joy and I will always wear them around you just to spite you.”

“First of all, fuck you,” you spit out though there is no animosity to your words. Hoseok cackles before prancing off to find some other hideous items in the sale section hidden in the back corner, away from the customer’s view. Not without good reason, of course.

With your best friend gone, frolicking around the store’s lower level, you begin to migrate yourself, eyes scanning the racks and shelves and mannequins for something to catch your eye. For some reason you seem to have become pickier than before, as if the change in location suddenly altered your own taste when it came to shopping, like you’re being stingy because you know you can’t just up and return the items like you could elsewhere.

That is precisely when you feel a figure slide up next to you, placing a soft kiss on your cheek to alert you of his presence.

“Hey, Thumper,” Jungkook says. “What do you think?”

Over his graphic tee, he’s got on a faux leather jacket, a sleek black material that looks much more expensive than it actually is. It fits him extremely well, hugs the biceps he’s gotten from so many years of violin-holding and perhaps a couple years of some devoted weightlifting as well, compliments his flawless figure and small waist. It looks great on him. You find it only a little strange that a store in Italy is selling a high-quality, thick leather jacket in the middle of summer.

“It doesn’t go with your shoes,” you tell him, looking down at the Jesus sandals look he’s sporting.

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Aside from my shoes, what do you think?”

You can’t help but be honest. This relationship has turned you into one hell of a softie. “It looks great on you, Jungkook. Everything does.” It comes out kind of like a sigh, like it’s something he should already know, so why is he bothering asking you? Does he need you to tell him that he’s beautiful too?

“You really think so?” Jungkook asks, looking at you as he takes the jacket off, hanging it over one arm as he flattens it out.

“Well, after Hoseok came up to me with the Satan of shorts, everything in this store seems nicer than it really is,” you joke. Jungkook laughs knowingly, having obviously caught a glimpse of Hoseok and those demons while walking around as well. “But yeah, I’m serious. You should get it.”

“It’s a little expensive,” Jungkook says hesitantly, eyeing the price tag. “I don’t know, maybe it’s not worth it. It’s not even real leather.”

“So? Save a cow and get it,” you tell him. “You shouldn’t be scared of it. We’re in Italy. You’re with your youth orchestra group. I’m here. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Words to live by.

Galileo Galilei once said that you must “measure what is measurable, and make measurable what is not so.” And you’ve lost count of the amount of times that Jungkook has pulled his hand into yours but you know that he’s kissed you on the cheek five times and you’ve seen him smile about as many times as there are stars in the sky. But what you cannot measure is your relationship with him. There is a contract written on a napkin somewhere but you wonder if he’s accidentally thrown it away while cleaning out his backpack, and you begin to wonder if you even care if he has. Galileo Galilei says that you need to make measurable what is not but you don’t know how you’re supposed to begin counting out your relationship with Jungkook when you yourself don’t even know how to define it. All of these numbers must add up to something but there is an unforeseen variable that you cannot solve for.

Galileo Galilei is a genius, but even still there are some unanswered questions.

On the edge of Florence and north of the Arno river is a smaller, less frequented church than the Duomo in the center called the Basilica de Santa Croce, and it is where Galileo is buried alongside people like Dante, Machiavelli, and Michelangelo. It is the deathbed of legends, of names permanently etched into history as shining stars, forgers of what is now the present. The Basilica de Santa Croce is not only an architectural wonder but it bears the names of some of the world’s most famous writers, philosophers, artists, leaders.

It just so happens to be your tourist stop of the day.

“That’s Dante!” Jimin shouts as you come up to the church, pointing towards the statue to the left of the main doors. Engraved in the stone is his name, Dante Alighieri. “He wrote that one book about hell.”

Namjoon looks as though he’s about to have an aneurysm with Jimin’s very obvious lack of deep and immense respect for not only the book but also the author behind it. You are willing to bet very good money that Namjoon poured out his heart, mind, and soul into the study of the book, whenever he was forced to read it during his mandated schooling. Coughing, he corrects, “He wrote the Divine Comedy, largely considered to be Italy’s greatest literary work, one of which features the poem Inferno. Yes.”

“That’s what I said,” Jimin says pointedly, making Namjoon sigh. You suppose that’s what he gets for easily being the only one in this entire group who’s somehow managed to retain the majority of his brain cells. You are actually quite impressed he hasn’t lost more considering how often he spends time with Taehyung.

“I’m really looking forward to this one,” Jungkook leans in to tell you as Namjoon doles out the tickets. It’s the middle of the day on a weekday and there is absolutely no line to enter, a shocking sight in a bustling tourist center like Florence. “Inferno was my favorite thing that I’ve ever read in all of high school. Knocked out Slaughterhouse-Five for the top spot.”

“Damn, what did Vonnegut ever do to deserve that, huh?” You joke, holding out your ticket for the guard waiting at the door to inspect. He gives a hearty yet stern nod and you and Jungkook walk inside. Ahead of you, Seokjin and Taehyung are already “ooh”-ing their way around the Basilica, much to the chagrin of literally everybody else. Hoseok’s already on his way to shushing them.

Jungkook loses his ability to speak when his eyes catch up with his mouth as he takes in the sight before him. Graves are littered throughout the entire building but shrines have been built into the walls, with messages and statues and marble decorating their designs. The people here deserve to be buried with such high distinction, revered so deeply not only by Italians of hundreds of centuries but by the whole world for their contributions to society, beliefs that have shaped the world as you know it.

You’d think he’d been rendered entirely speechless if it weren’t for the awe-stricken “Wow” to leave his mouth as he stares around the building, unable to focus his eyes all on one spot for there is simply too much to see. He doesn’t know where to turn but he does seem to be drifting towards Michelangelo’s tomb, a move you definitely saw coming considering the past two weeks spent here. Namjoon, Jimin, and Taehyung are busy looking at Machiavelli’s burial site, and a quick glance their way tells you that Namjoon is currently reciting all of Machiavelli’s greatest accomplishments as Jimin and Taehyung dumbly listen in. Hoseok and Yoongi are strolling around without a clear destination in sight, letting the grandeur of the place sink in. Seokjin has striked up a conversation with another group of Korean tourists, a family with two young children. They seem to be getting along incredibly well, and Seokjin even offers to take a photo.

“Never in a million years did I ever think I’d get to be here,” Jungkook tells you as you come up to Michelangelo’s tomb. A bust of the artists rests atop a stone coffin, and next to it, statues. “These women represent Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting,” he informs you, pointing to each respective statue. “His favorite things.”

“That’s—”

“It’s nerdy, I know,” Jungkook jokes, even if he continues to stare. He takes it all in like a breath of fresh air after being locked up for a year, lets it pierce his skin and melt into his bones. “I don’t know, I just think that he’s a genius.”

“It’s not nerdy,” you promise, equally as floored by the sight in front of you as well as beside you. Jungkook speaks like his passions aren’t worth being passionate about, but you think that he’s brilliant. “It’s really fucking cool, actually. The fact that you love this stuff so much, Jungkook. It’s incredible.”

“You think so?”

You nod. Knowledge is beauty and Jungkook is the most beautiful of them all.

Conveniently, right beside the Basilica de Santa Croce, on a road barely a five minute walk away, is a gelato store with an abundance of flavors to choose from. And it just so happens to be next on your list of places to visit, the overwhelming heat of Florence scorching your skin the moment you leave the blissful shade of the church.

On the Via Dei Neri there is a little gelato shop that bears the same name as the street, and when you arrive it is mostly empty, save for a couple of tourists who are seated in the plastic chairs in the corner of the store. Admittedly, the gelato here looks a lot more scrumptious than the thick, artificial flavors of Rome and Venice, beautiful colors and swirls decorating the tubs of the sweet.

“Wow, look!” Hoseok says, smacking your shoulder roughly as he points. “Mango cheesecake! And rice!”

“Rice?” Seokjin overhears, budging in. “Move over. My Asian ass is shaking.”

The one in Rome had over a hundred flavors but every single one of these look more delectable than any of the ones there. You can’t help but ache to taste each and every one, even if you know you’ll only be able to consume one or two before your stomach is filled to the brim.

This time, you are a little more giving with your blackberry and rose gelato, allowing Hoseok a single scoop of each with that tiny plastic spoon of his, letting him divulge into your gelato as you respectfully decline a bit of his own. He’s already attacked the entire surface area of the damn thing, and while mango cheesecake sounds delicious, Hoseok’s saliva, less so.

“It’s your loss,” he tells you over a mouthful of the dessert. He then proceeds to slurp up half of it like an animal starved. Your best friend is, quite frankly, disgusting.

“What’d you get,” Jungkook asks as he plops down heavily into the open seat next to you. You can hear the bone-shattering crash of something and peer under the table to find his phone lying face down on the floor. “Ah, fuck it. It’s already broken.” He shrugs carelessly and makes no move to retrieve his cellular device, much to your anxiety. You don’t know what he’s on but it’s certainly doing wonders for your fine lines.

“Blackberry and rose.”

“Oh, can I have some?” Jungkook asks hopefully. You sigh, resigning yourself to a life of letting all of the people close to you mooch off of your food, and hold out the cone to him. He helps himself to a small scoop of each flavor, humming in appreciation as he pops the whole thing into his mouth. “Mmm,” he says. “A rose by any other name would taste as sweet.”

“Nice wordplay,” you compliment dryly. “Let me have some of yours.”

“It’s mango,” he tells you, scooping some and holding it in front of your lips, ready to feed you. You comply instantly, opening your mouth to let him pop the spoon inside. And then, catching you off guard, he quickly takes a dollop on the tip of his finger and wipes it on your nose, much to your shock.

“Every fucking time we get gelato they’re at it again,” Jimin huffs when he sees the both of you giggling in the corner, retreating to the table where Seokjin and Yoongi sit, clearly trying to avoid looking your way so they don’t vomit up their gelato. “I think we’re gonna have to exile them from our gelato-scapades.”

“You know you don’t have to talk about us like we can’t hear you, right?” Jungkook asks pointedly.

“We know,” Jimin nods. “Go be gross elsewhere. I’m trying to stuff my face into the food of my culture.”

“Gelato is not the food of your culture,” Yoongi says. “We have the same fucking culture.”

“Ah ah ah,” Jimin says, shushing Yoongi with a finger to his lips. Yoongi, in retaliation, licks Jimin’s entire digit, but Jimin doesn’t even flinch. Like it’s normal for his finger to be licked by his friends. “This is rice gelato. Therefore, food of my culture.”

Seokjin, the biggest cone of rice-flavored gelato in his hand, high fives him.

Almost never does Bang receive enough credit for the work he puts into this orchestra. It’s his heart and soul and you are almost positive it’s the only thing he cares about, even if he’s spending the majority of his time sending glares Taehyung’s way. He’s the reason you’re even in Italy in the first place, and he is also the reason that you are currently standing in a line with tickets to enter Florence���s most famous art gallery instead of having to wait around for four hours in the blistering heat just for a spot in line.

“I pray to all of the higher powers above us and perhaps some demons as well just be sure that this place has air conditioning,” Taehyung declares as he attempts to fan himself with his ticket, the floppy piece of paper doing absolutely nothing for his body temperature. Even though you’re standing in the shade, covered by the shadow of the Uffizi, the heat is, quite frankly, still overwhelming.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Seokjin mutters. “The Lord works hard but the sun works harder.”

“Fuck that,” Taehyung grumbles, as if that’s going to do anything to calm the 500% humidity currently permeating the air.

“If you’re going to spend this entire trip complaining about the heat you’ll never be able to actually enjoy it,” Namjoon advises wisely, preferring to keep his obvious distaste for the weather to himself.

“That’s where you’re wrong, good sir,” Taehyung says, shooting Namjoon a finger gun alongside a wink. “I can complain about the heat and enjoy the trip at the same time. I’m a good multitasker.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. Taehyung’s always been like this.

The Uffizi, ironically enough, is shaped like a gigantic U, where you start at the very top floor of the museum and make your way around and down, slowly traipsing through room after room of stunning artwork, whether it be sculptures, paintings, and everything in between. You find the setup to be much more manageable than some of the other museums you’ve been to in your time as a museum aficionado, the layout easy to navigate and certain exhibits entirely unhidden.

More than once does Jungkook urge you to break away from your tour group and go exploring, and you almost cave in once or twice, but you understand that, between the two of you you are part of that select group of kids in your orchestra that don’t actually give Bang minor headaches, and therefore you should probably stay with your group, for Bang’s sake.

