#i am a fool who didn’t bookmark it well enough

[everytimewetouch-dot-mp3]

i am in hell i am trying to find a scum villain fic but the only line i remember is something like ‘binghe fell. you pushed him.” from sy to sj after the iac

was sy a disciple? sj’s brother? his son? i have No Idea. all i remember is ‘binghe fell. you pushed him.’

[pearlywritings]

The scent of being mine

synopsis: lately your husband has been staying deep in his thoughts as if bothered by something. It's only natural you want to figure it out and help.

pairing and characters: Neuvillette x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), tiny hurt/comfort, draconian features (scenting, growling, implied sharp nails)

word count: 3k+ words

“Beloved, you are brooding. More than you usually are.”

Your comment snaps Neuvillette from his thoughts, long lashes fluttering in surprise. He blinks, primordially beautiful eyes finally focus on the document in front of him, and the man makes a frustrating discovery - he’s been staring at one single line of text for who knows how long.

“Beloved?” Your sweet voice soothes the momentary disappointment, and Iudex’s undivided attention is on you in a second. 

“Yes, my dear? My apologies, I didn’t quite catch what you said. Could you be so kind and repeat, please?”

You lower the book onto your lap, and the man can’t help but relish in the sight of you comfortably lounging on the sofa in his office at the Palais Mermonia, with your shoes neatly put near one of its legs and your legs hidden under the light embroidered plaid. Your back and side sink into multiple pillows, half of which he fetched for you previously from the second sofa, and you look pleasantly relaxed within the walls of his work space, knowing very well that he has no meetings scheduled for the day, and the only people who can enter his office are the melusines with document delivery. And who would be uncomfortable in the presence of their own ‘daughters’?

“I was saying that you are brooding. And It won't be superfluous to note your sour mood too,” you nod in the window’s direction, where the sky is cloudy and gloomy. It has been this way for a couple of days already. “I wasn’t bringing it up since I thought you were simply a bit stressed, but after observing you for some time, I am sure there’s something on your mind that’s been bothering you immensely.”

Neuvillette exhales deeply. How could he ever hide anything from the woman he’s been married to for so long? Not that he ever tried, but subconsciously he sometimes tends to push his own worries aside not to make you fret. Besides, usually it’s not something of a big deal…

Watching the thoughts overtaking his mind again, you grab the bookmark from the armrest and soon the closed book takes its place, at the same time as you push the plaid off. Not caring to put the shoes on, you make a quick way to the grand doors to turn the key left in the hole from the inside. But changing your mind a little, you take a hold of a handle instead and crack the door slightly open, enough for the melusine at the reception to hear you.

“Sedene, sweety, Monsieur Neuvillette is taking a small break.”

You can’t quite see her perking up in her booth, but you know she is aware of what that means.

“Thank you for informing me, Madame. Would you like anything to drink or eat? I could send someone to put an order in whatever restaurant you’d like.”

“Much appreciated, but we’ll be fine.”

You hear her hum in understanding and only then close the door and lock it, turning the key two times.

“Now…” glancing back at your husband, you slowly walk back to your previous place of resting, but making it past the sofa and then around the desk, stopping right at his side. Neuvillette lifts his head, looking at you, and immediately pushes the chair back to make room. Gloved hands take a hold of your waist when you step closer and help you settle down onto his lap. One stays gingerly on your hip, the other is placed upon your knees, as you adjust your position, turning half-around to face him. Mesmerizing eyes with slitted irises stare at you with hardly-veiled adoration, and for a moment it almost fools you into thinking that nothing is wrong. Until he inhales and white eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Neuvi, what’s going on? Is it something I can assist you with?”

The man leans forward, pressing his face to your neck, silky locks of his fringe tickling you when he releases a breath. Your fingers find the back of his head, softly scratching the scalp, making him groan in satisfaction. His own digits flex, and you think you feel the claws digging slightly into your flesh through the dark material of his gloves and the skirt of your own clothes, and you let the dragon be a tiny bit greedy in expressing his affections.

“It’s not something I thought would bother me,” you hear him murmur into your neck. Instead of rushing to ask him to elaborate, you encourage him to take his time with a soft touch, gently following the pointy shape of his ear with your fingertip. The man shivers, but quickly relaxes, leaning into your body a bit more.

“Why logically I understand I’m in the wrong, but on an instinct level it doesn’t give me rest. Remember the celebration Lady Furina threw three days ago?”

Ah, of course you remember. It was a nice little feast the Archon organized to mark another successful staging of hers, to which your husband and you were obviously invited. You can’t, however, recall anything particular that could upset Neuvillette. He wasn’t offered anything to taste he didn't enjoy - had his own supply of fresh water even; he had no cases to worry about, having finished everything rather important beforehand, and he was not engaged in any interactions he could potentially be uncomfortable with. Maybe it was something related to you? However, you can’t think of anything: most of the time you spent conversing with Furina, discussing her next outstanding and grand performance, or dancing with your beloved, happily twirling in his embrace. Sure, other people approached you too, but…oh. Wait, there was something.

“Do you mean the celebration during which that opera performer from Li Yue was flirting with me?”

Immediately his body tenses and a low sound, kind of sounding like a growl, escapes his strained throat. He quickly composes himself though, once you drop your hand from his head to his back, drawing circles there.

“...I apologize for that.”

“Please don’t, I don’t mind a bit of jealousy,” you assure him, and the man finally leans back, looking at you with those fairytale eyes.

“You think it was jealousy?”

“Well, maybe right now it was just a bit of frustration, but back then I think it was jealousy,” Neuvilette hums, lowering his gaze, processing the information. You meanwhile decide to ask more. “But what sparked it? You know I am yours and that no human will ever be able to steal me from you.”

“Ah, my love, I am fully aware of that,” gloved palm leaves your knee and cups your cheek instead. “I know all that, but…but what I felt is hard to explain in words.”

“Try,” you encourage, turning your head and kissing his palm, “I’ll get it.”

“Alright,” with a sigh he lets his fingertips outline the contour of your jaw and travel down the side of your neck, sending a pleasurable sensation down your back. “I suppose I should start with what happened before, when we were still back home. You looked so ravishing and regal - a true gem to an eye, - and I just couldn’t help but let some of my scent linger on you.”

Which is absolutely fine, you love doing the same for him.

“Keeping that in mind I felt all those strange emotions wringing my heart, as he was giving you compliments, especially about the scent, not realizing it’s mine. And then more and more.”

As he doesn’t find what more to say, you stare at him, trying to analyze the information. After a couple of minutes of silence, during which you absent-mindedly braided a little braid out of his straight lock, you decide to summarize.

“So… If I understood you correctly, it felt upsetting that, basically, he caught the whiff of you on me, yet didn’t stop his attempts to hit on me. Am I right?”

“Exactly,” a small smile graces his pale lips, and Iudex presses a delicate kiss to your shoulder. “I could not have worded it better.”

“Hmm… Now I see why you are torn. It is annoying for sure, but it’s not like an ordinary human could know of draconian peculiar properties.”

He nods, thumbing at the pulse point on your neck, staring a little bit past you. His state is saddening, really, even though a tiny slither of pride infiltrates your heart - knowing your husband wants the world to know you are his as much as you want to claim the same about him… Would’ve made you purr if you were a feline.

You shiver when Neuvillette brings his face close again, soft lips pressing to the side of your neck.

“You are so dear to me, my love…” he breathes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat, voice full of unbridled devotion, something not many can hear from this stoic man throughout their whole life. “There are days when I can’t bear the thought of you not being close to me, I overcome with desire to be in your presence, to hold you in my arms, to listen to your divine voice… When you call my name, I want to bring everything I have to your feet.”

“But you already do so,” you cup his cheeks, kissing his forehead. “You don’t have to say all of it - you sound like you are apologizing, like you are trying to excuse your natural behavior. Don’t do it, please. You are so precious to me, I’d be damned if I ever felt unnerved by something like this.”

“I apologize if it sounded like this,” he sighs, long lashes flattering close, when you proceed to kiss over his eyelids. “I just meant to express how thankful I am that you chose me.”

“Oh, Neuvi,” you chuckle, kissing the bridge of his nose and when the tip of it. “I adore when you are so affectionate in private. As for the public display, if we return to the topic of scent… I think I could figure something out for the both of us. If you trust my judgment, that is.”

“How can I not?” Those eyes are staring back at you, bottomless pools swirling with wonder and elation. “Only if you truly want this.”

“I do,” your lips hover dangerously close to his. “And I will find the way.”

Soft thuds rhythmically yet quite leisurely cut through the lofty noises of the Court of Fountaine, catching the attention of the passersby. One hit of an elegant cane against the pavement equals two steps of yours, as you and your husband walk through the main square of the city. Your appearance - no matter together or by yourself - always gathers attention, and you could bet that if Fontaine didn’t have a law prohibiting photography of executives without their permission, your picture would’ve adorned tomorrow’s copy of The Steambird.

And you are a sight to behold - your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, gloves matching perfectly his today’s cravat of choice, jewelry specifically picked to mirror the beauty of their wearer’s partner, clothes tailored to clearly be a ‘couple outfit’... It is pretty evident that this outing is planned, if the Iudex’s absence from the Palais Mermonia didn’t serve as a clue.

You hold no conversation, rather relishing in the warm rays of sunlight (you did though tease Neuvillette upon stepping outside that his mood seemed to improve). Despite looking like it’s you who is clutching onto the man and him leading you somewhere, it’s completely vice versa. Your beloved has absolutely no idea what kind of ‘surprise’ he is soon to experience, but your previous words keep his mind at rest - you found a solution for his concern.

As a result, his high spirits are pretty apparent to the people who know him well. Or the melusines, if one is being accurate, who approach you two along the way with warm words of greetings and cute waves of their hands, which brightens Neuvillette’s features more evidently.

“I think we should soon visit the Merusea Village,” you suggest after bidding goodbye to Tristane. “And do a little gathering for our girls who work here, in the city. I am sure they have many stories to share with us.”

“I would really like that,” Neuvillette's smile is a heart-warming sight. You can only hope that you’ll get to see it more after today. “How about we start planning tomorrow after work?”

“That would be wonderful! I can’t wait to write an invitation to every single one. And to the village too.”

“Then it’s on you as always,” he agrees without objection, leaning a little to subtly kiss your temple when you turn the corner. Letting out a soft chuckle, you give him a fond look, and then focusing back on the street.

It’s barely a couple of minutes later when your partner sees you perk up. Trying to pinpoint what caught your eye, the man scans the signboards of the shops and boutiques lining up at both sides of yours. Jewelry? No, he doesn’t think so - you adorn each other with fine gemstones regularly. Clothes? Doubtful, given you’ve just received a couple of new outfits a week before. Maybe it’s-

You disturb these wandering thoughts, tugging on his elbow to catch his attention. Looking at you and then following the direction of your raised hand, Neuvillette lifts his eyes to read the signboard above the shop you’ve stopped in front of.

“Palais des parfums”

“So,” you start when he gives you a questioning look, “it’s a perfumery, yes. And my suggestion is the following - let’s choose a scent we could wear together. Before you get concerned about it becoming too popular, because we will use it, this shop has an option of creating something personal. We can just pay a little more to make it exclusive.”

“The same…scent?” Your husband hums, touching his chin in thought. This actually sounds quite good - created by a human master, it is to be perceived by humans, and by utilizing one fragrance on you both it will be made clear that the two of you are spouses. Not to mention the newspaper that will spread the fact for others to know. “My dear, that’s a marvelous idea.”

“Really?” A wide smile lifts the corners of your lips.

“Really. I like it a lot,” he assures you with a smile of his own. “And I do favor the possibility of making perfume specifically for us. How did you know though, my love?”

“Have done my research. And already spoke to the vendor before. Furthermore, I think we can order the creation of two perfumes. One for every day, and one for grand events where our presence is required.”

“I see you’ve done your research indeed,” his words are soft and gaze is full of admiration. It’s so hard to resist and not kiss him right in the middle of the street, yet let your fingertips gently scratch his forearm.

“I promised my husband a solution, didn’t I? Couldn’t disappoint you.”

“You can never disappoint me, if anything you astonish me every single day of our lives. Shall we get inside?”

“We shall. Just please, beware, there are a lot of fragrances mixed in the air. I am afraid your nose will be assaulted just like mine was.”

“I can bear with it, beloved. I would be a coward of a husband, if I turned back after the amazing work my wife did,” your cheeks heat up at his praise and you lightly dig your covered nails into his arm.

“Oh, stop it, no need to be so sweet, I already understood your appreciation for this,” your eyes motion to his hand resting on the hilt of the cane and fingers joyfully tapping against the wood. With a barely audible chuckle, the man unhooks your arms, wrapping his around your waist, and steps forward, reaching for the handle.

A soft chime caresses his ears, as the maddening mix of scents hits him right in the nose. Glancing to the side to check on you, he notices how you instantly switch to breathing through your mouth and follows your example. It, thankfully, gets better.

The shop owner is not hard to find, a sweet lady in her late 50’s welcomes you with a glint in her eyes upon recognizing you, which soon is replaced by the look of surprise when she sees your companion.

“Good afternoon, Monsieur, Madame, how can I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs Deschamps,” you greet her with a smile, “I came by two days ago, remember?”

“Yes, yes, how could I forget our dear Madame? You were curious about my perfumes and if I do personal orders.”

“Right! This is my husband,” you motion to the man still courteously holding your waist, who bows in greeting.

“Pleasure to be meeting you.”

“O-oh! How could I not know you and your husband? Your wedding was the event of the century!”

“Haha, you flatter us,” you chuckle merrily, covering your mouth. “We are here to put in an order. We’d love to buy a newly crafted perfume. However, we have a couple of conditions…”

It’s almost evening when the doorbells chime again, marking your departure. Once again walking side by side and with arms linked, Neuvillette feels an almost primordial satisfaction. These hours spent in that stuffy, smelly box of a shop will be absolutely worth it when your order is complete. While he does feel the inevitable approach of a runny nose after test-smelling way too many fragrances, and it doesn’t feel like he left work today at all, as he was handling legal documents relied to the exclusivity of the product, he doesn’t regret a single mora spent and to be spent in the future for this.

Soft thuds once again cut through the sounds of the city, and they are gently lulling your mind. Maybe your head hurts just a little bit, but it pales in comparison to the invested state of your husband and how much evident fun he had in meticulously choosing the right aromatic notes to your future shared scent.

You can’t wait to help him apply it every single morning to come and get the same treatment in return. This is going to be a new, hopefully a long-staying option to your usual scenting routine.

taglist: @meimeimeirin

[taintedevesayori]

Sayo's Route: Dark 03

Sayo's Route Masterlist

Monologue

I tried to convince Subaru to keep what happened between us and Kou in the library a secret.  I still didn’t want a babysitter, but I definitely didn’t want Reiji to give me a smug I told you so.  Everything I said fell on deaf ears, though, and the next day, Subaru spilled what had happened in front of everyone. 

Sayo: Aw, come on! Did you really have to tell everyone?

Reiji: Of course he was required to tell us. You were directly sought out by one of them again. Now you have all the proof you need. We can say for certain that they are after you.

Sayo: I still don’t think a babysitter is necessary…

Ayato: Oh yeah? What would you have done if Subaru wasn’t there, huh? 

Sayo: Exactly what I did even with him there. Walked out. 

Subaru: And I told you already that you’re lucky he just let you leave!

Sayo: Haah…yeah, yeah…

Reiji: You are far too reckless. Laito, now that we know for sure, you are to make extra sure they don’t get their hands on her. No fooling around. 

Laito: Of course~ The only fooling around I’ll do is with Sayo-chan~

-Sayo rolls her eyes as she gets up from the couch and leaves the living room. It is silent for a moment

Reiji: Laito, I will let the situation be for now, but if it gets worse to the point her safety is at risk, Subaru will take over. Is that clear?

-Laito resists the urge to let his displeasure show on his face

Laito: Don’t worry so much, Reiji. 

-Laito leaves the room

-A little over an hour later, Sayo is reading in her room

*knock knock*

-Sayo glances up at the door, placing her bookmark in the book

Sayo: Come in.

-The door opens, and Laito enters her room

Laito: Sayo-chan~ I’ve brought ice cream for us to eat!

-Laito holds out two small cups of vanilla ice cream

(Ice cream…? Since when does he bring me anything? What’s he up to…?

Sayo: And somehow I’m doubting your motives here…

Laito: I’m hurt~ This is a peace offering. I even got two so that you wouldn’t have to share with me, you know?

-She eyes it with suspicion for a moment longer but there doesn’t appear to be anything wrong. Laito holds a cup out for her, so she takes it

Sayo: Thanks, I guess…What brought this on? 

Laito: I don’t want you to stay mad at me, Sayo-chan. You can’t deny it anymore, those non purebloods are after you and I’m the one who is watching over you. We’ll be spending lots of time together, so we should get along, right~?

Sayo: Haah…I suppose…I’m a little surprised you’re making the effort. 

Laito: You’re so cruel, Sayo-chan~ I do care, you know? 

-Laito sits on Sayo’s bed with her as the two eat the ice cream

Sayo: About certain things, maybe. I didn’t know that extended to me in general.

Laito: Ouch…you really don’t hold your punches.

Sayo: Fufu…it’s a bad habit of mine. 

Laito: I kind of like it, you know~? 

Sayo: Is that so? Well, I’ve always known you were strange. 

Laito: You think I would have to be strange to like you, Sayo-chan?

Sayo: Well, I’m not exactly bright and social and as you all like to say, I’m rather difficult…fufu

Laito: Nfu…I can’t deny that, but that’s part of your charm, you know~?

-Sayo rolls her eyes with a small smile

Sayo: Sure it is. 

Laito: I’m being serious.

Sayo: Fufu…I would be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t a womanizer, Laito.

-Sayo moves to put her empty cup on her nightstand. Her cardigan shifts in the process, revealing Subaru’s bite mark. Laito’s eyes widen

Laito: Sayo-chan…whose bite mark is that?

Sayo: Subaru’s. It was repayment for yesterday. 

-The room is filled with an uncomfortable silence for a moment

Laito: I see how it is, Sayo-chan…You left me yesterday because you wanted attention from Subaru-kun. I guess I’m just not enough for you, hm? Or am I not giving you what you want? 

-Sayo stares at him, completely baffled

Sayo: Laito, what are you-?

Laito: I have an idea…the sweet taste of vanilla ice cream leftover on your lips…it would pair so nicely with your blood, don’t you think~?

Sayo: Laito-!

-Laito grabs her, forcefully kissing her. His fangs knick her bottom lip, drawing blood

(How dare he…! What the hell is he thinking?!)

Laito: Nn…Mm…You’re so sweet, Sayo-chan~

-Sayo slaps him across the cheek. He stares in shock

Sayo: You just had to go and ruin it!

-She storms out of her room, leaving him alone. He lifts a hand to his cheek. Normally their fights didn’t get to him…but he found this actually stung

Laito: That means…there was something to ruin…doesn’t it…?

Monologue

By the time I stopped to think, I found myself in the garden.  I couldn’t stop myself from muttering “that idiot” over and over again as I paced around.  I was admittedly more angry than I thought I would be.  We had been having a normal conversation. It was simple, but actually kinda pleasant for him. But then it all went to shit the second he saw Subaru’s bite mark.  Was he jealous? It seemed that way but the idea was ridiculous.  So much for getting along…

[stanfordsweater]

Do you have any thoughts (or fic recs tbh) on non-hunter au wincest (either universes we’ve seen in show like the djinn dream or not). Like if/how it could work if it’s missing a lot of what would foster that good ol’ codependency

i do have some recs! i am a stick in the mud about the whole thing because i, much like you say, need sam and dean to be logically insane for each other-- part of why i like what they did with the djinn episode is that we see a sam and dean who are "normal brothers," and it's horrific ( ...at least to me!)

so, it’s an interesting thing to tackle in a normal au-- i’ve seen people go for john being cartoonishly abusive in order to push the boys together, or having mary still die and john go off the rails so sam and dean get raised in the system, or even just skip over any justification and have them be codependent because that’s what we like, here, and why should they have to make it make sense-- all of those options are fine and good and can be fun handled well! one thing i will say is that if written well, i am totally fine buying the codependency someone is selling to me. it’s my favourite food 🥺 but what i love more is the hows and the whys. it isn’t out of the realm of possibility for a normal sam and dean to end up similarly obsessed, even though in canon so much of their relationship comes from that isolation and fear growing up together, because people do develop intense, codependent relationships with family irl. in order to come close to the level in canon, though, there needs to be some catalyst. i’d be very, very interested in a fic where they grow up in a cult, because that’s one way they could grow so entwined without anything supernatural; john being a doomsday prepper would work too, and i have seen that done (none that stuck out to me enough to bookmark, though, let me know if you have any recs 👁️)

all that being said, here’s a few normal au recs i have for you!

two percent by sammyststanford: this is a soulmate au, which is a neat way to approach it. i loved how uncomfortable the boys are-- it does a great job demonstrating why our sam and dean are strange, being so in step with each other. these boys have had a mostly happy life, but they’re drawn together by a soulmate connection that stands in for the canon life-or-death string of fate between them. very interesting! something fun is the way that sam and dean almost feel like they’re dating in this one, like they’re two kids fooling around under the bleachers. it’s never a vibe i can see in canon-based fic, but it works for these two. (underage cw)

hold on to another plan by likewinning: i think i’ve recced this five or six times at this point, and i will CONTINUE TO DO SO because i love it. it’s my bible for normal aus: sam and dean feel real and whole but are clearly distinct from their canon selves, and you can see exactly how they’ve got to be where they are. another thing i love about it is the ways that this version of the boys fail to grasp what our sam and dean have, that us against the world mentality that allows their absurd closeness to blossom. this sam has access to college and parents who are proud of him for going, who have a college fund they didn’t spend on ammo; this dean has a relationship with mary, and access to belonging and a job he’s damn good at. reading it and observing where they differ from canon!boys is fascinating. (underage cw again, i need to find some with adult sam and dean 🤔)

[stardusttrashed]

Lovestruck (Finale)

Part 4

Pairing: Professor Erwin x Fem! Reader, Connie x Sasha

Word Count: 2K

A/N: A huge thanks to everyone who stuck around for this series and showed it some love. also, if you haven't already go check out the playlist I made that gives professor Erwin vibes :)

“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Smith,” you squeaked as you squeezed past the door into the old familiar room. “Hope you didn’t haveta wait too long,” you smiled apologetically.

Erwin turned around, looking up from the whiteboard he was writing away on. He smiled handsomely, quietly sighing in relief, “actually, you’re right on time as usual.” He closed the distance between you before placing a kiss on your forehead. “How much’d you spend? I’ll pay you back,” he reassured you as he led you towards his desk.

“You can pay me back by coming to movie night,” you purred, quickly throwing the idea out there as you took a seat on his desk. You rummaged through the plastic bag, taking out two to-go boxes as Erwin rolled his desk chair over. “You’ve been officially invited by Thing One and Thing Two. And they’ll probably lose their shit if I show up without you.”

“Sasha and Connie, right?” he confirmed. You hummed in response. Erwin tensed up momentarily once he saw you sitting on his desk, sinful thoughts running rampant in his mind. He was curious how much of a good girl you’d be for him. Or if you’d let him eat something else for lunch. It didn’t make it any better that you still had his shirt on. A blush painted his cheeks as he pushed the thoughts down, plopping in his seat and scooting closer until he was sitting between your legs, “I’d love to, darling.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you, occasionally broken by strings of giggles as you stuffed your faces with the Chinese food you brought. You took turns feeding spoonfuls of each other's food to the other, goofy, uncontrollable, lovestruck smiles printed on your faces. There was so much you both wanted to say to each other, wanting to ask about the other’s day, or ask trivial things, or address what you were. But neither could muster the courage to break the moment. So instead, you spoke through lingering touches and longing gazes.

“Erwin,” a familiar voice said dryly, followed by the footsteps of them entering the room. “Found your sandwich in the fridge in the staff room.” Erwin’s eyes went wide, more surprised about being caught than the actual sandwich. “Figured I’d bring it before you starve.”

You sent Erwin a playfully threatening glare, “you had food?! I- you little,” you quickly hissed, stopping short as Erwin apologetically squeezed your thigh.

Erwin chuckled embarrassedly, removing the hand on your thigh to scratch the back of his neck. “I must’ve forgot.” He looked back and forth between you and Levi, both of you looking back at him with unconvinced expressions. He was busted for sure.

“Right,” Levi drawled out as his eyes scanned the desk, taking in the to-go boxes and how close you and Erwin were sitting. “At least you’re not starving. And glad to see the two of you finally grew a pair and made things official.”

“W-well,” you stuttered, to no avail. Levi was already walking out of the room, muttering something about how you should at least lock the door. Gradually, your shock shifted into overconfidence. “Missed me that much, huh? Pretty lame excuse if you ask me.”

“Shouldn’t be much of a surprise, darling,” Erwin cooed, his blue eyes practically filled with hearts. It felt like butterflies were coursing throughout his entire body as you leaned down to kiss him. It was short and sweet, just a lingering peck, yet you left him breathless. “Y/n, I- um.” He could feel the tips of his ears growing uncomfortably warm. Your soft giggles weren’t helping either. “Hold on.”

You watched as Erwin struggled to hold onto his cool. It was still weird, no matter how many times you saw him grow flustered. He was the gorgeous giant of a man that left men and women alike flustered, yourself included. Yet, you always seemed to be the one to turn the tables without doing anything but being yourself. He wasn’t some Greek God, okay, well looks-wise, yes. And personality-wise. Okay, maybe he was a Greek god, but that didn’t stop him from being a friendly giant or a big cinnamon roll around you.

“I, uh,” he quickly glanced up at you before returning his focus to the journal he pulled out of his desk drawer. “I got you this,” he held the small journal out to you.

You gingerly took it from him. A thin gold rope chain tucked away in the journal as a bookmark tapped your hand as it swayed from the movement. You prayed he couldn’t see the way your cheeks grew warm as you opened the journal to the page the chain rested against. In the center of the lined paper lay a key strung on the chain. The key wasn’t anything fancy, just a plain house key that covered a neatly written note. You glanced up at Erwin momentarily before moving aside the key to read the note aloud. “I fell in love with her courage, her sincerity, and her flaming self-respect. And it’s these things I’d believe in, even if the whole world indulged in wild suspicions that she wasn’t all she should be. I love her, and it is the beginning of everything. F. Scott Fitzgerald,” you read, your throat growing tighter with every word.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m rushing anything,” Erwin quickly spoke up once you finished reading. “I just, well, I figured you could use my place as a place to write and get some inspiration. I don’t want to pressure you, though. This can be completely platonic, and we can ignore-.”

You set the journal aside and stopped his nervous rambling with a kiss. Your lips moved lazily against each other, savoring everything from the moment to the taste of one another. Time seemed to slow as you lost yourself in the softness of his lips and the warmth of his hands on your hips. You could feel him surrendering to you, giving you everything he could until he was left with nothing, not even a breath… until you reluctantly pulled away. You rested your forehead on his, your eyebrows knitted together as you tried to catch your breath enough to say something.

“And for a moment, I thought I loved him,” you breathed, altering the quote slightly to fit the situation more. Your breath fanned across his lips, giving him visible chills as you continued, “but I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires.”

“Committing Great Gatsby quotes to memory, are we,” Erwin teased, his voice husky as he finally managed to catch his breath.

“Only the most beautiful ones that’ll impress my professors, er, used to be professors.”

“Consider the job done then.” Erwin looked at you like you were the only one, not just now, but forever. His ocean eyes shone like he was looking at the sun, and in a way, he was. You always were a star that he couldn’t help but gravitate to. He lost you for a while, but just like the planets orbiting around the sun, he managed to find his way back to your warmth.

You reached out and pushed a stray hair back into place, “not polite to stare, baby. Even if ya look cute doing it.”

“Dance with me,” Erwin blurted. He needed to hold you, to bask in your warmth. He wanted to do what he should’ve last night, holding you close as you swayed to music that could better articulate the feelings he has for you.

“What?”

Erwin chuckled and shrugged, “dance with me, and I’ll stop.” He stood up with a devilish grin on his face. “Just one dance?”

“Erwin, I don’ think this is the place-” you were cut off by Erwin scooping you up into his strong arms bridal style. You held onto him despite feeling utterly safe as he maneuvered his way out of the classroom. “Baby, where are you taking me?” you squealed with childlike giddy.

