#i keep forgetting i have the heart hands as my header it always sends me

[cheriebourbon]

【 ＣＡＧＥ　ＯＦ　ＤＥＡＴＨ 】

ghost x soap — 6.5k

tags:: simon has a not-so-secret job, ghoap!, smut, bickering&tension, tf141 somewhat included, motorcyclist au.

cw:: drinking&under the influence, friendly teasing, use of cigarettes, praise&kisses, making out, tiny bit of begging, both worked up so it’s just explosive, blowjob, handjob, choking, wet&messy, overstimulation, several orgasms, anal, missionary, simon is more dominant, pet names, crying but not from pain, loose lips, simon forgets his strength and gets a bit rough, leaves his mask on for a good portion, but when taken off he is depicted as having blond hair, brown eyes, and scars all over.

notes::

hihi cherries o’ mine, I hope you’ll enjoy this fic just as much as I do. like.. gnaw on your fingernails and giggle in your bed kind of enjoyment. no such thing as crazy here, just silliness. anyways, all of my headers and icons are from pinterest:33

stay hydrated, stay healthy, much love from cerise<33

synopsis::

in which, simon riley, reveals his side job as an amusement performer for the cage of death to the tf141, and johnny mactavish, bets that if he stood in it with him driving around he won’t get scared one bit.

OR

in which, johnny mactavish, harbours a secret from simon riley, his close mate, and has to swallow back the overwhelming emotions.

The autumn breeze swept through the dimly lit pub—a place Task Force 141 had come to call their own. Nestled in a quiet corner of the city, it was a hole-in-the-wall kind of joint, just rough enough to feel like home. No prying eyes, no eavesdropping from outsiders. Just a place to talk shop without anyone batting an eye.

The drinks weren’t the finest, but they did the job. And that was all that mattered after a long mission. As usual, laughter echoed off the walls—loud, raucous, and contagious. Soap’s voice stood out, cutting through the din like a blade, his laugh punctuated by the occasional crackle. It was impossible not to join in once he started. Red faces, tears, the tang of alcohol in the air—it was all part of the ritual.

“Johnny, go on then,” Ghost chuckled, the sound deep and gravelly, still echoing with the remnants of his laughter. The corners of his mouth curled up in a teasing grin as he leaned against the weathered wooden counter, his eyes glinting with mischief.

“Let’s hear you say something in that nonsense you call language.” The atmosphere was light, charged with the playful banter between friends, and Ghost was enjoying the moment.

Soap shot Ghost a sideways glance, then slapped his arm with the back of his hand. “Gibberish? Awa’ an’ bile yer heid, L.T. Ye’ve got a better chance of me understanding yer orders than yer precious ‘Queen’s English.’” His thick Scottish accent cracked through, sending another round of laughter rippling through the table.

It was a running joke. Soap’s party trick—his native slang. It was like a secret language to them, a humor only a few could appreciate. But it always had the same effect: pure chaos. The whole group was in stitches, faces flushed and voices hoarse.

Price let out a sharp snort into his glass, the sound echoing slightly in the dimly lit room. He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Alright, that’s quite enough out of you, Soap,” he said, his tone a mix of exasperation and camaraderie.

“If you keep it up, you’re going to give us all a damned bloody heart attack.” His eyes glinted with amusement as he glanced around at the others, who were stifling their laughter at Soap's antics.

Soap leaned back in his chair, a devilish grin spreading across his face as a mischievous gleam danced in his bright blue eyes. “Suit yourself, Cap’n,” he retorted, his tone full of playful defiance. “I was just gettin' my abs in shape from all that laughter we’ve had tonight.” He flexed his arms exaggeratedly as if showcasing a rock-hard physique.

Gaz, sitting across from him, let out a loud snort, shaking his head as he rolled his shoulders in a mock display of confidence. “Rock-hard abs, huh? Don't let the rest of us find out, or we’ll be stuck doing crunches all night!” His teasing retort was accompanied by a dramatic eye roll, making it clear he wasn’t taking the banter too seriously.

Meanwhile, Price, ever the composed leader, arched an eyebrow in amusement, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smirk. He took a deliberate sip from his cold beer, savoring the bitter taste, before quipping back with a playful edge, “You don't already have them, Garrick?” His tone was filled with jest, the light atmosphere making the jibe all the more enjoyable.