“This city is the birthplace of the Renaissance as we know it, please?” Jungkook asks, tugging on your arm as you enter another room filled entirely with stone sculptures and busts. You actually find his desire to abandon the tour group quite endearing, like he appreciates art so much he wants to explore it, admire it, cherish it in his own time, without having to keep up with the quick pace of the tour guide. It is something so unabashedly Jungkook, an unapologetic want to let the art sink in for himself without the crackly voice of a tour guide speaking into his ear.

“Jungkook, you know we shouldn’t,” you advise him, quite honestly shocked that you have turned into the sole diligent orchestra member between the two of you. Never in a million years could you imagine Jungkook wanting to break the rules and you wanting to follow them considering who you are as individuals and who you hang out with as friends.

“Aw, come on, Thumper, live a little,” he pleads. “Look, we’ve already drifted to the back of the group.”

He motions up ahead of you, where the tour group is currently gathered around a particular sculpture that even Jungkook bears very little interest in. You and Jungkook have strayed behind, and the rest of your friends are closer to the front, too immersed in the tour to notice your absence. Jungkook’s got a gleam in his eye and a wonder decorating his features, like he’s aching to get out and explore as much as he can. One of his hands is held tightly to his camera, the other, in your own. You can’t believe you’re about to do this.

“Fine,” you submit to his desires, not that you seem to mind very much either. You seem to have gotten progressively weaker and weaker to Jungkook’s causes as the trip’s gone on, both a blessing and a curse. “But if we get in trouble, it’s your fault.”

“Yes!” Jungkook cheers. He keeps his eyes trained on Bang, and when the conductor has his back turned to you, he grabs onto you and you quickly shuffle out of sight.

“This is literally such a shitty idea, Jungkook,” you tell him as you enter a different room, filled less with sculptures and more with art from the Gothic, pre-Renaissance periods. “We could get lost.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jungkook says, shrugging off your concerns. “I snagged a map. Look. We’re a couple of rooms away from The Birth of Venus and Primavera.”

“You just wanted to explore this place by yourself,” you say matter-of-factly, sighing as Jungkook tugs you towards another piece of artwork, lined with gold, blue, and red. It portrays a part of the story of Christ, a common muse amongst the artists of the age.

“This is true,” he admits to you, “but I’m not by myself. Look, I’m here with you.”

And maybe he only means that in a literal sense but you take it to heart anyway, allow yourself to fall into this fleeting dream where you and Jungkook are in Italy together, no loud group of friends or youth orchestra to interrupt your plans, where it is just you and him and the city of Florence all to yourselves. Where you can do what you please and take as much time as you need and explore all you want without anybody stopping you. Where you can hold hands and it isn’t just for show and take pictures of each other to preserve in the photo albums of your brain and your heart. A dream where you are in Italy together and there is no contract standing in your way, a bitter reminder that even if the location is real your relationship is not.

“I guess,” you say out loud, more a reminder to yourself than to him that you are together physically and nothing else.

“Come on, Botticelli is a couple of rooms over,” he says quickly, tugging you towards the prize he’s got his eyes trained on, arguably the most famous of the pieces housed in this museum. They’ll have crowds in front of them, for sure, but that’s alright. Jungkook’s tall, and he’ll be able to lift you up in more ways than one.

Though Jungkook does seem to be in a bit of a rush to get to the paintings, he takes his time exploring each room, reading the plaques in earnest and staring as closely as he can at the paintings, analyzing each one like the art student he was meant to be. It’s wondrous, really, the way he falls so deeply into the art in front of him, like a well he’ll never escape from. He looks at each piece like it is just as important as the one next to it, even if they aren’t nearly as famous as others, because to him art is a gift, a treasure that should be preserved, recognized, and celebrated.

As you approach the open doorway to the room containing Botticelli’s work, Jungkook gasps softly beside you, floored even from seeing the work from far away. It’s right there, right in front of him, and it’s as though Jungkook doesn’t really know what to do with himself now.

“Hey, let’s go,” you murmur to him. His feet seem to have given up and he’s rooted firmly in place, like if he takes another step he’ll simply collapse. “Come on, Jungkook. You’re almost there.”

It seems as though he’s in a trance as he follows you along, tugging him closer and closer to the piece. Primavera has less of a crowd in front of it than The Birth of Venus a few meters away, and so you pull him up close, standing right in front of the painting as he stares at it from in front of the glass that protects it.

“Look,” you whisper to him as if he needs the extra instruction. Jungkook can’t help the way his camera immediately comes up, knowing that even if he stares down the painting for another fifteen hours it will never be preserved in his brain the way a photo is.

You don’t know if you’d rather gaze at the artwork or at Jungkook, who is as much of a masterpiece as everything else in this museum is. You elect, just for today, to let your eyes drift to the art, because maybe, selfishly so, you’ll be able to continue looking at Jungkook long after you’ve left Italy. You barely notice the way he leaves your side to get a couple of different angles of the painting, allowing yourself to sink into the art as much as he has. You lack the analytical abilities and artistic prowess that Jungkook possesses at the tips of his fingers but that’s alright because you don’t need either of those to know that this is a piece of artwork worth saving.

“Beautiful,” Jungkook says when he joins back up at your side, your fears of being caught by your tour group long forgotten. You can’t help but wish that he wasn’t talking about the art but instead talking about you, but that is a thought to be shoved into the deep crevices of your mind, far from anything that may leave your mouth.

The crowds mean absolutely nothing when Jungkook lays his eyes on The Birth of Venus, the painting illuminated by a single bulb but otherwise shadowed for safe-keeping purposes. There’s an entire Chinese tour group standing in front of the painting, old ladies whipping out their massive iPads to take a thousand photos from the exact same position as though one of them will turn out better than all of the others.

“This,” Jungkook says when you finally make your way towards the painting. He doesn’t need to elaborate. You know. Italy is a dream for someone like Jungkook, someone who can’t help but fall in love with every new piece of art he comes across. And Jungkook is a dream for someone like you, someone who can’t help but fall in love with—

“Is this what you had dreamed of?” You ask him softly. Jungkook isn’t taking out his camera for this one. He doesn’t need to. This one he’s studied, analyzed, inspected, down to each and every stroke of the brush. Even if Jungkook isn’t an art major he is an artist nonetheless, and a painting as famous as this one is something he doesn’t think he’ll forget. Not in a million years.

“More,” he whispers back, and it feels sort of like a slow motion movie, like the world is stopping but you’ll forever be able to gaze at this painting, like it is the only thing left for your eyes to look at. That’s what this feels like. Jungkook’s grip on your hand has gotten tighter but you don’t mind at all, not when he looks like he’s just seen a supernova burst in front of him. Jungkook’s eyes are permanently decorated with wonder but right now they seem to have something else in them too, like awe, like amazement, like pure beauty is staring him right in the face and he doesn’t know what to do with himself because of it.

“Don’t you want to take a photo?” You ask, nudging his camera. Jungkook’s camera hangs limply from his neck and even if he’s got a hand holding the device he makes no move to do anything about it.

“No,” Jungkook says. “This is the kind of thing I want to remember all to myself.”

Sometimes, you wonder what goes on in that head of his when he sees artwork like this. Artwork so famous, so revered, so breathtaking, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, how to react other than with an open mouth and an awed expression. But then you realize that the way he feels when he stares at paintings like The Birth of Venus, like The Last Judgement, is the way that you feel when you stare at him. Because even if he doesn’t realize it, he himself is art, the same kind of art that he loves. Art that is worth remembering.

You and Jungkook catch up with your group somewhere along the first floor, near the end of the guided tour. Not that any of them noticed that you were missing in the first place, though Hoseok does send you a wink and a cheeky little smirk when you make a reappearance. And as the tour guide wraps up, pointing out a couple of the last few notable pieces of art, you ask Jungkook how he feels, and he tells you that he never wants to forget this moment, right now, because it is everything he has ever wanted.

The city of Florence is littered with so many art museums, galleries, palaces that it’s hard to catch a break in such a bustling city. Not that you really mind, especially since they give you the evenings off to do your own thing, but it’s easy to recognize that this city is the birthplace of the Renaissance when, with each corner you turn, there is another place to be discovered, art to be found.

Someone who very, very obviously does not mind this whatsoever is Jungkook. In fact, when you spend so much time with him you often times find yourself roped into his expeditions to seek out more paintings, sculptures, churches, architecture, anything that even screams Florentine art to him. Not that it’s something that particularly bothers or inconveniences you. Especially when the rest of your friends are sick of Jungkook’s unyielding desire to art and you are, as his honorary fake girlfriend, are not.

Throughout your week and a bit in Florence you can’t count on both of your hands how many different museums, churches that you’ve explored together. Jungkook’s got a hand on his camera and he doesn’t seem to want to let go, constantly taking photos of the art and the mosaics and the designs and of you, even if you sometimes tell him you look awful and that the art is worth remembering more than you are. Jungkook seems to beg to differ. He says that all the photos are for his portfolio. You imagine that thing must be a mile long at this point considering how many memory cards he’s gone through during this trip.

“I’m hungry,” you whine one day when you’re journeying on your own for a little around lunchtime. You’ve got an arranged tour (courtesy of Bang) for later in the afternoon, a trip to The Academy to see Michelangelo’s David, but right now you’re free to do what you please. Jungkook’s already gotten you to go into the Basilica di San Lorenzo this morning, and your stomach is grumbling.

“Hey, here’s a place,” Jungkook points out as you come up the street to a restaurant in a square-that-is-not-a-square-but-more-like-a-triangle, a place with indoor and outdoor seating. The smell that wafts through the air is enough to have you and Jungkook both asking for a table for two, sitting down by the side of the covered outdoor veranda as you stare down the menus. They’ve got a pasta list the same size as some of the essays you submitted in high school, all of which look as appetizing as the previous.

“This place knows how to treat pasta-lovers well,” Jungkook comments as you pick out your pasta of choice, one with truffle that you know is going to be stinking up your breath for the rest of the day. It’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make for the sake of the meal. “I want to order everything.”

“Slow down there, tiger. We can come back, if you’d like,” you suggest, the implications of another fake date slipping your mind. The question of “What are we?” makes you laugh from how overused it is, but even still, it applies perfectly.

The waitress comes by quickly, taking your orders and swooping up the menus, and you’re left alone listening to the sounds of the street music from several meters away, a father and a son performing in the middle of the square to passersby. It feels peaceful, homey. Like this is where you are meant to be.

“Let me take a photo of you,” Jungkook pleads, already making to get his camera out. “Please?”

Instead of objecting like you normally would, you nod, allowing Jungkook to snap as many pictures as he wants. It’s high time you indulge him, with how much he asks you to. Smiling softly, you grin towards the camera as he snaps away, unable to erase the smile that grows on his face at the sight of you. You wonder if you really are that photogenic, because all of your school IDs say otherwise, quite frankly.

“Okay, now let me take a photo of you,” you demand, making grabby hands over the table towards Jungkook’s camera. Very rarely is Jungkook ever the one in front of the camera, always preferring to be behind it, have his finger clicking away on the silver button, which you find astounding considering how deserving Jungkook is of having his photo taken, deserving to have that luxury just as everyone else.

“What? No way,” Jungkook says, holding his camera near and dear to his heart. “No. I don’t get my photo taken.”

“That’s about to change,” you declare, going so far as to stretch over the table to see if you can loop Jungkook’s camera over his head to snag it for yourself.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook asks indignantly, though he’s making absolutely no move to stop you, already resigning himself to the reality of you snagging a photo of him. You easily pull his camera from him, sitting back down in your seat and holding the camera up to your eye, letting the lens focus in on the man sitting in front of you.

“You heard me,” you tell him. “Smile, Jungkook. A picture’s worth a thousand words.”

With a sigh, Jungkook does. He closes his eyes and grins widely and even through the tiny viewfinder he looks gorgeous, looks like he’s just part of the photo instead of the focus of it. Looks like he belongs here, in Florence, surrounded by the art that he so loves and the food that he craves. He smiles and it reaches the corner of his closed eyes and God, he’s beautiful. You don’t think the camera does him justice, but it sure as hell comes close enough. With a click, you take the photo and lower the camera, hoping that maybe, if he doesn’t hear you, you’ll be able to look at him just a little longer.

“Alright,” you say softly, handing him back his camera. “There. Now you’ll get to remember yourself here, too.”

Maybe, if you’re lucky, he’ll remember the girl behind the camera as well.