“To a place we can dance,” Erwin looked down at you with a wicked smile as he walked out of the building with you still cradled close to his chest. The soft drizzle of rain welcomed the both of you, which made you squeal and hurriedly attempt to cover your head.

“Erwin Smith, take me back inside before I kick your ass!”

“No, can do; you said we couldn’t dance in the classroom.” He sent a kind smile to the people passing by. “Besides, as sweet and sugary as you are, you won’t melt.”

“You don’t know that.” You smacked your hand against his chest, “I hate you right now.” The soft drizzle was gradually becoming a steady stream of droplets that made any efforts to protect your hair futile. With a huff, you gave up, allowing the rain to return your hair to its natural state gradually. “Happy now?”

Erwin kissed the tip of your nose before gently setting you back on your feet underneath a large canopy tree. The twinkle of mischief in his eyes was a stark contrast to the soft apologies that tumbled from his mouth. “I promise, messing up your hair was not part of the plan.” His eyes flitted up to your curling hair, a proud smile forming on his face, “I was right, though. You look absolutely amazing, darling.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping it’d distract from the bashful smile tugging on your lips. “One dance,” you held up a finger for emphasis. “That’s it.”

“Just the one,” he gently pressed his lips against yours. “Unless you beg for more.” His laugh rumbled in his chest like quiet thunder as you playfully swatted his arm.

“Well, Mr. DJ, what’re gonna dance to?”

“No idea,” Erwin admitted with a bashful smile, looking up from his phone. “Just wanted an excuse to hold you close.” The soft, familiar strumming of a guitar filled the air before he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

With an outstretched hand, he looked at you with such genuine adoration that for a second, you forgot how to breathe. You slipped your hand into his, allowing him to guide your hands towards his shoulders. It felt silly, dancing in the middle of campus in the rain, and at the same time, it felt so surreal, like you two were straight out of a book.

“Only fools rush in,” Erwin quietly sang as he slid his hands around your hips. “But I can’t help fallin’ in love with you.” He had a smooth, calming singing voice like he was born to be a crooner. He didn’t sing around others often, not sober at least, but something about you made him feel like it was the right thing to do at this moment. Every word that fell from his lips was for you, and you only as you both sway in time with the music. He was yours, and the look in your eyes told him you were his.

You pressed yourself closer to him, the rest of the world slipping away. He was too warm, made you feel too secure for it to be reality. And yet, here he was, the man you secretly fell for years ago was in your arms singing Can’t Help Falling in Love to you. The increasing heaviness of the rain or people staring didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except him.

“I-,” you jumped at the sound of your ringtone, sending you plummeting back to reality with wide eyes. “S-sorry, I gotta,” you trailed off sheepishly as you pulled your phone out of your pocket before accepting the facetime call.

Erwin paused the music for you, trying to stay as quiet as possible as he played with your newly formed curls. It was hard for him to fight back the awestruck look on his face as your hair seemed to grow curlier by the second.

“Did you do it? Please tell me you did? I’ll do it for you,” Sasha bombarded you once you answered. She paused with wide eyes at the sound of Erwin’s amused chuckle. “Oh, my- is that him? Hi, Erwinie!”

“Wait, she did it?” You could hear Connie yell from somewhere offscreen. “Ha! You owe me twenty!”

You smiled apologetically at Erwin, who seemed quite amused with the situation. “Hi, Sasha,” Erwin cut in, laughing at the way she swooned after he said her name. “If we’re being technical, I was the one who did it.”

“Ha! I only owe you ten,” she exclaimed, sending Connie a face before focusing back on you and Erwin. “She invited you to movie night, right?”

“About that, why don’t you two come over to my place? I’ll even cook.”

“Careful before I steal him from you,” Sasha laughed. She was practically drooling already at the thought of free food.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but there’s only one girl for me.” He looked down at you with a confident smile, “she’s all I want and need.”

“What about guys?”

“Ew, you two are so cute it’s gross,” Sasha talked over Connie. “Get off my phone before ya make me sick.”

“Gladly,” you mused, giggles bubbling in your chest. “See y’all later.” You hung up before they could say anything else and turned your focus to Erwin. “I feel the same way, just so you know. Think you’re it for me.”

“I sure hope so cause I don’t plan on losing you again.”

[sillysorcerer]

A small flame dances in front of the three guards, the light dancing across their faces.

"It, it's a phantom. it has to be!"

A young, frail knight shakes in his armor. It is ill-fitting, and the three are clearly poorly funded.

"Shut up! it's the witch's trick. It has to be. She's around here somewhere," the large guard corrects his companion. He has a flat, bold face.

"What if it's a fae? or- or a sprite," the first guard asks. The larger guard inches closer to the flame, studying it. The heat is all too real on his face, and it still dances on the wind, hovering in front of him, taunting him. He is about to grab it when the small guard causes him to jump.

"It's a fairy! We're all going to be cursed just looking at it!"

"It's not! Shut up," he snaps back.

"What is it then," the third guard asks. "He might have a point. Fire doesn't just fly."

"F-fine. You have a point." The bulky guard backs away. "Let's just go. She can't have gone far." The three guards cower away, down the road.

The mage known as Rose Lalonde fades slowly back into view, casting off her invisibility now that her pusuers were gone. Fire plays around her fingertips.

Rose leans against the tree on her back. She sits on a waist-high stone wall, built to protect travelers along the road. It stretches further than anyone can see. Long ago it was clean and white, but now it is dusty and grey with time, even as the bright sun shines on it.

Rose extinguishes the flame with a snap of her fingers and heaves a long sigh. Her pointy hat flops slightly, matching her bored sideways glance. She only looks up after noticing the fanged face staring at her, hanging upsidedown from the tree. Whoever it is decended unnaturally quietly, but Rose refuses to give up any emotion.

"You don't seem very worried about the guards," the stranger smirks, grinning ear to ear. Her long black hair floats down a foot or so, a stark contrast to Rose's pale blonde hair. The woman's fangs poke ominously from her mouth.

"Please, these guards couldn't catch their own shadow," Rose responds. She meets the creatures eyes, and stares into a deep green abyss, darker than night.

"You don't seem very scared, human."

"That's probably because I'm not very scared," she replies, leaning back.

"You don't know who I am?"

"You mean you aren't a very strange dryad?"

The stranger is stuck for a moment, without an answer. Her guest laughs, and disolves into thick, black smoke, making the shade as dark as a moonless night. The blackness congeals into a very tall woman, her head resting just below the taller branches. She wears old, distinguished clothing, fitting some sort of noble. A large corset hugs her frame, and the dress under it is tight and ornate.

"Is this more satisfactory for you, before I drink you dry," The vampire asks.

"Much," is the only word Rose Lalonde offers. She still hasn't budged, and at this point, the vampire's curiosity is piqued.

"You are a wanted criminal are you," she asks, "Hiding from the silly guards?"

"It depends on who you ask. Everybody seems interested in the Lady Grimme," she gestures to herself with a flourish of her wrist.

"You must be pursued as well. You didn't show yourself until they left." Rose leaves the vampire with another charming smirk.

"Astute, little wizard-" Rose cuts her off with a sharp

"I am *not* a wizard." The vampire takes a step back, surprised by the sudden expression shown by the mage.

"Struck a nerve, have I, wizard?" She leans in close to rub it in.

"What makes you so different?"

"Everything. They dress like gaudy tyrants from a planet of harlequins, throwing their filthy beards around like unshowered would-be gods. They think magic can be tamed, controlled, and auctioned off. They have no respect for the danger sorcery can create. They believe the world is there to serve nothing other than their inflated intellects. They are fools pretending to be powerful."

"A deep nerve it seems," the vampire laughs. "I'll certainly enjoy draining it," she toys.

"That still doesn't explain why you are wanted."

"The wizards got what they deserved," Rose responds, ignoring the tall brooding woman's teases.

"Don't be so reticent, dear Lady Grimme." The fanged creature sits on the air, seemingly oblivious of gravity.

"Please do tell. Give me a taste of your life." Rose is silent, still smirking at the vampire. The tiny mage thinks she is the one in control here. The vampire is only playing with her, for now. Would they fight, Rose would be hopelessly outmatched by the tall, thin, creature of the night.

"You expect a lot from me when you haven't even told me your name."

"Ah, but names have power, don't you know, Rose Lalonde?" Rose doesn't move.

"Where did you get that name?" Rose feigns concern. She sits perfectly still, watching her fanged guest.

"We both have our secrets."

"But only one of us are any good at hiding them," Rose retorts. Behind her smirk is the ever so subtle presence of superiority.

"Hahahaha!," The black haired vampire has never seen such a bold face presented to her. She can't decide if she hates it, or enjoys it.

"You're a bold one, mage. No one has had such nerve to play games with me." The vampire licks her fangs, staring at this tiny mortal before her feast.

"Unlike the wizards, I can back up my prowess."

"Watch your choice of words, mortal. You can't move from my charm," she teases.

"And you have no way of hurting me even if you wanted to." The black-veiled vampire stands up to loom over Rose, growing closer as they continue their discourse. Rose is quite aware.

"Are you willing to bet on that?" The vampire freezes. Why is this puny mage so confident? She's fallen for every trap laid before her. Why does she still seem so smug? Suddenly, the tall vampire isn't so sure. She smiles, settling on a test for the human.

"Those charmed by my presence are only able to lie." She grins, waiting to see Rose's response.

"Clever. Either I play along, or reveal I am unaffected. And I assume you'll kill me if I don't, so I may as well." The little witch catches on fast, the vampire thinks. At least her meal is a smart one.

"Your death will be more fun this way, you'll see. So, let's begin. What are you really wanted for?"

"Wanton destruction of the kingdom, study of the dark arts, kidnapping, brainwashing, attempted treason, murder, arson, and tax evasion," Rose lists mindlessly off the top of her head as her eyes roll. She doesn't even try to hide her sarcasm. She's issuing a bet, a verbal puzzle, and it hasn't gone unnoticed.

"What of that was the truth," her fanged company frowns. No human could do so much.

"All of it." Rose gives that infuriating smirk again. It is a lie, but not one she can learn anything from. The vampire growls. Moments ago this wizard seemed worried about pitiful humans in thin metal plates, playing guard. Why now does she act so defiant?

"Would you call yourself powerful?"

"Only sometimes," Rose responds. It's impossible to garner the truth from her claims. Rose knows this. It's clear from her piercing, amethyst eyes, and that damned smug smile.

"Are you having fun with this," the vampire asks.

"I've never had this much fun." She responds, leaving loopholes like a genie.

"Will you tell me anything?"

"I'll tell you anything you ask," Rose teases.

"Where are you from?"

"Nowhere in particular." Rose seems to be enjoying this far too much.

"Why aren't you worried?!"

"My mother told me to be a brave girl." The vampire laughs for only a second. It fuels back into her growing anger.

"Why did you act like you could beat me?"

"I was stupid." The vampire scowls, how DARE she LIE about that. She IS a fool for challenging me, the creature thinks.

"Lie or not, I'm getting hungry. Do you have any last words?"

"I do not."

"So bold. What will save you when I bleed you dry?"

"Vodka will save me." Rose has to try not to laugh at her own joke.

"Do you fear me?!?"

"Actually, I enjoy this talk." The vampire raises a claw, only a foot from Rose's face. Then she stops.

This smile is different. There is sincerity in Rose's face. Then she stands and bows... The vampire shifts, standing straight. In an instant, the tension fades, bewilderment taking it's place.

"How did you escape my charm? How are you not enthralled, frozen?" The vampire stoops slightly, studying the human so below her.

"Imagine your surprise when you find out." The tallest female looks irritated again.

"Do you ever tire of speaking in riddles?" The vampire is getting tired of waiting. As if Rose can sense her impatience, she responds.

"Fine. ask me anything. I will give you an honest answer." The vampire studies her, thinking hard. This question will end her little game.

"Why are you still here?"

"I wanted to see you in person." The vampire is frozen. No one, not a single human in ten centuries has ever been this bold in front of such an ancient and powerful being. who *is* she? The creature's thoughts are interrupted by a sudden gust of wind. A massive, four-eyed black dragon lands beside the tree. Rose climbs atop it's back.

"Come Mutini, I think our guest has had enough for today." How dare she! The vampire lunges, but it is too late. The massive dragon has taken off.

The vampire stands, still reeling from the interaction she's just had with this so called Lady Grimme. She was confused at the conflicting information, but more infuriated that her meal was interrupted. Good food doesn't run away. She will find Rose again, and when she does-

the vampire's thoughts are interrupted. She kneels, and picks up a book the witch must have dropped. What a fool.

It takes the vampire a minute to process what she sees. It is the Grimoire of the Zoologically Dubious, written by Abdul Alhazred. The dark arts- was this witch serious when she said she studied the dark arts? There is a bookmark inside, and the vampire opens the book to the marked page. Inside is an illustration of her own face. Kanaya Maryam, the Rainbow Drinker. Listed is her age, powers, and very nature, indiscernable to all but the most foolish humans who dare translate it's ancient text. Below it all, is the mage's signature, "RL".

The vampire realises Rose left this behind on purpose. She had everything planned the second they met, she may even have planned their meeting. She was prepared for every charm, every game, and for her eventual escape. Every answer was planned, every statement calculated, and every move was thought ahead of time. And the vampire fell for it.

She looks up at the fleeting shadow in the air. Never in her entire unnatual life had she met someone quite like Rose Lalonde. But now, she was thirsty for more.

@rosemarymonth2021 Here is my story for the Fantasy prompt

[ghoste-catte]

multiples of 3 ✌🏼-sgmdrcklee

@sagemoderocklee you’re really trying to kill me lol

This got long as heck so I’m throwing it behind a cut. Read on for answers and fic recs! (Mostly the fic recs)

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

This is a tough one to answer for me generally because I tend to spit words onto the page and once I have written them I no longer remember writing them. And 2020 has stretched on so long that as I’m looking at some of the stuff I wrote in the beginning of this year, I hardly remember what’s even in it. I think at one point someone (@goblin-draws maybe?) mentioned a line in Sleeptalk with Me where the innkeeper calls Kankuro “chubby boy”, and I was like “Oh ... did I write that? Yeah, sounds like something I’d have someone say to Kankuro ...” 

It might be easier to talk about this in other terms. One of the scenes I worked the hardest on this year was the fight scene in Chapter 3 of Skeleton Key. The original draft of the scene was a lot shorter, and a lot of the backstory for Misaki’s revenge quest was elided. The scene as originally written was clunky, confusing, and as my lovely wife/beta put it sounded “like a Naruto villain” was doing the dialogue, when previously she’d found Misaki sinister and intriguing. Which wasn’t what I wanted. I basically entirely overhauled the scene and re-wrote it several times. I wouldn’t call it a ‘favorite’ scene (I hate writing fight scenes generally; having chosen to immerse myself in a fandom about ninja where much of the drama comes from battle is my eternal regret), but it is a scene that I put a lot of effort into, and I’m moderately satisfied with the improved product that resulted.  

6. least popular fic this year

By far my least popular fic by kudos ever is Pitch Perfect. Which makes complete sense to me. It’s a fic where I’ve written 2 characters who are men in canon as cis women, which pushes a lot of uncomfortable buttons for a lot of people. It contains F/F smut, which is something that a lot of people who choose to read GaaLee probably aren’t out there looking for. And people comment and kudos less on smutfics, I assume because they don’t want their username attached to porn or because they’re embarrassed (which I totally get, no shame there). It’s a modern AU with a sports twist, and AUs are often less popular than canonverse in my experience. I will say though that it has a surprisingly high number of private bookmarks compared to other fics with comparable hit and kudos counts. So I assume people are just a bit more shy because the premise is so ‘out there’. I will say as far as my fics go, it’s one of my personal favorites and probably one of the most intimate and true-to-life things I’ve written? So it actually is a little comforting to know that something so vulnerable has relatively little attention. 

9. longest wip of the year

If we’re going based on stuff that’s partially published but not complete, my Gaara-adopts-Shinki fic On My Way Home is my longest in-progress fic at just over 20k words, although technically I started it in 2019. It will probably end up being right around 40-50k when it’s complete, which might end up situating it as my longest fic ever? 

12. favorite character to write about this year

Okay, this is an easy one. I love writing Kankuro. I think he is hilarious. He is the devil on my shoulder and a creature of pure id, and every time I write a line of dialogue for him it’s the summation of my rudest thoughts about a situation put in the crudest possible terms. If there were a megaphone directly from my unfiltered brain giving running commentary, that would be Kankuro.

15. something you learned this year

I have learned SO much this year! This is only my 2nd year properly ‘focusing’ on writing fic and investing any substantial time into it. I think the biggest thing I have learned, though, is how to overcome a lot of my self-consciousness about writing stories with NSFW elements in them. Starting out, I was so extremely shy and mortified about writing fic at all, much less things like hugging or (god forbid!) kissing. So taking on the smut prompts I took this year and really buckling down on learning to write the mechanics and emotions of sex has been a massive learning experience. (And sorry, by the way, if I haven’t gotten to a prompt you sent me in January yet. I do intend to write all of them eventually!) 

18. current number of WIPs

Ah. The call-out question. My general fic process is idea -> outline -> wip -> edit -> ready to post (where the final draft sits in my docs until I gin up the courage to actually post it). So skipping fics that are just “ideas” on the big mega-list, I have 3 fics in the “outline” stage, 13 fics in the partially written “wip” stage, 1 fic in the “editing” stage, and 2 that are complete but yet-to-be-posted. So, like, 19 total in the offing. (The “ideas” list is even worse lol.)

21. most memorable comment/review

This is such a difficult question because every single comment I get makes me do a little dance for joy. That’s not an exaggeration btw I really sit there and like bounce around in my seat for a moment before I open the Ao3 email. I am not an especially emotive person irl, but there have been times I’ve been brought near tears by comments. I’ll also occasionally show them to my wife like !! look at this nice thing this person said !! and she’s indulgent enough to actually read them. There have been a couple comments that have really stuck with me, that I starred in my inbox and return to frequently, but I don’t want to bring attention to someone else without their permission. I will say there was one person recently who mentioned (not in the comments on one of my fics) that they had found someone who does physical binding of fanfiction and they were about to ask my permission to do that, but then the person who does the binding only does certain ships that she likes ... so that, just, absolutely floored me. The idea that someone might actual want a physical copy of my stupid little ninja fanfictions is, like, so truly immense and completely overwhelming?

24. favorite fic you read this year

You can’t make me pick just one!! (For reference, I have bookmarked right around 180 fics in the past year, and that’s not including fics that I just read, really enjoyed, but didn’t think I could ‘handle’ a second time around.) So, skipping over the ones that AREN’T Naruto ... here is a brief sampling of some faves:

Silica by deepestbluest (rated E, GaaLee, ShikaTema, and Kankiba) - An absolute emotional powerhouse of a fic that manages to skillfully interweave three complex relationship dynamics, satisfactorily resolve them, and give you ALL the sandsibs feels in just over 10k words. 

Childhood Not-Friends (series) by MegaWallflower (rated G, KakaGai) - @megawallflower is a KakaGai god for good reason. Absolutely adorable relationship development fics (five of them!) with the premise that Kakashi thinks he and Gai have been dating since they were kids ... Gai just hasn’t been clued into it yet. These stories will give you heart-eyes.

The Bright Side by gidget_goes (rated T, GaaLee) - This is the Buffy AU I never knew I needed, because I’ve never seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But truly you don’t need any Buffy knowledge to enjoy this fic. @gidget-goes command of imagery is masterful, and the way they manage to snap from snark to tugging at your heartstrings is awe-inspiring. Gaara breaks my heart in this. And did I mention Kankuro wears a 10-gallon hat? Because Kankuro wears a 10-gallon hat. 

Nature vs. Nurture by Bidiza (rated T, GaaLee) - So introspective and so poetic. This looks like a WIP but it’s actually multiple oneshots, although by the end of the second one you’ll be dying for the rest of the promised series. 

I’m a Fool to Want You by BeelieveRosemarie (rated M, GaaLee) - Turns out @tuttiefruttiegaalee isn’t just an amazing artist, they’re a writer, too! Slow-dancing that will break your heart. Listen to the Frank Sinatra song while you read this for extra tear-jerking effect.

Let Love be Known (series) by TenTomatoes (rated G, GaaLee) - This is the twist on the arranged marriage trope and Beauty and the Beast that I didn’t realize this fandom was missing. I’m absolutely obsessed with their concept of Gaara as the Beast

I Could Be by LilacNoctua (rated T, GaaLee) - I know I big up @lilac-writes Worthwhile series a lot (deservedly so, because it’s so good it makes you look at the series and go “Why the fuck didn’t Kishimoto make this canon exactly like this?”), but this story made me absolutely die between the butterflies in my stomach and how hard I was laughing. There’s one line--you’ll know it when you read it--that absolutely bowls me over every time I re-read this. 

And Then Continue by EgregiousDerp (rated E, GaaLee) - Obviously I’m biased because this was a gift, but @egregiousderp writes some of the the best characterized porn I’ve ever read. You will read this and go “Wow! This is exactly how it would happen!” It’s such a tender, beautiful exploration of Gaara’s insecurities and a very real feeling first time, for all its soft edges. 

Cake by citronelle (rated E, KanKiba) - I don’t even know what to say about this one other than ... phew, this is extremely well written, extremely hot, and extremely in character. Just read it. I promise it’s worth it. 

Saudade by YumKiwiDelicious (rated M, GaaLee) - I’ve run around reccing this to just about every person on the face of the earth at this point. If you’re in the GaaLee Discord you probably saw everyone salivating over every new update of this fic and with good reason. The twists and turns of this fic will have you on the edge of your seat, second guessing every single moment. And it will break your heart in the meantime. What more could you want?

the love potion commotion by floating_cats (rated T, NejiSasu with background GaaLee) - One of those fics where you wish the author’s sense of humor was your own. So many hilarious moments in this story, and it brought me a new appreciation for a ship I never would have even considered. 

Finger Lickin’ Good by whazzername (rated E, GaaLee) - Whazz is another one of those authors where I literally want to rec every single thing she’s ever written, she’s just that good. (Speaking of which, if you haven’t read Fools Rush In and its sequel Degrees of Separation, you’re missing out on the best possible Metal origin story of all time. Don’t deprive yourself of this.) But this story is just ... so incredibly in character for a situation that reads like crack. It’s handled with the utmost straight-facedness and it’s so. freakin’. good. 

heart lines by winterberry_holly (rated M, NejiTen and GaaLee) - I don’t even have the words to describe how perfect this fic is. It’s a truly beautiful exploration of Tenten’s relationship with her palmistry hobby and with the people in her life. My heart ached with every single line. 

Standing on Ceremony by kuroashi (rated E, GaaLee) - This is just ... such a beautiful wedding story. So lovely, like getting the best possible warm hug from someone you love. If that love one was slightly strange and socially inept, because, well. It’s still Gaara doing Gaara-things. @baphometsss is another one of those authors whose handling of smut scenes is so stupendous it makes me wildly jealous. 

Thrall by RokiRiot (rated T, GaaLee) - Idiots-to-lovers with a magic AU twist! This is such a wonderful story, and Gaara’s internal monologue is absolutely amazing. And Lee is Deaf in this fic, which I never ever get to see and which absolutely made my entire day/week/month/life. 

Make-Out Consequences by LuxaLucifer (rated M, KakaGai with background canon Boruto ships) - I laughed so hard reading this that I had to take a breather to stop crying. That’s not an exaggeration. The characterization in this fic is impeccable and the humor is to die for. Naruto’s buffoonery truly shines here, and the author’s wit is just beyond anything I could even properly summarize. Hysterical. A++. 

Thirteen Strokes by Luna_Lee (rated T, GaaLee) - Again, like, if you aren’t reading literally everything @sagemoderocklee writes, are you even really a GaaLee fan? But this fic is beyond even for one of Eeri’s incredibly excellent writings. The worldbuilding in this, the cultural notes, the imagery ... it’s all so lush and so fulfilling and so beautiful. It’s a story about love and it’s a story that you can tell has love poured into every single line. I can’t recommend it enough. 

Checkmate by shadowstrangle (rated G, GaaLee) - The pettiness vibes ... this is so funny. Such a cute story and I love Gaara’s sense of humor here. Not a lot of writers give him a sense of humor, but I love how @shadowstrangle gives him a slightly odd, slightly left-of-center take on humor that still manages to be so funny. 

To Court a Village by FanFictionEngineer (rated G, GaaLee) - Another one where my bias is perhaps slightly obvious, but the premise of this fic is amazing. I love cultural misunderstandings, and the idea of Lee trying his hardest to court Gaara ineptly is just so perfect. 

affliction of feeling by theformerone (rated E, SakuHina) - One of those ships that it would never have occurred to me to seek out but that absolutely works with how the author’s set it up. The dynamics here are delicious. It’s so rare to find good F/F porn but this is one of them for sure. 

Tried and Tested by twentysomething (Rated M, KakaIru with background canon Boruto ships and GaaLee) - Iruka’s narration in this story is just incredible. I haven’t laughed this hard reading a fic in ages. And the concept alone (that Naruto can’t be promoted to Hokage until he passes his chuunin exams ... as an adult ... and Sasuke gets dragged along for the ride) is just brilliant. Amazing concept, amazingly executed. 

a fireside waltz by winterberry_holly (rated M, GaaLee) - I really tried not to rec a single author more than once here but for this one I had to. I got about halfway through this fic and immediately started running around ringing the town crier bell like READ THIS FIC! READ THIS FIC! An absolutely smoldering Regency AU with such beautiful, intimate dance scenes. My heart was racing every single time their fingers brushed. If you don’t read anything else on this list, at the very least read this. 

27. favorite fanfic author of the year

I really can’t pick just one. I am lucky enough that @egregiousderp passes me her drafts under the table before (or without) publishing, and getting to read those is a private treat of unparalleled proportions. Some of my favorite things I’ve read this year I can’t even rec because they’re her unpublished stuff. 

30. favorite fandom to read fic from this year

This is gonna come off strange because I just wrote such a long Naruto reclist, but I recently watched What We Do in the Shadows, and found an incredibly talented group of authors in that fandom with really amazingly good dialogue and narrative voice. I also read a lot of fic for the new It movies (even though I couldn’t watch the 2nd one for ~reasons~), and damn if there isn’t a talented crop of authors in that fandom, too. And finally with ATLA making its way onto Netflix, I had the chance to start watching that for the first time and found a ton of really good fic there as well! 

fanfic end of the year asks!

[honeymoonjin]

**this work is still mine, i’ve changed my url from ksjinandtonicfics to honeymoonjin

A/N: part of the Open for Business Collab as part of BSC’s Summer & Smut project. Check out the playlist that accompanies this fic here.

Escaping to Venice for a break from your strenuous job was meant to be simple. Go there, decompress for two weeks, and return feeling invigorated. But the soulful gondolier you meet on the docks in Saint Mark’s Square has you wanting to never leave at all. 22.7k words.

Warnings for sexually explicit content: an overindulgent amount of foreplay, oral (f receiving), fingering, body worship, unprotected sex, premature ejaculation, multiple orgasms (m and f receiving), impregnation kink, praise kink, dirty talk, two diff smut scenes.

---

Maybe it was his stillness in the chaos of the crowd that caught your eye. The way the bustling tourists and peddlers seemed to part like magic to allow you to observe him uninterrupted from the other side of the plaza. He stood there, calmly sitting on one of the posts at the inner side of the dock, reading an old paperback.

He was young; couldn't have been more than 25, yet he wore the oddest outfit you had ever seen on a man his age. Deep navy pants, ballooning slightly around his thighs and coming in snugly around his knees and calves. A baggy, squarish striped shirt tucked into those pants, and a black beret. You were pretty sure gondoliers were meant to wear those flat hats with the ribbons that you had seen the rest donning, but you couldn't deny that it gave his face a golden glow, framing the light brown hair and heavyset brows below it. Odder still were his glasses; rounded lenses with spindly silver frames, and a thin cord tied to the outer edges and connecting around the back of his neck. You had seen them before on librarians and elderly people, but never on a young adult like himself.

Picking your way through the crowds, you keep him in sight, observing the way he'd occasionally look up from his novel to check on his ornately carved gondola, as if he was expecting customers to just hop right on in. As you drew nearer, you can see a sign at his feet, propped up and displaying prices and rules, written down three columns: Italian, English, and what you recognised vaguely to be Korean. You let out a breath of relief. He did speak English, then.