Gaz's face instantly paled at the implication, his eyes widening in exaggerated horror as he waved his hands in a frantic gesture. “Not what I meant, sir! Not what I meant at all!” he stammered, feeling the effects of the drinks kick in and the warmth of embarrassment creeping up his neck, turning the moment into a lighthearted spectacle that drew laughter from the rest of the group.

Price leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight, and gave Gaz a skeptical look that conveyed his disbelief. “Too bad. Might be worth another round of training, eh?” he said, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Before Gaz could muster a response, the atmosphere of the pub shifted dramatically. A deep, resonant roar pierced through the usual din of chatter and clinking glasses. A Harley-Davidson, its powerful engine reverberating like thunder, pulled up outside the establishment. Price’s expression instantly hardened; he froze in place for a moment as the familiar sound washed over him, memories flooding back like a tidal wave.

“Reminds me of the old days,” he murmured, his voice barely loud enough to break through the muted sounds of the bustling pub. His gaze was distant and contemplative, lost in a time long past.

Gaz, puzzled by the sudden shift in Price's demeanor, leaned in slightly. “Pardon, sir?” he asked, eager to understand what was going through his superior's mind.

Price blinked, as if emerging from a trance, and refocused his gaze on Gaz. “I used to own a Harley,” he explained more clearly this time, a tinge of nostalgia coloring his tone. “Sold it when I signed on for this gig. Some things you have to trade for a cause.” The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken sacrifice and the weight of choices made in pursuit of duty.

The table fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that comes from shared experiences and unspoken camaraderie. The flickering light overhead cast shadows across the faces of the men gathered, emphasizing the moment. Ghost’s interest was suddenly piqued; he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a low, steady murmur, almost conspiratorial. “Really? You had a bike, Cap’n?”

Soap turned in his seat, his posture shifting with newfound curiosity. “A Harley, aye? I always thought you looked like the type,” he remarked with a cheeky grin. “What happened to it? Got rid of it for a lady perhaps?”

Price shrugged, a hint of nonchalance on his face, but his eyes betrayed a deeper story. “Had to let it go. Part of the job, you know how it is. You give up a lot for this life,” he let out, his tone devoid of bitterness—just a calm acceptance of the sacrifices he’d made over the years.

Ghost hummed thoughtfully, his gaze glinting with mischief beneath his mask. He leaned back slightly, allowing the air to thicken with anticipation before continuing. “I might have a side gig if you’re interested,” he said. “Involves a bike. You could always come watch.”

Price’s eyebrow shot up, intrigued. “A side gig, eh? What sort of job are we talking about here?” His tone carried both suspicion and interest, a mix that hinted at the unpredictability of their lives.

Ghost leaned in closer, the tension in the air palpable as he let the moment hang before finally dropping his words like a stone in water. “Cages of death,” he stated simply, his voice low, but the weight of it was unmistakable.

The phrase landed at the table like a hammer strike, sending ripples through the group. Soap’s grin widened, his excitement morphing into uncontainable enthusiasm. He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing slightly in the dim room.

“Cages of death, hm?” he echoed, laughter bubbling up in his chest. “Sounds like a bloody laugh. Do you reckon I could stand in there with you, Ghost? Not a tremble in me.” His voice dripped with cocky confidence, betraying a thrill-seeker’s spirit.

Ghost’s lips curled beneath his balaclava, the gesture barely reaching his eyes but still a hint of amusement. “Bet, huh? We’ll see, Johnny,” he replied, the challenge evident in his tone. “Why don’t you come down tonight and show me what you’ve got?”

Price and Gaz exchanged a look that spoke volumes; an entire conversation passed between them without a word. “Those two are something else,” Price muttered under his breath, a mix of amusement and exasperation dancing in the corners of his lips.

Gaz shook his head, a grin creeping onto his face. “This should be interesting…” he remarked. The banter seemed to hang in the air, a promise of reckless adventure just waiting to ignite.

Soap’s eyes flickered over the screen of his phone, the message from a contact named “Simon, my L.T.💀” clear as day. The address to some rundown amusement joint, the same one he was standing outside of. He typed out a quick reply: “Where are you?”

Seconds later, the response came in: “Didn’t I just send you my location?”

Soap’s fingers hovered over the keys before he shot back, “Very funny, L.T. But I’m serious.”

The reply was instant: “I am too.”

Soap grinned, his thumb typing: “Simon.”