Michelangelo’s David is the kind of art that you don’t know what to do with yourself when you finally lay eyes on it. The kind of art that renders you not only speechless but your mind blank, an iconic piece of work that is the emblem of an era, an art form in and of itself. That’s what it is. David is the kind of art that holds nothing less than the highest praise possible.

It’s strange, organizing a tour group for a place like the Academy. It’s small, well-known only for its housing of Michelangelo’s famed statue. There’s not very much else to see other than some lesser known pieces, nor is the place suited for massive herds of people at a time. Even still, the building manages to cram in fifty youth orchestra members without too much of a hassle, so you suppose that the capacity is bigger than you thought.

David is, unsurprisingly, the main attraction. He has an entire section of the biggest room all to himself, standing proudly at the end of it. And even peering through the cracks of the doors in the entrance is enough to get Jungkook grinning, aching to see the sculpture for himself. Michelangelo isn’t necessarily Jungkook’s idol but he’s someone Jungkook knows so deeply, so profoundly, that it leaves a heavy impact on him either way.

When you make it inside the main room, Jungkook stops. His breath catches in his throat as he stares up at the sculpture, the five-meter tall man of marble proudly waiting for him at the end. The rest of the group shuffles ahead of him, desperate to get as up close and personal with the statue, but Jungkook refuses. He stays back to admire, looking above all of the people gathered around the glass barrier protecting the sculpture, a perfect view of the Biblical hero. Wordlessly, he pulls out his camera, immediately snapping a photo.

There is so little to say and so much to look at. What you are laying your eyes upon is nothing less than the symbol of an artistic god. Jungkook keeps a firm grip on your hand but says absolutely nothing, instead opting to simply walk up to the sculpture, look at it with his own two eyes, let the sight sink in like he has with so many others. This is a piece of art he wants engraved into his brain, etched permanently into his memory, and it’s easy to understand why.

He says nothing but he doesn’t need to. You can see it in his eyes, the way he gazes at the statue like if he blinks, he’ll forget it entirely. That expression of pure wonderstruckness in his eyes, decorating his face. He’s smiling, though. Like this is where he’s meant to be, nowhere else. He’s smiling and he’s beautiful and David is art but so is Jungkook, in every sense of the word.

It’s strange. It’s like you’ve fallen for Jungkook without even meaning to. Like the napkin on the tray table means nothing anymore.

With two days to go before you have to leave Florence, leave Italy once and for all, things are beginning to wind down. With visits to the major attractions already tucked under your belt and your last performance over last night, Bang seems have lost all motivation to keep his youth orchestra organized and instead has just given the lot of you free reign until you have to meet in the lobby of the hotel the day that you leave. It’s probably a mistake on his part, but you aren’t going to ruin your freedom by admitting that aloud.

Hoseok dragged you out the entire day on the hunt for clothes, leaving Jungkook to his own devices as Taehyung clung to him like a koala bear, citing his newfound girlfriend as reasoning for their lack of physical contact over the past few weeks. Jungkook had repeatedly reminded Taehyung that the two of them have slept in the exact same bed every single night since the beginning of the trip, and Taehyung is no stranger to draping his entire body over his bed buddy for the sake of warmth and comfort.

You and Hoseok and Jungkook and Taehyung reach the lobby of the hotel at roughly the same time, far past normal dinner time for such non-Italians like yourselves. Hoseok’s got about five shopping bags in his hands and looks about ready for a fat nap, but Jungkook and Taehyung are alive as ever.

“Long day, Hobi?” Taehyung asks when he sees your best friend, already collapsing into one of the chairs in the lobby.

“The longest,” Hoseok agrees. “Made all the more long by this one right here.”

“Excuse me!” You cry indignantly. You can’t believe Hoseok would roast you like this in front of your own fake boyfriend and his best friend. How could he do you like this. “I am a morale booster and incredibly fun to be around. Jungkook, vouch for me.”

“She’s fun sometimes,” Jungkook admits nonchalantly, making you sneer at him. Of course.

“Alright, fuck you.”

“You wanna bet?” Jungkook challenges.

“I’m taking Hoseok to the hotel restaurant before the two of you start doing something about the obvious sexual tension in the room. Okay, bye!” Taehyung says quickly, grabbing onto Hoseok’s arm and practically dragging him towards the hotel elevator before either you or Jungkook can stop him. The two of them disappear from your sight faster than you can say Florence, and pretty soon is it just the two of you waiting in the lobby.

“Have you eaten?” Jungkook asks, checking the time. It’s nearly eight o’clock, and the last thing you had was some plum gelato in a gelateria by the Duomo a couple of hours ago. You are, admittedly, a bit hungry.

“Not yet,” you tell him.

“Cool.” Jungkook nods. “Let’s go out.”

And so you and him leave the lobby in search of a nice restaurant to settle down in, perhaps indulge in a spritz since it is your second-to-last night, after all. Not that there’s a shortage of them around, but most of them seem to be filled to the brim with tourists, persistent waiters inviting you inside in the hopes that they’ll be able to gain your custom.

“Was there really some unresolved sexual tension between us in the lobby?” You ask, Taehyung’s words popping back into your head as Jungkook swings your interlocked hands together in between your bodies as you walk. “I didn’t even notice.”

“I don’t know, man, you were the one who said ‘Fuck you’. I didn’t know you wanted to bone that bad,” Jungkook jokes, though the sentences come out of his mouth completely seriously, making you gasp.

“Not like that! My God,” you exclaim in shock, giving Jungkook a shove. “Don’t talk about it like us wanting to bone. That’s so… unsexy.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Would you rather me be sexy about it? Didn’t know you were into exhibitionism, either.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“You love me,” Jungkook teases. It’s weird. Maybe you do.

“That’s debatable,” you warn, especially after the conversation you’ve just had. “Don’t forget about our napkin contract. Nowhere did it have any specifications on any sexual tension, real or not. So I don’t wanna hear it.”

Jungkook nods, lips pursed into a tight line at the mention of the napkin. “Yes, the napkin contract,” he says stiffly. “I had almost forgotten about that.”

That makes two of you.

You eventually stumble upon the same restaurant you had eaten at the day you went to see Michelangelo’s David, the one in the square-that’s-a-triangle. It’s busy, but the sound of Italian drifts through the air and you and Jungkook both know that you’ve found yourselves a restaurant worth visiting a second time, one without obnoxious tourists such as yourselves to ruin the immersion.

The two of you order the exact same things you did the last time you were here, but Jungkook’s left his camera with Taehyung (on accident, of course), meaning no photo opportunities tonight.

“Cheers to our second-to-last night in Italy,” Jungkook says, holding up his orange spritz. You grab your own, clinking his glass.

“Cheers.”

It’s bittersweet. You don’t want to go but you don’t know how much longer you can do this if you stay. Like you’re trying to hold onto something that’s not real in the hopes that maybe, if you grab tight enough, it will be. You know that the feelings, whatever kind of feelings they are, you have for Jungkook are indecipherable at best. Wondering if you’re in love with him or just in love with the feeling or if you’re even in love at all. When you look at Jungkook it’s not necessarily love. No fireworks, no fanfare. It just feels like beauty. Like you’re staring down a sense of euphoria in the face, and it’s him. Peculiar.

Your curfew is at ten o’clock sharp, but you and Jungkook have spent the last two hours lounging at this restaurant, making mindless jokes and tasteful commentary and laughing all the same. You’ll probably miss your curfew, but neither of you seem to mind. It’s gotten quieter at the restaurant now, most of the customers long on their way, but you and Jungkook have stayed. Watched as the sun set and the street lights came on, illuminating the cobblestone roads and alleyways as everyone makes their way back home.

“Do you wanna go?” Jungkook asks. The check has long since been taken but you and Jungkook made no effort to leave when it did. In fact, your waitress even gave the two of you a small glass each of complimentary champagne.

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel,” you whine, the idea of bringing this night to a close so soon incredibly unappealing.

Jungkook shrugs. Grins softly. Holds his warm hand out. “We don’t have to go back to the hotel.”

And this is how you end up strolling the streets of Florence, long after the other tourists have gone back to their places of lodging and only the locals remain, celebrating at bars and making their way back to their own homes. It’s a clear night tonight, not a single cloud covering the navy of the sky. There are hardly any stars visible in a bustling city like Florence, but that’s alright (Jungkook’s eyes are more than enough to keep you satisfied) because the moon is out, a crescent glow alongside the warm yellow of the street lamps.

The feeling is like the first day you put fairy lights up in your room and the sun sets and suddenly everything is romantic and wonderful and cozy all at once, a foreign sensation you are perfectly willing to get used to. That’s what this night feels like. Cozy. Homey. All things that make you wish it wasn’t so soon that you had to go, because you’ll never get something like this again. Something so intimate, so real.

There are only a few street musicians out playing now, most of them having packed up for the night, awaiting the next day to start the process all over again, but there is enough to create a little soundtrack for your stroll, the hazy hum of background music soothing your pounding thoughts. Jungkook doesn’t have his camera but it’s nice to see him without it, nice to see him walking with no purpose in mind, without his beautiful eyes hidden behind the black device in his hands. Without that camera looped around his neck it feels more like an everyday evening stroll rather than an excursion in Italy, like this is something you do normally, a routine that you have. It’s nice. It’s warm. It’s all him, really.

“This is so peaceful,” Jungkook comments as you stumble upon a lone street musician. She’s playing a soft melody on her flute, the soprano sound soothing, music to your ears. You don’t recognize the tune but you don’t need to, not in order to appreciate good music and talented players.

You and Jungkook wait around her for a while, loitering on the other side of the street as the moon reflects off of the silver of her instrument. She seems to notice your presence, smiling to herself as she continues to play. No dancing, this time. No need for it. You and Jungkook can simply sway back and forth the sound, the melody, without needing to break into moves.

When she finishes what you are sure is the fourth or fifth song you’ve hung around for, Jungkook walks up to drop a five Euro bill into the case in front of her, a donation she greatly appreciates. She deserves much more than five Euros, the both of you know as much. Someone as talented as her deserves a spot in an acclaimed orchestra. She’s not playing Top 50 Disney tunes, she’s playing sonatas, chorales, etudes, classics, all from memory. It’s clear she’s been studying the craft for plenty of years. The two of you clap as you leave, continuing to meander down the rest of the street, telling her grazie as you go. She deserves a lot more than this, but it’s all you can offer her right now.

“That was so nice,” Jungkook comments as the two of you wander around. You have no idea where you are, not with all of the stores you had been using as landmarks closed up, blinds drawn and doors locked, but that’s alright. Sometimes you don’t need to know where you’re going, you just need to know that you are going.

“I know,” you agree softly, humming the tune she had left you with. “Bang would like her.”

“I think that the London Symphony Orchestra would like her, quite honestly,” Jungkook compliments, something you absolutely have no choice but to agree with. She made your night.

“This is nice, too,” you add on softly. There’s little energy left in your bodies after such a long day, but just enough for you to continue to wander, no desire to go back to the hotel any time soon.

“This?” Jungkook asks, confused. He doesn’t stop walking but he does turn to look at you, a bewildered expression lacing his features.

“This. Walking around at night with the street lamps. It’s like… seventy degrees and breezy. There aren’t any more tourists. The alleyways are dark but still comforting. I like this. I like being here.”

The “with you” goes unsaid but you hope that Jungkook picks it up anyway, hope that he recognizes all the thoughts in your head you are too afraid to say aloud for fear that they may be lies or worse, that they might come true. Hope that the things left unsaid are said nonetheless, but in a wordless way.

Jungkook hums to himself, turning back to face forward. You don’t know what that means, but you can feel the way his hand on yours gets tighter, afraid to let you go. What’s bizarre is that you’re afraid for him to let you go as well.

There is something about Florence that feels more final than any of the other trips. Like this is the end of the road, the last stop. Because the nagging voice in your brain keeps reminding you, over and over, that you and Jungkook agree to stop with this fucking nonsense, put an end to this fake relationship but this real contract at the end of this vacation, and here you are. When you first wrote that thing down on the airplane napkin the end of your trip in Italy felt light years away but now, now it’s just on the horizon but you think you’d rather never see the sun again.

“I like being here, too,” he says softly, so inaudible that you could barely hear him if it weren’t for the quietness of the world around you.