You finally come to a stop directly in front of him, shifting your weight awkwardly, tipping your head to try and catch his attention subtly, but he seems entranced in the novel.

You can see through his splayed fingers that the ragged, yellowed book that has him oblivious to the world around him is Heidi. You could laugh at the thought of a man in Venice getting deeply absorbed in the world of a little girl in Switzerland, but instead it endears you to watch him for a moment, eyebrows twitching slightly in surprise every now and again, an unconscious smile playing at his lips.

You glance around the square once more, feeling a little silly, and perhaps even rude for just standing here and staring at him. Clearing your throat and waving your hand at him a little, you manage to peak his attention. "Hi, excuse me, do you speak English? I'm looking for a gondola ride."

His shoulders jump a little at the sudden voice, and he slips a delicate pointer finger between the pages he's on to mark his spot as he straightens up. You withhold a gasp when his eyes meet yours and his face is fully turned to you. Part of you almost wishes you never approached him, as you know you're bound to make a fool of yourself in his presence. His eyes are the smoothest, deepest brown you think you've ever seen, magnified behind those lenses, and while the majority of his face is finely sculpted and symmetrical, his eyelids are uneven; the quirk only serves to make him more attractive. There's a mole right under one eye, and another in the middle of his opposite cheek. Those small details take your breath away; he looks so stunningly perfect, that you're glad you spoke before really looking at him; you wouldn’t have gotten the courage otherwise.

He gives you an easy smile, his eyes narrowing happily. He's pleased you came up to him, and the thought warms you inside. "Of course. First time in Venice?"

You nod shyly. "That obvious?"

His lip twitches up. "You're wearing business casual in a city where the main forms of transport are boats and walking. I would go so far as to suggest it's your first day."

You laugh nervously, glancing down at the blouse-and-pencil skirt combo you had donned this morning. "These are really the only types of clothes I own. Anyway, uh, the sign says 100 euros, right? How long's the ride?"

He finally puts down the book; slipping in an embroidered handkerchief from his back pocket as a bookmark and chucking it into the main compartment of the boat. "Depends on how big the waves get," he replies easily, tipping his head as he looks over you.

You splutter. "The waves? Oh, I don't want to get on if it's-"

"Relax, uptown girl, I'm just playing with you. It's an hour round trip. Most gondoliers only take forty-five minutes, but I like to be more thorough, get you a real good feel for the city. And it's actually 80 euros."

"Oh." You blink down to the placard by his feet, then up to him. "The sign says 100."

His grin is different to last time, less boxy and open, more sly. He pats you on the shoulder teasingly. "Take the discount, sweetheart. In you get."

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to get on board. With legs wobbling more than a new-born deer, you gratefully accept his hand and shoulder to lean on for support so that you can step off the dock and into the carpeted bay.

Although narrow, there's a surprising amount of room; you look around as the man behind you starts to unmoor the gondola from the dock. The bench you're sitting on now is lushly upholstered, and even has silk cushions with intricate designs like something off a Persian rug. It faces you to the front of the boat, away from the man. In front of you are two square stools that are bolted down at the bottom. "I didn't catch your name," you call out, twisting around, feeling surprisingly stable amongst the rocking of the vessel.

He's standing on a platform on the left back, and you have to crane your neck up to see his face as he smiles calmly down at you. "You never thought to ask before getting into a stranger's boat. Oh, my." Your hands fly out to grip the sides of the gondola as he kicks off from the dock with a hard shove of his foot, and the boat begins to heavily cut through the still water. "My name is Taehyung. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

You give him your name with a friendly smile, then turn back around to face the front, watching as the golden angel figurehead appears to navigate the cloudy teal waters. You'd be quite content to sit here in amiable silence, letting the taxing strains of the job you'd taken a break from slip away from you, but it seems Taehyung is not.

"So, what brings you to Venice?"

A part of you dies inside. You hate small talk. "Vacation, of course."

He hums, unsatisfied with your curt response. "Well, I was thirteen when I came here," he reveals, and you're secretly glad you're facing away from him as you pull a face of annoyance. "A woodworker took me in to his home and taught me how to live like a real Venetian. I fell in love with this place; the history, the culture, the way of life. I'm still friends with his son, who's since inherited the family business. Strangely enough, they were Korean too, which, I suppose, was why the old man took pity on me like he did. It's a small world, after all. I owe him everything."

Your eyes are wide with awkward tension once he finishes. What the fuck were you supposed to say to that? "Oh, wow," you state lamely. It feels wrong to let those words fizzle into an unsympathetic silence. "Could you tell me about Venice, then? I think the gondoliers are meant to give proper guided tours, right? Like, what's this bridge here?"

You point ahead at the impressive structure, though it's not like he would miss it. It bridges the gap of the whole Grand Canal, white stone that arched gracefully below, and housed a pathway on top that was filled with tourists.

"The Rialto," he clarifies simply. With a slight laugh, his voice becomes playful again. "Are you not impressed with my tour so far? Am I not living up to your expectations?"

You frown and swivel back around to face him. "I didn't mean that," you protest hastily, "I just thought this would be more Venetian history and less... autobiographical."

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and your eyes are caught by the flash of pink, swallowing hard. "My apologies," he replies flatly, though you can tell he's not seriously annoyed, "I'll be sure to save my emotional tale of adolescence for the therapist."

You let out a surprised laugh, and he cocks an eyebrow at you, hands resting easily on the oar that he uses to steer the gondola slightly rightwards around a gradual bend in the canal. The strangely combative energy dissolves away, and you let the tension in your shoulders ease.

Once you settle back in against the pillows, he does as requested and gives you a very informative narration for the remainder of your tour. Important dates in history, facts about the culture, even small tidbits of advice here and there when you'd pass a cafe he deemed 'exceptional' or a restaurant with 'marvellous' cannelloni.

In fact, by the time he docks you back at the main square, you're reluctant to get out, handing over the cash gratefully. "Thank you," you gush once your feet land back on solid ground, "I had an amazing time." You loiter, not wishing to leave this experience behind just yet. Or maybe it was him that you didn't want to leave. "So, what are you going to do now? It's getting late."

He eyes you curiously, like he's searching for something, then shrugs. "More of the same," he answers breezily. "Every day I come here in the early afternoon and park up. I'll bring a book or something to do, and hang around in case somebody wants a ride." He breaks off to laugh at himself, tugging at the hair that peeks out the back of his beret. "Honestly, you're the first person who's approached me in weeks. Normally I just wait around until everyone else has left for the night and go home for a late dinner."

Your knit your eyebrows. "That's really sad," you state genuinely, "I thought a job like this would drum up a lot of business."

"Ah, I'm sure it does for some people," he allows, eying up the few gondoliers that still remain in the square, roaming the cobblestoned courtyard, holding up sandwich boards and loudly announcing their bargains for the day. You're glad you didn't choose them. They seem boisterous and tacky compared to the gentleman in front of you. Taehyung sighs. "I've never been a good advertiser, I suppose. The right people will come to me." He winks at you jauntily, but his face quickly falls again. "Ah well, it was nice to meet you. Enjoy the rest of your trip, now? Like I said, don't forget to use the Vaporetto if you're wanting to explore the city more. It's far cheaper than the water taxis."

"Thank you," you repeat. For a moment, you stay standing in front of him as he stares at you in bemusement, but you can come up with nothing else to say to him, so you turn around and walk away.

--

You hadn't slept well. In an effort to enjoy the fruits of your hard-earned wealth, you had eaten at an extremely expensive restaurant - a seafood platter and then some gelato on the walk home to cleanse your palate. You promised yourself that tomorrow, you'd explore some more of the city.

But the moment you tucked yourself into the plush silk sheeted bed of the five star hotel you were staying at, your thoughts fell, almost unconsciously, to Taehyung

The gondolier that apparently hadn't had any customers in weeks before you chose to follow your curious streak. You tried to imagine what his living situation must look like if he wasn't earning any money from his job. Certainly he wouldn't have been able to afford the luxuries you had been indulging in.

But then again, that was what you got when you didn't work hard. He had said it himself; he didn't like drumming up business. Your whole career was built on that determination, that drive, something that seemed to be completely missing in him. Oh well. That was his problem to deal with, not yours.

To your credit, you had attempted to venture further out from the main square, wandering around the streets in search for something to do to get your mind off him. But the stupidest things would make your brain revert back to him.

An old bookstore. You wondered if this was where he had purchased his copy of Heidi. A man in a striped shirt taking a photo in front of a fountain. You recalled the way Taehyung's was perfectly tailored to show off his neck and some of his collarbones. Even when you took the Vaporetto, the main source of public transport on the water, you couldn't help but think of how much smoother it was to glide along the canals in Taehyung's gondola.

You had meant to take the water bus all the way to the far end of the main island, but you found yourself disembarking at Saint Mark's Square. Your eyes sought out Taehyung at the docks, and an inexplicable warm burst of relief settled in your chest when you found him, leaning against that same post, nose in the book.

You took two steps towards the dock, then paused, sending a few disgruntled tourists knocking into you and walking away muttering. He had farewelled you, you remember. Wished you well for the rest of the trip and even suggested you took the water bus instead. He probably didn't want you to go to him again. You would hate to prevent other potential customers for using his services, besides.

The smart thing would have been to give up, grab some lunch and carry on with your day. Instead, you found yourself holed up in a bougie cafe, the Florian or something, not that you had paid much attention. Barely glancing at the menu, you pointed out a cold beverage and a scallops dish, then scouted out a good table.

From here, you could just make him out through the crowd. With the same black beret and glasses, and a somewhat similar striped top, the only real difference was that his navy pants had been replaced by bright red. Streaks of the crimson shade would peek out at you from between tourists, and your heart would give a little jump every time his face came into view as well.

A small smile played at your face unknowingly when you watched him come to the end of the book, presumably the same one as last time, and sigh, tossing it into the gondola morosely, before taking off his glasses and letting them hang from the cord around his neck.

You couldn't explain what kept you here, topping up your overpriced Italian soda, even as the waitress insistently offered you the bill. You were curious, that much you knew. Curious about whether he'd get any customers or not.

The moment he gets another customer, you vow, I'm going. As the hours passed, you really couldn't say if you wanted him to get a customer or not. It displeased you to see him there so bored, with nothing left to do but wait now that his book had been finished, and you were a little worried about his financial situation.

As other gondoliers came and went, some of the more charming ones forming lines by their concession stands, you saw Taehyung stare hopelessly into the crowd, eyes following all the couples and families that walked right past him. His eyes had drooped on the edges. His chin tucked down to his chest.

You stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping against the outdoor tiling. The waitress nearest you jumps at the noise, but quickly rushes over and hands you the black leather folder with your bill inside. You're too distracted to care, but the total makes you falter for a moment, handing over the cash with a hurried motion so that you can slip out of the shade and into the full blare of the sun.

Now that you were pushing your way through the thronging crowd, you had to force yourself not to break into a jog. Why can't I just leave enough alone? you questioned. Why do I care so much?

"Taehyung," you shout as you approach him, drinking in his reaction. He starts, breaking from his trance-like state of boredom, and his eyes slide around the crowd until they land on you. A boxy grin lights up his face, eyebrows lifted in surprise. When you come to a stop right in front of him, you feel breathless. "Taehyung," you repeat, "I don't suppose you have enough time to squeeze me in for another go?"

He scoffs good-naturedly. "Always time for you, uptown girl."

You can't stop the beam that stretches across your face now that you're back in his presence. He's addictive; a voice like honey and eyes sweeter than sugar. You feel a little dizzy. "My name is Y/n, you know." Your eyes widen. "Oh god, I did tell you my name last time, right?”

"You sure did," he chuckles, "but I like uptown girl more. Suits you."

You bite your lip awkwardly as his eyes roam over you in bemusement. This morning, you had swapped out your trusty black heels for some flats, but you had still donned a skirt-and-blouse combo. Having only work-appropriate clothes in your suitcase, you were left with no other option. Perhaps a more constructive use of your morning would've been to go shopping, you think. "Is it just the same tour? Or do you have, I don't know, different ones?"

He blinks at you, looks down at the gondola, then back at you again. "Honestly," he admits, "no. You're the first one who's ever come back for a second time. Most people are one and done, you know?"

"Oh." You shrug awkwardly, feeling a little stupid. "I guess just the same tour is fine, then. It's okay."

His eyes flicker up to the clouds without focus as he ponders something, humming unconsciously. "How about this? I need to stop by the squero to get that stool fixed," he points at the stool on the right half of the gondola, which you notice is on an angle, with a couple of bolts missing at the bottom, "so, how about I give you a real taste of Venice? Not just the touristy shit."

Something about the thought that you were venturing somewhere a little more... private excites you. "The squero?" you inquire, not familiar with the term.

His smile widens at your interest, and your heart jumps when some clouds part, and the sun streams down on him. He's too attractive to be in this job, you think. He's radiant. Unaware of the turn your thoughts have taken, he simply sighs blissfully and tips his head up to receive the warm rays, eyes closing. "The squero," he repeats, voice huskier than before, "it's just a district where us gondoliers go for repairs. In fact," his eyes crack open and his head snaps back down to capture your gaze suddenly, "I do believe I told you about the workshop yesterday. It's where I grew up. I hope you were listening."

You laugh reflexively at his teasing grin. "Thanks to your unorthodox methods, I think I remember that part of the ride more than the actual tour."

"Unorthodox methods," he muses, nodding slowly, "that's a new one. Hop on in, then, uptown girl, let's go for a joyride."

--

The workshop you dock at seems much like Taehyung himself; homely, humble, and impossibly endearing. Strangely enough, it comes as somewhat of a contrast to the rest of Venice, as the design of the building’s façade is closer to what you’d see on a mountain chalet. Instead of the white stone and tan roof combination that is seen throughout the rest of the city, this shop, and some others along the backstreet canal you were in, had dark, rough wood exteriors like a log cabin, and several small balconies with heavy forest green curtains and flowerboxes. The bottom level is the workshop; the entire front is a sliding door that has been pushed all the way open, and it seems the upper levels might be residential, for the workers to live in.

“So, this is where you grew up? Seems nice.” You don’t mean to sound ingenuine, but it comes out flat, so you rush to explain yourself. “It looks really…warm and welcoming. It’s different.”

His voice comes above you, distracted as he navigates the gondola to park right in front of the storefront. “Different? Isn’t the whole point of a nostalgic childhood home to be warm and welcoming? It’s where your family is, after all.”

“Eh,” you shrug non-committedly, “mine was more of a…museum exhibit on houses, or a movie set or something. Flat, cold. Nostalgia isn’t really a concept I’m all that familiar with. Or family, for that matter.”

Taehyung rests the oar on its forcola and steps down into the bay where you’re sitting, taking a seat across from you in the unbroken stool. He lets his gaze hang heavy over you, deep brown eyes fixed to yours. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he states with a serious emphasis, “for me, family is everything. I can’t imagine life without my loved ones.” You’re a little taken aback by his earnest delivery, more so when he rests a hand on your knee, the contact burning hot through the thin material of your pantyhose.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you reply breathlessly, “I keep busy.”

His mouth droops at the edges at that comment, but he picks it up to give you a reassuring smile and squeeze your knee. “Come on. I was gonna drop you off at the café down the road while I sorted this out, but how about you come inside with me, yeah? I’ll introduce you to some full-blooded Venetians.”

Those ‘full-blooded Venetians’ turn out to be two young men, vaguely Taehyung’s and your age, arguing loudly across the workshop floor in an endearing mix of Korean, English and Italian as the two of you enter, drowning out the light jingle of an overhead bell when you first step over the threshold.

“We have a visitor,” Taehyung loudly proclaims in English, and you grin at the way his commanding voice carries across the room, shutting the two men up.

The one hunched over a bench covered in wood shavings looks up from the chair leg he’s carving. His pillowed lips are tensed in a pout and he gestures angrily with a metal file at the other, a younger boy who’s standing at the far end with an oily rag tucked into some old jeans, carrying a pile of gleaming tools. As if in an effort to include you, the older man shifts seamlessly into complete English himself. “This kid seriously just asked me why we don’t just put the tools in a dishwasher to save him polishing them! Please tell me your guest is here about the job opening!”

You feel terribly small around these new people, and instinctively you find yourself shuffling closer to Taehyung, feet sliding silently across the worn stone floor. Taehyung reaches over to pat you on the back, then leaves pressure there as he walks you forward further in. “A customer,” he explains, “so please play nice.”

The boy, having been left out of the conversation for too long, dumps the tools noisily in a white bucket, making the three of you cringe at the clanging, then rushes over, skidding to a stop in front of you. “Jungkook,” he introduces himself as, “it’s an honour to have such a beautiful lady in my shop.”

“Your shop?” the elder asks incredulously, slamming the stick of wood on his work bench and standing up, brushing tight curls of wood off his faded blue tee. “Do you pay rent and electricity? The moment someone applies for your position, you’re out! I’m Jin, by the way,” he mentions off-hand to you, before Jungkook lets out an offended cry.

“So what, you’re just gonna throw me by the wayside as soon as you find someone else?”

“Oh boy,” Taehyung murmurs, grimacing and shrugging at you apologetically.

Jungkook’s not finished. “What about all the hours I’ve spent here, hyung? I worked my way up from the bottom!”

“You’re still at the bottom, idiot.” Jin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You never listen to me, Jungkook, and you’re not good at your job. That’s the base line of it.”

The younger’s mouth falls open. He opens and closes it a few times, before shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m not good at my job? What about that figurehead I carved for that customer, hm? What about that?”

“You’re meant to carve mermaids, or angels, or something like that, Jungkook! Not one of your anime girls!”

There’s a vein sticking out on Jungkook’s neck and you’re a little concerned it’s going to burst with the way he’s clenching his jaw. “Hatsune Miku is an angel, Jin! How could you even say that?”

“Guys,” Taehyung slips in tiredly, “I said play nice. Y/n here is new to Venice. I don’t want to scare her away because you crackheads can’t act normal for two seconds.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jin notes pleasantly, as if he hadn’t been deeply entrenched in a catfight moments before, “you said she was a customer. What are you looking to buy, then?”

As amusing as the fight was, you now wish Taehyung had just let you wait at a random café. It’s a little arresting having the full attention of three extremely handsome young men on you. “Oh, not a customer of you guys. I went on Taehyung’s gondola tour yesterday.”

Jungkook gasps. “Uptown girl!”

Your eyes widen and you snap your head around to look up at Taehyung, whose golden cheeks are warm with a blush. He laughs awkwardly, and in the back of your mind you hope he speaks for a while so that you can keep watching him at this close proximity. It’s a different feeling from when you’re sitting down in the gondola and he’s up steering. Taehyung tugs at the hair at the nape of his neck. “I may have…mentioned you,” he admits sheepishly, “but it’s just because you were my first customer in a while. I was excited.”

“He sure was excited,” Jungkook manages to get out before Jin whacks him on the back of the head. “Ow! Hey! Anyway, it’s nice to get to meet you. You guys going on a date now or what?” Another hit has Jungkook lashing out at Jin with an angry frown, but the elder just widens his eyes meaningfully at him.

You splutter. “N-No, I just wanted another ride, that’s all.” Jungkook cackles, and this time even Jin can’t defend your honour. “God, I’m sorry, that was poor phrasing. Pun not intended.”

"Anyway," Taehyung continues, "I'm really here because one of my stools is coming loose, I need you to check out the bolts and tighten them up. Would you mind making sure that the wood underneath hasn't scratched too?"

Jungkook frowns. "This isn't about you, hyung. Keep your head in the game." He turns to you as Jin huffs and double-checks the tool belt hanging low on his hips, before heading out the front of the shop. Now without the presence of his boss, Jungkook shifts his weight to one side and gives you a once-over. "Y/n, right? What are your intentions with my brother?"

Your mind goes blank as you stare at the young man. "A...gondola ride? Around the canals? As his service offers?"

Jungkook purses his lips and narrows his eyes, staying silent for a moment, before the tension dissipates and he gives you a wide grin. "Excellent! Now, here are the basics: Taehyung enjoys photography, pasta, and long walks on the beach. He's an excellent swimmer and he knows how to play the saxophone although I accidentally dropped his in the canal once and he can't afford to buy another one, so he's probably a little rusty. He's good with money, but can be a little forgetful, he believes in love at first sight and wants three kids: a boy and two girls. Hyung, did I miss anything?"

You're pretty sure your mouth is hanging open, but you can't think to close it. Taehyung's eyebrows are raised in exasperation and surprise. "Kookie, no wonder you don't have a girlfriend. That's too far."

"Yeah, because I'm too busy advertising you! You're a hard sell, buddy, you know that?" Jungkook sends him a quick thumbs up before scampering away, thumping his way up a set of stairs at the far end of the room.

Taehyung sighs and collapses down at the workbench Jin was previously at, lazily pushing some wood shavings into a little pile with a finger. "Man, I'm sorry about him. He can get a little overexcited sometimes. Don't take anything he said seriously."

You already feel more comfortable now that it's just the two of you in the room, even though you can hear distant videogame gunshots from upstairs and Jin singing to himself as he worked on the gondola outside. With a sly grin, you ask, "oh, so you don't know how to play the saxophone? I knew it, I pinned you as more of a kazoo type anyway."

He chuckles, relieved that you're not too weirded out by the confronting conversation. "No, he was telling the truth about that. I studied in my spare time for almost six years while I had that old saxophone. It was second hand, and I would always imagine myself standing on a great big stage, like Carnegie Hall or something, giving this old instrument a new life." He scoffs good-naturedly at his own words, and stares down at his hands. "Sorry, in case you haven't noticed I'm a bit of a sop. Hopeless romantic, if you want to phrase it nicer."

Your eyes linger on the delicate arch of his neck, the veins in the backs of his hands, the mole on his cheek, the strong brows. Your voice is so soft it barely reaches him. "There's nothing hopeless about you."

He looks up in mild surprise, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open. You lick your lip subconsciously, feeling as usual the way your heart raced when his eyes were on you. You think you catch them flickering down to watch the movement, but at this distance you can't be sure. You wish you were standing closer. "Y/n," he utters softly, and you realize with a bolt of excitement up your spine that it's the first time he's directly addressed you by name, "how long are you staying in Venice?" His eyes are glimmering, even in the relatively dim light of the workshop, hopeful smile playing at his lips.

Oh. You wish you had a better answer to give him than the truth. You’ve only met him twice, but you already hate the thought of leaving him and returning to your normal life. "Two weeks," you reply a little louder than needed, wanting to disperse a little of that weird electricity in the air. "Well, only eleven more days now."

He nods slowly, face falling. His gaze is directed towards you, but distant, like he's seeing right through you. You don't like it. "Well, then, if you ever have nothing to do one day, you know where I'll be."

You give him a grateful smile, then gasp, shoving your hand in your purse. "Wait, that reminds me, here's your eighty euros for the ri-"

"Keep it," he mumbles with a slightly pained smile. "I can't take money from you for coming with me while I do my own errands. I didn't realize it would take this long, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," you protest reflexively, uneasy at the way his disposition had suddenly become so gloomy. The singing outside has stopped, and a quick glance shows Jin packing up his tools and disembarking the gondola. "I had fun today, Taehyung. Thank you." You bite your tongue, holding back the words you were about to foolishly say. Besides, you need the money more than I do.

He nods, then blinks out of his haze when the bell jingles to signify Jin's arrival. "What's the damage?" Taehyung asks, his voice perfectly chipper and a world removed from the sullen tone you had just received. Still, something in his expression remains sad, and you can't help but feel guilty, wondering if you had some part to play in his strange behaviour.

The way Jin's eyebrows narrow tells you he's picked up on Taehyung's glum mood, but he doesn't bring it up. "Don't worry about it, Tae. You know we won't charge you."

He hums gratefully, then stands up, rolling his shoulders. "Thanks, hyung. I appreciate it. Anyway, I need to go drop Y/n off back at Saint Mark's, so I probably won't come back here before I go home."

Over Taehyung's shoulder, Jin frowns at you meaningfully, eyes soft with concern for his friend. You wave a dismissive hand. "Oh, that's okay, you don't have to do that. I was actually going to suggest I could walk back. You know, use the chance to explore a little more of Venice."

"Ah, good idea," Jin says loudly, giving you a grateful smile. "Taehyung, why don't you stay for dinner?"

The young man fixes you an unsure glance, so you just give him a quick wave, and turn around to leave. He doesn't protest.

--

Your third day sees you pounding the pavement, determined to spend your time thinking about something other than Taehyung's strange attitude the other day. You fully plan on going back to Saint Mark's Square at some point, to give him his eighty euros if nothing else, but for now you get the Vaporetto to drop you off at one far end of the city, aimlessly wandering through streets to find your way back.

It's a nice way to spend your morning, and the fresh air is a welcome change from the stuffy, perfumed rooms of the hotel you were staying at. In fact, last night you had found the hotel more suffocating than ever; like those perfectly wallpapered walls were gradually getting closer and closer together when you weren't looking.

For the first time since stepping foot in Venice, you had even entered some of the stores you passed. Picking up some souvenirs to put on your work desk when you returned, a pair of overpriced yet insanely comfortable kitten heels, and some romance books you had found in a bargain bin in this tiny bookstore down a dark alley, you were feeling happy with your purchases, but more than ready to make your way back to your hotel room and ease the strain of the bag handles pulling heavily at your forearms. With the help of Google Maps, you managed to find a street you recognised, one that led directly on to your hotel.

Putting your phone away, you simply let yourself enjoy all of your senses being overwhelmed by this new place. Although you were walking along a stone road, you could smell the salt of the canal that ran parallel to it, behind the buildings on your left side. Upon your initial arrival, you had turned your nose up at it, quite literally. It wasn't the fresh and clean salt smell of the sea, but was tainted with inner city living, the litter from passers-by and the petrol from boat engines. It had felt like an illusion broken, but now you were beginning to get used to it, to appreciate the story that brackish water told.

As you strolled, your reflection in the gleaming glass panes of the storefronts strolled with you, and you found yourself turning your head every so often to get a glance at it. Was it the romance in the air, or did this version of you look a little taller? A little brighter, a little less run-down? No more than two and a half days here, and you were already dreading your inevitable return to the monotonous trudge of your working life.

A sudden, metallic glare cuts right into your retinas and you squint, pausing in the street. The shop you stand across is unbelievably old, more so that its worn companions beside it. Paint flakes away from the wooden sign, so that the cursive Venetian Antiques can barely be deciphered. The main window, presumably the cream of the crop to draw in customers, is mostly filled with vases of delicately blown glass and figurines carved with rich dark woods, but right in the middle, on a purple velvet cushion corded with gold, lies a saxophone, slightly beaten in on one side but polished to gleaming perfection, sporting a small paper tag tied around one of the keys. Jumping out of the way of a small boy running recklessly down the street without shoes, you take the hint to stop standing in the middle of the path, and walk right up to the glass. Now that you're near enough, you can rise up on the tips of your toes to catch a glimpse at the price, scrawled with an extremely curlicued dollar sign. $850. You just about stumble straight into the glass when you read it. Holy fucking shit! No wonder he couldn't afford a new one at that cost, and this one was second-hand too.

A jingle of a bell catches your attention, and you pull your gaze to the side, where an old man pokes his head out, tugging unconsciously at the end of his greying beard. "In che posso servirLa?"

Your eyes widen as you blink at him. “Sorry, I don’t…”

He smiles good-naturedly, ruddy cheeks lifting to crinkle the corner of his eyes. "I asked," he translates in a thick Italian accent, "how I could help you. Do you need help?"

"Oh." You smile gratefully then look back at the saxophone. You should just walk away. It's stupid... "Is this price negotiable?"

"The saxophone?" He grins. "Of course, I am Italian. Come inside, signorina."

The antiques store is musty as all others are, but instead of feeling cramped and stuffed with useless unwanted items, something about it seems magical, romantic. As the old man reaches into the display case to pull out the instrument, you wander around the main bay of the store, looking over the offerings. A tall bookcase closer to the back of the shop, just beside the counter, holds rows and rows of worn paperbacks, some with rubber bands just to hold them in one piece. You wonder if this was where Taehyung brought Heidi. You wonder why all your thoughts lead back to Taehyung these days.

The voice approaching you from behind knocks you out of your musings. "A beautiful instrument, the saxophone. How long have you played?"

"Oh, I," you bite your lip as he walks around and rests it gently on the countertop. Why were you even looking at it? "I wanted to maybe buy it as a gift for a... a friend."