A pause. Then the phone pinged again: “If you’re at the entrance, follow the path in front, take a right by the food truck. There’s a spinning globe. I’m nearby.”

Soap raised an eyebrow. “Very vague.”

“You wanted my location. Work for it.”

Soap snorted. “How kind of you.”

“I know. See you soon, Johnny.”

He rolled his eyes with a hint of a smirk, muttering under his breath, “That muppet.” He clicked the side button of his phone, shutting it off before shoving it into his jacket pocket.

His boots crunched against the gravel as he walked, the cold evening air biting at his skin. He was glad he wore a jacket, even if it hung a bit loose at the waist. It was more comfortable that way. Didn’t mind the extra space—he wasn’t a man who skipped meals, after all. A good steak? No chance he’d pass it up. He chuckled to himself. Maybe Simon would be so generous. Or maybe not. That man had a way of keeping him on edge.

The food truck wasn’t hard to spot. Soap’s

eyes shifted from the truck to his phone. “Following the trail of clues you left me.”

The response was quick: “Good on you. We’ve got a Sherlock Holmes.”

Soap smirked, typing back: “Not that smart, L.T.”

“Oh? Says who?”

“Me.”

“Well, I second that. You don’t have to be Sherlock to be smart.”

“You’re just trying to get on my good side.”

“Am I not already?”

“No.”

“I’ll have to fix that then, won’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Hurry up. Can’t fix it if you’re not here.”

“Aye, L.T. See you.”

Soap tucked his phone away and jogged towards the spinning globe. He stood there for a moment, scanning the area, but saw no sign of Ghost. He was about to send another message when—THWACK—a hand slapped down on his shoulder.

The move nearly earned a quick jab to the ribs, but Soap froze, recognizing the skull balaclava before he could react.

“Damn,” Ghost muttered under his breath, “so much for seeing me.” His voice rumbled from behind the mask, “Thought you were clever. You think I’m gonna just stand in front of the globe like some tourist attraction?”

Soap’s brows furrowed as he took in the sight of his best mate. “That’s not the point, though.”

Ghost was the same as always—tall, broad-shouldered, and completely unreadable. He wore his signature skull helmet, the black balaclava covering the rest of his face. His brown eyes were focused, piercing as ever, but his posture was relaxed.

His jacket was a black-and-white Marlboro racing leather, the brand he liked to rep. The fit was tight on his frame, highlighting the muscles in his arms, but it wasn’t the jacket that caught Soap’s eye. His gaze wandered down, past the belt and black cargo pants—perfectly tailored to hug the hard lines of his legs—right down to the boots. Black, simple, but worn in just right.

A soft click of Ghost’s skull gloves snapped Soap out of his wandering thoughts, his gaze shooting back up to meet the man’s eyes. “Eyes up here, Johnny,” Ghost’s voice rumbled, tinged with a dry humor that Soap recognized all too well. There was a flush creeping up to his ears under the mask, but it didn’t matter. Ghost didn’t let that kind of thing slide.

“Sorry, L.T.” Soap said, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt the biting cold air wrap around him, amplifying his sense of vulnerability. His voice emerged rough and gravelly, a reflection of the chill that seeped into his bones.

Ghost, standing nearby, simply shook his head, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he caught Soap’s sheepish expression. “Can’t blame a man for looking,” he replied, an amused glint in his eyes as he took in their surroundings.

Soap couldn’t help but crack a grin, though he decided against voicing any witty retort. They weren’t here for lighthearted banter about appearances or attire; their focus was on a more pressing matter at hand.

Ghost leaned back slightly, the atmosphere around him shifting as if the very air was responding to his commanding presence. “Enough ogling,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. “We’ve got work to do. Let’s see if you’re not scared.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he fixed his gaze on him. “Scared? Me?” he replied, stepping forward deliberately, the grin still lingering on his face like a challenge. “You’re the one hiding behind that skull mask, L.T.”

“Let’s find out, then,” Ghost announced, the atmosphere crackled with tension as he turned to face Soap, his spirited gaze fixated on him. The challenge was clear, hanging heavily in the air like a storm cloud ready to burst. With a mix of trepidation and determination in his eyes, Soap felt the weight of the moment.

He stood before the cage, a massive iron beast that loomed like a dark sentinel, a grim reminder of the danger awaiting inside. It wasn’t just a cage; it was a challenge. A test of everything he was. Time to face it. Time to prove himself. What happened next could make him—or break him.