You eventually become aware of your surroundings when you come across the magnificent Duomo, made all the more enchanting in the moonlight. It’s difficult to miss and even more difficult to not know where you are, other than the center of the city. Your hotel shouldn’t be too far away from here, down one of the side streets that connect to the square where the Duomo rests. Even in near darkness, it is an architectural marvel. The stones aren’t as colorful in the dark but that’s alright because you can still see the different patterns, the different shades of marble as they blend together.

“Hey, look,” Jungkook says, pointing up. There’s a bird flying overhead and it makes the entire scene all the more romantic. “A beautiful end to a beautiful stay in Italy.”

“Speaking of ending things,” you say, the idea popping into your head before you can stop yourself. You know you shouldn’t. Selfishly, you know that if you don’t mention anything then maybe this façade of a relationship can continue far past the end of this trip, but you won’t do that to yourself and more importantly, you won’t do that to him. You’ve fallen in love but it feels more like you’ve fallen in love with the feeling than with the boy. You can’t do that to him. “When are we gonna tell our friends?”

“About what?” Jungkook asks, clueless. Like he’s really forgotten.

“About us, silly,” you say, hoping to keep the tone light in spite of the darkness around you. “We’re finished in a couple days. The least we could do is fess up and come clean.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says, the realization sinking in. The smile that once decorated his face is gone, replaced by something unreadable. “Right. I forgot about that.”

“Yeah,” you say, forcing a laugh. Oh God, it’s getting awkward. It’s getting awkward and tense and stiff and this is exactly what you didn’t want, what you were hoping wouldn’t happen because that means that this fake relationship has become too real. It means that somewhere you had crossed the line between acting and reality but neither of you know when that happened and now you’re too scared to go back. Fuck. “I mean, I’ve always been pretty bad at confessing.”

Jungkook’s silent. He’s thinking. You can tell by the way his mouth sits solemnly on his face, the furrow of his brows. He’s standing in front of the Duomo with you but no longer are your hands intertwined. You can’t remember when they stopped being connected, and more importantly, you can’t remember who did it first. He’s thinking and you’re afraid to find out what about, worried that whatever he says will cause the whole thing to come crashing down like a wrong move in a game of Jenga. That’s what this feels like, now that you think about it. That’s what this whole relationship has felt like. Like a game of Jenga where everything is fine until everything isn’t.

And then, Jungkook pulls you in close, his one hand on your waist and the other around the back of your neck, and he kisses you.

Really kisses you. His warm lips press firmly onto yours and you gasp at the sensation but your body immediately melts into it, a feeling you cannot believe you starved yourself of for so long. He’s always been right there but you’ve never done anything about it until now, and now you don’t know what to do because of that. He really kisses you and it feels like a million years and a split second all at once because holy shit Jeon Jungkook is kissing you and you’re kissing back and then—

“I’m bad at confessing, too,” Jungkook says shyly, out of breath. His eyes are wide, like he can’t believe he’s just done that but it’s too late to take it back.

“Jungkook, what—”

“This whole thing, I don’t want it to end, Thumper,” he tells you. “It’s always been real to me. Fuck the napkin contract. I’ve always wanted to be with you, prank or not. I don’t want it to be over.”

It’s too much. It’s everything you were hoping to hear but your mind can’t seem to process it. Like a tsunami crashing into a pier, and you’re standing on the edge of it hoping that you stay dry but at the same time wishing it takes you with it.

Practically speechless, you say, “Jungkook, I—”

“Please, Y/N,” he begs, but you already feel yourself drifting away, a piece of wood floating out to sea. Your feet are moving faster than your heart but that’s alright because when in doubt, run.

“I can’t, Jungkook,” you say softly. You don’t notice the tears until they’re streaming down your cheeks, warped from your footsteps on the cobblestone as you dash away. “I can’t.”

You don’t turn back around but you don’t need to, not when you know Jungkook will still be there, as heartbroken as ever.

The next day is spent in your hotel bed, and that’s it.

You’re kidding, but you wish it was like that. You snuck into your hotel room far past curfew to a bed and a half of your sleeping roommates and, barely remembering to wipe away your makeup and brush your teeth, climbed into bed sniffling, wishing that the whole thing had just been a memory.

You know that it’s real when you wake up the next morning to find five missed calls and a dozen texts, all from Jungkook. You swipe away each one, letting the notification disappear from your phone, and that’s when you notice your empty room and the knock at your door. Hardly caring about your just-rolled-out-of-bed appearance, you trudge up to the door and find an animated Hoseok behind it, eyes wide and bucket hat a fluorescent highlighter yellow. He’s always had a thing for colors like that.

“Y/N! Ready to—oh my god, are you okay?” He asks.

“I’m fine, Hobi. I just woke up,” you tell him, not wanting to alert him of anything alarming. You’d hate to ruin his vacation with woes of your non-existent, pretend love life. It’d also mean explaining the entire thing to him, and you don’t know if you’re willing to sacrifice yourself like that. Not yet, at least.

“You just woke up?” Hoseok asks, in shock. “It’s noon! You never wake up this late, not even back home! Are you sure everything is okay?” He asks. He’s too good of a friend, too used to your mannerisms and habits. Nothing slips by him, goddamnit.

“Yes, I swear, Hobi,” you say, rubbing your eyes to get the sleep gunk out of them. “What do you want?”

“Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted to come out with me and we could go on a last-minute adventure before we have to leave tomorrow,” Hoseok suggests, an excursion that sounds much-needed considering the overwhelming amount of time spent with Jungkook the past few weeks, only to find yourself starved of his contact. “You could invite Jungkook, if you want. I don’t know what he’s up to…”

“No! No, it’s okay. Jungkook doesn’t need to come along with,” you exclaim, perhaps a bit too loudly for your liking. Hoseok scrunches up his nose in confusion, tilting his head like a bewildered puppy. Quickly, you search for an excuse before he can say anything. “I’ve been spending so much time with him recently. We should just do something together.”

“Alright… whatever you say, I guess.” Hoseok’s still hesitant, rightfully so, but he leaves you be and lets you get ready, camping out on your bed playing the new Harry Potter game on his phone. Last you heard, he was getting ready to duel that “bitch, Merula” in the courtyard. You emerge from your bathroom fifteen minutes later, though you would hardly consider yourself Italy-ready, you look mildly acceptable and hope that you’ve done a good enough job disguising the bags under your eyes, that the puffiness from last night’s crying extravaganza has gone down. It’d be nice if you could just simply go through the rest of the day without having to think of Jungkook but you can already feel yourself worrying about him and what he’s getting up to, what state you left him in last night. You don’t think you can bring yourself to see him again, even if on accident.

Hoseok’s animated self keeps your mind fairly occupied, though. He does a good job of distracting you even if he isn’t trying to, another one of the qualities he possesses that you so envy. He barely takes note of your less-energetic self, much more tired and reserved that normal, chalking it up to vacation fatigue rather than self-inflicted heartbreak. Luckily enough. You’d rather not start out your next conversation with him with, “Hey, remember when I told you Jungkook and I were dating? Well, it was all pretend except I ended up falling for him and now I don’t know what to do with myself, please help?”

“We didn’t get to spend a lot of time at Palazzo Vecchio, let’s go back,” Hoseok suggests, skipping up the street. “There’s that baby David that we didn’t get a very good look at.”

“We saw the real thing, Hobi,” you remind him.

“I know, but this one is just as cool and just as important,” Hoseok insists. “Namjoon told me that Palazzo Vecchio is Florence’s city hall. Isn’t that cool?”

You suppose it is. Though, anything that Hoseok gets excited about is cool in your eyes.

You spend the day out with Hoseok and it lightens your mood extraordinarily, Hoseok’s joy and excitement contagious, getting the best of even you. You knew that you made the right choice when you befriended Hoseok back as children. He always seems to know exactly what he’s doing, without even trying. The sun works hard but Hoseok works much harder.

“Can’t believe this is all over tomorrow,” Hoseok admits as he spreads out in the center of Palazzo Vecchio, happily lying down like a starfish in an aquarium display. You wonder if just the front of his body will get tanned from this, even if he spends only five minutes in the position. You’ll never let him live it down if he returns home from Italy with the front half of his body much darker in color than the back half. He’ll look ridiculous. “Wish we could stay here forever.”

“You and me both,” you admit. You wonder what Jungkook is doing right now, if he’s thinking of you just like you’re thinking of him.

“Feels like just yesterday Yoongi was downing three shots of espresso in quick succession.”

“He did do that yesterday, didn’t he?” You ask. You have this vague memory of him at a cafe somewhere in Florence, ordering either a third or a fourth espresso shot like the absolute heathen he is.

“Wait, let me rephrase that. Feels like just yesterday Yoongi was downing three shots of espresso in quick succession in Rome,” Hoseok emphasizes, making you laugh. He’s right, though. It does feel like just yesterday you were landing at the Rome International Airport and Jungkook was placing a slobbery, wet kiss on your cheek. Feels like just yesterday the two of you confessed your relationship to your friends. Feels like just yesterday you were standing in the Sistine Chapel, staring up at the ceiling together.

And it was just yesterday when all of the memories came crashing down around you, an earthquake striking your mind and leaving it in nothing but a pile of rubble.

“Are you gonna want to come back here? When we’re out of college and paid off our student debt?”

“So, never?” You joke even if the harsh reality permeates your jest. Capitalism can suck your left big toe.

“Okay, true,” Hoseok admits. “But seriously. Are you going to want to come back? When you’re older? Before the rising sea levels suck this entire peninsula under the ocean?”

And you think to yourself that you’d love to, but only if you got to come with a certain someone. Wishful thinking.

Hoseok drops you off at your hotel room after you grab some sandwiches to eat for dinner, and you’re about to close the door and pass out from a long day of walking and an even longer day of thinking, when you spot Seokjin jogging towards you. You think that he’s going for Hoseok but then he stops at your room, sending you a small smile.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says. “Mind if I come in for a second?”

“Come on in,” you invite him inside. Seokjin paces about the little floor space left in your room—Minnie’s ridiculously messy—before taking a seat on the edge of your shared bed with Miyeon and the only surface that isn’t covered in clothes. “What’s up?”

“Have you spoken to Jungkook recently?” Seokjin dives right in. The mention of his name is an arrow to your heart but the abruptness of it all causes alarms to go off in your brain.

“Uh—” you begin, sputtering for an answer that won’t lead to you giving yourself away. “Why do you ask?”

“Because his mood has taken a 180 this past twenty-four hours and I am almost certain it has something to do with you,” he says, but it doesn’t feel like he’s placing blame or pointing his fingers at you. It more just feels like an observation, something he’s picked up on in the past day. You’ll give him credit for that, at least.

“Wow, alright,” you say, hands up in surrender.

“Listen, Y/N,” Seokjin says before running a hand through his hair. It reaches the back of his neck and he tilts his head back, exasperated. “I know that you and Jungkook have had a fake relationship this entire time.”

“What?”

You stumble for a response, stuttering hopelessly even though Seokjin’s very obviously seen through your entire act. Are the two of you that transparent?

“Unlike everybody else, I didn’t have my headphones in when the two of you were discussing the terms of your agreement on the plane. I had very conveniently locked them up in my overhead carry-on and was much too lazy to fish for them,” Seokjin says pointedly, making you groan in despair as you collapse on the bed beside him.

“God, could this vacation get any worse?” You ask to the higher powers above you.

“I didn’t tell anyone, obviously,” Seokjin reminds you. “And quite frankly, I had no idea that it would snowball into this. I thought the two of you were just doing this for laughs and that’s it. You were gonna get everyone real good.”

“That was the plan,” you mumble bitterly.

“You know, Taehyung and I spoke a couple of days ago. About the two of you.”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” You ask, grumbling into the pillow you’ve stuffed over your face. If you pray hard enough, maybe the ground will open up and swallow you whole.

“No, I’m rather good at keeping secrets, even if I wasn’t supposed to find out in the first place,” Seokjin says haughtily. “Taehyung told me that he was really proud of Jungkook for stepping up and confessing to you on the flight.”

You suddenly feel very guilty.

“He said that Jungkook had had this huge crush on you for ages beforehand and was just too scared to do anything about it.”

That makes you pop up like a puppet in a box, the pillow coming off your face and straight into your lap as you turn to Seokjin, shocked. “What?”

“He said that Jungkook really deserved somebody like you, because you made him so happy,” Seokjin continues, as if the life-altering revelation that Jeon Jungkook has been harboring this massive crush on you for ages prior to the agreement isn’t enough. “He said he hadn’t seen his best friend this happy in a really long time.”

(“He looks like he loves you a lot.”)