"A friend?" he repeats, wiggling his eyebrows teasingly. "For just a friend, this is six hundred euros, but for a lover... four-fifty. We are in Venice, after all."

You splutter and flush, but he takes no notice other than to grin salaciously at you. "I don't have that much cash on me," you admit.

He scoffs heartily and bends down to rummage below the counter, returning with a small wireless machine. "Then it is so good for you that we live in the 21st Century and not the Dark Ages, hm? €450?"

I can still back out, the rational voice in the back of your mind screams. This is stupid, and it would blow your entire Christmas bonus from last year that you had taken such care to save. But you found yourself handing over your credit card nonetheless, feeling your heart race as he went into a back room to fetch the case and accompanying materials.

Your arm muscles scream every step back to your hotel, but for some reason even that doesn't stop you from smiling giddily the whole way.

--

"You're back, uptown girl!"

The fact that he noticed you before you got the chance to call out to him, as well as the use of your nickname again, has your spirits peaking immediately. You beam like a child on their birthday and nod. "Here," you state quickly, thrusting your clenched fist out to him, several paper notes sticking out, "the eighty euros for the trip yesterday."

He raises a brow at you, working his jaw, before sighing in bemused exasperation and gratefully accepting the cash. "I forgot to tell you something yesterday..."

You blink up at him. "What?"

"I have a lucrative buy-two-get-one-free deal going."

You could laugh at the deadpan expression on his face, but instead you just smile widely. "Oh, really? I thought you never got repeat customers?"

He shoots you a warning look, wry smile tugging at his lips. "Hence why I forgot to tell you earlier. Come on in, then, let's go!"

You have to appreciate his enthusiasm, and you can't pretend like you're not thrilled at the fact that he clearly wants you around. This time, when you hop into the gondola, you sit on the newly repaired stool instead of the upholstered couch. This way, you can face him head-on. Once he stands in position and glances down at you, he laughs quietly and shakes his head.

"You're meant to be enjoying the view," he advises, waving a hand out in front of him.

You don't waver. "I am."

Taking a ride while facing the wrong way is dangerous enough in a train or campervan. Here, on the gently bobbing water, it's hellish. Of course, you don't let him know that, though you're sure he's noticed the death grip you have on the curved wood sides of the boat. Taehyung himself glides as smoothly as ever, parting the water with a steady hand on the oar, occasionally stretching a leg out to kick off a wall that approaches too closely, but now that you can no longer see what's ahead, every slight judder or turn has your stomach sloshing more so than the canal water itself.

It's worth it, though, to be able to gaze upon his profile as the slowly setting sun lights it up in a rich bronze glow, sharp jaw casting shadows on the column of his neck. You can almost forget the way your heart bobs in your chest to match the gondola when you let yourself drown in Taehyung. "You know," you point out casually about fifteen minutes into your ride, "I've gone past some other gondolas who have been singing. Can't you sing for me?"

He huffs out his nose with an incredulous smile. "The man that raised me once told me, ‘never fall in love with a woman, son. They're never satisfied.’"

"I can be satisfied," you think softly, and it's not until he looks down at you sharply in surprise that you realise you spoke aloud. "I'm sure you have a beautiful voice."

His eyes waver at the clarification, the smile faltering. "The singing," he muses, "yes, I suppose I do. Alright, then."

You're glad that you chose to suffer the motion sickness of the gliding gondola, because nothing could be better than those next forty-odd minutes. He has the voice of an angel to match that face of his, and you find yourself totally speechless. The first song is quiet, like he's unsure; more of a whisper than a melody. His eyes keep darting to you and away, but your reassurance once he's finished that it was truly magical has his confidence growing. The songs aren't all the same either; he mixes traditional Italian love songs with hauntingly beautiful Korean ballads; powerful opera with a sweet lullaby he remembered his mother singing to him as a baby.

When he pulls up back at that familiar dock, you don't want to acknowledge it. Don't want to leave at all. You stay motionless, sat on the stool as you stare up at him in wonder.

He looks back from mooring the boat, one foot up on the dock in a crouch, the other still on the boat, holding them close together. Your eyes are firmly fixed to his upper arms, the way the muscles strain under the light grey cotton of his striped shirt. It's clearly a staple of his, among the black beret and ballooned pants. He notices you staring and gives the rope an extra firm tug with a cheeky grin on his face. "Come on now, pretty girl. Show's over; it's getting late. You want a hand up?"

With a satisfied smile, you stretch out your hand and place it in his palm. He steps up, both feet on the dock, and practically lifts you out with the one arm. Stumbling a little with the voracity of the motion, you're forced to press your hands against his chest to avoid barrelling into him, and the touch sends a shock running up your spine.

Taehyung's eyes meet yours, then lift to stare at your hair. Mouth parting in surprise, he lifts up a hand. You instinctively duck, then straighten up and let him run his fingers through your hair. You're completely bewildered, until he pulls his hand back down and shows you the dried-up, dead petal that was caught between the strands.

"I wonder how that got there," he muses, eyes lighting up with mischief as a smile overtakes his face, "I should probably check to make sure there aren't any more." And with that suggestion, he promptly lifts both hands up to slip his fingers under your hair, calloused pads running along your scalp, and slowly dragging them out again, your hair tugging slightly on the occasional knot or snag. He does this once on top, second underneath by the nape of your neck, and then one last time starting from just above your ears, only this time he pauses when his hands are buried deep in your hair.

Your eyes are wide and your breath is shallow. "Taehyung," you whisper, though you don't know why. His name just slips out of you like a reflex, or a prayer.

His deep brown eyes are searching intently over your face, stopping when you dip your tongue out to wet your rapidly drying lips. Almost unconsciously, you're tipping your chin up, eyelids fluttering lower and lower.

The moment his grip on you tightens slightly and his brow lowers in determination, your eyes fall shut, and you lick your lips quickly once more, waiting for his kiss. But after a moment, nothing comes.

Just when you go to open your eyes again, internally dying of embarrassment at somehow misreading the situation, you feel the slightest of pressure right in the middle of your left cheek.

Not so much as breathing, you stand perfectly still, mouth parted as his lips leave you and plant an equally soft kiss on your right cheek. After that, a shorter pause than earlier before you feel him kiss your forehead, just below the hairline, and the tip of your nose immediately afterwards.

Almost shaking in his hold, you wait in anticipation for a kiss on your lips, but then his hands are slipping out of your hair, and your eyes are opening back in confusion, and his cheeks are a fiery pink as he fails to meet your gaze.

As he takes a deep breath to centre himself, you find yourself in a haze, wondering if he would've kissed you properly had you brought that saxophone with you. But then the fog clears, and you're berating yourself at the thought of buying his affections like that.

Taehyung blinks and swallows hard, clearing his voice before he speaks, although he can't hide how husky it's become. "I- We- I'm sorry, I... I have to go."

You watch in stunned silence, four different parts of your face tingling wildly, as he abandons his gondola, and you, and rushes frantically forward, disappearing amongst the crowd.

--

You wonder if he was waiting for you today. Perhaps you're just a coward, but you don't think you could've faced him after yesterday. Instead, you've spent the day holed up in your room, moping around in a white hotel robe, doing absolutely nothing but reliving that moment with Taehyung over and over again in your head. At the current moment, the sun is setting over Venice, and you're sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at that worn leather case on the glass desk.

It's in the same place as where you gently placed it yesterday. Looking over it now, you feel stupid. Naive. Almost five hundred euros spent on a man who was practically a stranger to you. How could you have been that impulsive with your own hard-earned cash? If you really felt like helping out the poor gondolier, there were better things you could've done with that money.

Still, your stomach twists when you think of walking back up to that antiques store to try and get the sweet Italian gentleman to buy it back from you. A gift for a lover. You scoff bitterly.

The room starts to get dark, so you heave yourself off of the tall mattress to go turn the light on. The switch is above the desk, however, and you find yourself hovering, staring down at that case with an indecipherable myriad of feelings swirling inside you. You might as well take a proper look...

Your hands float hesitantly over the silver clips for a moment before you take a deep breath and pop them open, flipping the lid over to reveal the gleaming instrument inside. It's gorgeous, gleaming, yet when you look closer you can see those tell-tale signs of wear. A thin scratch across the surface of one key, a small dent near the bottom of the open bell. The mouthpiece is slightly chipped. These things don't occur to you as flaws, however, but as quiet hints to this saxophone's history. Those differences make it all the more beautiful. As your fingers dance lightly down the body, you envision a young man on a stage in front of a large audience, all enraptured in his performance. The beautiful music that emerges breathes new life into the instrument, allows it to tell its colourful history. For what feels like the millionth time in only three days, you think of Taehyung.

Was he out there now? Waiting for you, getting discouraged as the sun sunk below the horizon, leaving insufficient light to read by? Or had he given up on you, stormed home angrily? Perhaps he was relieved you didn't show up. Perhaps he was showing another customer around Venice as you loitered here in your room. The more you think, you can't decide which outcome would be worse. Frowning, you retract your hand hastily from the cool metal of the saxophone. You feel strangely like you shouldn't be touching it. It's his.

You sigh as your instincts scream at you. Now that you're on your feet, they want to lead you out the door. It's okay that it's late; you know the way to Saint Mark's Square well. "Really?" you mutter to yourself. "He's probably not even there.... fuck."

Realistically, the moment your mind painted the idea that he might have expected you, the decision was already made. You shuck your robe impatiently and slip into a tank top and leggings, stepping into your flats before rushing out of the room.

The summer evening air is warm with the slightest shift of a breeze, and your eyes strain in the low light of the alleyways, a blue-black pooling of shadows on the cobblestone proving difficult to navigate, but you barely take notice. It's not until you're taking the last turn that leads out into the open square that you realise how stupid this is, though your heart has never thudded so hard in your chest. Your veins are electric with anticipation, holding back from breaking into a run.

There are a few food stalls and concession stands lit up with strings of white and yellow fairy lights, although they sit empty and locked up, and the reflection of the waxing moon gleams and pulsates in the shallow ripples of the Grand Canal. The slight improvement in visibility helps you locate the smaller dock a few metres down from the main one, the one Taehyung frequents, and your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking.

It's empty.

Of course he isn't there. It was a stupid idea, and you shouldn't have come. Still, you find yourself hopelessly walking closer, unable to stop until you reach the post he normally ties the gondola too, sitting down on it glumly. You let your eyes fall,  staring blankly into the glossy water as it laps at the side of the dock. There are small bubbles on the surface of the water, and it doesn't seem like those ripples are going to settle anytime soon. You frown. Wait a minute…

"Y/n?"

Your head snaps up in the direction of the voice, mouth falling open. Further ahead, the opposite direction from where he had taken you on those three tours, Taehyung's standing in his gondola, waving an arm to you. Your heart soars, and before you know it you're running, skipping over uneven stone as fast as you can to reach him. You keep your head up; something deep inside you wants to keep his face in your line of vision for fear of him disappearing again.

When you skid to a stop on the ground across from him with a relieved smile, you're panting slightly, and though you can barely make out his face in the dark of the night, you can tell he's been crying judging by the way the tracks down his cheeks are luminous in the light of the moon. "Taehyung?"

He reaches a foot out to rest on the edge of the square, the level difference meaning he has to bend at the knee, and holds the gondola still. "Where were you?" he asks bitterly, before sighing and shaking his head slowly. "No, don't answer that, it's none of my business. It's not like you have any reason to come back after yesterday." He sniffs, folds his arms over his knee and plants his chin on top. "...why are you here? Why now?"

You don't like standing so high over him, so you sink down to sit cross-legged on the cool stone. "You were waiting for me?"

Now that you're sitting, his face is on level with yours, and he's close enough that you can see the watery glimmer in his eyes and the way his hair sticks out oddly at the bottom, like he's been playing with it too much. "Well-" he falters, "technically I would've been out here anyway. This is my job, you know.”

You can sense his irritation, even as he tries to keep a neutral tone. “I didn’t know whether I should come,” you admit, “I thought you might not want me to.”

His head tilts to the side, eyes soft and voice softer. “Why wouldn’t I want you?”

Your breath catches at the underlying message in his words, and although the night is practically tropical, a smattering of goose bumps rise on your upper arms. “I… You ran away. I thought you must’ve, I don’t know…” Your tongue feels useless in your mouth as you struggle to explain yourself. “I figured you changed your mind, or didn’t like me. Never mind, it was stupid, I should probably go-”

As you go to stand up again a hand flies up and latches onto your wrist, halting you in a hunched-over position. You stare down at him in shock as his own eyes widen, like he’s surprised at his actions. “Y/n,” he says emphatically, “please, get in the gondola. I’ll explain everything, I promise. I just- Don’t go. Please.”

You pause for a moment then nod slowly, silent as his hand slides down your wrist to hold your hand instead, fingers linking.

“Can you get in by yourself?” Your repeated ventures on his gondola have gotten you somewhat used to the rocking of the boat as you get on, but it’s so dark that you can barely see where to put your feet, so you shake your head. As warm as it is, you don’t fancy an illegal dip in the canal.

He smiles broadly at your hesitance and gets up out of the gondola, reaching down to hold it still, before turning to you and snaking a strong arm around the small of your waist. You squeak in surprise as he promptly lifts you and dumps you into the boat, water sloshing around the sides, threatening to spill in.

“Taehyung!” you chastise, but before long he’s hopping on himself, creating much less of a disturbance in the water, and kicking off away from the edge to start rowing. You sit back against the stool so you can keep watching him, though you can’t make out the slightest detail in his face, and rub at your arms, willing away the raised bumps. Although you can’t see where he’s headed, you know it’s the opposite way from the tours you had been on before. “Where are we going?”

He looks down at you, and the levity in his voice hints at a smile. “It’s the end of the day and there are no more tourists wanting a ride. We’re going home.”

For someone who’s done nothing all day, you feel drained and tired, and so after a minute or two of silence, you gingerly slip off the stool and lie down on the floor in the middle of the boat, just enough room between the two stools for your shoulders to be brushing the gold corded strim on their bases. Taehyung makes an amused chuckle in the back of his throat when you lie down, but doesn’t comment.

Above you, the sky is an open expanse of blue-black, fringed with the tops of buildings on either side. A cottony string of cloud slides peacefully over the moon, a fat crescent high above you. Back home, there’s too much light pollution to make out more than a few bright stars, and they’re all spread out, lightyears away from each other. You used to look up at that sky and relate to those stars, burning bright but shining alone. Here in Venice, you can make out little clusters, tiny communities of glowing pinpricks. Just below the moon, two stars are side-by-side, one white, one glowing a little more yellow. The night sky is much nicer here, you decide.

“We’re here,” a husky voice calls out, and you sit up hastily, vision going fuzzy for a moment with the abrupt motion. It’s lighter here, where you’re stopped; the canal is so narrow that the single lamp sconce above a doorway is enough to light up the surrounding area.

As Taehyung docks the gondola, tying it to a conveniently located hook embedded in the brick beside the front door, you take a look around from the low vantage point you have. It looks like the canal equivalent of a driveway, old exposed brick on either side, with a blue-green line all the way down where the water level normally sat. His house sat right on the edge of the water, there being no standing room at all. It was a dead-end, so you figured this must consist as private property; honestly, you had totally zoned out watching the stars while he was going home, and you had no idea how far away from your hotel you were. “...am I staying here tonight?” you ask curiously.

“If you want to,” he replies without looking back at you, but you can see the defensive hunch of his shoulders as he reaches up to unlock the door, which is painted a deep green, and his voice is gentle. He’s still unsure.

“Of course I want to,” you reply, “I was just wondering… I don’t have any pyjamas with me, that’s all.”

The tension in his shoulders eases as he turns the key, and the glow of the lamp behind him frames his mussed-up hair in a halo. Your eyes widen as you finally notice that he’s no longer wearing the black beret he’d donned every other time you’ve seen him. A quick glance down around you shows it lying abandoned in the floor of the boat. You quirk a smile at the image of him tugging it off dramatically to cause his hair to be so messy, but it drops when you remember you’re the reason he would’ve been distressed enough to do that.

Taehyung, unaware of your mental turmoil, opens the door inwards and turns back to extend a hand to you. With one strong tug, you’re up out of the gondola and stumbling into the house, feet re-adjusting to solid ground.

His house is still warm from the evening sun that’s now far beyond the horizon, and when Taehyung flicks a light on in the small entryway, it floods the first floor with a soft yellow glow. The walls are wallpapered with a peeling sunflower pattern and the floor is a worn grey carpet, but already you can see the touches that make this home uniquely Taehyung’s; all along the walls hang framed pictures of him at varying ages with Jungkook and Jin, a coatrack in the corner to the left of the doorway holds a heavy beige overcoat as well as several berets in different shades in the same style as the one he incidentally had left outside in the bed of the gondola, and somewhere upstairs you can hear the muffled sound of French bohemian opera.

Taehyung takes notice of this as he shuts the door behind him. “Ah, I must’ve left that on again this morning,” he mutters under his breath, struggling to lock the door behind him with one hand.

It’s then that you notice he hasn’t let go of you, your fingers still tightly interwoven. You give him a little squeeze to remind him in case he wants to let go, but instead you see a flush rise on his cheeks and a shy smile play at his mouth as he squeezes back.

“Come on,” he announces softly, tugging at your hand slightly to get you moving, “I’ll make you a drink. Do you drink jasmine tea? It’s my favourite.”

You smother a smile at his comment, simply nodding happily and following him through a doorway to the right into a small kitchen. Of course he drank jasmine tea. You wouldn’t be surprised if he also meditated twice a day and sang to the birds every morning.

His kitchen is tiny; a low roof overhangs what consists of no more than the bare necessities: he has a refrigerator, a stove, a metal sink and some cupboards in the far corner, and a small round table with a single chair across from it on the other side of the room.

Your palm goes cold as he abruptly lets go of your hand, springing forward to grab the back of the chair and pull it out from the edge of the table, staring at you expectantly. “Please sit down,” he invites, and you accept gratefully, scooting the chair across the tiles to tuck yourself back in. “I’ll just put the kettle on. Sorry about the mess, I’m sure it’s not as fancy as you’re used to.”

You shake your head in mute protest, enjoying looking over the small quirks and details you can find around the place. As he opens an overhead cabinet for some mugs, you notice he has only three of them, as well as four plates, two bowls and five glasses. It’s clear that he’s been living alone for a while.

As your eyes skim over the room, the kettle quietly bubbling away, you ask curiously, “so how did you get this place? You grew up with Jin and his dad, didn’t you? Why not stay there with them?”

He places a bag of tea in each mug and turns around, holding a finger up at you before darting out of the room. You wait in bewilderment until he returns with a small piano stool, placing it on the other side of the table and perching on the edge. “Sorry, what was your question?”

You furrow your brows. “You have a piano?”

He tips his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. “Huh? Oh! You mean the stool. No, I picked this up at the second-hand store. Cheaper than a regular dining chair, can you believe it? I keep it in the cupboard in case I have a guest.”

You nod slowly, lip quirking. “My question was why you live here instead of still at the workshop in the squero.”

His eyes brighten and dart up and to the right as he thinks back in his memory. “Ah, that’s right. Same reason as anyone else, really. I grew up, wanted to feel independent. This house used to belong to an old friend of Jin’s, and so I got it for a good price when he moved away from the city. I know it’s not much, but...” An unconscious smile plays at his lips as he looks over the room. “It’s mine,” he finishes softly. Once he stops speaking, there’s a comfortable silence for a moment or two before the kettle boils, and he gets up to go pour the drinks.

“I like it,” you say once he returns with two steaming mugs. He tilts his head to the side. “The house,” you clarify, “I really like it. It’s very...you.”

He blushes, though maybe it’s from the hot steam wafting over his face as he breathes in the herbal scent. “Does that mean you like me?” he asks, avoiding eye contact.

You fiddle with the handle of your mug, suddenly feeling self-conscious and shy, like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Yeah. It does. I like you a lot, Taehyung.”

He inhales the aromatic steam of the tea deeply, a couple of breaths like he’s steeling himself, before he places it down timidly. His eyes dart up to yours, dancing over your face, your lips, before he looks back down again, taking one more deep breath.

You watch him, half-amused and half-spellbound at the way his uncertainty is spelled out on his face. Tea forgotten, you flick your tongue out to wet your lips, mouth dry all of a sudden, and silently wait in anticipation as his eyes glaze over as he internally wars with himself.

Finally, he looks up at you again, and you’re lost in those deep brown eyes. “Y/n,” he says in a husky tone, quieter than perhaps he was aiming for, “can I... I want to try something.”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “Okay.”

He blinks like a deer in headlights. “Okay, just- just stay there.”

You barely manage to suppress a smile at his comment, but you can feel your heartbeat thrumming in your ear and thumping in your chest in anticipation, eyes wide as he slides the stool noisily across the tiles, scooting around the table one juddering motion at a time, until his knees are bumping yours.

A hand hovers in the air in front of your face as Taehyung bites his lip. “Are you sure?”

The breath you’ve been unconsciously holding in this whole time comes rushing out. “Please just kiss me,” you beg in a whisper, eyes desperately gazing deep into his.

When his hand finally reaches your face, brushing lightly against the skin of your cheek, his fingers tremble. You lean into his touch, feeling the contact sear your skin, and he furrows his brows in focus as he slips his hand into your hair, cupping the back of your head.

Taehyung stares down at your lips again, nods once to himself, and moves forward, using his other hand on your knee to steady himself. Automatically, your eyes flutter shut and your lips part, waiting to receive that which you’ve been longing for. When soft, pillowy lips finally press themselves against yours, you shudder under him, eyes squeezing shut even more to fully drown yourself in sensation.

The kiss is slow, languid, but rich with passion, and you feel your upper half leaning forward instinctively to be closer to him. The hand in your hair curls up slightly, fingers tugging at the roots, and you whimper into his mouth.

As he moves against you, Taehyung tips his head to the side to deepen the kiss, and you feel his tongue dip out of his mouth to press at the seam of your lips. You drop your jaw slightly to let him in, and once you feel his teeth graze your bottom lip, tugging slightly before letting it pop back, you whimper again, breathing his name into the millimetres of air between you.

He makes a little grunt, deep in his throat, and then he’s pulling away from you. Your eyes crack open in a daze, just in time to see a string of saliva that connects the two of you break and land against his chin. Taehyung sucks his swollen bottom lip into his mouth, pupils blown wide.

It’s only once you try to speak that you realise just how heavily you’re panting. “Taehyung, I...”

He retracts his hand from your hair, brushing his thumb against your cheekbone fondly as he does so, and stands up in front of you. “Do you want to come upstairs?” he asks simply.

Your response comes immediately. “Yes.”

The two of you make your way to his room in a hushed silence, each creak of the old wooden stairs at the back of the building heightening your anticipation like a tangible cloud billowing in your stomach. The melodic opera from earlier, the one that you had completely tuned out until now, crescendos as you approach.

The landing has only two doors, both swung open to reveal a bathroom and a bedroom. Taehyung takes the second option and you follow him in, hovering hesitantly in the doorway.

You take a look around as he tidies up quickly, amused at the curious blend of items strewn all over. The music, which he turns down to fade out, comes from a bulky plastic stereo that sits on the floor. In fact, he has very minimal furniture in his room at all, giving it a chaotic feel that complements what it contains.

The walls are covered with posters and photos, a sea of famous composers, paintings, pages of music pinned to the wall beside his double bed. He has a short bookcase tucked between the bed and the wall, and on it is a tiny desk lamp, and a framed black-and-white photo of a beautiful young woman holding a small infant, the glass gleaming in the light from the ceiling bulb. Beside it, stacked up from the floor, is a haphazard pile of all the old books that don’t fit inside the bookcase itself.

You smile softly, moving around Taehyung as he rushes around in a crouch, picking up abandoned pieces of clothing and shoving them inside a laundry hamper by the door. You make your way across the room to look outside the window. It’s a relatively large circle, gilded on the edges, but it’s so dark outside that you’re forced to press your nose against the glass and frame your eyes with your cupped hands to see outside.

As your breath fogs up the glass below, you can make out a small cobblestone street out the back of Taehyung’s house. Most of it is residential, but one place a little ways down looks like a restaurant, with two or three tables out on the street. You squint, grateful for the small streetlamps down there, as you make out a couple sharing a meal of something, guiding spoonfuls into each other’s mouths. Instead of sitting across from each other, they sit side-by-side, the smaller body leaning into the larger one.

You jump when a fluttering pressure lands on your bare shoulder. You pull yourself away from the window, leaving smudge marks from your fingers and nose behind, and turn your head back to face Taehyung. A smile slides across your face automatically at the way he straightens up and looks down at you with eyes full of wonder. It makes you forget about everything outside this room, outside you and him. “I want you,” you confess without thinking.

His breath hitches and his brows lift just slightly, like he can’t believe it. His eyes trail over your face for a moment, searching. When he finds whatever he was looking for in the openness of your face, his eyebrows lift and he beams. “Come to bed.”

You follow him, but at the last minute he swivels out of the way and slips an arm around your back, laying you down on the duvet gently. Your skin feels alight, even the texture of the cotton on your elbows as you scoot up to rest your head in the middle of the pillows feels electric.

He smiles to himself with a blush, gesturing for you to lift your head up, and you do so, observing him as he hastily shuffles the pillows aside so that you can lie back on one properly, instead of the gap between them. Your head falls back, far more comfortable, and you lift your hands up, making grabby motions at him.

The gorgeous man laughs softly, but obeys your unspoken command by lifting a leg up and over you, balancing himself on his knees and leaning down, brushing some stray strands of hair off your face before tenderly pressing a kiss on your lips, his forearm on the pillow beside you propping him up.

Your eyes slip shut naturally, and you allow yourself to be overtaken by the feeling of his lips on yours, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair, and the heat of his body hovering over you. When his free hand comes up to hold on to your chin lightly, thumb pressing down to lower your jaw, you clutch at his shirt, balling the fabric by his shoulders, needing an anchor. You let him take control, his sensual yet insistent tongue playing against yours as you gasp out and hook a leg up and around his waist, trying to bring him closer.

He acquiesces with a grin that you feel against your lips, and once his body is pressed flush against you, you let out a soft moan, letting go of his shirt to grasp his face instead, head lifting off the pillow to drown in him even more.

His deft fingers curl around your wrist, squeezing slightly, pulling it away before swapping to do the same with your other wrist. You pout, blinking up at him with eyes sleepy with lust when he pulls away from your lips with an audible pop.

His pupils are dilated, and his breath is coming in shallow pants. “Do you want me to turn the light off?”

You shake your head quickly. “I want to see you.”

A relieved sigh. “Good, me too. You’re so beautiful.”

Your cheeks go pink, breath catching in your throat when he comes down again, but this time his kisses land on the warm skin over your cheekbones, the left then the right. With your eyes squeezed shut and lips parted in wonder, you feel him on the top of your forehead, then on your nose, in an intimate recreation of that day on the docks. “Taehyung,” you breathe, lost in him.

When he pulls back, leaving four spots on your face burning, your eyes struggle to blink open again. He looks slightly pained, a calloused thumb rubbing lightly over your swollen lips. “You have no idea, do you?” he questions, eyes focused on the way your lips spring back when he lets them go. “How crazy I am about you?” When he sighs, you feel it warm your skin, that’s how close he holds himself. “Yesterday was a busy day. Three different tour groups came in, all wanting gondola rides. There were even a few Koreans among them. I got asked for a trip countless times. I could’ve made a fortune.”

Your brows furrow, seeing where he’s going with this. “Taehyung,” you repeat morosely, unsure what else you could say.

“I turned them all down,” he admits flatly, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice, “because I couldn’t stand the thought of you coming down and me not being there.” His fingers leave your lips, resting against your cheek instead. His eyes dart up to meet yours finally, and you note with surprise that they’re glassy. “And then you never came.”

“I’m so sorry. I- I was stupid. But I’m here now.”

The tears fade as fast as they arrived, and you’re glad he didn’t start crying, but his eyes still droop in sorrow. “Are you? I’m so scared that I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will have all been a dream.” He leans down again, burying his face against the sensitive skin of your neck. You gasp as he kisses and suckles at your pulse point. “You feel like a dream,” he murmurs against you, and the vibrations of his voice lights up your nerve endings, electricity shooting up your spine.

“I’m real,” you assure him, “can’t you feel how fast my heart is racing for you right now?”