The roar of the crowd hit him like a wave, electric and deafening. Soap took a steadying breath and stepped forward, walking into the cage. The steel walls pressed in on him, but he didn’t flinch. He stood tall in the center, a soldier ready for battle. Behind him, Ghost moved with his usual predatory grace, closing the door to the cage with a sharp metallic clang. Then he stalked toward his bike—already waiting inside, courtesy of the crew. The hum of the engine was a promise, a warning.

Ghost paused just behind him. His voice came low, almost a murmur, but sharp enough to cut through the noise. “You can still walk away, Johnny. Last chance.”

Soap didn’t even flinch. He shook his head, a grin curling at the edges of his lips. “Go on, L.T. Give me your worst.”

Ghost’s dark eyes softened for a fraction of a second, a glint of something like respect in them. “Always knew you were a fearless bastard.” The words were heavy with meaning, but before Soap could reply, Ghost swung a leg over his bike, settling in and adjusting his gloves with practiced precision. The rubber creaked as he tightened his grip, revving the engine until it roared to life.

Flames erupted from the outside of the cage, bursting into the air like a signal. The show had begun.

Ghost shot forward, the motorcycle tearing through the confined space with a savage grace. The way he maneuvered—sharp, calculated, precise—was hypnotic. He swerved around the cage like a predator circling its prey, the bike growling as it sliced through the air. With each pass, he edged closer, closing the distance by inches, then feet.

Soap felt it—the pressure of Ghost’s presence as he sped by. Those brown eyes, burning with intensity, locked onto him, gleaming with a raw, unfiltered passion. Ghost wasn’t just in his element; he thrived in it. The way he moved, the rush of adrenaline, the danger—it was in his blood, and Soap couldn’t deny it, even if he tried. It was magnetic. Mesmerizing.

And something inside Soap… stirred.

Then, without warning, Ghost signaled for him to raise his arms. Soap hesitated for a split second—confused, but obedient. He lifted his arms, the movement instinctive.

And that was when it hit him.

As Ghost circled closer, the tip of his gloved fingers brushed across Soap’s stomach. A fleeting touch, but it was enough to set off a ripple through his body. Soap’s breath hitched, eyes widening slightly in surprise. The contact was deliberate. A slow, almost teasing gesture.

Ghost didn’t let up. The next pass, he brushed across Soap’s chest. The heat from Ghost’s body was palpable now, the bike roaring beneath him as the distance between them grew even smaller. Soap’s pulse quickened. The crowd’s cheers grew louder, but all he could hear now was the hum of the engine and the quickening rhythm of his own heart.

Ghost’s gloves skimmed the lines of Soap’s belt next, grazing the skin just below his ribs, a trail of veins. The touch was lighter now, but it was charged—every movement deliberate, each touch inching closer to something Soap couldn’t quite put his finger on. His face flushed, and for the first time in a long while, he felt that familiar, unwelcome knot of embarrassment.

The crowd seemed to sense it, the air crackling with their energy. They loved it. The tension, the showmanship, the raw, unspoken dynamic between the two men.

It felt like the world had tilted, spinning just for them. Each brush of Ghost’s bike, each loop he made around Soap, left him breathless. Soap lost himself in the rhythm of it, his thoughts drifting far away—toward something he couldn’t quite grasp. What did all this mean? Was it just adrenaline? Was it just a game to Ghost, or was it something more? They’d never been just friends, had they? Soap’s pulse quickened, but he couldn’t make sense of it. The fleeting touch, the proximity—it was too much.

It was only when a pair of warm, gentle hands carefully grasped his wrists and slowly lowered his outstretched arms that he felt a sudden jolt of awareness wash over him, pulling him swiftly back to the present moment. The sensation of touch, both familiar and grounding, broke through the haze of his thoughts, jolting him from whatever world he had briefly inhabited.

“Thought I lost you there for a second,” Ghost said, his voice low and smooth, laced with that familiar, warm chuckle that made everything seem a bit lighter. He stood beside Soap, having dismounted from his bike, the powerful rumble of the engine now a distant echo in the background, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the subtle sounds of the world around them.

Soap blinked, momentarily disoriented, as he processed the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded. “You did,” he replied, his voice coming out steadier than he felt. His arms dropped to his sides, the tension slowly easing from his muscles.