“You’re fucking with me,” you declare, the only feasible explanation at this point. There’s no way this is real. This is just another big prank orchestrated by all of your friends because Seokjin went on blabbing and now they’re getting back at you in the cruelest of ways. There’s no way that this is real.

“I’m not,” Seokjin insists firmly, and there’s a desperate part of your heart that’s aching for it to be true but your brain has the power and it’s telling your heart to move on. “But Jungkook’s been really down lately. I know that maybe you thought that the relationship was fake but it’s obvious that he didn’t.”

“It—I—” you begin, unable to form a coherent sentence. “But I was the one who fell in love with him! How is this even possible?”

Seokjin chuckles, a smile blossoming on his face. “I guess he had already fallen in love with you before this whole thing even begin.”

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you groan to yourself, collapsing back onto the bed and pressing the pillow over yourself, muffling your wails.

“You’re not, Y/N, listen,” he demands, pulling the pillow away from you. You wrestle him for a couple seconds but eventually let him have his way, the heat of the cushion coming off of your face. “Maybe the relationship was pretend on paper but it was rooted in reality. For the both of you. It’s clear that there are some feelings between the two of you. Maybe that’s why we all fell for it. Because it was real. You guys thought you were fooling us but the only people you were tricking were yourselves.”

“When did you get so wise, hmm, Seokjin?” You ask ruefully, unsure as to what to do next. You can’t just go back to Jungkook and ask to call an end to the fake part and but leave the relationship.

“I’m not wise, Y/N,” Seokjin says. “You two just looked like you needed a third party to help out.”

You grin, unbelievably thankful for a man by the name of Kim Seokjin. “I guess so, huh. So, what now?”

“Well, as far as I last heard, Jungkook was hanging around the Duomo. He told Taehyung he wanted to stay back for a little while.”

Your face lights up and your heart starts beating. “Really?” You ask, perhaps a bit too hopeful.

“Yeah,” Seokjin nods. “Go get your man.”

You bolt out the door.

Sure enough, you find Jungkook walking around the edges of the square, headphones in as the sun slowly sets over the horizon. There are still plenty of people out and about, finishing up their meals or just settling into their seats, and the street musicians are alive and active. Jungkook comes to a halt in front of a pair of violinists playing on one of the smoother streets in the area, a small crowd gathering around them.

Quickly, wordlessly, desperately, you dash up to Jungkook before he can slip from your sight and out of your hands forever.

“Jungkook!” You shout, and he can barely hear you over his music but he turns nonetheless, eyes widening when he sees you rushing towards him, already out of breath. You’re in orchestra, not a sports team. “Jungkook, wait!”

He doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, but he does take a single earbud from his ear, turning to you with furrowed brows and a scrunched-up nose. “Y/N, what—?”

“Jungkook, don’t go,” you say as you catch up to him. Your shout seems to have interrupted the music in the background, both violinists and the crowd around them stopping to watch you. “I don’t want this to be over either.”

“What are you saying—?”

“I’m bad at confessing, too. Really bad. You probably already figured that out,” you joke, chuckling bitterly to yourself. “But when you said that you it’s always been real to you I realized that it’s always been real to me as well. That I don’t want to let you go, not here, not on the plane, and not back home. I want to be with you wherever you go.”

“You’re shitting me,” Jungkook says.

You shake your head, smiling at his disbelief. Like he can’t believe that all of his dreams are coming true. “I’m not. Fuck the napkin contract. That shit’s probably all crumpled up anyway. I want to be with you for real, no faking it, no acting, no games. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want you.”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Thumper?” He asks, coming up to you. His warm hands find purchase on your waist as he pulls you in close, guarding you tightly. You don’t even realize that you’re crying until his thumb comes up to wipe a stray tear away, and you laugh.

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook. For real, this time. No more contracts,” you tell him, gazing up into his eyes.

You have seen Jungkook stare at the most brilliant pieces of art in the world, seen him gaze into his camera to get the perfect shot, seen him glance at his music quickly before launching off into a song he’s memorized, and finally, you can say that you’ve seen Jungkook in love.

“You know what, Thumper?” He asks. “I love you too.”

When you kiss, the entire crowd and the two violinists explode into applause, but you barely take notice of them when Jungkook’s lips are on yours. Maybe Italy’s over but you and him are just beginning.

“Tell me about that portfolio you were making,” you say on the flight home. Everyone’s asleep around you, all but Seokjin wholly unaware that your relationship was even a farce to begin with. You think you’d like to keep it that way. Though maybe, in five years, you’ll come clean. Hopefully by that point, none of them will mind anymore. You’ve pushed the armrest that separates your seats up so you can snuggle up against him, his body temperature all the warmth you need on this frigid airplane.

“Oh, that?” He asks. He pulls up a page on his computer, and suddenly you’re presented with an entire album of pictures of just you, some you recognize and some you didn’t even realize he had taken. “It was this.”

“Are these all of me?” You ask, leaning in close. There must be at least four hundred photos in here and each of them have at least a bit of you in them, whether it be you talking with Hoseok or Namjoon or Yoongi or staring at art without knowing that Jungkook had been behind you, or the ones he’d convinced you to pose for or the ones that he sniped right before you had realized.

“Essentially, yes,” Jungkook admits guiltily, a cherry red tinting his cheeks as he curls in on himself, embarrassed. “I thought that when Italy was over, we’d just go back to being acquaintances or something, and I didn’t want to forget it. So I made this.”

“You have an entire album dedicated to me?” You ask. God, being in a relationship has turned the both of you into fucking softies. “I’m touched. Thank you.” You add onto your gratefulness by pressing a kiss into his cheek, making him blush impossibly harder.

“Yeah, well. I didn’t want to forget anything,” Jungkook says, something you can definitely agree with.

“Well, now you don’t have to,” you promise. “We can make new memories all the time, so you can delete that photo album of me. Or at least turn it into an Italy album rather than just a My Girlfriend album. That’s fucking cheesy as shit.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m never getting rid of this thing. There’s gems like this,” Jungkook says, pulling up a photo of you blowing into a tissue after a particularly hard sneeze in Venice.

You gasp, both endeared and incredibly offended. “Oh my God, I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I hate that I love you.”

“You know what? I’ll take it,” Jungkook says, pulling you in and planting a wet kiss on your cheek, right at the corner of your lips. “I hate that I love you, too.”

“Get a room!” Jimin shouts from next to you, sitting in the seat directly across the aisle from yours. He’s got this disgusted look on his face, but you and Jungkook just grin to yourselves. You have a feeling that you’re never going to get sick of grossing out your friends with your obnoxious public displays of affection.

“Can’t, the bathrooms are too small for what we want to do!” Jungkook calls back, making Jimin dry heave onto the floor beside the two of you before angrily stuffing his headphone back into his ear and hoping that the two of you will just shut the fuck up, for once. “I’m never gonna get sick of doing that.”

“Good.”

“Hey, Thumper, do you want to see all the photos I took of Seokjin? He’s gonna become Instagram famous, but not in the way he wants to because all of these photos are meme-worthy,” Jungkook asks, already clicking around to pull open the album.

“Oh my God, yes. You gotta send all of these to me,” you say, wrapping your body around Jungkook’s left arm as he begins to filter through each photo.

Jungkook’s got the window shade next to him cracked open the slightest bit, the night sky wholly unobtrusive considering the rest of the cabin is dark. You can’t make out the moon but you know that it’s there, somewhere, singing a melody that only the two of you can hear.

⇒ hmu with feedback or just talk to me here!

[searchforthescars]

Litany - Ch. 12/12

IT’S FINALLY HERE BABEY

okay pls stick around until the end bc I talk about Things and get sappy about this fic but @bombshellsandbluebells thank you thank you for editing this and loving this and not judging me for flinging chapters that only make a little sense into the void (this is what I get for not doing an outline lmao). I’m v blessed to have you in my life

@maelidpoetree , @sarcasticdebate , you guys have written such LOVELY reviews that I still re-read and get emotional about to this day. Thank you for that, and also for convincing me to not delete Litany those two times. Much much much love

And to everyone else who has loved, read, MADE PLAYLISTS AND EDITS FOR (omg) and supported this fic, thank you. I’m always astounded at the responses to things I write. It’s humbling. <3

(the fic is also on ao3)

I have told you where I’m coming from, so put it together. We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor . . . When I say this, it should mean laughter, not poison. I want more applesauce. I want more seats reserved for heroes. Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you. Quit milling around the yard and come inside.

Emori’s glass ornament catches the light from her window and casts beams of cool sunshine in fractures on the hallway wall. Murphy follows those beams to her doorway late on Christmas morning.

He watches as her smaller fingers caress the small delicate etchings there and smiles when he sees the fingers on her larger hand peeking out from the sleeve of her red and green sweater. She doesn’t cover it that often now, and he’s glad; his deep affection for the appendage has never wavered, and he likes seeing it out in the open every now and again, a sign of the comfort she’s found here.

Murphy watches her for another moment before knocking on her open door. She turns. Her hair is messy. She’s wearing the most hideous Christmas sweater he’s ever seen - bright red and green with tiny ornaments hooked into the neckline. He doesn’t have to touch her skin to know it’s warm, from both sleep and sun, and maybe some excitement too, if her flushed cheeks are telling the truth.

“Merry Christmas,” she says softly, a hesitant smile wrinkling the corner of her mouth. “Like my sweater?”

Murphy can’t help but laugh. “It’s...something.”

“Jasper gave it to me,” she says by way of explanation. “He, Monty and Octavia have matching ones.”

“Of course they do,” he grumbles, imagining the look on Raven’s face when she sees, and how Bellamy’s probably going to bust a nut. He must smirk at the thought, because Emori snorts and gives him a tiny smile. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. Her hair swishes around her face, and a few strands of it catch on the ornaments on her neckline. “Damn, that’s going to get annoying.”

“Here, let me,” he says, reaching for her hair at the same time she does. Her hands fall back into place as she lets him smooth the hair back.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. Her eyes flick down to his mouth, then back up again. He thinks about saying thought that was my move, but bites his tongue, knowing he might get sucker-punched for it. He’s still not sure where they stand with one another, not after what he did and said, or after their small reconciliation the day after Thanksgiving.

She grins up at him, and suddenly it doesn’t matter. “Hey,” she says conspiratorially, “want to pull a prank?”

Of course he does.

They sneak downstairs and quietly divest the space under the tree of every gift underneath. They hide each wrapped package somewhere in the house; the more obscure, the better. Murphy is immensely proud of himself for thinking to hide his gift to Bellamy on the roof, right behind the chimney, and Raven’s in the oven.

“I hid Monty’s inside the couch,” Emori whispers to him as they scamper back up the stairs. Her eyes are shining with mischief. Murphy wonders if she ever pranked Otan. He also wonders if she’s ever had a Christmas the “traditional” way, but can’t think of a way to ask that wouldn’t be rude. Hey, at least he cares. It’s a start.

They stay in his room until the house wakes up. She walks around and reads the papers on his walls; he sits in his desk chair and watches her move carefully around the small space. Strands of her hair stick to the fuzz of her sweater. She looks warm; she radiates happiness. It’s a good look on her.

He shakes himself out of his snappiness just in time for Octavia’s door to bang open. “Merry Christmas, bitches!” she shouts, yelping as Lexa groans and probably throws something at her head. “Let’s get this bread!”

“Let’s get this- what?” Emori asks, adorably confused.

Murphy laughs and stands up. “Don’t ask. Come on, let’s go see the fruits of our labor.”

They make it downstairs just in time to hear the crunching of Bellamy’s tires on the snow outside and the roar of Zeke’s motorcycle. Murphy holds up one hand, counting down from five on his fingers. When he gets to one, Emori grins as Bellamy hollers, “What the hell?!”

“Nailed it,” Emori singsongs. Murphy snorts.

The door bangs open and Bellamy sticks his head in. “You put my present on the damn roof?!” he shouts.

Murphy grins impishly. “What makes you think it was me?”

Raven opens the oven door, then throws her hands up in exasperation. “Seriously, Murphy? Again?”

“It was my idea,” Emori says, her eyes laughing but her face straight. Raven rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile there that tells Murphy she’s just glad the two of them are working together on something.

Murphy snorts as Monty jumps up to retrieve a package hidden atop the microwave. Emori blinks at him. “Wait… Raven said ‘again’...”

“Oh yeah.” Murphy tilts his head and smiles. “I may or may not have done this last year.”

Emori smirks. “And here I thought I was original.”