His breath escapes him in a shudder, but he doesn’t reply, instead sitting up slightly. You watch him as he reaches for one of your hands, and brings it up to his face, pressing a delicate kiss on each fingertip. Methodically, with his eyes closed dreamily, he makes his way up the delicate skin of your inner arm, leaving behind red patches and streaks of moisture. Every gentle flick of the tip of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth, has a fire gradually building between your legs, and you squeeze your thighs together, whimpering impatiently by the time he reaches your shoulder.

He chuckles against your skin, gazing sultrily up at you through dark eyelashes. “Be patient, angel, I want to take my time with you.”

Your chest heaves and you bite your lip as he sits up, lets your arm fall gently to the bed, only to pick up your other hand and begin again. It feels like an eternity of sensation, a slow pilgrimage from your fingertips to your collarbone, and when you manage to control your quickening breaths, you can both hear and feel him mumbling against your skin as he laves at the crook of your neck.

You head tips to the side to give him more room, the ball of your foot digging into his behind more firmly as you shift your pelvis under him, desperate for friction. “Taehyung, please,” you beg, “I need you.”

He places one final kiss to the area he was paying attention to, rubbing it with his thumb to observe the wash of colour blooming on your skin with a smile. “I want you too,” he assures you, “I’ve been thinking about this all the time since the moment I saw you.”

Your eyes plead with him. “Then take me. I’m yours.” Your hands grasp at the hem of your tank top, crossing over with the intent of whipping it off urgently, but Taehyung shushes you, stopping your undressing, holding your wrists firmly above your head with one hand as he bent down and played with the edge of the fabric with his other.

You swallow hard and arch your back into his touch as the sensitive skin of your stomach is brushed by the backs of his knuckles. You rub your thighs together again. “Come on,” you whine hopelessly, turning your face to bury it against the soft flesh of your upper arm, fingers curling in the air to try and reach his hand where he’s holding you down. “Haven’t you teased me enough?”

He lets out a deep exhale and lies flat against your lower half, rubbing his nose against your hipbone, feeling you trembling under him. “I’m not teasing,” he defends emphatically, licking at the skin, pinching it just slightly between his teeth. “I’m worshipping every inch of you like you deserve.” A warm palm slides under the fabric and runs up to stretch out across the top of your stomach, holding you flat against the bed. “God, you’re perfect.”

Your cheeks are hot against the skin of your arm, and you sigh in resignation, torn between thriving off the praise, and wanting, needing, more. You lift up your head to look down at him, and feel yourself dampen even more. “Fuck, Taehyung.” Your shirt is tented where his hand spans almost your entire front, rucked up slightly to reveal the soft skin of your stomach, where he lays sloppy yet intentional kisses upwards, eyes lidded and heavy with lust as they stare up at you. You bite your lip and push at the hand keeping your wrists locked together, wanting nothing more than to reach down and card your fingers through his ruffled brown hair, but he just grins at your effort, not budging at all.

He pushes your top up further and further on his languid journey upwards, until it’s bunched up over the top of your breasts, exposing your bra.

It’s just a plain cotton one with minimal padding, the kind you wore on lazy days, but the way he’s staring down at your chest in wonder stops you from feeling self-conscious. With your hands still tucked above your head, you wordlessly arch your chest up at him, trying to make contact with the hand that hovers just above you. When the fabric brushes his fingertips, he sighs out heavily and follows you down, resting his palm gently across one of your mounds.

Nervously, his eyes dart up to you and then back down, and you grin when you work out what’s giving him pause. “Don’t know how to open it with one hand, do you?” you tease. “If only my hands were free, I could take it off for you.”

He sits back further, pressure increasing on your upper legs, the arm above your head stretching out straight. “I’m gonna let go of your wrists now,” he announces in a raspy voice, “keep them above your head, okay? Be a good girl.”

When he does let go of them to grab onto the pile of tank top around the top of your breasts, you’re too shocked to move, letting him tug the top over your head and limp arms, before tossing it away into the corner of the room.

Before his hands tuck behind your back to find the bra clasp, he lets his eyes and hands roam your torso freely, the warmth of his palms on your skin making your fingers curl into fists with the restraint not to touch him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you lift up at the spine to grant him access to your back. He fiddles with it for a few moments gently, before hunkering down, eyes scrunched closed in concentration, but even his jerkier movements don’t free the hooks from their clasps behind you. Eventually, he huffs and opens his eyes again, looking down at you with a sheepish smile that you can’t help but return. “Would you mind taking your bra off for me? It’s, uh… it’s been a while.”

You nod but gesture for him to scoot up a bit as if you need more room, but once he does you quickly slip your legs out from between his knees and sit up, throwing a leg over his lap and pushing his chest back.

Although he could no doubt overpower you, he lets you have your way, lying back against the sheets, hair splayed out around him like a halo. The bed is just long enough that his head doesn’t fall off the far end, but you twist around to grab a pillow for him first, grinning cheekily as you repeat his earlier actions, letting him lie more comfortably. At his curious gaze, you pout at him playfully. “I can be chivalrous too, you know.”

“I’m sure.” Once you’re straddling him, Taehyung’s hands find your hips, still clad in leggings that you wish were off already, but you don’t want to give up your momentary position of power, so you reach behind you and deftly unsnap the bra, letting it fall slowly down your arms before flinging it away.

Taehyung’s eyes dilate even more, locked onto your nipples which are already standing at full attention from the excitement of his earlier ministrations. “So perfect,” he mutters to himself before a hand slides up your side and cups your breast, forefinger dancing lightly over your nipple as he splays out over it.

You gasp at the sudden sensation and curl inwards, chest coming down closer to him. “Please, more,” you plead breathlessly.

He hums in amusement, flicking the bud teasingly as you shudder, hands clutching at his shirt. “Does it feel good? God, look at you, so responsive, so sensitive for me.”

You bite your lip and rock your pelvis against him, feeling his hardness beneath you. You don’t know how he has the restraint to spend so much time cherishing your body when he’s clearly ready to take you, and at this point you honestly couldn’t say if you wished he would hurry up or take his time.

A choked cry is pulled from your throat as he kneads that breast, and, while you’re distracted, tightly pinches the other nipple with his other hand, immediately letting go and soothing the delicate flesh with his thumb.

You’re sure at this point you must be soaking through your leggings, and you grind again, but are halted by Taehyung tutting at you. “Stop that,” he warns, “if I cum now you won’t get to feel me in that pretty pussy of yours.”

A jolt pierces through you at his filthy words, but you can’t help from grinning slyly down at him. “You wouldn’t know if my pussy is pretty or not, you haven’t even seen it yet.”

He rolls both nipples under his thumbs and forefingers simultaneously, and you keen over into the contact, barely holding yourself up on his chest. “Patience,” he reminds you simply, humour lacing his tone as he watches you fall apart on top of him. “Now c’mere.” With a sudden single movement, he sits up and wraps his arms around your back, holding you flush against him to keep you steady. You’re now sat on his lap, legs wide over his crotch as he sits in the middle of the bed.

His arms stretch out just enough so that you lean back slightly in his secure hold, and before you can process it, a wet heat closes around on your left nipple. You cry out and go lax against him, falling back over his arm as you desperately grab at his broad shoulders for support.

Unlike the way he manhandled you into position, the way he worships your nipple with his mouth is sensual and dedicated, sparing no effort as he laps his tongue over it. You let your eyes fall closed and try to steady your breathing, losing your mind. You can feel every suck, flick and nibble like the sensations have been magnified, and although he scolded you for it before, you can’t help but wriggle your hips, longing for some friction between your legs.

He lets go of your left nipple with a wet pop, groans breathily, and moves promptly over to envelop your right one, triggering another throaty cry from you. Distantly, you realize you’ve been chanting his name under your breath between whimpers, a hot coil in your stomach tightening as you tremble beneath him.

A particularly harsh tug of your stiff peak between his teeth has you locking up, arms flying around his neck to hold yourself tight against him as a sudden orgasm takes a hold. Your toes curl up and you rock yourself over his crotch to heighten the feeling, moaning nonsensically as he continues to stimulate the nerve endings in your nipple, switching back to the left as you come down from your high and shy away from the overwhelming sensation.

Once he breaks away and sits upright, he looks at you in awe, lips slick and swollen. “Did you just cum from that?”

You pant, a lazy dopamine-induced smile spreading across your face. “Yeah,” you make out through shallow breaths, “you were taking too long to fuck me so I thought I should just go ahead myself.”

“Is that so?” he questions, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “I suppose now that you’ve got what you wanted, you won’t be so impatient anymore. Lie back.”

You lick your lips and do as he asked, the arms behind you lowering you slowly until you return to the soft sheets, looking up at him. Secretly, you’re glad he suggests the change of position, as your legs feel wobbly with the surprising intensity of your orgasm. “Taehyung…”

“Mm?”

Your hands fiddle with his shirt. “Let me see you.”

Suddenly, a blush is rising on his cheeks again, but he sits back and reaches a hand behind him, tugging the shirt off by the neck quickly and without ceremony.

You feel your mouth watering at the sight of him. Unsurprisingly, his arms and shoulders are corded muscle, streamlined from using the oar in the water, but what you aren’t expecting is the contrast of a buff chest and soft stomach. With the way he’s holding his arms over it, it makes him self-conscious, but it just makes him that much cuter to you. “You’re gorgeous, Taehyung,” you tell him genuinely, reaching out to run a hand over his pecs, then sliding down to brush your knuckles against his tummy as you fiddle with his waistband. “Every part of you.”

His eyes grow warm and he leans back in for another soft kiss, claiming your mouth quickly yet deeply, a kiss that speaks of comfort and urgency. He looks over you as your eyes flutter and struggle to focus on him. After waiting for you to recover again, he rubs your jawline with his thumb. “Are you still sure about this? If it’s too soon, we can-”

“Please, Taehyung,” you beg, “no more foreplay, I need you now.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Can’t I…?” You suck in a breath when his hand slips between your legs, pressing up through the two layers of fabric that separate him from your heat.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, but you shake your head. “Next time. Please.”

That does it. His cheeks go pink and his eyes crinkle at your words, before he’s standing up to shuck his pants off and kick them away, hopping back on the bed to reach for yours.

You lift your hips off the bed to help him pull your leggings down with your panties, sucking in a breath as his hands pass over the curve of your ass and down your legs, his sense of need finally helping him pick up the pace.

Your legs fall open and your mouth goes dry with anticipation watching his dick shift in his underwear, straining at the fabric with a darker wet patch amongst the light grey. If you weren’t so desperate to feel him inside you, you’d be on your knees already.

Once you finally get the fabric off your ankles and away from you, you’re ready for Taehyung to lie over you again, but instead he grabs one of your ankles and tosses it over the side of the bed, spreading you wide open before his head ducks down and he licks a rough swipe up through your folds, collecting your wetness on his tongue. You cry out and jerk in surprise, but he’s already leaning back, pushing his tongue around his mouth like he’s savouring your taste, eyes closed blissfully.

“Next time,” he repeats dreamily to himself, before he reaches down to the waistband of his underwear, slipping it down slowly. Your breath catches in anticipation when you see the dark tuft of hair, before sucking in a quiet gasp when the underwear comes fully down, letting his erection jump out, bobbing in the air. Fuck. He’s huge.

Your leg is still haphazardly hanging off the edge of the bed, and you have no time to react before his hand is coming down between your legs to rub his flat palm against you, slicking it up before he begins pumping himself, sighing in relief at the friction.

That brief contact you had gotten against your clit when he was rubbing against you has you desperate for more, and you whisper his name in a plea for more. Taehyung looks down at you, biting his lip as he jerks off. “Condom?” he asks, and you pause for a second before shaking your head. “I’m clean, and I hope you are too, but if we don’t use one you could get knocked up, Y/n.” You stay silent, simply widening your legs in front of him. He swears lowly and gets up, getting on top of you, propping himself up by a forearm so that he’s close enough to kiss you.

His breath warms the skin of your face as he looks down and focus on lining himself up with his other hand. You bite your lip and let out a moan when you feel his head slipping between your folds and pressing against your entrance. He checks in with you one last time before the pressure increases, and then your head is tipping back weakly as the blunt head of his cock stretches your opening.

“God, you’re soaked,” he muses, “n’ so warm for me.”

With no preparation, it’s on the verge of being too big a stretch, and your eyes squeeze shut, focusing on relaxing around the intrusion. “Fuck, Taehyung…”

“Too much?” he checks, going still, though his upper arms tremble as he holds himself above you.

You shake your head. “Just go slow.”

Taehyung nods and begins to move again, stopping every inch or so to let you adjust. The feeling of him splitting you open is divine, and by the time you feel his hips flush against you, you’re panting underneath him.

He pauses there, bending down to plant light kisses all over your face until you can’t help but giggle at the ticklish touches. He stops with one last kiss on your lips, murmuring against them quietly. “How are you doing? Okay?”

With a hand pressing down on your lower abdomen, you rock your pelvis experimentally and give out a strangled moan when you feel him shift inside you. “So full,” you admit, slowly accommodating to the feeling, already wanting more.

Taehyung takes your lips once more before raising himself up a little higher for better leverage and control. He tries to pull out slowly, eyebrows furrowed tightly and mouth open as he feels you clenching around him. “Y/n,” he chants, “you fit perfectly around me, feels so good.” With that, he begins to thrust into you, a slow drag back and forth since you’re currently too tight for anything faster.

“Oh god,” you breathe quietly. Taehyung’s head falls down onto his shoulder and you can feel how hot his cheeks are. He mumbles something but you can’t make it out. “What did you say?”

“Louder,” he admits reluctantly, nose nuzzling the crook of your shoulder. “I want you to be louder. I want to hear you.”

You sigh and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Then make me.”

He groans at your words, but you feel the muscles in his back tense up as he starts to fuck into you with more vigour, drawing out a garbled moan with every stroke as he presses up against your g-spot.

Although he asked for you to be louder, he himself is surprisingly noisy for a guy. You can hear through his grunts and pants the effort he’s expending, and underneath it all is a low whine that comes out every time you clench involuntarily around him. You’re dripping so much that you can hear the wet smacks fill the small room, and that trio of sounds is all that is heard as you feel yourself approaching that edge again.

“Nng, Taehyung, right there, oh please, more, I need more,” your mouth goes without you even being aware of the words tumbling out, and although you try to keep your eyes open to watch his face change as he’s overcome with pleasure, a particularly hard thrust has your eyes rolling back in your head. “Fu-uck.”

“Good?” he asks, and you nod with as much energy as you have left, crying out when you feel a rough thumb massaging your clit. “Can you come for me, angel?”

“Y- So close, oh god,” your hips start canting up to meet his every thrust, making him swear under his breath.

“Me too,” he confesses, “I’m gonna need to pull out soon.”

“Come inside,” you plead immediately, “come inside me.”

“Fuck,” he groans, and you swear the force of his thrusts increase, “you want me to fill you up, hm?”

You whine hopelessly, taken aback by how he gets filthier the closer to orgasm he gets. “Please, Taehyung.”

“Look at you,” he pants, carding a hand fondly through your sweaty hair, chuckling breathlessly when you nuzzle into it, “so desperate for me. Shit, I’m almost there.”

He stops speaking to put all his effort into fucking you, maintaining the punishing rhythm on your clit, and suddenly you’re convulsing under him, propelled without warning into an even stronger orgasm than before.

Taehyung growls and his thrusts falter, off-beat but with as much force as he can muster, and soon enough he’s falling over the edge too, chest collapsing on top of you.

You smile blissfully. “That was amazing.” After a moment you get no reply, and you laugh quietly. “Taehyung?”

“I love you, Y/n,” he pants into your shoulder, sighing happily.

You freeze, even as your pussy still contracts with aftershocks from your orgasm. Your head turns quickly to look down at him, but you see him, face peaceful, eyes closed, already falling asleep.

His head rises and falls with your breathing as it slowly evens out, but even as he slumbers, you lie on your back with a sticky mess slowly drying between your legs, wide awake.

--

It’s not even six in the morning when the sun rises and pierces you right in the eyes, but it doesn’t wake you up. You never slept.

The whole night, as you stayed completely still while Taehyung nuzzled your shoulder in his sleep and cuddled into you, your mind was tossing and turning.

You wanted to leave, a fight or flight instinct had kicked in the second he said those three words, but somehow amongst your own personal dilemma, you couldn't bear to upset him. So here you were, neck cramping slightly, wincing at the glare of the sun through that circular window, wishing you were anywhere else.

Maybe he wouldn't remember it, you figured. You could always play ignorant, like you had never even heard, but if you did that you'd never know if he meant it or was just saying it in the heat of the moment. Surely he didn't love you already; you'd only met him four days ago.

But at the end of the day, it wasn't really what he said that was the main problem.

It was the fact that you were... beginning to feel the same. And yet you had a flight out of here in ten days, and started work the following Monday.

At some point in the night, you had started to cry silently, thinking of your life back home. It was nothing like this world here. You had an expensive, tiny apartment in a high-end area, although you spent more time in your office than you did at home, working the hours away until the dull throb behind your eyes became too much to handle.

Until you had come here, it felt like you were simply putting in the elbow grease you had to to survive. But now the thought of working in that environment felt suffocating and meaningless.

You had to leave, but you didn't want to go. Four days here, and you already had more reasons to stay than you did to return.

A throaty hum breaks you out of your thoughts, and you feel Taehyung's grip tighten on you, before it goes lax again. You hold your breath.

"You stayed," he remarks in a gravelly voice, full of wonder, and your heart breaks all over again.

"Taehyung, I- I have to go."

He straightens up suddenly, pulling the blankets back with him, and you wince at the cold air on your naked body. "Why? Do you need to get back to your hotel?" His face falls, and he cards a hand through his hair to settle the bedhead nest it was in. "I was going to make you some breakfast. Can't you stay for a little while?"

You look down, body missing his warmth already by the way goosebumps spring up on your arms and thighs. "It's... It's not about that. I can't do this, Taehyung. I'm sorry."

"Do this?" You bite your lip hard, needing the pain as recompense for the way his eyes run over you morosely. Taehyung runs a hand over his face, pinching his brow. "I don't understand what you mean. If you didn't want to, you should've told me before we..." He breaks off and sighs heavily.

You glance around the room, looking for your clothes that are strewn across the hardwood floor, trying to ignore the defeated slump of his shoulders in your peripheral. "I'm sorry, Taehyung. I had fun, but I don't think-"

"Fun?" he asks incredulously, and you snap your head back to him in shock at his sudden volume. "This was all a bit of fun for you?"

You shake your head. "That's not what I-"

"Forget it," he interrupts bitterly. "Maybe in the city you're used to one night stands and meaningless sex, but you should've known that for me it means a lot more. It meant a lot more."

Your lip trembles, but you remain silent.

He sighs again, resigned. "I think you should leave." Without looking at you, he stands up, collects his clothes, and hovers at the doorway, head turned aside. "Don't bother locking the door on your way out. It's not like a poor man like me has anything worth stealing anyway."

You're left sitting on the bed, feeling, for the first time since you arrived here in Venice, truly alone.

--

Days pass. He must've found a different spot to dock up. Perhaps he's stopped coming at all. You know this because several times a day, often more times than you can count on one hand, you find yourself back at Saint Mark's Square, wandering around the edge of the canal, looking for him.

You spend a week filled with regret, moping around the streets and canals of Venice in a melancholic haze. Getting in a Vaporetto and staying on until the end of the line only to get one to come all the way back becomes a ritual. You crave being able to zone out and take a break from reality, even if it doesn't last as long as you wish.

For the most part, you avoid your hotel room. You feel sick breathing in the scent of expensive perfumed flowers, hate seeing that battered saxophone case still resting smugly on the desktop.

Foolishly, after a day or two, you miss him so badly that you start to seek out the workshop he took you to, in the hopes that he might be there. However, when you had gone on that gondola ride, you were so moony-eyed over him that you had completely failed to pay attention to where you were going at all, and now you had to hopelessly roam the streets, trying to recognise a doorway, a cafe, anything that would point you in the right direction.

By day four, you begin to get desperate. You'd had enough time to yourself to think things through. You knew you had royally screwed up that conversation with Taehyung. You wished more than anything that you could go back and do it over, but instead you had to focus on the future.

It was becoming more and more apparent, as your heels got blisters and your thighs rubbed themselves raw, that Taehyung wasn't just a crush or a fling. He was right. That night you shared had meant something. At the time, you were scared. You still were. But Taehyung's confession had scared you so much then because you couldn't bear the thought of growing closer to him, of falling for him like he's falling for you and then getting on a plane and leaving him behind.

Now, you were scared because you knew what you had to do.

It began with calling your landlord back home, and your boss at work. You would have to go back home for at least a month to fill out your required resignation notice, and probably a bit more time beyond that to get your finances and belongings in order, but the more details you sorted, the more a blooming flicker of hope lit up inside you.

You even went into an internet cafe on the south side of town, logging into a computer and researching everything; real estate in Venice, visas, attaining residency. Perhaps it was a big change, maybe even one you weren't really thinking through, but every day without seeing Taehyung felt like weight crushing your chest, and you knew that it was too late for you.

You were in love with him.

Still, as your days here drew to a close, and you felt like you had explored all of Venice with no luck, you didn't know what to do. You stop outside a busy main street, sighing in defeat. You had seen this street a million times before. With the limitations of the canals, there were some places you couldn't go without a private water vehicle, and so it seemed you were just wandering in cir-

"Ow, shit, sorry!"

You stumble as a hard force knocks you over, barely getting your feet under you to remain standing. "Ah, it's o.... Jungkook?"

"Do I know you?" He's breathing a little heavily, like he's been running, and he's holding two brown paper bags to his chest. His pout of confusion opens to a little 'o' when his eyes light up. "Uptown girl! I remember you. How are you...oh, not good, right? I heard what happened."

This is your chance. You don't have time for small talk. "Jungkook, I need to speak to him."

He purses his lips to the side, shifting the heavy groceries in his grip. "I don't know... I don't think he wants to see you."

"I know he might be a bit hurt at the moment, but I-"

"No, you don't understand." Jungkook crinkles his brow. "I don't think he wants to see you ever again."

Your heart crumbles in your chest. With wide eyes, you blink at the young boy pleadingly. "I need to explain some things to him. I didn't have time to tell him before, but I... I need him to know. Please, Jungkook."

But the boy just shakes his head mournfully, ducking it to avoid your imploring gaze. "Jin-hyung would never forgive me. I can't betray Taehyung's trust like that. Well... It was nice to see you, for what it's worth. Have a good day."

He pushes past you again, and without thinking, you whirl around and grab onto his shirt sleeve. "Jungkook! Please, if I can't see him, at least pass on a message for me. Tell him I fly back home in two days. If he's willing to forgive me, or even just to speak with me, it needs to be before then. I'll wait at the docks every night until I have to go. And tell him I-" I love him. "...that's all. Just tell him that. Please."

Jungkook shrugs out of your grip, wriggles his shoulder to try and break up the wrinkles in the fabric your fingers created, and nods at you once, before turning tail and scurrying away.

You watch as he reaches the docks towards the end of the main street, and passes the bags down into a gondola, one that looked larger than Taehyung's. In the bed is a man with broad shoulders, one you recognise as the other workshop carpenter, who puts them at his feet. As Jungkook gets in, he speaks solemnly with the elder and points back down the street to where you are.

You swallow hard as Jin looks up at you and narrows his eyebrows. His gaze stays heavy on you until you look down, turning to leave.

--

He doesn't come Wednesday night. He doesn't come Thursday night.

You stay there each time until almost three in the morning, until your eyes feel so heavy that you can't guarantee you won't fall asleep on the dock. Both nights, your only company is that saxophone case. You bring it, hoping it might act as an apology gift, but instead it serves more as a pillow to prop your head on when you sit cross-legged on the damp wood, watching the natural lull of the water lap at the algae on the posts hour after hour.

Friday morning you pack up your belongings from your hotel room and finalise your plans. If he doesn't show, which you are beginning to believe he won't, you'll go and never come back. Maybe you'll still change jobs, who knows, but you know that you can't bear to be here if it's not by his side.

On your way back out to the docks, the hotelier calls you over in the lobby. She's concerned for you; through her broken English, she questions why you come in so late. You don't have a good reason. She produces a printout of a weather report, trying to explain what some of the terms mean in English, but you can't understand her, and in the end you make an excuse and leave.

Since it's your last day, you want to be sure you won't miss him, and so instead of returning to that small, abandoned dock just after dinner, you order some street food and eat lunch there, just you and the saxophone case.

There aren't many tourists around today. It's balmy out, more humid than normal and perhaps the heavy blanket of clouds above have scared some of them away. You enjoy the quiet, however; you've grown accustomed to the bubble you live in while here, feeling a million miles away from anyone else in the world.

You first notice the rain when you see spots of grey on your white blouse. It doesn't bother you then, although it's not ideal considering this shirt is dry clean only.

By four in the afternoon, it's dark enough to be evening with how thick and low the stormy clouds hang, and you're the only one in Saint Mark's Square. You frown, regret not trying to communicate better with the hotelier, and curl yourself around the black instrument case.

The rain sets in not too long after.

Hot blasts of bucketing rain pellet you, slapping against the old wood dock and stone courtyard noisily, foaming at the once-placid water of the canal. Your hair is sopping wet, you fear that water might be slipping through the cracks of the case, and you're soaked to the skin, but still, you remain.

Thanking your lucky stars it's not windy or cold, you duck your head down and squeeze your eyes shut, legs and arms wrapped around the case to try and protect it with your body. You're so focussed on keeping yourself steady, that you don't notice the water level rising until it starts pooling up around you.

You lift your head up, rainwater pelting down your face and stinging your eyes, and watch in wonder as the canal overflows. Soon enough, you're submerged to the top of your waist, and the water is beginning to spread over the main square.

The water from the canal is cooler, and you begin to shiver. Looking down at the black case, you know there's no way the water hasn't seeped in through the hinges and flooded the instrument, and, after almost eight hours of sitting at the docks, you begin to sob.

It starts out as a frustrated cry, annoyed that your money had essentially gone down the drain, potentially ruining the instrument for all you knew about saxophones. The rain flooded the tears away before you could feel it track down your face, but once the dam broke, you found yourself heaving, weeping noisily and hopelessly, for everything that had gone downhill in the past week or so. For how stupid you had been. For letting yourself fall in love only to lose him.

Although you could barely make out its muted glow from behind a cloud, you could tell when the sun went down by the way the square is plunged into a gloomy darkness. As the canal overspills onto the square, you feel yourself lift off the dock, the water pulling you along, and you know it's time to move further inland.

You stand up with wobbly legs, doing your best to keep a grip on the slippery handle of the case, and hold onto the posts for support as you slosh through the water. Your clothes are heavy and waterlogged, and you wouldn't be surprised if you woke up tomorrow morning with a cold in the middle of summer. "Fuck!" you scream angrily into the stormy heavens, feeling a desperate rage take over. "Give me a chance, Taehyung! Where are you?!"

"What are you doing, Y/n?"

You let out a strangled cry and whirl around. "Taehyung?" He struggles to row against the tide, face tensed up with effort, but you've never been so relieved to see anyone in your life. "You came!"

You splash your way back recklessly to the end of the dock to meet him, and he finally reaches out and latches onto the end post with all his strength, holding the gondola still in the chaos of the storm. He's equally soaked through, and he pushes his dripping hair out of his face as he looks up at you. "Get in," he yells over the crashing of the rain.

Your lip trembles, and you feel the tears spring to your eyes again. "Taehyung, I'm so sorry."

"Get in," he insists, "unless you want to catch your death out here."

Your entry into the gondola isn't nearly as graceful as your others, but the moment you collapse onto the waterlogged sofa, he pushes off from the dock with a grunt and begins the hard trudge back the way he came. You only barely recognise the way back to his house, unable to see much through the thick sheets of pouring rain, but he seems to navigate the way just fine, rowing in staunch silence.

You hold the saxophone case to your chest the whole way back, and when he finally reaches home and moors the gondola, he looks down at you with a frown, before opening his front door, getting in, and shutting it loudly behind him.

You sniffle, shivering slightly, unsure if you're meant to follow, but with the way the boat is filling up with rainwater, there's not really any other option. You stand up shakily, open the door and bundle yourself inside, collapsing on the cold tile of the entryway and kicking the door shut behind you, panting.

The saxophone case clatters to the ground noisily, and he kicks at it lightly. "What's this?" he asks in a gruff voice, ignoring the way water pools at his feet as it drips off of him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand, though it doesn't do much. "A saxophone," you say through shallow breaths, "for you."