It felt almost instinctual as he began to walk away from the confines of the cage, the metal bars behind them feeling both oppressive and distant. Ghost matched his pace, a reassuring presence by his side.

“Yeah? What was going on up there?” Ghost’s voice was casual, but there was something beneath the question, a hint of concern. His eyes searched Soap’s face as if waiting for an answer.

Soap hesitated, hands slipping into his pockets to give him a moment’s reprieve. “Us,” the word almost slipped out before he could stop it.

Ghost’s brow arched, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. “Us? What about us?” He unstrapped his gloves, the rip of the velcro punctuating his curiosity, as he tugged them off with a hint of impatience.

Soap turned toward him, a breath of air in his lungs. “Nothing,” he shrugged, trying to shake off the weight of the thought like it was just some passing fancy he could dismiss. “Just a stupid thought.”

Ghost didn’t buy it. The way Soap’s eyes flickered, like he was holding something back—Ghost wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easy. “Johnny,” his voice dropped an octave, a warning tone sliding in beneath the surface. “Speak to me. What’s on your mind?”

Soap hesitated the weight of Ghost’s stare pressing against him. He nodded toward the path ahead, taking the first step. “I will,” he promised, voice a little quieter. “But we need to talk somewhere more private.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face at Soap's unexpected invitation. “Your place?” he asked, a hint of skepticism lacing his tone, but the curiosity in his eyes betrayed his interest.

Soap nodded emphatically, “Yeah,” he replied, his voice steady and confident. As he spoke, he casually brushed his fingers along the fabric of his jacket, a subtle gesture that misrepresented his eagerness to talk. With a purposeful stride, he turned on his heel and headed toward his truck, the sound of gravel crunching beneath his boots echoing in the quiet air.

Ghost fell into step behind him without a second thought. He’d been dropped off earlier anyway. No real reason to stick around at the station now. And besides, Soap was bothered by something, and Ghost was determined to figure out what it was. No more running from whatever this was between them.

When they rolled up to Soap’s flat, a heavy silence filled the truck. Soap killed the engine with a sharp twist of the key, but the tension still lingered between them. He grabbed his gear and hopped out, his face flushed, eyes distant—like he was wrestling with something that had been eating at him for a while now. Ghost knew that look too well.

With a heavy sense of tension hanging in the air, the two figures stepped into Soap's dimly lit apartment, their footsteps muted against the floor. Soap carefully turned the key in the lock, ensuring there was no trace of sound as the door clicked shut behind them. Ghost lingered near the entrance, his posture tense and alert, scanning the room for any signs of movement or danger. The atmosphere was thick with an unspoken urgency, and every small creak of the floor seemed amplified in the stillness that enveloped them.

He waited, watching Soap’s back as the man stood there, lost in his thoughts. Eventually, Soap turned to him, expression softening into something Ghost didn’t expect—vulnerable. It made his chest tighten. Soap’s voice came out quiet, almost unsure. “I just… can’t, Simon.”

Ghost’s gut tightened, a knot forming in his throat. He stepped forward, voice low but steady, trying to pull Soap back into the moment. “Can’t what, Johnny?” His gaze locked on the blue of Soap’s eyes—deep, familiar, a shade of the ocean that felt like home.

Soap ran a hand through his Mohawk, messing it up like he wasn’t even aware. He looked away for a second as if the words were harder to say than a bullet wound. Then, he exhaled sharply, finally forcing it out. “I love you.”

The words hung between them like a grenade on a hairpin, and Ghost was frozen. He hadn’t expected that—hell, didn’t want to expect it. Soap looked embarrassed, and vulnerable, like he’d just dropped a piece of his soul on the concrete.

Ghost couldn’t breathe for a second. He swallowed thickly, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Johnny—you don’t want to say that. I’m not… I’m not a good man. You’re better than that.” His words were low, heavy with something Ghost didn’t quite know how to handle. His mind screamed at him to pull away, to shut this down before things got too real, too messy. But his chest, his heart, was screaming a different story.

Soap shook his head, frustrated now, his voice raw with an emotion Ghost didn’t know he could carry. “I don’t care. I love you, Simon. I don’t want anyone else. Not like this. Not after everything we’ve been through.” His words were almost desperate, a plea that hit Ghost square in the chest, and it was the desperation that did it. It unraveled him.