Bellamy stomps into the kitchen, tracking snow on the tile. Raven squawks and swats him with a kitchen towel, but he ignores her. “Whatever this is,” he says, holding a damp package aloft, “I don’t want it.”

“You say that now,” Emori singsongs, then leans over to whisper in Murphy’s ear, “It’s a book. He’s going to love it. And I wrapped it in plastic, anyway.”

Bellamy peels off said plastic and drops it in the sink. As Jasper, Monty, Octavia and Lexa clatter down the stairs, he rips off the soggy paper and gives Emori a soft smile. “Thank you,” he says, holding the book up so she can see the cover, even though she’s the one who gave it to him. “I love it.”

Murphy’s heart warms when Emori grins. “I knew it!” she cheers to herself quietly, pumping her fist, a gesture no doubt learned from Monty.

The rest of the house starts ripping into presents too; Raven throws the crow-printed socks Murphy gave her at his head, Lexa races to the kitchen to pour orange juice into her “Classy, Sassy and a Little Smart-Assy” mug from Octavia, and Emori wraps herself up in the massive knitted scarf Murphy found at a street market in the city.

“This is the best present I’ve ever gotten, John,” she says, her smile as warm as the wool wrapped around her neck. “Thank you.”

Murphy’s heart feels like it’s going to leap out of his chest. “You’re welcome.”

When she leans forward to peck him on the cheek, he flinches forward and to the side ever-so-slightly and their lips touch for a brief moment. Monty wolf-whistles and Jasper cheers while Emori covers her mouth with her smaller hand and blinks shyly at him.

“I’m sorry-“ he stammers, but Emori leans forward again, throwing her arms around his shoulders and kissing him soundly on the mouth. “Oh.”

“Get it, J!” Raven yells while Lexa groans something about straight people being unable to control themselves.

“Merry Christmas, John,” Emori whispers. She gets to her feet, scarf still wrapped around her shoulders, and pads to the kitchen in search of coffee, leaving a stunned Murphy and his delighted friends behind.

Breakfast and lunch are haphazard affairs since everyone agreed they’d rather save room for the massive dinner Bellamy, Murphy and Zeke are preparing. Zeke shows up around noon, bearing bags full of groceries and presents. Luna follows him a moment later, Costia in tow. Lexa looks delighted, if not a little terrified, to see her surrogate older sister commiserating with her girlfriend.

“Relax,” Murphy tells her. “This could end really well for you.”

“Or really poorly,” Lexa mutters, eyeing Luna. “Luna’s a straight shooter. She could scare Cos away if she doesn’t approve.”

“My kind of woman,” Murphy remarks, yelping when Raven smacks him upside the head. “Ow?!”

“Your kind of woman is over there, and she’s the jealous type,” Raven says, pointing a thumb at Emori, who’s standing on the kitchen counter, digging around in the cabinet.

“Not jealous,” Emori calls over her shoulder, “Just possessive.”

Lexa wiggles her eyebrows. Raven rolls her eyes, and Luna laughs into her coffee cup.

Bellamy starts to get agitated around three when the roast for dinner isn’t cooking right. Murphy tries to help - it is his crockpot, after all - but quickly gets derailed when he realizes the kitchen is not big enough for all three cooks.

“Sorry, man,” he says to Zeke, whose efforts to shimmy behind Murphy failed after Murphy stepped back, almost whacking Raven’s almost-boyfriend in the head in the process.

“Oh no, no, you’re fine,” Zeke says, quick-stepping over Bellamy’s leg and putting a pan on the counter.

“What did you just say?” Raven calls from the living room, where she’s trying to install the new coding software Bellamy got her for Christmas.

“I said he was fine,” Zeke says.

“How Midwestern of you,” Costia remarks drily.

Zeke raises an eyebrow at her. “How did you know?”

“It’s easy to tell,” she says. “You say words funny.”

Raven hoots. Zeke groans and disappears into Raven’s room, where they’re storing all their coats. After a moment, Raven goes to join him.

“Have fun, Reyes,” Murphy calls after her.

“Fuck straight off, Murphy,” she replies. Emori whistles. When her eyes meet Murphy’s, she stands up.

“John, I forgot to give you your card,” she says. Murphy carefully picks his way across the crowded kitchen and dining room to reach her. She hands him a small envelope, then disappears upstairs before he can even break the seal.

The card’s printed sentiment is lame, but her written words aren’t. To his surprise and embarrassment, Murphy can’t help but blink back some tears as he reads. If anyone notices, they know better than to comment.

John,

Christmas is supposed to be a time for family, but my family isn’t here this year. I thought I would be heartbroken, but I’m not. You are my family, and so is Raven and everyone else. I’m not good at this sappy shit - clearly, since I wrote a swear word in a Christmas card - but I’m going to try.

When I answered Raven’s ad, I had no idea the love and safety you all would bring into my life. Thank you for your part in that. Thank you for loving me how you are able to, and thank you for trying to love me better by loving yourself. I see you, and I love you.

Merry Christmas, John. Never forget how loved you are, by me and everyone else.

-Em

During dinner, they sit at the dining room table and on the floor in the living room, spreading their Christmas Eve feast over end tables and folding chairs that no one wants to sit on for some reason. Murphy sits at the table elbow-to-elbow with Raven and Emori; Zeke and Bellamy sit across from them. Monty, Jasper, Lexa, Octavia and Costia sprawl on the floor, while Luna and Echo take over the couch. Raven tries to play music two separate times - “It’s for the Ambiance,” Octavia says, and Murphy just knows the capital A is implied -  but the noise coming from all corners of the house renders that effort more chaotic than mood-setting.

Murphy keeps sneaking glances at Emori. Her eyes shine with excitement and delight as she takes a massive serving of Zeke’s now-famous corn casserole. She grins when Raven starts roasting Bellamy for only getting books for Christmas. She even smiles at Murphy once or twice, which sends his heart rate through the ceiling.

Echo finishes first and starts in on the dishes. Bellamy follows, brushing her shoulder with his hand as he leans past her to start drying plates. Murphy watches them over his shoulder, the confidence in their movements, the ease with which they exist in one another’s space. When he turns back to face the table, he locks eyes with Emori and sees his longing and jealousy mirrored there.

Time slows down in the moments between clearing his plate and ending up in Emori’s room. Somehow he ends up at her bedroom door looking at her back, braced against the window frame, her legs swinging over the window’s edge, hair blowing in the cold West Virginia wind. It’s a mirror of this morning’s moment, or maybe an inversion, since her back is to him in this instance, though her face is turned upward.

“I never had a Christmas like this,” he hears her say to the wind. He steps inside her room but doesn’t shut the door. “With people and presents and noise and happiness.”

“Was it- Did you like it?” He winces at his own verbal ineptitude.

She nods, sniffs and looks over her shoulder. Her eyes glitter in the pale light from the hall. “Come sit with me,” she says softly, beckoning with her smaller hand.

When he’s comfortably seated with his head leaning against the window frame, his body snug between it and Emori’s legs, she rests her forehead on his shoulder and speaks to his upper arm. “I miss you.”

The distance between him is his own doing. The ache in his chest is, too. “I’m sorry.”

How do I cross the line between us? he wants to ask, but doesn’t want to come off either dramatic or desperate, even though he is both, just by nature.

“Thank you for your card,” he says softly. He turns, rests his chin atop her head, and resists the urge to press a kiss atop it. “It meant a lot.”

“I meant it.” Her voice is muffled. She doesn’t look up at him, but he can feel the wrinkle of her forehead through his sweater.

“You okay?”

She lifts her head. There’s a look in her eyes, equal parts caged animal and hesitant human. “If I let you in, you can’t hurt me. I won’t let you.”

Murphy takes a deep breath. Here, on his side of the drawn line, there is everything he is ashamed of. On her side, there is the smile in her voice when she speaks to him and the soft way she says his given name.

“I can’t promise I won’t hurt you,” he says slowly. “But I won’t try to.”

Emori smiles, sudden and blinding. She turns to face him, shifting so she’s straddling the windowsill. The ornaments on her God-awful sweater glint and tap together as she moves.

“Okay.” She kisses him on the cheek, then the nose. He grins. “Let’s start over.”

Murphy leans forward and presses his lips to hers, a proper kiss this time. When she laughs against his mouth, his chest expands. Then he’s the one who laughs as he remembers a line from a particular Christmas movie.

“What?” she asks, pulling away. And then Raven’s voice sounds from the doorway, where she’s leaning against the frame, looking as self-satisfied as he’s ever seen her.

“‘And the Grinch’s small heart’,” she quotes dramatically, a shit-eating grin wide on her face, “‘grew three sizes that day’.”

Emori howls with laughter. The foot dangling from the window kicks in the air. Murphy reaches for the nearest pillow near the foot of Emori’s bed and chucks it at Raven, who shrieks and limps downstairs. Murphy catches up to her by sliding down the bannister and tosses the couch’s blanket over her head, then proceeds to tickle her in the stomach until she goes to her knees, laughing and wheezing and pushing a worried Zeke away.

Murphy looks up after pulling the blanket off Raven’s head and locks eyes with Emori, who hovers at the top of the stairs, one hand on the bannister, one hand on the first step down. It’s a mirror of a moment during her first day at home: her hesitant eyes, Murphy and Raven on the couch, his nonchalant “you can come down.”

An invitation, he thinks. A request, maybe, and certainly an assurance that no matter where he is, she belongs. That no matter where she is, he is wanted.

“You can come down,” he says to her quietly. She takes a step down. Behind him, Zeke helps Raven to her feet.

“You can come down,” Murphy says to her again, remembering waiting at the bottom of the stairs on their first date, awestruck at her beautiful dress and the warmth in her cheeks.

Emori’s feet hit the floor beside him. She slings her arm around his shoulder and he reaches up to play with the long fingers of her left hand. While watching Monty, Raven and Zeke make a nest on the couch to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas, Murphy presses a kiss to every part of her hand he can reach.

“Dear Forgiveness,” he hears her murmur, almost to herself, in that casual, thoughtful way, “I saved a place for you. Quit milling around the yard and come inside.”

She kisses him on the cheek, disentangles herself from him, and goes to sit beside Raven, squealing when the other girl’s cold feet make contact with her bare ankles. Murphy watches them all, lit by the kitchen light and the glow of the TV, and wonders if it’s possible for a heart to break from happiness.

If it is, he supposes, as he leans his forearms against the couch inches from Raven’s head, he’ll gladly handle this kind of heartbreak now until forever.

Yeet yeet babey we did it

The end of this story is bittersweet for me in a strange way. I started writing Litany during a time in my life where I was not doing well, mentally, physically or emotionally. This story became a strange form of catharsis, a way for me to access the dark things in me and process them through the eyes of a character who resembles me in ways I'd rather not think about.

As Murphy and Emori learned and grew and recovered, I tried to do the same. Clearly, I'm not there yet (as evidenced by the two times I almost deleted this fic on a self-destructive whim). But there's always hope as long as you learn how to forgive yourself.

If you're dealing with stuff like this, please talk to someone. A parent, a teacher, a friend, a therapist, someone. My asks on Tumblr are always open (my Tumblr name is the same as here). We all need a Raven, an Emori, a Bellamy and a Luna sometimes.

Thanks for reading this. I hope you liked it. I'll see you soon, never fear :)

Much love, Amanda

[yourarmynoona]

Red Light District || Chapter 2

(Moodboard by Me)

Description:  [Sex Worker!AU] [DomTae!AU] You were young, naive, and oh-so desperate to keep your head afloat in the big city. Working in the Red Light District was easy. Until he came along.

Rating: M

Pairings: Taehyung x Reader; Jungkook x Reader; Jimin x Jungkook x Reader; Taehyung x Jimin x Reader

Themes: S-M-U-T. Drugs, Alcohol, Sex, and NAUGHTY THINGS!!!

7.5k+ Words

Notes: Chapter inspired by “Papi Pacify” by FKA Twigs (Seriously. Watch the Video) and “High for This” by the Weeknd. This chapter is dedicated to @shadowstark for my first ever fic review and @bangtanprincesss as a thank you for my custom imagine!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

A bouncer escorted you to the famous V, who was seated like he was before, his arms outstretched across the wood portion of the couch and one leg elegantly crossed at the ankle across his knee. He was oblivious to your approach, his eyes scanning the room as his head bobbed lightly in sync with the bass reverberating throughout the club. He was sitting in one of the squared-off VIP areas that had a large central couch with two-smaller couches and a table decorated with a variety of glasses and expensive bottles of liquor. 