He furrows his brows. "You went out and bought me a saxophone right before you were due to leave the city? Were you that convinced I was going to show up?"

You sigh, bones heavy, feeling the exhaustion of the past few days hit you. "No," you admit. "I bought it after that day in the workshop. When you said you used to play but couldn't afford a new saxophone."

He sighs, turns and makes his way upstairs as he replies. You scramble to your feet and follow him up the stairs. "So you thought I wanted a sugar daddy, huh? Poor old Taehyung." He scoffs bitterly, though his shoulders hang low in hurt. "It'll be ruined now, anyway."

The two of you reach his room, and you avert your eyes awkwardly as he peels off his wet shirt and pants. He leaves to go to the bathroom, and you raise your voice to be heard over the crashing of rain on the roof. "I'm so sorry, Taehyung. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Well, you did," he states plainly, returning with two towels. He throws one at your chest, and begins to dry off his hair with the other. "I wasn't going to come down, you know. In the end, I was just worried that you'd be stupid enough to stay out there during a flood. Guess I was right."

You duck your head, following his lead by stripping out of your wet clothes, leaving on a soaked bra and underwear and wrapping yourself in the bath towel. "Please just let me explain myself," you plead emphatically, "I'm here now. Surely you can give me that much."

He casts his eyes to the ceiling, and you think you catch a glimmer of tears pooling in them. "Fine, go ahead."

You let out a relieved breath you didn't realise you were holding. "Thank you. Listen, that morning... I was scared. I've never been in love before, and here I am, falling for a man who lives in a completely different country. I couldn't help but think how much worse it would be if we spent this past week together, only for me to leave anyway. I thought that it would be better to protect ourselves from that heartbreak. But I was wrong. I knew it the moment you left, but it was too late."

He sits down on the edge of his bed with a tired sigh. "Jungkook said you fly out tomorrow." His voice is flat with resignation, but not as glum as before. "Why are you saying all this if you're still leaving?"

"...because I love you, Taehyung," you admit quietly, and he glances up at you in shock. "And I've realised that I don't want to go back to my old life for good. I... I've made some calls. I have to go back to sort some things out, but... I could come back here. I could move here." You take the chance to step forward, approaching him slowly until you're standing directly in front of him. "I want to. But only if you're with me. If you really can't forgive me, I'll leave and never come back. Just don't think for a second that I don't love you like you love me. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Taehyung swallows hard, still not looking at you.

You feel your heart sink. "Please say something."

He breathes out slowly, shoulders dropping. "You mean it?" he asks lowly. "You'll come back?"

"Of course I will," you rush out, dropping to your knees so that you can look him in the eyes. Even as his face is pained, his eyes are bright with hope. "I promise you, Kim Taehyung. If I could, I would never leave in the first place. And don't worry, I've looked into renting a place here when I arrive, so you don't have to-"

"No," he croaks out suddenly, "stay. Stay with me." You lift your hand up to cup his cheek, and he turns his face, kissing your palm. "How long will you be gone for?"

"A month and a half, maybe two."

His hand comes up to clutch at yours, holding it against his cheek. When he blinks balefully down at you, a tear spills over and spatters on his bare knee. "I don't want you to leave me again. I know it's selfish, but..."

You knit your brows in sympathy, sitting up to press a kiss on his lips gently, watching the way his eyes flutter shut. "We still have tonight."

He exhales with a shudder and nods. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, he’s looking down at you with a vulnerability in his eyes you haven’t seen before. Sensing there are no more words that need to be said, he bends down and joins your lips together again.

You feel your breath hitch at the sudden intensity in his kiss. Last time was all shy and gentle, but now it seems like Taehyung’s fired by raw need. It’s no less meaningful, however; you can still feel how his hands shake slightly as they pull at your upper arms, trying to get you to sit up.

You follow his guidance, lifting yourself off the ground, still joined at the mouth, and he stands with you, fingertips running lightly all over your still-damp skin, attacking your senses.

You pull back briefly, take a couple of shallow breaths, and blink dazedly at him. “I’m getting cold, Taehyung, can we…” You tip your head towards the bed behind him, shivering slightly in your wet underwear and bra.

He agrees with a hum as he reclaims your lips, and all of a sudden you’re yelping into his mouth as he’s using those corded arms of his to lift you up onto him. Instinctively, your arms and legs wrap around him, and he turns around and kicks the covers back with a foot before letting you down onto the bed.

You bounce slightly on the mattress, wincing at the way your slips of fabric immediately make damp patches on the fabric. You pout up at him and he grins down at you, reaching down a finger to playfully snap the fabric of your waistband on your skin. “Should we take these off?” he asks in teasing voice, and you nod quickly, taken aback by his change in demeanour.

“Please, Taehyung,” you beg as you unclip your bra, lifting your hips to help him slide your panties off and away, “I need you.”

Your legs fall open naturally when he runs a flat palm up the inside of your leg, finishing at the top of your thigh. His eyes are darkened with lust, and he bites his lip at the sight of you. “And you’ll get me,” he promises, “but now it’s time for me to cash in.”

You frown, but you realize what he means when he falls to his knees, grabbing your ankles and tugging you down so that your ass is right on the edge of the bed. “Tae,” you gasp, but your hand is already in his hair, fingers brushing his scalp and running through the damp strands.

He leans into your touch, lids lowering in bliss, then snaps himself out of it and looks back down at you. His intense gaze at your most private part would have you shying away from embarrassment were it not for the look of absolute wonder and desire in his eyes. “Every part of you is so perfect,” he praises lowly, and your breath hitches when he brings up a single finger to run down the middle of you, parting your folds.

You feel a sea of goose bumps all over your skin, and you find yourself whispering pleas to him for more. A pleasured sigh is taken from you when he obliges by using two fingers to part your folds, exposing him to you, and he blows a thin stream of cool air over your clit.

Your head falls back against the mattress when you hear him chuckle quietly. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, “are you always this wet when you haven’t even been touched yet?”

Oh God. There’s something so erotic about the hopeless romantic speaking so dirtily to you. “Only because it’s you, Taehyung.”

“Oh?” Your legs jump, tightening against the edge of the bed when he bends down to slurp noisily at you, sucking up some of your slick. Your mouth drops open when he wipes his face clean against the sensitive skin of your thigh. “So this pussy’s all for me?”

“Y-yeah,” you moan, breaths choppy and uneven as he continues to tease you, running a finger lazily up and down, never brushing against your clit or dipping into your hole deeper than a fingertip. “Tae, please, more.”

You shudder and breathe out shakily when he finally lets a finger sink down into you, only stopping when he can go no further. He hums contentedly at your reaction. “Well, I can’t say no when you have such polite manners. Here,” he uses his free hand to cup the back of your leg and hitch it over his shoulder, tugging a little bit so that you’re even closer to his waiting mouth. “Now let me hear you moan for me.”

And with that, he descends on you. Gone are the light touches and teasing brushes. Now, it feels like he’s devouring you, and you’re in heaven.

His tongue is merciless as it sucks, flicks and swipes at your clit, and within moments he’s upgrading from one finger, to two, and soon enough you feel that addictive stretch as three of his calloused fingers thrust into you with the singular intention of ripping an orgasm from your sensitive flesh.

You no longer feel cold; instead, your nerves are on fire, and the feeling only increases as he lets go of your leg to reach up and palm roughly at your breast, rolling the nipple deftly between two fingers.

You shake hopelessly beneath him, fingers curling up to tug and push at his hair, pressing him deeper into you. It’s not until you begin to move against him, chasing more friction, that you feel a strange slight vibration.

You gather the strength needed to lift your head up and look down at him, and almost fall over the edge from the sight alone. Taehyung’s eyes are shut, but you can see the way his lids dance as he rolls them back and his brows knit. You quieten down a bit and can hear him moaning gruffly as he sucks at you, the entire bottom half of his face and the tip of his nose glossy with your wetness.

The thing that finally pitches you over the edge, however, as he crooks his fingers up inside you just right, is the way you can see him rutting up against the side of the bed, back muscles flexing as he desperately seeks out some friction.

Your body curls in on itself with the force of your orgasm, and you arch your back up, grinding against his face to prolong your pleasure. You’re pretty sure you hear him growl against you when you dig your ankles in as your legs tighten over his shoulders, but soon that sound is drowned out by your cries.

He doesn’t stop until you try and wriggle away from his mouth, pushing his head away, and when he pulls back, your legs slip limply from his shoulders and dangle over the side of the bed. You close your eyes for a moment and throw your arm over, catching your breath to the sound of rain hitting the roof. Once you finally feel yourself become coherent again, you sit up tiredly, humming in satisfaction, only to freeze the moment you look at Taehyung.

He’s stripping away his underwear, but before he gets the chance to you see a spreading shiny patch on the already-wet fabric, and your suspicions are confirmed when you look back up to his cock, which has a white sheen to it.

“Did you cum from eating me out?” you ask incredulously. “I thought… I thought you wanted to fuck me.”

Taehyung, still slow and smiley with the dopamine released from his orgasm, laughs breathily. “Of course I’m still going to fuck you. That pussy’s begging for my cock, isn’t it. Look at her.” He presses at your still-sensitive clit, and your legs clamp shut around his hand. He licks his lips, slips his hand back out, and brings his finger to his mouth, sucking on it thoughtfully. “Lie down, angel.”

You shuffle up and turn yourself so that your feet are under the covers and your head rests comfortably on the pillow.

Taehyung looks over you with curious eyes, tugging absentmindedly at his cock, pumping himself a few times to test his sensitivity. Your mouth waters at the fact that he’s already ready to go again, and he’s still as hard as ever. He sighs once, tugs the duvet back so it slips off the bottom of the bed, and pats the side of your hip. “On your stomach,” he commands softly.

Even after such a powerful orgasm, you find yourself growing wetter, excitement rising within you as you obediently roll over, shuffling down a little so that your head rests on your crossed forearms, blinking up at him innocently.

His eyes flutter and his mouth parts as his eyes run over you. You feel the bed dip as he gets on, one knee on either side of yours, and palms at the flesh of your ass. You let yourself relax, eyes closing naturally as he squeezes them, parting the cheeks to see what lies between.

Once his finger dips down, you bring your legs up slightly and part them, so that your ass is presented in the air for him nicely, but he tuts at you and uses a firm hand on the small of your back to push you back down flat. “I want you to feel all of me,” he explains, still massaging the tender flesh of your cheeks. His hand slides between you and the bed to press at your lower stomach. “Right here.”

You arch, yearning for more of his touch. “Taehyung, please, need you inside me already.”

Instead of replying, he just shifts himself, and uses the back of a hand to push your legs apart a little more, still keeping you flat against the mattress. When you feel him lining up against your entrance, you hold your breath in anticipation, only releasing it in a moaned sigh when he begins pressing into you.

The fit isn’t as tough to take as the first time, since he’s fingered you first, but the unique angle has your mouth falling open. You’ve never felt anyone this deep, and it seems like he’s bigger than ever as he just keeps going in further, splitting you apart.

Once he bottoms out, you moan brokenly as he leans forward, pressing a soft kiss on the back of your shoulder. “Does it feel good? Hm?”

You swallow, and although your mouth feels dry, you’ve drooled onto your arm. “So full, Tae, I can’t.”

“Shh, angel, it’s okay, you can take it. We’ll go slow, yeah?” You cry out, feeling yourself trembling as he pulls out and thrusts in again, a fraction quicker and smoother than last time. He checks in again, and you nod jerkily. “That’s my good girl.”

Unlike last time, every single thrust is measured and hits deeper than you’ve ever felt before. You feel incapable of closing your mouth, and moans and drool alike fall out without you even being aware of it. It feels so good, almost more than you can believe, and by the way Taehyung grunts as he holds back, you can tell it feels good for him too.

“Fuck, so good for me,” he praises, “all for me.”

“Just for you, Tae,” you repeat back to him in a breathy whine, “god, I’m close already, how-? Oh, fuck.”

He begins to add a swivel of his hips every time he bottoms out, and when it causes your clit to rub against the rough cotton of his sheets, the added friction has your eyes rolling in the back of your head, coming undone from the pleasure. He pants and moans in your ear, just as loud as you are. “Fuck, you gonna let me cum in you again? Keep it in you the whole plane ride back so you’re reminded that no one back in your country can fuck you this good?”

You whimper helplessly at his words. “Tae, yes, fuck! Come in me, I want it!”

He begins to speed up as he gets close, and every thrust has a garbled moan tumbling out of your mouth, static jolts of pleasure pitching you towards an orgasm that feels like it’ll be more powerful than your first.

You feel a wetness on your neck, and realise it’s him sucking a hickey onto your skin, nipping and lapping at the sensitive flesh once he’s done. “Gonna fuck my baby into you,” he promises in a husky voice, “make you mine forever. You want that? Come back to me with your stomach swollen with my baby?”

Though you should be freaking out like last time he confessed in bed, the thought sends a violent shudder through you and you tip your head to give him more access to your throat, grinding as much as you can against him and the mattress, surrounded by pleasure on both sides. “Ah, I’m gonna cum, Tae, fuck!”

“Cum for me, angel,” he commands, and the two of you cry out simultaneously, going out of your minds as he wraps an arm around your stomach and holds you steady as he fucks into you with the last of his energy. You feel him spill inside you, so much that it trickles out of you even as he stays buried to the hilt inside you.

When he collapses, he tips the two of you onto your sides and wraps a leg around you, spooning you tenderly. You let your head rest against the pillow and try and catch your breath. Taehyung recovers first, and he whispers into the dark. “Please come back to me.”

Though he can’t see it, you close your eyes and smile blissfully. “Always.”

[recurring-polynya]

Hi! thank you so much for all of these stories! I was wondering if you could write a one shot about the day Touma Kuchiki was born?

I can!

For those of you who don’t follow my every whimsy, Touma is Hisana and Byakuya’s toddler son in my lightweight, Austen-influenced Hisana-lived AU, a little in love, now and then.

I wasn’t sure what to do with this, whether to throw it in my pile of drabbles or what, but I decided to go ahead and put it right into the story proper and pretentiously call it an interlude, which of course, means that now I have to write more of them. I def plan to do at least one flashback to Rukia’s (surprisingly competent) rescue, but if you have any particular things you’re dying to see, hmu, you know I have no saving throw vs. reader requests.

Anyway, here you go, or if you prefer, you can find it on ao3 or ff.net, for convenient bookmarking and comment-leaving purposes (wags eyebrows). You don’t have to read any of the rest of the story to understand this.

“You should rest,” the 28th Head of the Kuchiki Clan informed Rukia, regarding her with his cold, grey eyes. She had found him sitting in the library, Hisana’s favorite room. It was dim and chilly. The shoji that led to the gardens were shut tight, and the shutters as well, but Rukia could feel the snow swirling roughly in the wind that battered the house. She could feel it in her heart.

“How can I rest now?” she tried to keep her tone measured.

“I did not say you should sleep,” Byakuya responded, nodding to the zabuton on the floor across the table from him. “I should hope that the Fourth Seat of Squad Thirteen would know how to rest her body while keeping her mind alert. It is the essence of tracking Hollows.”

Grudgingly, Rukia sank into seiza. The normally uncomfortable sitting position was a relief after hours of pacing the floorboards, the weight of her exhausted sister heavy against her shoulder.

“Tea?” Byakuya offered. “I am afraid it is a bit bracing.”

“Bracing is good,” Rukia nodded. She tried to look at his face without staring. Purple shadows limned his eyes. How long had Hisana labored, anyway? The hours of walking up and down the hallways had blurred together. Singing rowdy old Rukongai songs, mostly together, with Rukia taking over when Hisana needed to lean into the pain of a contraction. Breaks to rub Hisana’s back or feet. Holding bits of crushed ice to Hisana’s lips. Both Hisana and Rukia’s maids hovered nearby like loyal lieutenants, ready to fetch things or take over, should Rukia falter.

Rukia appreciated their presence, but she would never falter, not in this duty. She had held strong right until that stupid, noble doctor had declared that Hisana was “in transition” and ejected Rukia from the room.

Byakuya carefully poured her a cup and passed it over. Rukia couldn’t remember her brother-in-law ever pouring her a cup of tea before. Hisana was the one who poured the tea. “How does she fare?” he asked. “And you need not lie to me.”

Rukia wiggled her fingers around the cup. It was too hot to hold, really, but she didn’t want to put it down. “She is tired,” she replied. “But fierce. You underestimate her.”

“I do not. I merely trust your frankness over that of the doctor.”

“I do not trust the doctor, either,” Rukia was quick to announce. “He said that she has moved into the last stage. It is the shortest, but the most dangerous. He told her to lie down and said I could not stay.”

Byakuya’s grey eyes bored into her. “Have you assisted at a childbirth before?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed red. “No,” she admitted, her voice defensive. In this, as in so many things, she had fallen down as a sister. All her life, she had thrown in with the boys instead of the women. She could gut a squirrel, climb a tree, purify a Hollow, heal or break an arm as the situation called for. She didn’t know how to braid hair or perform a dance or talk a sister out taking foolhardy risks with her precarious health.

“You resent me,” Byakuya said suddenly, and Rukia’s shoulders went stiff. Byakuya took a sip of his tea. “Believe me, you cannot harm me with that blade; I have cut myself with it enough already.”

“I didn’t…” Rukia started, and suddenly had nothing further to say.

What would it be like, she wondered, to live in this house, with this man, without Hisana’s warmth? She would like to think that she had nothing in common with him, but in fact, they shared a number of terrible personality traits: stubbornness, pride, cynicism, a tendency to close themselves off. Hisana was just as stubborn than either of them, though, and her brilliant, teasing humor brought color and joy to the household. Rukia knew that she and Byakuya would protect Hisana against a thousand enemies, but what could they do in a situation where swords were of no use? And where would they turn their swords, if there were nothing left to protect?

“She is a difficult person to love,” Byakuya broke Rukia from her reverie. “She does what she will. I could no sooner forbid her from this than I could dissuade her from scouring the Rukon for you.” He was silent for a moment. “I thought she would never regain her full health, but having you back again has given her strength. I cannot imagine how unstoppable she will be after bearing my son.”

Rukia wrinkled her nose, indignant at his presumptuousness. “It could be a girl.”

Byakuya contemplated this briefly. “I am sure she would take great glee in my being further outnumbered, but I feel that her desire to spite my aunts outweighs her love of exasperating me.”

Rukia narrowed her eyes at him. Do you even know how this works? she wanted to ask him, but instead, she sipped at her tea, which was just barely approaching a drinkable temperature. It was very strong, but delicious, floral, with a light, natural sweetness.

“The fool doctor said it’s taking so long because the baby is big and healthy and Sister is so small,” Rukia finally said. “If I had been around, I would have told her not to marry someone so stupidly tall.” Her mouth snapped shut in horror. Rukia did not say such things to her noble brother-in-law. Rukia hardly ever said anything to her noble brother-in-law. Hisana might tease him, but she was his Lady Wife, his best beloved. She knew where best to aim her blunted arrows to provoke a smile or a rejoinder without prodding the sleeping beast of his legendary pride. He’s going to kick me out, Rukia’s heart seized. Out of this room, possibly out of his house entirely.

But instead, the Kuchiki Clan Head snorted softly. “Your absence was very fortunate for me. I am sure she would have taken your advice to heart,” Byakuya replied, and Rukia had absolutely no idea if he was being serious or not.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “That wasn’t nice. You’ve always been very kind to my sister, and to me.”

Byakuya stared back at her, curiously. Finally, he said, “I am also sorry. Your presence here is always appreciated. Thank you for staying with Hisana.”

They sat in silence, sipping their tea, Rukia unsuccessfully willing her muscles to relax. Had he gone strange and punchy out of tiredness and concern for his wife? Had she always overestimated his coldness, too fearful of provoking his wrath to see past his fierce reputation? Or perhaps… perhaps, though she never would have guessed it, he did harbor a tiny bit of familial affection for her. He had lost most of his immediate family long ago, and she gathered that he was not truly close to the other stern, powerful men he called friends. He had been sitting here, alone, for hours.

“It’s cold in here,” Rukia finally observed. “Is the kotatsu out of charcoal?”

“I keep throwing the servants out,” Byakuya admitted. “I am sure they are needed elsewhere. If you are cold, I will have it relit immediately.”

“I don’t get cold,” Rukia replied. “But Sister will have my head if she finds out I let you sit in here being cold and moody.”

Byakuya gave off another little snort.

Suddenly, there was a shuffle of feet outside the door, and Byakuya and Rukia both sat up straight.

“What is it?” Byakuya demanded, on his feet before anyone even had a chance to knock.

The shoji slid open, Seike, the head of household staff entered, joy overwriting the age lines on his face. “Lord Byakuya,” he choked out. “Your Lady is delivered of a son.”

 🌸    🌸    🌸

Hisana was sitting up in bed. Her face was a bit pale, but she otherwise looked as fresh as a daisy. Her eyes flickered upward as what sounded like two water buffalo tried to jostle their way into her room, but her face remained tilted down toward the bundle of white silk blankets in her arms. “Here is the moment of truth,” she hummed in a little sing-song. “As to who is more interested in you and who cares more about me.”

Rukia, jammed into the doorway by Byakuya’s elbow, was momentarily dumbfounded. Obviously, her sister was of the utmost importance, but how could she ignore her sister’s glory, this crowning achievement that Hisana had wished and worked for over so many years?

Byakuya evidently had no such compunctions. “You,” he gasped thickly, pushing past Rukia to fall at his wife’s bedside and press her hand to his face.

Hisana looked shocked, not having expected her sallies to have such an effect. “What did that doctor tell you?” she asked. “You weren’t worried for me, were you? Women have babies all the time, you know.”

“All women are not you,” Byakuya replied, softly.

Rukia hung back in the entrance, unsure of what to do. Should she leave? She should have waited, this moment was for her sister and brother-in-law. Just as her feet started to shuffle backwards, Hisana called out “Rukia! Come take this lump of lead with your big shinigami muscles! This child is too heavy to hold in one hand, and Byakuya won’t give me back my other one!”

Pulling herself together, Rukia dashed to her sister’s side, and took the bundle of blankets into her own arms. “Some people have no appreciation of all your hard work,” she announced boldly. The baby seemed mostly asleep, although he scrunched his wrinkly little face as he was passed over. “I have never seen a more perfect child, truly,” she went on. It was true, of course, in the sense that she had never actually seen a newborn before. “He has both your strength and good looks, Sister!”

“I should hope not, he looks rather red and smushy to me,” Hisana replied.

“A future Gotei captain!” Rukia went on. “Head-Captain, possibly! Probably a poet, as well and an artist, surely! A very credit to the Kuchiki!”

“Byakuya, please go admire your son before Rukia proclaims him the next Soul King,” Hisana ordered dryly.

“He could be,” Rukia protested as Byakuya rose to his full height on the other side of Hisana’s bed, and regarded her icily. Unwilling to give in to her brother-in-law’s theatrics, Rukia gave the baby a last cuddle and a kiss on the forehead. “I am your auntie,” she informed him. “I will teach you everything I know. Everything.”

As Rukia finally passed the baby over to his father, Hisana grabbed her arm and tugged her down onto the bed. Her older sister pulled her close, burying her face in her hair. “Ah, Rukia, thank you so much. I could not have done it without you.”

“I rather think you would have,” Rukia informed her. “But I am glad I could be with you. I will always be here for you. And him.”

“I know,” Hisana whispered back to her.

A bit embarrassed at all this emotion, Rukia chanced a look up at her brother-in-law, who had been strangely silent. Not that he wasn’t usually silent, but this was the sort of occasion he would usually take to pontificate a bit. He was examining the baby, a look of utter bushwackedness on his face. Rukia stifled a laugh. Byakuya reminded her of nothing so much as the time her childhood friend, Renji, had unexpectedly speared an absolutely massive carp-- the way he had stood there in the river, mouth slack, eyes wide, arms wrapped around a flopping two-foot long fish, unable to believe his good fortune.

Rukia was fairly certain Byakuya wouldn’t appreciate being compared to an Inuzuri street rat any more than he would appreciate his son and heir being compared to a carp.

“Well?” Hisana demanded in her rudest voice, the one she used when she was trying to get Byakuya riled up. “Did I do it right? Did I make a Kuchiki? Or is it back to the drawing board?”

“Rukia is correct,” Byakuya managed, his voice rough and low. “I see much of you in him. He is perfect.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” Hisana sighed dramatically, as if she had really been worried. She shot Rukia a conspiratorial glance and wagged her eyebrows slightly. “Remind me again, the name you picked out? Do you think it’s fitting?”

“You will find out,” Byakuya replied, in a gentle tone more directed at the baby than at his wife, “in seven days, at the naming ceremony, as is tradition.”

Hisana sighed. “It was worth a try. Well, I’ve got to call him something until then. Rukia, what shall it be?”

“Chappy,” Rukia replied automatically.

“Chappy, it is,” Hisana nodded curtly. “Seven days, or until we get a real name.”

“We must put up with them,” Byakuya solemnly informed his heir, “because we have no choice. But at least there are two of us against two of them, now.”

Rukia saw her sister opening her mouth again, so she slipped her arm around Hisana’s back and gave her a quick squeeze. “Let him have this,” she whispered, “we both know it won’t last long.”

Hisana just laughed and leaned back into her sister’s embrace.

[curekibouka-writing]

Blissful Tomorrow Chapter 4 (Pandora Hearts fanfic) (Completed)

Summary: May you reach a blissful tomorrow as you open your eyes. For now, sweet dreams.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

*This fic is also on FF.net and Quotev

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A/N: There is a character I created for the sake of this story. You'll get to know her as you progress through the final chapter.

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Chapter 4: Enough

The soft, hesitant pattering of small feet resounded in the empty corridors of the Rainsworth manor tonight. Vigilant, yet clearly overwhelmed with lethargy, it made its way to the master bedroom. 

“Mama...?” the ‘intruder’ peeped from the large wooden doors, “Papa...?” 

“My, what are you doing at this hour?” Sharon slipped a bookmark into the book she was reading and walked to the door, kneeling down for the young child, “Staying up late is detrimental to a lady’s health, Shelia.” 

The little girl sheepishly twittered with her 3-year-old lisp, “Can I sleep with you and papa tonight?” 

Sharon shot a glance at her husband, who had still been diligently engrossed in his reports before their daughter came by, as if to say “You decide.”

Reim smiled knowingly, promptly setting down his pen and approached his family. “Of course you can,” he scooped his daughter up, drawing a giggle from her, “We were going to turn in for the night soon anyways.” He turned to Sharon, “Are you finished reading that — ahem — climax, my dear?” 

Seeing the tips of her fingers fiddling with the corner of her harisen, he decided against speaking another word. 

“You’re the one to talk! Go on and finish up your report, you don’t like leaving them unfinished, no?” Sharon nudged him back to his table while taking Shelia from him, who echoed her mother, “That’s right, papa, you should finish your work first!”

Sharon placed Shelia on the king sized bed further into the room, “Settle. I’ll comb your hair.” 

After near-destruction of the world years ago, the Four Great Dukedoms were stripped of their political standing, but the country left a minuscule amount of their properties without confiscating them, most likely a token of gratitude for secrets that were not meant to be disclosed to the public. Even so, Sharon had decided to save on hiring servants and maids, she didn’t need someone to tend to every detail of her and her family’s daily lives, at least not anymore. 

She’d comb her own hair now, brew her own tea now, reach the top of the bookshelf by herself now. And it was her turn to take care of someone else now. 

Although he could not be here to be proud of her now. Maybe he was watching over her... them, maybe not, she wouldn’t know. 

“Mama...” 

“Hmm?” 

Shelia pointed at her nightstand, “Why do you keep that doll, mama? It’s old, and broken, and it scares me every time I see it. I feel like it’s looking at me.” 

Well yes, it is indeed quite old now. Sharon did try her best to fix it up, but sewing had never been her forte. Not that it mattered, the value of this doll didn’t lie in its appearance. 

“Shelia, sometimes, just because something is old and broken and a little scary doesn’t mean it doesn’t deserve to stay.” 

The child glanced at her mother as she drew the comb away. Her mother was looking at the doll. But Shelia didn’t think she was looking at the doll. 

“Mama?” she called out. Because she felt like her mother was somehow being dragged somewhere far off as she gazed in the doll’s direction and spoke with a kind of gentleness that differed from her usual one. 