Ghost’s hands twitched, almost of their own accord, before he reached for Soap, pulling him in. “Johnny…” His breath was shaky, his grip tight—more than tight, it felt like he was holding on for dear life. He shook his head in disbelief, eyes flickering with something torn between uncertainty and raw need. “I love you too, dammit.”

The words came out rough, and jagged, but they were true. They had to be. Holding him now, with Soap so close, so real, felt like the only thing that made sense in the chaos of their world. There were no clear answers, no neat little boxes to put this in. But this—this—felt natural, like breathing, like everything they’d fought for, bled for, led them to this.

Suddenly, the importance of his balaclava began to diminish, as the heat from each labored breath intensified against his skin. The suffocating fabric clung to his face, trapping warmth and making it increasingly difficult to breathe comfortably.

After a few gasping moments, he decided he could no longer bear it; he yanked the balaclava off, letting the cool air rush over his flushed complexion. As he caught his breath, he realized the extent of his scars—each one telling a story of its own, mapping a journey filled with trials and tribulations.

Pretty much every possible place a scar could exist on his body seemed to be marked, a testament to battles fought and survived. His hair was a shade of blond, fluffy from the balaclava covering it, mimicking Soap’s haircut somewhat.

Ghost’s nose brushed up to Soap’s, a soft gulp audible as his honey brown met Soap’s deep pretty blue, his lashes fluttering up to his. It made him damn near die of a stroke right then and there. His lips lingered open, scared to just kiss him outright but his teeth gritted, a low “fuck it,” leaving him as his calloused hands grabbed the backside of Soap’s head.

He pulled him in closer, the tender texture making contact with one another as their eyelids shut, trusting one another. Ghost locked his lips to Soap’s, hungrily tasting him like it would be his last time, it was greedy, sloppy. His hands moved closer together, combing through Soap’s Mohawk which earned a gentle moan from the Scot.

Soap’s own hands tugged at Ghost’s jacket, a quiet teasing chuckle parting their kiss as he did so. Not last very long because Soap shut him up by gliding his tongue through to Ghosts, crisscrossing and tangling with Ghosts in a fervor.

Ghost ripped apart the kiss, panting as a saliva trail dripped along Soap’s chin, one of his thumbs running across his face to wipe it away, “Didn’t know you had that in you,” he mumbled.

Soap frowned, his hands tugging once more at Ghost’s jacket, “Take it off,” he pleaded, sounding more whiny than he meant. It was the heat of the moment, and Ghost couldn’t put him at fault.

“Shit, alright..” Ghost hissed, giving himself some space as he unzipped the jacket and tossed it to the floor. A plain grey shirt tucked along his belt and pants, but from Soap’s look alone he threw that off too.

The uneven scars of different types that crossed over muscles and veins earned heavy gazing, “You have a lot..” Soap pointed out, and Ghost narrowed his eyes. Ready to put his clothes back on until Soap’s fingertips grazed over a few, “They look badass on you.”

Realization dawned on him, and the invisible scowl that had etched itself on his face faded away. “Is that a compliment?” Ghost asked his tone a mix of curiosity and caution. He tightened his grip around Soap's wrists, effectively halting his forward motion. The grip was firm yet not aggressive, Ghost’s eyes searched Soap's for clarity, wanting to decipher the meaning behind his words.

Soap's head bobbed rapidly in agreement, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. "Of course, Simon," he replied, his voice filled with enthusiasm and certainty.

Ghost hummed softly to himself, a low sound that filled the quiet room as he released his grip on Soap’s wrists. With a casual grace, he glided over to one of the wooden cabinets lining the wall.

He had planned to ask where he kept his hidden stash of cigarettes, but before he could utter a word, Soap broke the silence, clear and direct. “Top far corner of the third shelf.” With a faint smirk, Ghost nodded, grateful for the quick response, and turned his focus to the shelf that held the promise of smoke and solace.

“You know me too well, Johnny,” Ghost stated with a lopsided smile, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. He reached into one of the worn cardboard boxes stacked beside him, rummaging through the assortment of items until his fingers brushed against the familiar crinkle of a cigarette pack. Extracting a single cigarette, he brought it to his lips, the paper crinkling softly.