He was between what appeared to be two of his friends and to your surprise, Jin, one of your notorious coworkers who despite being born into money, decided to become a host and entertainer. As you approached, the bouncer, a man of about 6-foot-something and 200-something pounds in black stepped back, his hands clasped at his front. V delicately turned as he saw you approach, a smirk playing on his lips as he brought a thumb to brush against them and lolled his head to one side, taking in your figure.

“V I presume? I’m Foxx. A pleasure to make your acquaintance” you stated somewhat formally as you swung yourself down into the space next to him. You had kept your dance heels on, making it somewhat difficult to maneuver to the couch, leaving you to plop down slightly. You could feel the eyes of the other men near him pay you a small glance before resuming their conversations.

“Oh the pleasure is all mine. You can call me Taehyung, by the way. No need for stage names here.”

Taehyung was scanning over your cross-legged form to his side and you were sure his words applied to not just himself. You licked your lips lightly before smiling back and replying, “I suppose, but where’s the fun in that? It ruins the mystery.” He laughed, a boxy smile revealed his wonderfully perfect teeth that were so white you would most likely go blind in broad daylight. Your initial impression of him was that he was cocky but you were starting to see that perhaps he was simply overly playful. You decided to test the waters and see how ready he was to take you back to one of the rooms and have his way with you. Though you were keeping up a professional appearance, you could feel the wetness between your thighs spreading and the dull ache to be filled growing.

Slowly you leaned into him, your thighs touching his and one of your hands coming to rest itself on the upper portion of his arm as you cocked your head playfully. “So, Taehyung, I heard you wanted to meet me but I’m wondering if it was to talk or something else.” You worked your hand slowly up and down his bicep, the smooth satin of his shirt cool to your heated touch. Taehyung bit his lip and smirked.

“I mean we could, but why waste time talking when we could get to the point. You’re fucking gorgeous and I would love to spend tonight with you. In private” he emphasized his last sentence, running his long, elegant fingers down the side of your face as your eyes met his. There was something inexplicably alluring about his gaze. It captivated you and made the temperature of your body skyrocket all the while making you feel as if you had lost control of your own will.

“So what do you say, Foxx? Do you think I could get a night with you?”

“I think that can be arranged.”

Your magenta lips turned up into a slight smirk. Carefully you got up from your spot next to him and reached for his hand, motioning with your eyes to follow you. He licked his lips lustfully before taking your outstretched hand and following your form towards the long hallways guarded by one of the many bouncers. Taehyung briefly turned around and winked at his buddies in the VIP who began to hoot and holler, clapping their hands and laughing at their friend. You rolled your eyes. Boys will always be boys.

After a brief walk to the hall guarded by one of the bouncers simply nicknamed “Dung-geun”, you ushered Taehyung to small lobby area that was adorned with rich wooded floors, dark crimson walls, and mahogany furniture with plush pillows all illuminated by a central chandelier and small wall sconces that made the room feel like a palace. There were other men and women there, sitting on a large round loveseat or touching one another as they talked. It was quieter but the reverberation of the music emanating from the club could still be both heard and felt to some degree.  Turning to Taehyung suddenly you let him bump you gently before he wrapped his arms around you, gently swaying your body against his.

“So what can I expect tonight?”

“Hmm…well it depends, what do you want handsome?” you purred, your gaze lowering from his eyes to his soft lips.

Taehyung laughed softly before pulling you closer, his head tilted replying lowly “Everything”.

A shock ran from your chest to deep between your legs and you were suddenly aware of the way his fingertips were pressing deep into your hips and how close he was to your face. His presence was commanding and it made you want to give yourself over in every way. You wanted him so badly but there were sadly formalities to be had.

Pushing yourself off Taehyungs chest, you grabbed his hand and approached a large mahogany desk where an older woman sat smoking a long pipe, her round glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose, one hand stroking at her peppered gray locks.

“Mrs. Kim, I need a room. Can I get…” you trailed off, glancing over to Taehyung, “any of those rooms?”

Mrs. Kim straightened herself upright, eyeing you up and down before adjusting her glasses to examine Taehyung.

“Luckily Red isn’t taken. I’ll need you to fill this waver out young man and please leave your ID and credit card.”

Taehyung thanked Mrs. Kim and furiously filled out the paperwork as you went around the desk to write your name in the log and what room you were in. Though it was the modern era, the owner and Mrs. Kim preferred to do things by hand so as to keep client information confidential and secure. In addition, the paperwork for Euphoria also helped entertainers keep track of their clients likes, dislikes, and how much they regularly paid for. Once Taehyung finished the multiple signatures, he passed his entire wallet off to Mrs. Kim who sat eyeing him with little regard behind the mahogany desk.

“I assume you read the rules young man. You are responsible for all services rendered by Foxx and liable for any…damages that may be had. You are to abide by the rules of this establishment and all acts performed behind closed doors are to be consensual. Understood?”

Taehyung nodded.

Mrs. Kim cleared her throat and looked through the paperwork Taehyung had signed diligently, giving you a cautious glance before looking back down and opening a file to put his information in.

“You have paid for the remainder of the night and have selected full-services. Payment will be made upon leaving for the evening. A down-payment of $580 will be paid upfront. Any questions?”

Taehyung again nodded before coming up behind you to wrap his arms around you and nip at your ear before whispering “You’re all mine tonight Kitten.”

Guiding Taehyung down the hall was a heated mess of moans and needy kisses. He had thrown you into the wall and kissed you furiously, one hand to support himself and the other bringing one of your legs to wrap around him as you tangled your fingers in his hair. His kisses were hot and desperate, his tongue sliding against yours as he ground his hips into your barely clothed core. Every rut of his hardened member between your thighs was sending shocks of pleasure coursing through your veins and you had almost come from that alone.

It had take a fight to get Taehyung into the Red Room but once you had closed the door behind you, something in him changed. His eyes turned dark and his tongue creeped out to lick his lips as his hands glided up the curves along your body before he grasped a hand to your throat and another to the wall behind you. You couldn’t hide how turned on he was making you and you let forth a small moan as your eyes fluttered shut. His touch was making you dizzy and intoxicated and you felt yourself losing control of your sanity.

“Tonight you’re all mine kitten. You will do as I say and obey me. Understood?”

You nodded shyly, your mind a muddled mess as his thumb came to your lips and forced it’s way inside your mouth. He worked his thumb slowly in and out of your mouth, coaxing you to suck at it. And suck you did. You lapped at his thumb, sucking and swirling your tongue around it, making sure he knew you would be worth every penny he was spending on your attentions. You sucked and sucked, imagining what it would be like to have his cock sliding against your tongue and through tightened lips.

Withdrawing his thumb, he hissed through his teeth before commanding you to the center of the room and to kneel at the large illuminated red “X” in the center of the room facing him.

The room was spacious and illuminated in an eerie yet erotic glow of red. There was a St. Andrew’s Cross directly at the center and perpendicular to a large bed with a deep-red duvet and covered in numerous cream and red pillows. The walls were red and black, stripped with a black lacquered finish  across the bed wall that was hidden behind a large rectangular mirror. The amber lit chandeliers beside each side of the bed were dimly lit so as to allow the deep red of the recess lighting to penetrate the entirety of the room and cast a red glow across any bodies that would come to writhe in passions beneath it.

You knelt down, the cross behind you and saw to your left a wall with an assortment of paddles, whips, rope, and chains. You had known about the Red Room from Jimin but had never actually taken anyone into it. You started to imagine what dark fantasies Taehyung was going to use you for, a pool of wetness gathering between your thighs.

“Did I say you could look?” Taehyung barked, the echo of his leather dress shoes clicking across the black marbled floor.

You cast your eyes suddenly downwards. A red, hot desire was pooling deep within your body.

“No sir.”

Your voice was small and though a part of you was intimidated by the very man walking towards you, it excited you all the same.

“Speak up, Kitten. Did I say you could look?”

You raised your voice slightly.

“No sir.”

You could hear Taehyung’s chuckle and knew he was smirking at you.

That red, hot desire was now bubbling over and spilling fast into your limbs.

As he stopped in front of you, you felt his cool fingertips grasp at your chin and gently force your gaze upwards to him, your neck painfully craning. As you stared at him, you could feel that burn in your chest spreading further across your body. His thumb was caressing your chin delicately as he knelt down to your level, one arm resting across a knee. Taehyung turned your head gently from side to side, taking in your features before running his free hand down your throat, his hot breath billowing gently across the your cheek.

“Kitten, you really are beautiful” his voice tapered off to a hush.

He suddenly got up and began to unbutton his satin plum-colored shirt, his gaze never leaving yours. Desire was surging through your body and there was an ethereal vibration that was nearly palpable in the air, making your limbs heavy and your body weak with lust. Removing his shirt and throwing it haphazardly onto the floor, you finally saw what a fine body was hidden by the loose vestment. His shoulders were rounded and lean and led into a finely muscled chest and core, the striations of his musculature even more prominent as he let his hands wander to the seam of his dress slacks.

Unbuckling and rapidly removing the belt from his pants, he strode over, standing directly above you before wrapping the belt around your neck and giving it a slight tug, the loose chain bracelets on his wrist lightly clinking his watch.

“How is that kitten?”

“It feels good, Sir.”

“I want you to tell me what you like, what you don’t like, and if you want me to stop. Safe word is ‘lace’ Can you do that, Kitten?”

You nodded and he yanked the belt slightly around your throat, pulling you slightly forwards, your throat slightly constricting.

“Use your words.” He commanded.

“Yes, I will.” You purred delicately.

“Good.”

He commanded you upwards with a taut pull of the belt around your neck. Standing tall in your outrageously taller heels, Taehyung let loose his grip on the belt and walked around you. You didn’t dare move as you felt his hands caress down your shoulders and to the zipper on the back of your dress.  Agonizingly slow he began to unzip your dress, the sound of the metal unfurling was making your heart flutter.

Your breath hitched.

As your dress fell to the floor almost soundlessly save for the delicate clink of the zipper against the tile, you felt his body distance from yours as you stood in nothing but your black thong from your stage routine and your sky-high patent platform heels. You felt his chest press firmly against your back and his arms snake around to your front, one hand going towards your lips and the other between your legs.

“Oh fuck…you’re already so wet. Do I turn you on that much?” he hummed, his fingertips rubbing languid circles over your still clothed clit.  You could only hum in response as he worked his fingers over your clit and slid his other fingers into your mouth against your tongue. He ground his erection hard into your ass as he teased you, your hands reaching behind to steady yourself while he slid his fingers deep into the recesses of your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed as you suppressed the urge to choke. All you could feel was his fingers working you towards orgasm and his fingers fucking your mouth and sliding against your tongue.

“Fuck you look so beautiful like this, I can’t wait to see those lips around my cock” he groaned, his fingers sliding deeper between your legs, his head leaning over your left shoulder watching your expressions contort as he hit every pleasure center.

After a few moments, he worked the fabric of your panties aside and ran his long, elegant fingers across your clit and down the lips of your pussy, toying with your wet folds. You let loose a moan as he sank a digit deep inside your moist heat, your hips bucking at the wonderful searing sensation. Taehyung was teasing you, toying with you, making you squirm. You could feel the reverberation of his moans against you. He was so incredibly turned on and was enjoying every bit of teasing you. Adding another finger, Taehyung sank his digits in and out, the lewd sounds of your wetness dripping from your core adding to the eroticism of the moment, making you grind yourself further onto his fingers. You could feel your legs becoming weak as he started to hit that spot deep inside of you, his fingers fucking in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. Your moans were becoming louder and you could feel your orgasm building. You were losing control and your hips were moving against his fingers, trying to gain more of that heated friction he was giving you. Your high was rapidly approaching, building, threatening to send you hurtling into oblivion. Suddenly, he slowed and removed his fingers, leaving you to whine in protest.

Removing his fingers from your mouth and releasing you from his hold, he guided you masterfully to the floor with one hand on the makeshift leash of his belt and the other bracing your torso. Your lipstick was smeared down your chin and across your cheek and your eyes were glassy in a haze of lust and the throes of a lost orgasm. You were a mess of passion and lust and at that very moment were willing to do whatever he wanted to come on his deliciously long fingers.

“Only good girls get to come, Kitten. You need to earn it.” Taehyung said, unbuttoning his pants and dropping them to the floor all the while still holding his belt taut against your throat.