“Mama—“

“Sharon,” silence followed after Reim uttered her name, a hand on her shoulder. There was a certain weight in the air that Shelia couldn’t comprehend. Somehow, she found it a little harder to find her voice. 

Erratic shadows created by the flickering candle flames danced on her mother’s visage, making it impossible for Shelia to discern her expression. Was she upset? Was she angry? Was she in pain?

No. 

Sharon displayed a well-practised, dazzling smile, “Oh dear, look at the time. Lights out, enough chitchats for the night.” 

“...But mama, I don’t understand...”

“Shh, it’s a convoluted tale,” Reim tucked his daughter in and laid down himself as well, “When you’re older, and wiser, and ready for stories that don’t always end with happily-ever-afters, we’ll tell you everything.”

“But stories always have happily-ever-afters,” she turned to her mother who just laid down on the other side, “Right?” 

Those anticipating eyes. Sharon recognised them all too well. Back when hope still weaved gracious days for her, she had those eyes too. 

Aah. She understood now. She understood many, many things in the most recent years of her life. She understood why he had so desperately warded off any darkness that threatened to cloud those eyes of hers now. 

And his methods weren’t always the best. But none of them knew any better. 

“No, Shelia. They don’t always do,” Sharon stated, much to the surprise of both her daughter and her husband (for different reasons). But before the little girl could refute, Sharon gently nuzzled her and assured, “But there’s nothing stopping you — nothing stopping us — from hoping for one still.”

No dazzling smile graced her lips at that moment. But her soft peck on her daughter’s forehead spelled nothing but tranquility, Shelia could only accept this answer, for now, as she yawned drowsily. 

“Cradle of light, cradle of light” Reim hummed with his calming baritone, briefly giving Sharon a knowing look before turning back to their child, stroking her hair. 

Ahh, was he looking, she wondered. 

Was he looking at these two clumsy fools who had no idea where they were voyaging to but never allowed themselves to stop and question it? 

“Blown about by the winds of time” 

The bow and stern of a vessel yet somehow missing a hull. The years that went by established a bond which hastily filled the holes, but stopping to question anything would immediately sink everything. 

“Drifting on waves of dappled sunlight”

Sunlight received from someone’s wish did not exactly provide merciful tides to sail on after all. 

“And, before you know it”

But well, none of them had known any better. 

None of them had known how to carry on, how to forget, how to let go. The best they could do was pretend, and stumble awkwardly on a way. 

Which way? Who knows? 

But someone was always there. A voice. Somewhere in the back of their heads. And it sings: 

“It reaches the shores of ‘a blissful tomorrow’”

This was no fairytale, they all knew that much. Such godsends were never luxuries they could possess. 

Still, she could not help but wonder, as she gazed at her beloved family — the anchor she dropped in her haven, the ones that kept her from drifting to wherever he could be when her mind was too fragile to withstand the maelstroms in her heart. 

Was this it? Was this enough? Was this the life he had wanted them to live? 

Was this the blissful tomorrow he had hoped for on her behal— 

Enough. 

It was sinking. She felt it all sinking. Sinking in her mind, sinking in her throat, sinking in her stomach. 

This was plenty. She had plenty. Really, she had to do something with that greedy nature of hers. 

I am blessed. There’s no need to worry, so...

So would you please tell him ‘Sweet dreams’ in my stead, Emily?

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The End

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A/N: Happy birthday, Break! You still reside in our hearts even now! :3 (30/9/2020)

[caffeinechic]

Good Omens Fic Recs 1/?

I went to fix a link in this post and managed to delete the entire thing like an absolute fool. 

But my complete annoyance with myself won’t be bested with my determination to post this lot. So here I go again. I am so sorry if this has shown on your dash a million times. And sorry for the double links / tagging as I honestly went half mad over even the basics. This is where I am with life.

I have about 300 Good Omens fics bookmarked at this point to trying to pull out my absolute favourites sent me down a re-read (and in many cases a re-re-re-re-read) rabbit hole, which was an absolute joy so no complaints here!

These are just some of the ones that have just really stuck with me for one reason or another so I’ve gathered them up under the cut

4 Authors I just need to do like a HUGE rec for as they’re life ruiners. How dare they be this good. HOW DARE THEY.

@princip1914 @princip1914

Yeah I started pulling out the bookmarks I had for @princip1914 and realised it was...everything they’d written. All of it. Just...all of it.

But my particular favourite out of an outstanding batch is the following - which I have read approximately 70 squillion times. It stuck with me for so long in a way that I don’t think many fics have, ever. I actually can’t recommend this enough:

Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire

“But how,” Aziraphale gasped, agonized and close to tears. “How can you be sure. Crowley, dear, you got thrown out of heaven for questioning everything. How can you be sure about this?”

Crowley loves and Aziraphale doubts. God intercedes. A groundhog day kind of situation ensues wherein Aziraphale has to fall in love with Crowley over and over again as a human until he gets the point. Highlights include: delivering medical care in rural Louisiana, stargazing in Vegas, strangers on a train, and teaching middle school.

@bestoftheseekwill @bestoftheseekwill

Same “problem” with @bestoftheseekwill - READ EVERYTHING. Oh my god, the human AUs, THE HUMAN AUS.

Special shout out to Acts of Service which was the first Human AU I’d read and got me completely hooked and now whenever seekwill posts I immediately read.

Acts of Service

"You seem very familiar to me. I can’t say why that is." As Aziraphale spoke, Crowley turned away from the fire, and Aziraphale was momentarily concerned that the spell had been broken, that he had crossed some invisible line. But Crowley smiled and brought his beer to his lips.

"Maybe we met in a past life. Does your lot believe in that?"

"Past lives?"

"Yeah."

Aziraphale smiled into his wine. He was sure Crowley was poking fun, ever so slightly, but he liked it. "Not strictly speaking. No."

Crowley shrugged, taking another long sip of his beer. “A mystery then."

After receiving direct instruction from God, village reverend Aziraphale leaves his countryside congregation to serve the underserved and in-need at an urban church in London, a transition made all the more complicated by the mysterious and handsome Crowley, who always seems to appear when Aziraphale least expects him.

OH!! but also

That this could be the kingdom

- this one sat with me for a while. Stunning

I have lived my whole life with a wrecked heart. Fr. Aziraphale Fell’s present mirrors his past, as long ago roommate, classmate, and former friend Anthony Crowley reappears in his life in an unexpected and disarming way, challenging Aziraphale’s choices, and bringing him back to the breaking point, when he made a decision he couldn’t take back. It isn’t temptation, it’s revelation.

@mygalfriday @mygalfriday

Ah here, listen - I went to get my bookmark list for @mygalfriday and just ended up re-reading all 12 fics this week.

i can't say the words, so i wrote you into my verse

Aziraphale blinks as it slowly dawns on him exactly what he’s looking at. Crowley has a tattoo. Well, another one anyway. Unlike the small serpent curled just beneath his temple, this one takes up far more space.

And listen if you don’t read the blind date au series then I don’t know how to help you!

I couldn’t find Rend_Herring  Found @rendherring @rendherring on Tumblr but I had to put my phone and my head down after I read both of these.

The Lightness of You

God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

This Soul Outstreaming

“Why did you come here?” Aziraphale interrupts. “Why do you keep doing this?” All the saving, he means, all the chasing after Aziraphale he does. It can’t only be that he’s not keen to endure a replacement. That can’t be it, not anymore. He’s going to get himself in trouble, and then it’ll be Aziraphale’s fault.

Crowley’s mouth shuts with a click. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, reaches for the handle of the fork and taps his fingertips against it before setting his hands in his lap.

When he speaks, it’s very soft. “Don’t you know?” he asks.

Aziraphale, unaccustomed to his heart refusing to translate why it throbs with such haste, shakes his head.

Fics that, to me, are just stunners. I love them so much.

Slow Show - @mia-ugly @mia-ugly Honestly if you’re seeing a rec list WITHOUT slow show...I’d be legit surprised In which temptations are accomplished, grand romantic gestures are made, and two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side (at last, at last.)

Barriers, and the breaking thereof - @cardinaldaughter @cardinaldaughter Ezra Fell has long been comfortable in his loneliness. He’s content to simply run the Soho Public Library and otherwise keep to himself. However, when a handsome stranger bursts in one evening with a baby, frantic and in need of help, Ezra finds those carefully constructed barriers he’s long maintained begin to crack.

Perhaps it’s time to let them fall.

Anthophilia - @fortinbrasftw @fortinbrasftw Anthony J. Crowley's life seems like it's finally falling into place: his floral shop has begun to gain an undercurrent of appreciation in the design elite of London, and he might have even finally found a boyfriend who looks just right lounging on his Tenreiro sofa. Things seem almost perfect, until one day the empty shop across the street is leased to frumpy fellow Oxford alumni, who doesn't seem to remember Crowley nearly as well as he remembers him, which really shouldn't bother him as much as it does - it was ten years ago after all, and it wasn't even that good of a kiss.

The road to rapture has a lot of pit stops - @emmagrant01 @emmagrant01 Five times they kissed over four thousand years, and one time they actually meant it.

Demon and Angel Professors - Ghostinthehouse - not 100% sure that this is also their tumblr handle so if anyone can confirm that would be great! They're professors. They're married. Their students don't realise. Cue shenanigans.

Multiple short arcs with one-shots (and often pauses) between them. Characters continue from one arc to the next. It's marked as complete, because each short arc is complete in itself, but there will be more arcs and one-shots in the future.

The Grinch Who Sold Christmas - @forineffablereasons @forineffablereasons Anthony J. Crowley, a big-time attorney from London, is sent to small-town Tadfield to close a deal before Christmas that would sell out half of high street to a fancy developer and put him up for partner at his firm. The deal will run the local businesses out and change the landscape of the town forever, but that’s none of Crowley’s business; he’s just doing a job.

But as the town invites him to share in their lives and their hopes and their holiday celebrations, and as the enigmatic Aziraphale invites him to share in something more, Crowley starts to wonder: if everything has its price, is he still willing to pay what this deal will cost?

Slow - write_away It started like this: A boy with the ability to warp reality met an angel and a demon and he made assumptions.

You might say it started like this: An angel and a demon found a marriage contract hung on the wall of the angel's bookshop. They didn't question it.

It also could have started like this: Once upon a time, the angel told the demon he went too fast. The demon took it to heart.

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

You, soft and only - @thehoyden He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel.

“Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him.

A Bushel and a Peck- @thehoyden  Sometimes, a family is a demonic nanny, an angelic cook, and a kid who isn't actually the Antichrist.Or: Crowley helps Aziraphale secure a different position at the Dowling Estate.

Long is the way, and hard - Kate_Lear The first time Crawley meets the angel, the celestial being is twisting its shining white robe in its fingers and looking wretched. It hardly spares him a glance as he shifts from snake to human, and Crawley is a touch put-out. It’s taken some practice to be able to do it so fluidly.

A story of Crowley's thoughts about Aziraphale, from the Beginning to the present day.

And also of temptation, and want, and whether - for a Fallen Angel - redemption is possible after all.

the 21st century, in which they finally work it out - @fieldbears @fieldbears This is light speed in comparison to the last few centuries of their relationship, but Crowley is barely holding on to his patience.

A Few More Rescues - @poetic----nonsense @poetic----nonsense 5+1 Times Crowley Rescued Aziraphale According to the Romantic Tropes of the Era, and One Time Aziraphale Turned It Around on Him (plus Prologue)

The Cottage, the Husbands (series) - Dragonsquill A demon and an angel fall in love and decide to take on the monumental task of living together in a cottage by the sea.

[whatarubberchicken]

Lukadrinette - Part 10

Because I lost all of my bookmarks when I moved to a new computer, and because Tumblr is such a pure, good, well-functioning website, I cannot find most of my posts for this story, so I have finally decided to post it to Ao3. I will leave the original posts as they are here on Tumblr, and if you can find them, great. If not, it’s now listed under:

My Sweet Blueberry Sandwich

(ff.net link to come)

(If anyone has any suggestions for tags, I am more than willing to hear them! I still suck at tagging.)

I will post a chapter a day until we catch back up, but no promises for after that. Hopefully, NoNaWriMo will be good to me this year.

That being said, enjoy! (Nothing too explicit this time but I’m still gonna put it under the cut, and yes, I did write this chapter before “Desperada” came out, so I was laughing REALLY hard during that episode.)

........

Adrien was not pouting, thank you very much.

After all, how could he be? Here he was, with the girl of his dreams and the boy who’d made him question his sexuality, eating thick, hot soup after a day filled with fantastic sex. He was certainly not panicking internally on all the many ways he could’ve screwed this up already, or mentally listing all the things he could buy them to make them let him stay for just one more day, or—

“How long are we gonna play the silent game?” Marinette asked. Adrien’s eyes flew to her face to see her smirking at him as she tore her bread in two.

“I—uh… was too busy eating!” he said quickly, digging into his soup for another bite. “It’s really good!”

The look she and Luka gave him told him he still wasn’t fooling anyone.

“I… um… what do you wanna talk about?” he asked timidly.

“Hmm….” Marinette tapped her lips with her spoon as she pondered. Her eyes lit up. “Celebrity fantasy hook-ups! Who would you want if you could have anyone?”

Are you kidding? I’m kinda living it right now, Adrien thought silently. Out loud he answered, “You guys know I’m a celebrity, right? And that I’ve actually had celebrity hook-ups?”

“Yeah, but not fantasy celebrity hook-ups,” Marinette teased.

“This isn’t fair,” Luka complained. “You already know mine!”

“Huh?” Adrien raised an eyebrow at him questioningly. Luka grinned and pointed at him, then Marinette, and then raised his fingers to his eyes in a blatant imitation of a mask.

“Oh,” Adrien said, ducking his head so they couldn’t see him blush. He had a feeling he’d be donning some sort of Chat Noir costume in the very near future, and honestly, he wasn’t against it. It would certainly be nice to Mari in her spots again….

“Oh, come on,” Marinette pouted. “You’re telling me neither of you have even entertained thoughts of a Jagged Stone/Clara Nightingale threesome?!”

Both boys thought about it and shook their heads.

“Clara’s too perky,” Adrien said, “don’t get me wrong, her flexibility is… amazing. But no, she’d probably try to sing to me while—yeah.” He shook his head again.

Luka snickered. “Note to self, don’t try to sing to Adrien while fucking him,” he said, pretending to write on his hand. Adrien made a face and chucked a piece of bread at him, pleased when his lover caught it in his mouth.

“As for me,” Luka said, swallowing, “Jagged Stone is no-go territory, babe.”

“You were happy enough to meet him,” Marinette said, scowling.

“True. True,” Luka nodded. “He’s been my idol for as long as I can remember. But…,” he winced a bit. “When I was little, my mom… hinted heavily that he was my dad.”

“WHAT?!” Marinette and Adrien both stood up, shocked. Luka held up his hands.

“She wouldn’t confirm anything. And she left that part of my damn birth certificate blank, so there’s no way to know unless I ask him for a paternity test—which I am NOT gonna do,” he added quickly, shaking a finger in Marinette’s direction. She puffed her cheeks at him angrily.

“But—”

“Babe, I am all grown up,” he said, grabbing her hand and rubbing it soothingly. “If I ask him now, the press will catch it, and they’ll make it look like the band is trying to land some sort of favoritism angle. I’m not doing that to them. Especially not now.”

“But, Luka—” Marinette tried again.

“Besides, the test could always come up negative,” he pointed out. “Just let me dream.”

She still looked upset.

“Ugh, now I’m not gonna be able to fantasize about him either,” she pouted, sinking back into her chair.

“Are we doing something wrong, to make you want to fantasize about other guys?!” Adrien exclaimed, also sitting.

“He’s too old for you anyway,” Luka added, winking. “Unless you’ve got a daddy kink you haven’t told me about.”

“Ewww, gross!”

“NOPE!” Adrien said, loudly enough to make them both pause. He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, guys, but that’s a hard no from me. If you guys are gonna be doing any ‘daddy’ roleplays, I can’t be a part of it. Just—no.” He shuddered.

Marinette wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, I can see why,” she said. Adrien’s hopes rose a little. If anyone could understand just how deep this ‘squick’ went, it would be her.

“Don’t worry, Adrien,” Luka said, nodding at him. “It’s a hard no from me too.”

“No daddy kinks all around,” Marinette agreed, raising her glass high. They sealed the agreement with a toast, clinking their glasses together.

“So, Adrien,” Luka said, looking thoughtful. Adrien’s pulse spiked. “If you wanna—”

“What’s that sound?” Marinette interrupted, looking around.

Adrien and Luka also fell silent, listening. Adrien felt himself flush when he realized his phone was buzzing. He dug it out of the pants Marinette had forced him and Luka to put on after they’d tried to jump her while she was cutting vegetables. (He was personally glad Ladybug’s Lucky Charms had all been innocuous objects. Mari with a weapon was scary!)

The caller ID had him groaning, though.

Erica.

How dare she call him after ghosting him last night and leaving with another man?

“Your girlfriend?” Luka guessed.

“Ex,” Adrien corrected, growling. “I don’t deal with cheaters and she knew it. We were over the moment she left the club without me.” He moved to put the phone back in his pocket.

“Answer it,” Marinette said, exchanging a wicked smirk with Luka. “Put it on speaker.” Adrien blinked at her, then obeyed, feeling a little thrill go through him when they both abandoned their seats to come stand behind him.

“Adrien?!” Erica’s shrill voice filled the air. “Oh my God, why haven’t you been answering your phone?!”

“Because I didn’t notice you called,” he said. It was a lie, he’d seen it when he’d checked his messages earlier, he just hadn’t cared enough to call her back. He gasped. Marinette had just run her fingers through his hair, with extra emphasis on the nails against his scalp.

Oh sweet Jesu! If it had been a hard no from him with those other kinks, THIS was an exultant YES!

“Sorry, sweetie!” Marinette called, to his delight. “We’ve kinda been keeping him busy!” She scratched him again, and Adrien couldn’t hold back his moan.

“Who the hell—”

“Very busy,” Luka added on his other side, deepening his voice a bit and giving Adrien’s earlobe a quick nip. Both those actions sent a jolt right down the pit of his stomach. “We’d like to thank you for letting go of someone with such stamina! We’ve had quite the day!”

On the other end, Erica had gone conspicuously silent. Adrien pulled the phone closer to himself.

“So, uh, yeah,” he said softly, “as I’m sure you already know, we’re through.”

“How dare you!” she shrieked. “After everything I’ve done for you!” Marinette snorted in derision and started massaging his shoulders.

“What?” Adrien laughed, leaning back in his chair to relax against her minstrations. Oh, this was priceless. “What exactly have you ‘done for me?’”

“I—I—”

“Besides leaving me on my own so you can fuck another dude?”

“That’s—We’re just cousins!”

“Oh, kissing cousins?” Adrien laughed again. It would’ve actually been funny if he hadn’t heard that same excuse a thousand times over from his other casual encounters. “You had your tongue pretty far down his throat before you left, babe. Try another one.” Luka chuckled in approval and swirled his tongue around Adrien’s ear.

“Like this?” He whispered. Adrien wanted to whimper.

“Fine,” Erica seethed on the other end. “Fine! Be that way! Do your new partners realize how codependent you are?! How much you cling to whoever you’re fucking?!”

Luka and Marinette’s attentions stopped and Adrien felt his breath leave him. Oh God. Oh no. Please don’t let them…. He looked up at Marinette and Luka. They both still looked amused.

“That’s okay,” Marinette called towards the phone. “I like to cuddle!” To emphasize this, she wrapped her arms around Adrien’s shoulders. Relief and warmth flooded him. If he hadn’t already been sitting, he would’ve fallen over.

“And there’s two of us, so we should be able to handle it,” Luka added, kissing the top of Adrien’s head. He wanted to cry. It felt so good. He was safe, and happy, and loved—

“Oh, you are just sick!” his ex spat. “Boys and girls? It’s—it’s unnatural!”

Adrien stared at his phone in disbelief. She’d known he was bisexual from the start! She’d never seemed to have a problem with it before!!

“Somebody sounds jealous,” Marinette drawled.

“You’re a freak!”

“And you’re,” Luka leaned over to tap on Adrien’s phone, “cancelled.” He hung up on her and grinned at Adrien. “And that, my friend, is how you take out the trash.”

“Thanks, you guys,” Adrien said, letting out a shaky breath. “Usually my break-ups require a few more shouting matches and bottles of wine.”

And more of me sobbing into my pillow, he added silently.

“Aww,” Marinette cooed, holding him tighter, “poor Adrikins.”

Adrien gave a weak laugh. “Please don’t ever call me that again.”

“Only for Chloé, huh?” she pouted, pulling away.

He shot her a wry grin. “It just sounds weird when you say it.” To his surprise, her face softened.

“All right then, kitty,” she said softly. Adrien felt his heart leap, especially when she let him go and stroked his hair again. Yes! Yes, that one will do quite nicely, thank you! “Let’s get supper cleaned up and then we can go cuddle, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered, leaning into her touch desperately.

“Why don’t you two go ahead,” Luka suggested. “I’ll clean up.” He started clearing the table.

“You sure?” Marinette asked, giving him a quick peck as he passed by.

“Yeah. You can,” he gave Adrien a suggestive smirk, “get him ready.” Adrien gulped, wondering just what they might have planned for him—

“No sex tonight,” Marinette suddenly declared.

“What?! Aww…” He and Luka made disappointed sounds.

“Nope,” she said firmly. “If we’re going to try for a real relationship here, we have to have more than just the physical. And since you two have already jumped the gun today—”

“I already apologized for that!” Luka protested.

“—then we need to have a session where everyone feels loved and accepted,” she finished, glaring at her blue-haired boyfriend. “So,” she turned on Adrien, “tonight we are going to cuddle your ‘codependent’ ass until you get some much-needed sleep.”

Adrien opened his mouth to retort, but then he closed it again. Who could argue with something like that?

[fencer-x]

Belated end-of-year fic meme

So, it’s already 2020, but I couldn’t technically post this meme until Erised reveals went up, so I’m posting it now! These are just some comments and discussions about the writing that I did this year. High word count, low fic output--that’s pretty normal for me!

GENERAL STATS

List of Fics Posted:

Fandom: Harry Potter Every New Beginning (141k, explicit; Eighth Year fic + time traveling) Pensieve For Your Thoughts (22k, explicit; pinch hit for HD Erised 2010, Eighth Year fic w/a fair bit of dubious consent going on)

Fandom: Promare spend some time with me (i really like your company) (73k, explicit [to be on the safe side]; canon re-write)

Total number: 3 Total word count: 236,239

Ship/character breakdown: Ship breakdown: [Harry Potter] Drarry, Hermione/Ron, Pansy/Parvati, and little tiny hints of other ships; [Promare] GaloLio, background implied Gueira/Meis

Characters that had the main focus: I'm happy to report I wrote from Draco's POV for the first time! My HP fics so far have all been Harry POV, so it was actually fun writing from Draco's POV, though I think most of my fics work better from Harry POV. Promare fic was from Lio's POV mostly because that's what the fic called for, and it was interesting--not sure if I'd go for that POV on the usual (update since I drafted this post: I think, strangely enough, I prefer Lio’s POV, as I’m well into fic #2 from his perspective). Promare fics focused, also, on Mad Burnish, which I really enjoyed writing (I'm much more of a Mad Burnish fan than Burning Rescue, so perhaps that's why XD)

Details

Best/worst title?

Best title: This is gonna be very subjective. I'm actually happy with all three of the titles?? I think Every New Beginning, though; because it's only after you finish the fic that you realize it's a (SPOILER ALERT) spoiler for the entire story. I like that little detail :D

Worst title: maybe spend some time with me (i really like your company)? I actually like the title, but it's a little bit OF a cop-out, just lifitng a line from lyrics, and it's difficult to google XD (update since I drafted this post: YOU FOOL, YOU’RE DOING IT AGAIN FOR YOUR NEW FIC NOW, WHY??? YOU CAN’T TRACK THAT)

Best/worst first line?

Best: I am far less comfortable with opening lines than closing ones. But I guess my favorite of these three is, /Kray Foresight liked to think himself a patient man./ The others are kind of generic, and it was interesting writing this bit from Kray's POV. Not a fun headspace.

Worst: /In retrospect, he should never have trusted a book that came from Pansy./ Not a terrible opener. Not an amazing one. In my defense, I was pressed for time when I wrote it, and I probably would've stewed over it a little longer to pick something with a bit more hook, but it did the job.

Best/worst last line?

Best: I'm satisfied with all of them, but I liked the entire epilogue of ENB, so the final line is probably my favorite: /He devoured his breakfast in record time, then Banished his tray and dishes back to the kitchen before tossing aside the duvet and padding into the bathroom to deliver his complaints about the turkey bacon to the chef in person./

Worst: It was tough finding a place to end the Promare fic that felt satisfying, so probably this one: /The distant whir of chopper blades whistling through the air grew louder and louder, and Lio leaned in to press his lips against Galo’s, lingering as long as he possibly could before whispering, “…Why don’t you start by teaching me how to ride a motorcycle?”/

General questions:

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

More! Because if I'd gone by my original plan, I'd have completed precisely one (1) fic this year in Every New Beginning. I was well into drafting my next fic after that when I tripped headlong into the Promare fandom, and I was eager to get that fic out before fandom died down, so I poured myself into it. Then the Erised fic was a pinch-hit, so I wasn't expecting to write it at all.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

Well. Promare didn't exist last year, so 8D I also probably wouldn't have predicted I'd write any Pansy/Parvati and find it cute.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

SSTWM, I think! I've had SO much fun with Promare so far, and getting to explore a slight twist on the canon, building out the Burnish society and delving into relationships I wished I'd seen explored further in the canon was really satisfying. I'm glad I wrote it.

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

...And it's also my most popular story this year, too, by pretty much every metric AO3 can give me: hits, kudos, and bookmarks (ENB has more comments, but it's also been out rather a lot longer). The Promare fandom is hot hot hot right now (no pun intended), so I expect that contributed.

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

Probably my pinch-hit right now, if only because I wasn't able to show it off when it got posted because of the Erised rules. It's also a one-shot, whereas ENB is a multi-chapter monster.

Story that could have been better?

Wish I'd had a bit more time to play with my Erised submission, but them's the breaks with pinch-hitting! I'm satisfied with how it came out, but me being me, I love writing longfic and would've wanted to make something more of it.

Sexiest story?

Pensieve For Your Thoughts, very much so :D

Saddest story?

Every New Beginning, definitely. It's not a sad fic, per se, but it's quite sad in places, and the overall plot is not a happy one. It has a happy ending, but you'll want to read the tags carefully before checking it out.

Most fun?

SSTWM, getting to flesh out the Burnish colony--LOTS of fun. Gueira and Galo's rivalry in particular was a hoot XD

Story with single sweetest moment?

I think this bit from SSTWM:

“But maybe I can do something a little more my style?”

“Your style?” Lio repeated, dubious, and Thymos brought a hand up, resting it just over his heart. Lio tried not to let his eye linger on the spangling of scars covering his bare arm—was he not freezing, nearly naked as he was?

“When I was recovering in the hospital after the fire Kray rescued me from, he used to come and visit me. Sometimes he’d bring food, or toys, or games—but this one time he brought me a book. It was about firefighters—firefighters from all over the globe, way back before the Great World Blaze, even. That’s where I learned about the ones from that Asian country, see. But there was this one chapter about firefighters from this huge city—looked a lot like Promepolis, actually—and it was so huge, there used to be thousands of these firefighters who worked day and night to keep it safe. And when someone wanted to join their ranks, they had to get up in front of all their peers and speak an oath.”

Lio held his breath, though he wasn’t quite sure why, and tuned every nerve in his body to Thymos in that moment.

Thymos closed his eyes, his hand still splayed over his heart. “‘I promise concern for others, and a willingness to help all those in need. I promise courage: Courage to face and conquer my fears. Courage to share and endure the ordeal of those who need me. I promise strength of heart to bear whatever burdens might be placed upon me, and strength of body to deliver to safety all those placed within my care. I promise the wisdom to lead, the compassion to comfort, and the love to serve unselfishly whenever I am called.’” He opened his eyes, fixing Lio in place. “I promise. All of it.”

Lio’s heart was thudding mercilessly in his chest, and he worried that if he opened his mouth to speak, it might just leap right out. He swallowed thickly to keep it in place and then rasped, “...Grand words for a glorified member of a bucket brigade.”