Soap, always quick to lend a hand, fished a small, well-used lighter from his pocket and flicked it open. The soft click of the lid echoed in the momentary silence. Ghost leaned in, the flame dancing just inches away, catching the edge of the cigarette and igniting it with a satisfying sizzle. As he took a slow drag, the smoke curled around him, “‘Want to be good for you, L.T.”

Ghost held the cigarette delicately between his pointer and middle finger, the ember glowing softly in the dim light. As he took a drag, a sudden thought flashed through his mind, compelling him to act. He turned to Johnny with an intense gaze, his voice low but commanding. "On your knees, Johnny. Now."

The unexpected demand sent a jolt through Soap, who instinctively tightened his jaw, a mixture of surprise and defiance flaring in his chest. Yet, despite the rush of emotions swirling within him, he found himself obeying, slowly sinking to his knees. The tension in the air thickened as Ghost watched him with unwavering focus, the smoke curling around them like a ghostly embrace.

“‘You said you wanted to be good for me, so prove it,” Ghost hummed. He took a long drag from his cigarette before he ground the still-lit ember against the cool, worn surface of the countertop closest to him. With a deliberate motion, he turned his full gaze towards Soap, his eyes glinting with amusement.

And Soap did the unthinkable. He slowly unclasped Ghost’s belt, pulling it out of the loops and tossing it to the side. He unzipped and unbuttoned the rest, his hands yanking down Ghost’s pants and boxers. Soap’s jaw fell, drool leaving his lips as he took in the sight of Ghost’s dick.

It was veiny, cut, a decent length that he could probably handle, and had some girth to it. That part had him slightly worried, but he could only imagine the reward for his service.

He moved closer on his knees, his lips coming into contact with the premature leaky tip, and Ghost grunted at the image he was given. One of his hands came to the nape of Soap’s neck, the other cupping his balls, “Careful. Careful, Johnny. Don’t go too fast so soon.”

Soap listened, and once he had his lips around Ghost he went at a slow pace. His tongue lapped over the curvature of his tip, prodding along the side and gently sucking with his lips. The parts that he couldn’t reach quite yet with his mouth were gently grasped by his hands, placing soft pressure as he rubbed the sensitive skin up and down, enough friction to create a sheen of lather.

Soap batted his pretty blue eyes up to him, his tongue gliding in a teasing motion, popping the head of Ghost’s dick in and out. The teasing became too hard for Ghost to resist, he wanted more, the sin of greed returning as he used his hand to force Soap’s head further. A short amount of choking and gagging sounds escaped him, peeking back up to Ghost once more.

“Mean of me, I know. But you can take it. Just let me in,” Ghost sighed, cooing smooth comments to the Scot who felt butterflies flying up his stomach and core.

And with every inch swallowed was a gentle thrust of his hips, getting Soap nice and slowly prepared for more with each second. Soap’s hands trembled along the base, and that sudden teary-eyed look made his dick throb, he knew it was a nasty thing to get off on, but it couldn’t be helped.

Soap stroked his dick and bobbed his head at a more moderate pace, that rapid warmth of an orgasm shooting through him as white strings spurted out and into Soap’s mouth, “Fuck, fuck… take it Johnny,” Ghost exasperated, rocking his hips with more meaningful thrusts. Coming down from a high that came so easily when Soap started picking it up.

Soap’s mouth didn’t leave until he collected every last drop, milking it out of Ghost and swallowing it down. He opened up his jaw to show what a good job he did, and Ghost pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Good boy, such a good boy.”

The outline of Soap’s ears flushed a deep shade of crimson, evidence of his dirty thoughts. Ghost approached, extending a hand to help Soap rise from the ground. Once Soap was on his feet, Ghost gently cupped his cheeks in his strong hands, tilting Soap’s face upward to meet his steady gaze. “Now, I’ll take care of you, yeah?” he questioned, his voice low and reassuring, ensuring that Soap felt the warmth of his sincerity and support.

Soap nodded eagerly, “Aye, please do,” a look of gratitude in his eyes as he felt Simon's comforting touch. The gentle pressure of Simon's hand against his back was a welcome relief, slowly easing the remnants of the choking and gagging fit that had overwhelmed him moments before. As Simon rubbed soothing circles, Soap could sense the prickling tears that had threatened to spill over in his moment of distress.

As they entered the bedroom, Ghost gestured for Soap to settle onto the bed, the quilted comforter inviting against the backdrop of the evening’s dim light.