You felt him tug harshly at your neck, bringing your face to the erection still in his boxers. You looked up towards him and saw him smirk.

“What are you waiting for Kitten? I want to see those pretty lips around my cock.”

Without breaking eye contact, you brought your hands to his black boxers and slid them down his lean thighs, his cock slapping his torso with a dull thud. You ran your hands up his thighs, to his chest, and back down to his manhood. He was long, and thick with an ever so slight upward bend. You grasped him in your hands, working up and down the shaft as you began to deliver small kitten licks to the head and the underside. Taehyung was watching you with an intense gaze, his eyes filled with lust as he watched your tongue explore every inch of him. You were teasing him and you learned very quickly that he wanted more than teasing as he yanked your makeshift collar, forcing your lips onto him.

“I don’t enjoy being teased, Kitten. Suck.”

On his command, you took the head of his cock between your lips and sucked. Taehyung let loose a deep moan as he felt you take him deeper inside of your mouth, his hips languidly rutting his rock-hard member into your mouth. “Yes…f-fuck that’s it. Suck my dick like you mean it” he groaned, his head lolling backwards, his grip still firm on the belt around your neck.

You worked him expertly with your mouth and hands and you could feel the pulsing of his cock as his hips began to force himself deeper into your mouth. His hips moved faster, faster and his moans and pants were growing louder and more desperate. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Your mouth feels so good Kitten.” His hands wandered into your hair, the belt still wrapped around his fist as he forcefully began to fuck your mouth harder and harder. You suppressed the urge to gag as he worked his cock into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with each thrust. You were taking quick, desperate breaths between his thrusts, moans slipping out between each. You couldn’t help but feel incredibly aroused at how amazing his cock felt between your lips, how he had you under his control, and the tightness around your throat. You could feel he was about to come but he stopped, pulling himself from your lips, leaving a trail of saliva connecting your tongue and his cock.

“You look so wonderful with your mouth thoroughly fucked, but I think you’d look so much better being fucked by my cock Kitten.” Taehyung groaned, biting his lip as he trailed his fingers across your messy lips.

Taehyung guided you by the belt around your neck towards the extravagant bed of the Red Room, covered in plush red and black pillows. You were so wet you could feel your arousal dripping down your thighs.

“Bend over Kitten. I want to see that pretty pussy of yours.” He commanded, loosening his grip on the belt.

You knelt onto the bed, getting onto all fours and arching your back to give Taehyung a view of your sex. He ran his long, elegant fingers up and down your glistening slit and hissed between his teeth as you whimpered under his touch. He teased you, his fingers making slow strips up and down your core before making delicate circles on your clit. You could feel your pussy throbbing for his touch, to be filled by his cock and it was becoming painful. He then slipped a single digit in and rotated it inside your moist heat, making you fall forwards onto the bed as he curled the digit against your g-spot.  Taehyung was working you once again towards orgasm and you were again losing control, desperately trying to get him to touch you in all the right spots to make you topple over the edge. With a single finger, he had made you a moaning mess, your hips thrusting back onto his finger as he curled it again and again against that one spot that made you see white. He slipped in a second finger and you wanted to come so bad for him that you were pushing your hips further onto his fingers. That is, until you felt a sharp sting across your bottom.

“I didn’t tell you, you could come yet. I told you, only good girls’ get to come.” Taehyung said darkly, stilling his fingers inside you.

You couldn’t help but cry out at the mixture of pleasure and pain.

“P-please Sir! Let me come!” you cried out, tears threatening to spill forth.

Taehyung struck your again, his open palm making contact with the same spot as before, leaving a harsh sting in its place. “Good girls don’t talk back, Kitten. Do I have to punish you more?”

“N-no Sir!” you whimpered, your voice holding back a choked back sob.

You were desperate to come. So, so desperate. And it was destroying your sanity down to the last thread.

Taehyung scoffed. “That’s a good girl,” he rubbed your reddening bottom “Now how about I show you what a good girl gets. Would you like that, Kitten?”

“Yes, S-sir!”

And with that he removed his fingers and thrusted cock deep inside of your velvet heat. You cried out at his harsh thrust as he bottomed out inside of you and the wonderfully sinful pain of his cock stretching your walls to the brink. “Fuck Kitten, you feel so tight…” he trailed off, his thrusts savoring your body as his hands grasped tightly at the flesh of your hips. With each thrust, you could feel him stroking your g-spot. You could again feel your orgasm building with every rut of his hips to you. He thrusted in quickly and withdrew his cock oh so slowly, your juices coating every inch of him and dripping down your thighs.

“S-sir! Oh my God! Your cock is so good!” you cried out, your face buried in the fabric of the duvet, your fists clutched tightly into the thick crimson fabric.

The room was filled with the lewd and salacious sounds of skin slapping on skin, your wetness being pushed out of you as his cock filled your pussy to the brim, and the pants and moans of two people in the throes of passion. “More, please, more! Fuck me more!” you were almost screaming. His thrusts were becoming faster. Faster and faster his hips met your ass, his fingertips digging deeper into your hips, his eyes screwed shut tightly in ecstasy. With every stroke of his cock into your pussy, you felt your orgasm approaching rapidly.

He was taking gasps, needy breaths as he fucked into you harder and harder, your body being forced further up the bed. “I-I can’t hold on anymore! I’m going to come!” you practically screamed as Taehyung’s hips continued to snap to yours.

“Come for me, Kitten! Fucking come on my cock like the slut you are!”

And you came undone, your body filled with a searing sensation coming from deep within your core and spreading throughout every inch of your body. You lost all control as you cried out, your eyes shut tight, your limbs numb and your vision blinded by pleasure, a surge of wet arousal leaking out from your pussy and onto the sheets below. As your pussy throbbed around him, you could feel Taehyung climb onto the bed and with a hand, force you to stay downwards as his thrusts became more uneven and ragged breaths grew louder. He continued to fuck you through your orgasm, his thrusts continuing to send white-hot sparks of pleasure throughout your body.

“Oh fuck! Fuck, fuck fuck! I’m gonna fill you with my cum Kitten! FUCK!” he yelled out amidst your screams of pleasure, his hips snapping to yours as he filled your wet heat with his cum. His head was thrown back in passion as his hips made small, slow thrusts, his cock being milked by the pulsation of your orgasm.

After a few moments, he withdrew his cock from your pussy, letting his cum drip down your folds and mingle with your juices. You lied there in the sheets face down and he collapsed facing the ceiling beside you. The only sound in the room to be heard was the sound of uneven breaths and panting. You couldn’t even so much as lift your dizzy head but it was then that you knew.

He was like a drug to you.

His command, his control, his dominance.

And you wanted more.

[letsplayscrabble-blog]

when seeing you just isn’t good enough. [linstead fic. after 4x21]

- So you’re probably all sick of seeing me all over these tags but I had to write something after the episode tonight and this is what came out. Enjoy please and let’s all celebrate that we finally got some Linstead :D 

She felt the massive wooden door clang shut at her backside, the sudden finality of it all sending tears prickling to the edges of her hazel orbs though she couldn’t quite lay a finger on why. It took her a moment to gather her bearings then, pacing back and forth in front of the bar’s entrance like a damn lunatic, a few deep breaths and a few brushes of her fingers and her chewed up fingernails through her unruly waves before she figured it was time to stop dawdling and deal with it and finally head home to that cold and empty apartment and try to ignore the hoots and the hollers of celebration she’d so awkwardly and uncomfortably walked out on.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to stay. Hell, it was the complete opposite. It was the fact that if she stayed and she downed that expensive liquor she’d convinced herself that she needed to drop off and blurred the entire case and those poor kids and that grief-stricken mother and that heart-wrenching guilt that threatened to swallow her whole while she stared at the dead body of that fourteen year old boy she’d shot and killed she wouldn’t be able to crawl out of her signature dark hole and back to the people who’d already drug her out once and if she was being honest with herself she didn’t think she would fight damn near as hard this time.

“Erin.”

She’d made quite a bit of distance while lost in the mess of her head and her remorse, all the way down the sidewalk, around the corner of the joint and at this point she was nearly to her car before she heard him, wincing at the familiar way her name fell past his lips because let’s be honest it still made her knees weak and her heart flutter in all the right ways because just a few weeks ago he used to moan it in her ear and whisper it in his sleep before he pulled her tighter against his chest and as much as she needed him to hold her right now and to smell the familiar fabric of his henley mixed with her favorite leather jacket she had already given him his birthday present and graciously ducked out opting last second for the kiss on the cheek and it had probably been too much but she really didn’t know how she was supposed to behave around him anymore except that it was his birthday and she wanted him to know that she would never stop caring but now it was time for her to face the music and deal with the repercussions of her actions on her own because he had packed a duffel bag and left his side of the bed empty and way too many t-shirts in her drawers and those nasty protein shakes he obsessed over in her refrigerator and she still hadn’t found it in her to toss them into the trash even though she was pretty sure he wasn’t coming back to get them.

But she still stopped walking, hesitantly turning to face him and his expectant blue eyes and the adorable crease of concern in his forehead and she desperately wanted to reach out and smooth it away with the tips of her fingers and pull him closer and brush her lips against his in a proper ‘happy birthday’ but then she remembered that little boy lying dead in the morgue and how it was absolutely all her fault that his mother would never get to see him grow up and maybe have a second chance at a better life and she tried to take Hank’s words of comfort to heart but they hadn’t stuck and so she nibbled on her bottom lip and shook her head and he took another questioning step towards her and she finally let the tears fall because this time it was just the two of them and they’d always been honest with each other and she couldn’t keep it together any more.

He rested his chin on the top of her head as one hand fell to the small of her back and the other entangled in her hair, holding her as close as he could manage because he knew this case had hurt her and hit her hard and at the end of any other heavy day they would’ve gone back to their place and pulled out two bottles of beer from the fridge and ordered a ridiculously large half cheese and half supreme pizza because he was a stickler for the simple stuff and she had always been more adventurous when it came to toppings and he didn’t have the heart to tell her no and he was sure that that was never going to change. He let his lips drift softly across the top of her head because at this point who the hell really knew what the two of them were doing and to hell with his birthday because all he really wanted to do was curl up on the couch with her in one of his old henleys with a pan of those fast bake chocolate chip cookies between the two of them because that’s truly all she could probably manage to cook without giving him salmonella poisoning and that suddenly sounded a hell of a lot better than getting drunk with the guys.

Erin pulled away from him then, hastily swiping at the still falling tears and managing a tight smile and it killed him a little inside seeing her try to get it back together and truth be told she missed the warmth of him the instant she pulled away but knew she needed to do this because he was still crashing at Will’s and every once and while when it got hard and her pile of pillows weren’t enough of a comfort she still slept in a shirt that smelled like him as if that was equivalent to his arms wrapped around her and the sound of his steady heartbeat.

“I’ll see ya, Jay.”

And there it was again. The ‘I’ll see you’ rather than ‘I’ll see you at home’ and that tiny discrepancy hurt him far worse than it should have considering he had been the one to walk away from that home and her. He only managed a nod, running a hand down his chin in defeat and giving her the flick of his wrist in a wave before heading back inside Molly’s to his party and his friends and tried to wash away the image of the tears he had seen falling freely down her face with a swig of that damn bottle of expensive liquor.

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

Erin didn’t even make it into the bedroom, shrugging out of her jacket and out of her boots near the front door because actually putting things away in this place had been more of a Jay thing before wandering over to the living room, welcoming the comfort of the cushions and the pillows and the pointless television program playing background noise as her eyes drifted closed because she actually was exhausted and defeated and unconsciousness had been her sweetest escape as of late. But then there was a sound of a key turning in her lock and she froze right then and there on the couch because only two people had a key to her place and one was most certainly still at the district and she’d just left the other at Molly’s but when her gaze fell on his stupid little smirk and his flawless blue eyes she scooted over on the couch without a word or a question and pulled down a blanket for the both of them to share because they’d done this a million times before and sure enough he came, pulling her to him once again and tangling their fingers together and she thought about asking him what in the hell he was doing here but she was deathly afraid he would get up and leave her and it’d been weeks since he’d been in this apartment and right now she needed him here, right next to her and then maybe she could figure out how to forgive herself and maybe she could finally ask him about the support group because it’d been killing her that she didn’t know about that new part of his life.

“Want to order a pizza?” Her gaze flickered up to him at his question and sure enough Jay was looking right back at her, smiling from ear to ear and it was right then she decided that that grin was her favorite thing in this entire world and maybe, just maybe the two of them could be okay after all.