“Was hoping you’d be impressed I remembered it, after all these years.”

“I am,” Lio said, taking great pains to ensure his sincerity came through.

Hardest story to write?

Pensieve For Your Thoughts; I dislike anything resembling noncon, and while I'm satisfied with what I did, if I'd had more time, I would've found a workaround so the consent wasn't nearly as dubious. I think my recipient liked it, though, so all's well! I also find writing porn difficult, and that story was like 70% porn XD Why I did that to myself, we'll never know.

Easiest/most fun story to write?

Every New Beginning, especially all the bits of Harry and Draco getting closer; I love writing their banter, LOVE IT. I wish I could write a story that's nothing but banter. Someone pay me to do that please.

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

I love Lio, but we don't get too much characterization in the film; it was therefore kind of eye-opening writing from his POV. Of course no fan's characterization is going to be quite the same as what the creators might have imagined, but I still enjoyed what came out of it.

Most overdue story?

Eh, two of them weren't on any sort of deadline whatsoever, and I'm pretty sure I got my Erised piece in before the deadline! So we were good this year :)

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

I used NaNoWriMo as a 'goal' for finishing my Promare fic--I not only finished the fic, I also completed 50k of it during November, so I technically beat NaNoWriMo too! I learned that if I really want to hit a goal and feel like I have to, I have the complete and total capacity to do that. It's just a matter of will for me.

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

To finish my next Drarry fic, aka the one that was supposed to come after Every New Beginning but got pushed to the back-burner by the sudden insistent arrival of Promare in my life. I also want to write for Erised PROPERLY this year and organize a Promare fanwork event around the one-year anniversary :D

[artisticvicu]

Altruistic Endeavors | Inktober 2020 - Day 16: Rocket

“I expect we will be seeing them before the week is out. However, that is not anything I can set in stone. It will solely depend on how things progress over the next few days.”

A knock interrupted anything else the man had to say. Elias stood. Artemis idly stirred what remained in his bowl watching as the man crossed to the door and opened it.

There was a man on the other side, strong, tall, and who grinned a brilliantly bright smile when the two older men’s eyes met. “Thought I would find you here. Cass sent me down with this for you.” The man gestured with the bundle in his hand. Artemis wasn’t sure if it was a thin book or a stack of paper. Elias took it, flipping through the pages as the man continued, “How’s our newest guest?”

“Awake so you’re welcome to ask him yourself,” Elias offered, voice cordial and expression soft as he took a step out of the way before actually crossing to the chair.

The stranger at the door stepped in enough to close the door before smiling gently at Artemis. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you,” he replied politely.

“Elias been treating you well?”

“Yes, sir.”

The man laughed, startling him. He glanced at Elias but the man was busy reading. “You don’t have to be so formal. Name’s Tolnoran but you can call me Torra. Everyone does.”

“A misconception,” Elias piped in, turning a page. “There are some that scream expletives when they see you, Tolnoran.”

Tolnoran gave an embarrassed laughed. There was a flicker of something that looked an awful lot like sadness to Artemis at the edge of the man’s expression. “”Eli. The young man doesn’t need to know that.”

Elias closed the stack of pages around a finger as he looked up at Tolnoran. “He will learn it regardless of whether he is told now or not and you know it as well as I do.” Tolnoran’s expression noticeably fell at that and Elias sighed, gentle amusement coloring his expression. “Do not give me that look. I know you find immense joy at hearing a few of the expletives.”

Tolnoran’s expression relaxed, turning thoughtful even. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

This time Elias let out a huff of a laugh. “Honestly.” Artemis met Elias’s gaze steadily. “Do not let his demeanor fool you. Tolnoran may be one of the most…powerful fighters here but he is one of the kindest souls you will interact with here. If I am not around to aid you, find him.”

Tolnoran smiled at him. “I highly doubt Eli will ever not be available but, yes, if you ever need anything and he is not able, come find me.”

He nodded.

Elias opened to the bookmarked page. “Anything significant Cass passed on?”

Tolnoran’s demeanor shifted, the joy and play that had been on the man’s face slipping into a somber expression. Artemis caught a glimpse of Elias’s implication of the man’s fiercer presence. “Not from Cass but an update from Corax has put people on edge. If Corax’s scouts are to be believed-”

“And they usually are,” Elias interjected, flipping pages.

Tolnoran nodded. “Corax’s words,” he added before continuing. “If his scouts are to be believed, there’s a cluster of Kret coming in from the north.”

“Already?” Elias looked up, frowning. “I thought our only concern were the Crell.”

“They still are. Unfortunately, there’s talk that this particular cluster was driven south but Corax’s scouts hadn’t gotten the chance to clarify.”

Elias looked back at the open pages but his attention wasn’t on the pages. “Are they planning on sending a squad out.”

Tolnoran sighed heavily. “There’s push back from the Council. They don’t think there’s much threat from the Kret cluster when the Crell are practically on our doorstep in their opinion.”

Elias let out a sharp breath, closing the bundle of pages. “Of course it is.” He stood up tucking the pages under his arm. “Let me go talk with the Council. Be ready to leave in three hours.”

Surprise flittered against Tolnoran’s face. “You think you can get their opinion changed that quickly.”

A smirk crossed Elias’s face that let Artemis uneasy. Even the fur on Dlmor’s back stood up at it. “Oh, I am not expecting it to take even an hour but I need time to prep the boy.”

“Boy?” Tolnoran asked.

“Artemis,” Elias corrected. “If we’re going out, he’s coming with. His Dlmor will be a much needed asset.” Elias patted Tolnoran’s shoulder on the way to the door. “I’m trusting you to have him as ready as possible in three hours.” Elias paused at the door, hand on the handle as he looked back at Artemis. “You want to know about the Second Plane, the best place to learn is by living it. If you do as you’re told, you’ll live to see your friends.”

He nodded.

The hallway was full of noise but none of it stayed when the door closed. For a moment he sat in that room with a new stranger and he wasn’t sure what he should do.

“Are you done?” He looked at Tolnoran, finding the large man had settled at the side of his bed and had bent over. The man’s hand was gesturing towards the bowl still sitting in his lap. He handed it over. Tolnoran placed the bowl on the table, offering, “You’ve kept Elias’s attention pretty well for the last three days.” The man sat in the chair by the bed. “He’s told me some of what has transpired but I was hoping you would share what I’m missing.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry but I don’t know you. I barely know Elias and I have no idea what he may or may not have told you, let alone what may or may not benefit me in having you know.”

Tolnoran chuckled. “He mentioned the resistance. Has he told you why he pulled you from the First Plane? Beyond it being part of the promise he made to your mother?”

He frowned. “How much do you know, Torra?”

Tolnoran took a deep breath as he sat back in the chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Not everything, that’s for sure. And what I do know isn’t the full picture.” Tolnoran’s gaze drifted back to him. “I knew your mother, Ellen, but I only knew her in passing. I didn’t get on better terms with Elias till a few years ago, some time around him showing up here. We caught up and he told me he had made a promise to his sister to watch over her son should she ever have to follow through with a plan and it come to fruition. He never told me what that plan was till almost a week ago when he told me he was going to pull you from the First Plane.”

“You know why he kidnapped me, then?”

Tolnoran let out a heavy sigh, looking sheepish. “Eli is a good guy. As much as he says I have a heart of gold, so does he. He’s just…a bit detached from it all after everything he’s been through.”

“But the kidnapping?”

Another sigh, though this one was sharper. “I don’t think it had started out as a kidnapping. I think he had truly wanted to meet you and introduce you into the Second Plane in a more neutral way but then you were attacked and he saw the damage that you sustained. It…” Tolnoran’s words petered out. “He told me that he knew you had sustained an injury but he hadn’t realized how bad you had it till the Healers had checked you through. Before this whole thing with you, he was a rocket - constantly moving, always one of the first on the field and quickest to get things done - but he hasn’t done much more than sit in here waiting for you to wake up.”

“He’s not lying.”

[ofwizardsandmen]

Heartbreak Monday (Part I)

Word count: 1.3k

College AU

The smell of freshly baked croissants poured out the kitchen door, making it hard for Mark and co. to concentrate on the assignment at hand. It was Monday morning and the other very plausible explanation was that the overindulges from the weekend hadn’t cleared up from their systems yet, but Mark chose to believe Doyoung, Donghyuck and Jaehyun were only having a bad case of the Monday Morning Blues.

“I can’t deal with this anymore, I’m hungry!” Doyoung complained, letting the book he was holding fall back on the table, causing Jaehyun to wince as though he were in pain and massage his temples.

“How about a break?” Mark questioned, his signature gentle smile spreading over his face.

“Please.” Doyoung said eagerly while Jaehyun only nodded indifferently. “I really need one and this one needs something that wakes him up” He said pointing at his right with the thumb.

Donghyuck had already started his break a while ago. Head resting on his folded arms, back hunched as low as possible, he had been sleeping for a solid 15 minutes while his friends worked on what was supposed to be HIS assignment.

“Alright” Mark agreed easily, but Doyoung ignored him, too focused frowning down at Donghyuck’s notes, that included the doodle of something oddly similar to a heart accompanied by the words DY&Adela.

Huffing, Doyoung gave the young guy a hard elbow and grunted something that sounded a lot like “Get up, you fool”, but that Mark settled for thinking it was “get up, there’s food”.

Startled, and glaring at him, Donghyuck rubbed the spot where the older guy hit him, but he didn’t dare to add a word once their eyes met. After all, the fact his frat bros were there was his fault. Not to mention that convincing them to help him had cost him more than he was willing to admit, well, mainly Doyoung and Jaehyun… Mark, poor Mark was just easy to guilt trap.

“What, are you guys leaving already?” Donghyuck’s eyebrows went up after registering the way Mark had started bookmarking pages and piling the books in a corner of the table. “Hey, Yang! you said Tara was going out with her friends.” The guy reminded him judgmentally while still feeling betrayed by who was supposed to be one of his best friends. It wouldn’t have been the first time Mark left him to suffer on his own while he spent time with his girlfriend, but he couldn’t stop himself from pouting a bit.

“We’re just taking a break for croissants and another round of coffee” Doyoung sent an eye-roll, closed the book he had been reading —or pretending to— and went to stand  behind a few people waiting to place their order.

“I don’t think I’m ready for croissants yet” Donghyuck whined in the typically childish voice he used to manipulate his older brothers and never failed to get him out of trouble.  

“After all you drank last nigh, I’m pretty sure it’s too soon to try solid food” Jaehyun mocked, standing up and moving to join Doyoung.

“Get me a coffee?” Donghyuck blinked cutely at Mark, scooting closer and placing a hand on his chin, eyelashes batting coyly.

“All you’ll get is a beating if you don’t stop being gross” Mark snarled, his smile never fading from his lips even though his hand had already balled into a fist and he was threatening his friend with it.

Conveniently enough the ringing of the tiny bell heralding the arrival of new customers distracted Mark, making him look over his shoulder just in time to see Tara walk in, followed by Arabella, her high school friend and a business major Donghyuck had a crush on.

“Tara! You came just in time to see your boyf-“ Donghyuck restrained himself from speaking further when his eyes met Arabella’s intense gaze. For some reason, she already seemed upset and as much as he normally enjoyed teasing Tara and Mark, Donghyuck came to the conclusion that this was not a particularly good moment to do so.

“Hey, what are you doing here, I thought you guys were going to-“ Instead of greeting him with a kiss, as Mark hoped Tara would, the girl only approached enough for her to throw a piece of paper into his face. Mark blinked confused, not really grasping what was happening until a heartbeat later when he picked the pink post-it from his lap and noticed Mindy’s handwriting —he knew it was hers because she was the only person he knew, who still put hearts instead of dots on the i’s.

“I hope you had spent a very good night with Mindy, Mark” Tara said without preamble, expression almost unreadable. Arabella, standing a few meters behind Tara only nodded vigorously, apparently approving of her friend’s words.

“What?” Mark asked, still dumbfounded by Tara’s unexpected arrival and even more unexpected words.

“Yes, Mark, I found the note your little whore friend slid in your book to thank you for the amazing night you two spent this weekend while I was home working on our assignment for Ms. Fletcher like the idiot I am” She said, speaking so fast, that for a moment Donghyuck thought he didn’t understand the actual problem until Tara threw a folder and a literature book onto the table “There you go, you can finish something for the first time in your life” She darted a frightening glance at Donghyuck —probably thinking he would make a joke about the finishing part— before taking a deep breath and going on. “We’re done.”

The next bit happened just as Donghyuck expected and in his humble opinion thought as quite inevitable. Tara turned her back on them and started to exit the room. She walked right past Sungjae who greeted her with a smile that faded the second she ignored him and reached for the door escorted by Arabella.  

“Tara, please-“ Mark faltered in a rather deceptive attempt to stop her.

“Not now, Yang” Arabella spoke for the first time, eyes looking at him sternly as she held her hand up to stop him from getting closer “You’ve done enough for the day” she added, her tone equal parts condescending and threatening.

On any normal day, Donghyuck found Arabella Black quite scary, beautiful with her long locks of blonde hair framing her pretty face, but scary nevertheless. There was something about the way she stared at people that always seemed to keep everybody around her at bay —something he loved about her—, but this time the girl seemed genuinely ready to mete out justice and cause Mark severe injury.

On any normal day, Donghyuk would’ve also been the first person to jump in the let’s-ruin-Mark’s-life-for-fun bandwagon, but even Lee Donghyuck with his utter lack of tact realized that his friend looked appalled enough. He thought to himself that maybe Arabella could’ve turned the hostility down a notch. After all, whatever was going on was supposed to involve Mark and Tara only —and probably Mindy, if he’d understood correctly—. But then again, supporting your friends through thick and thin was an unspoken rule of friendship.

Mark really looked like he needed that support when Tara and Arabella walked out of the café and squeezed in the back of Enzo’s Porshe with the rest of their friends, so Donghyuck jumped from his seat and wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders.

“I told you to stop being gross” Mark muttered, his eyes itching strangely.

“I know you don’t really mean that” Donghyuck shrugged, his hand patting the side of Mark’s arm.

Mark remained silent, not daring to move as though he were expecting to snap back to a reality where Tara and he were still meeting up for lunch and breathing didn’t make his chest ache so unbearably.

...

[dragonsaphirareads]

I Am Creativity (Chapter 1/5)

Crossposted on AO3 under the same name!

“I knew you were insane but this is just ridiculous, Remus.”

 “Aww, c’mon, I thought you liked my ideas!”

 “This hardly counts as an idea - more like a suicide mission.”

 “I’m more powerful than you think, Dee. I can handle my brother!”

 “Don’t try and fool me. You’ve been losing power for weeks, what makes you think now is a good time for this stupid plan?”

 “Deceit’s right - you need to wait until you have your strength back! I could step in and make Thomas tired so you’d be able to play with his nightmares!”

 “Come on, you two, I’m Creativity! This idea will work, I can guarantee it!”

 “You’ll be endangering Thomas. I can’t allow you to do this right now.”

 “Well, it’s a good thing you can’t stop me then! This doesn’t have to do with Thomas knowing anything, so you’re out of your element here!”

 “Argh... Obsession, say something, this cannot happen!”

 “...You’re going to lose, Remus. You realize that, right?”

 “I’ll do my best!”

 It was a quiet day in the mindscape. For once, the sides felt content. There were no huge issues in Thomas’s life that needed addressing, and they were able to spend some quality time together in the common area. Patton was flitting about in the kitchen, baking a fresh batch of cookies. Virgil was curled up in his chair and half asleep, warm and comfortable from lunch. Logan had a new book he was already halfway through, and Roman had a fresh script in his hands, already covered in his scrawling, curly handwriting. 

 Of course, it wouldn’t be a day in the mindscape if something didn’t come to cause trouble. Specifically, this “something” came bouncing down the shadowy hallway that lead to the dark sides’ territory, his steps loud and obnoxious.

 “Oh Roooomaaaaaan~” He called out in a singsong voice, putting those in the common room immediately on edge. Virgil shot up out of his chair and was on his feet in an instant, vaulting over the side of the couch to put himself between the newcomer and Roman. Patton froze, a tray of steaming cookies in his hands. Logan sighed, bookmarking his place and closing his book with a snap, standing and facing Remus calmly. 

 The darker side of creativity waltzed right up to the couch, completely ignoring the defensive positions Virgil and Logan had taken. He stared right past them, grinning widely at his brother. “Roman!”

 The prince sighed, not looking up from his script. Over the past few months, he’d grown less scared of his brother. Now, he was just a minor nuisance, even though his friends seemed to think otherwise. “What do you want? I’m busy, I don’t have time to mess around.”

 “Aww, the great prince Roman doesn’t even have time to play a game with his only brother? And I came all this way!” Remus pouted, putting his fists on his hips. Roman glanced up, eyebrows raised. 

 “A game? What are you talking about?” Remus grinned again at Roman’s question, and he spread his arms out widely.

 “Why, none other than a duel of our minds! Just like old times! You do still remember how to play, don’t you?”

 Roman squinted at him, putting down his script carefully on the coffee table. “Of course I do, I came up with it! But you haven’t wanted to play since you left, why are you showing your mustached mug now?”

 “Whaaat, I can’t request a friendly game?”

 Virgil stepped forward, getting in Remus’s face and sneering. “No, you can’t. Roman isn’t interested in playing any of your sick, twisted games. Now get out of here before we make you!”

 “This doesn’t concern you, emo.” Remus said it with a smile, but his voice was cold. “Besides, you should hear me out. I think you’ll like this idea very much.”

 Finally, Roman stood and walked over to his brother, crossing his arms and straightening his back to try and force any extra height he could. “Just tell me what you want.” Roman said, wanting to just listen to whatever bad idea his twisted brother had come up with and get it over with. 

 The dark side grinned, flourishing his arms and putting his chin in his hand. “We’re both Creativity, aren’t we? But lately, Thomas doesn’t seem to need both of us. One would be more than enough. So, I’ve got a bet for you, my brother. We play our old game, by our rules, and whoever wins gets to be Thomas’s one and only Creativity! Sounds like a pretty good deal, doesn’t it?”

 Virgil spluttered, holding a protective arm out in front of Roman. “No deal, you sneaky rat. Roman is already Thomas’s creativity, and he’s got nothing to gain and nothing to prove to you!”

 “Virgil—“ Roman tried to say.

 “I bet this is just another one of Deceit’s plans that you’re tagging along with, isn’t it? Well you can count us out, we’re not gonna play along with anything you want!”

 “While I appreciate the credit, I’m not responsible for Remus’s actions this time around.” A smooth voice came from the dark hallway, and the sides whipped around to see Deceit and another shadowy figure lurking behind him. The snake had his arms crossed, and an uncharacteristic scowl across his face. “Let’s go, Remus.”

 Remus giggled.

 “He thinks this is a bad idea. But I didn’t ask your opinion, did I?” Remus sneered towards his fellow dark side, to which he received rolled eyes. Patton winced, putting the tray of cookies down and pulling off his oven mitts slowly.

 “You’re... not behind him being here?” He asked cautiously. Deceit shook his head, and behind him the other dark side snickered. 

 “Oh no, I’m perfectly alright with sending one of my friends off when it’s certainly going to get them killed, I do it every week!” Deceit answered sarcastically, staring straight at Remus. 

 “You have such little faith in me, I’m hurt!” Remus put a hand over his chest dramatically. Then he turned back to Roman, grinning madly. “C’mon, if Deceit thinks I’ll lose then I’ve got no chance! One game, Roman, and I’ll be out of your hair forever.”

 Roman stared at his brother. His eyes were wide and teeth showing. On someone else perhaps it would look innocent, but not with Remus. He just looked wild. His own mind was racing, trying to figure out what in the world he wanted. 

 He knew he had everything to lose in this wager. Thomas already considered him his “main” creativity, even after learning about Remus’s existence. His host had been happier than ever with his contributions, and he knew that losing this game would mean losing everything for Thomas. He could only guess what Remus would turn his channel into if given the chance. 

 There was very little Roman could gain from this. If he could trust his brother’s word - which he knew he could, the one good thing about him was that he never lied - that would mean Remus would disappear. He wouldn’t show up when he wasn’t wanted, he wouldn’t make a fuss. He would stop messing with Roman’s ideas and leave Thomas alone for good from his unpleasant idea of ‘creativity’. 

 For some reason, that thought made him angry. He opened his mouth to tell him off, to tell him to go back to his dark cave and leave him alone. 

 “Roman, don’t you dare!” Virgil growled. The prince looked at him, nose wrinkled. Virgil really thought he’d be stupid enough to take this obvious bait? Sure, he was reckless, but even he wasn’t dumb enough to--

 “Aww, would you look at that Roman? Your friends think you’re so weak you can’t even defeat little old me in a game you created! Maybe they’re right though, it has been a long time, I might actually be stronger than you!”

 “Excuse me?!” Roman screeched. 

 “Roman!” Logan warned, his tone steely. He and Virgil both tried to hold out their arms to block him, but Roman stormed past them, getting up in his twin’s smirking face. 

 “You are not and have never been better at creating than I am! I could beat you with both arms tied behind my back!” Roman immediately regretted his words as his brother’s smile grew, and he heard three collective groans from around the room. 

 “Ooh, kinky~ Why don’t we put that to the test, then?” Remus waved his hand, and suddenly Roman found himself in the middle of a sunny field, squinting against the harsh light. Virgil and Logan landed unsteadily, and Patton stumbled and fell in a heap with a soft ‘oof’. A few steps away, Remus stood with the other dark sides behind him, who were trying to regain their balance as well. 

 The Imagination. Roman swallowed. Shit, this was not what he’d meant to happen.

 “So, dear brother of mine, we’re here! We just need to get you ready!” Remus grinned, waving his hand again and conjuring a length of rope and hanging it from his fingers lazily. Roman’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, trying to keep his voice strong. 

 “I said I could beat you with my arms behind my back, I never said I would! Can you imagine how embarrassing it would be to see you beaten with me limiting myself like that? Don’t worry, I won’t go easy on you, so you’ll have an excuse ready when I win.” Roman tried not to notice Deceit’s eye twitching behind Remus. Curse him and his ability to detect lies.

 The dark side of creativity rolled his eyes but let the rope drop, where it disappeared once it hit the ground. He looked vaguely disappointed, but shrugged. 

 “You're no fun! Fine, it doesn’t matter. Your dull creations are no match for me, handicap or no. I’ll give you a few minutes to set your friends up with a viewing platform. I know they’ll want to watch as I beat your sorry butt into the ground!” He said with a laugh and a shoulder wiggle. 

 Roman watched him for a moment before he felt a hand on his shoulder and he was spun around to meet face to face with a very angry Virgil. 

 “What the hell are you thinking, Princey!? Have you somehow forgotten that he’s the embodiment of Thomas’s bad creativity?! If you lose—“

 “We’ll lose you!” Patton finished, grabbing Roman’s hand and gripping it tightly. There were tears in his eyes and his lip quivered. Roman winced. Did they really think he couldn’t do this?

 “You two shouldn’t underestimate Roman.” Logan interjected, and Virgil whipped around to face the logical side.

 “Roman got knocked out for an entire video because of him! Remus is strong, and—“

 “And that only happened because we all failed to warn him of the threat until it was too late. Now he has a chance to prepare. Not to mention he created this game they’ll be playing, so I see no reason to worry.”

 Patton pursed his lips. “What is this ‘game’ anyways?”

 Roman smiled. “It’s just like he said - it’s a battle of our minds! We used to play it all the time as kids, before...” Roman licked his lips, shaking his head. “Well, anyways, it works like this.”

 The creative side waved his hand and created a floating image, simulating a TV screen to help him explain. “I created the game as an exercise to practice creating things in the mindscape. The goal is to knock out your opponent using anything you can create in the Imagination.”

 “When you say knock out, what do you mean exactly?” Logan asked. 

 “I mean exactly what I said? If your opponent is unable to continue, then you win.” Usually it ended with a very big bruise on one of them, but he had a feeling Patton might object a lot more vehemently if he told him that. 

 Roman waved his hand and a top down image of the field they were standing in appeared. “We split the field in two, and we have fifteen minutes to get ready. We can create anything we want in our area, whether it be to protect us or attack our opponent. After we’re done preparing, we start the fight!”

 “So it’s not a battle of pure strength, but more a battle of wits?” Logan clarified, and Roman nodded. 

 “That’s right! I can’t tell you how many times one of us has won even if we had fewer creations on our side!”

 Patton twisted his fingers together nervously, biting his lip. “That sounds simple enough...”

 “You said you played this before, right?” Virgil asked. Roman nodded. “How many times have you won?”

 Roman huffed, planting his hands on his hips. “I am Thomas’s creativity! I created this game, and I am not going to lose to my brother on the other side! I don’t appreciate you doubting me, Virgil! The hero always prevails over the villain, so you have nothing to worry about!” 

 Virgil glared at Roman, anger brewing in his eyes. Instead of wasting time continuing that argument, he turned away from his fellow sides and made a grand sweeping motion with his arms. 

 A large pavilion tent shimmered into existence, staked into the ground and several comfortable lawn chairs underneath. He included more of the TV like screens so they could watch without getting too close. Roman knew they probably wouldn’t be happy about being put to the side, but it would help him focus if he knew they would be safe. 

 “Now you’ll be able to relax as I earn my rightful title as Thomas’s creativity! Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll make this a showdown you won’t soon forget!”

 Patton looked like he was about to cry as Virgil took his hand and pulled him towards the tent, keeping his own eyes fixed tightly in the ground. Roman took a breath, setting his shoulders back and cracking his neck, and turned towards the center of the field.

 “Roman... are you certain about this?” Logan asked him gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. The prince signed, setting his jaw.

 “I have to do this, Logan. This is the only chance we’re going to get to actually get rid of him. He makes Thomas upset, and if I can do something to help him, I’m going to do it.”

 “Getting rid of a side of himself is not going to help him in the long run. Remus exists for a reason - if he’s gone, the balance we currently have will be thrown off. That could negatively affect you as well.”

 Roman refused to look at him - Logan sounded worried about him. 

 The hand on his shoulder tightened. “I... can’t stop you. But I beg you to reconsider this, Roman. I don’t want you to inadvertently hurt yourself in this endeavor.”

 “I’ll be fine, Logan. Go sit down, I need to focus.” 

 “Roman...”

 “Go!” His voice cracked, and he ripped his shoulder away and walked off from his friends, trying to calm his racing heart. 

 He couldn’t let their worries get to him. He was Prince Roman, the hero who would defeat his evil twin and bring peace to the land once again. It was what his life had been leading up to - a fitting end to their rivalry.

 Why, then, did he feel so uneasy at that thought?

 ~~~

 The playing field was set. It was about the size of a football field, with a waist high fence surrounded the entire area. There were two raised towers on either end for each of the twins to survey the field. Floating in the sky above them was a scoreboard with a timer, frozen on 15 minutes. 

 Roman made his way to the center field line, marked with a green and red striped line. His brother was standing there, arms crossed and lips twisted into a smug grin. His morningstar was slung casually over his shoulder, and he tapped it impatiently as he waited. 

 The prince held his shoulders back and chin high as he walked, showing no trace of the fear that was racing through his veins. He hadn’t had a ‘Creativity Battle’ in years, and while he was confident in his abilities in manipulating the Imagination, he knew Remus had also grown in power over the years. He couldn’t let his guard down for even a second, or it would be all over. 

 “So, it comes to this. I can’t wait to see the look on your friends’ faces when I break you into little pieces like a princely pinata!” He broke into a deranged laugh, but Roman just shrugged. 

 “Laugh all you want, Captain Hook, but you should know by now that good always prevails. You’re going to regret challenging me when I come out on top!”

 Remus stepped forward and smirked, raising his free hand to pat Roman’s cheek. “Oh Roman, we both know you’re not a top.”

 Roman groaned. “Enough! I cannot wait until I can say something without worry that you’ll twist my words like you always do!”

 “Aww, you know you’ll miss me!”

 “Quit bantering and let’s go!” A voice called from the sidelines, and Roman looked over to see Deceit and Obsession sprawled out on a tattered blanket laid on the grass - it was a far cry from the fancy pavilion Roman had conjured for his friends. Obsession had his hands cupped around his mouth and Deceit was snickering. 

 Remus glanced from his fellow sides to his brother, and raised an eyebrow. “Ready?” He asked, a mischievous glint in his eye. Roman steadied himself, and looked Remus in the eyes. 

 “Let the game begin!”