Soap plopped down, his clothing quickly shedding to form a haphazard pile beside him. Each piece seemed to carry the remnants of the day, crumpled and slightly worn, with the fabric softly rustling as they fell.

Ghost couldn’t help but admire Soap’s unruly Mohawk, which stood defiantly in all directions as if it had its own life. Despite—or perhaps because of—the chaos, there was something undeniably appealing about it. The way it reflected Soap's carefree spirit brought a playful smile to Ghost's lips.

Ghost slowly crawled up to Soap, situating himself in between his legs as he looks at the way Soap’s dick was dribbling milky ropes already, “Hm, haven’t even actually touched you yet,” Ghost gave another tease, only to be met with a punch to his arm.

“Simon,” Soap tugged his lips into a frown, his pretty blue eyes widening in shock as watched Ghost lick and spit on his fingers thoroughly, strands of saliva dripping down his arm as his hand centered itself near Soap’s hole.

His fingertip circled along the opening, carefully slotting in a finger before adding another, “Yeah?” Ghost huffed, his eyes focused on the way Soap clenched from the burning sensation. He gently moved his fingers upright with flicks and circular movements, Soap beginning to slouch into the headboard.

“Don’t want your fingers, I want you,” Soap gritted, completely unconcerned about his disheveled appearance. With a desperate intensity, he reached out, grasping Ghost’s hand and forcefully pulling it away from the distance that separated them. His brow furrowed in frustration, a tight line etched across his forehead as he focused on closing that gap, craving the intimacy that had been just out of reach for far too long.

Ghost paused, but he didn’t argue, he gave himself a few good tugs and lined himself up with Soap’s ass, “Alright.. but don’t blame me, love.” And that burning sensation grew like a fire inside, Ghost’s hands pressed Soap’s hips, leaving crescent markings. Each press deeper had a moan from Soap, it hurt no doubt, but he settled quickly. The feeling of his plushy walls relaxing gave away that he was almost good to start moving.

Ghost peppered a few kisses of encouragement along his shoulders, feeling Soap’s legs tuck up and along his hips was a sign for him to continue. His hands moved up to his sides, he moved forward and had Soap folded into him, his stomach chub pancaking inwards.

Soap sighed and cooed softly, fully speared on Ghost’s dick, and with that as full encouragement Ghost softly and carefully tested the waters. Each click of his hips meeting Soap’s thighs didn’t fall deaf on his ears, he kept him still, and the way his balls slapped against Soap’s ass just right almost made him cum alone.

Ghost maneuvered himself to where his dick could perch upright inside of Soap, and hit all those gooey spots. The milky ring collected at the base of his cock as he gathered himself together and began pounding a bit further into Soap.

“Si’.. Si’” Soap pathetically moaned, his hands gripping the sheets of his bed, throwing his head back, and arching his back to the air. His hips moved around desperately, his blue irises lulling back from the pleasure his body was taking in.

Ghost groaned and grunted, his desires taking over entirely as his nails clawed into Soap’s sides, knuckles turning white. The bed creaked as he began fucking Soap stupid, his core tightening and heating up with the pace. It felt so good, Soap was pulsating at every curved motion, beaded sweat trailing along his forehead.

And Ghost kept stuffing his cock into Soap without giving him a break, it was just addicting, overstimulating in the best kind of ways. The mere sight alone had Ghost in shambles, “Fuckin’ hell,” he rasped, his voice lowering significantly from the overwhelming feelings alone.

He just couldn't stop sinking back to Soap, his cock twitching and his balls full, ready to release everything he had into him when the moment was right. The slick of his precum was hardly noticeable with the arousal fluids drenching his thighs and dick.

“Gonna cum, Si’..” Soap babbled out repeatedly, muffled cries leaving him, the air punched from his lungs as Ghost gave strong and firm final humps, grinding just right into his ass as the two released everything they had. Warmth filling Soap up in ways he couldn’t began to believe, and Ghost’s cum just kept pouring out.

It dripped out in a messy manner when he slowly slid out his cock, the milky strings all over the two and the bed, “Fuck, did so well for me, Johnny,” he praised with utter stardom. If his pupils weren’t originally hearts, fuck by god were they now.

Ghost could only laugh at the sight, he knew the mess he’d have to take care of tomorrow morning, but for now he’d cuddle with his newfound boyfriend.

If this wasn’t love, he didn’t know what was.

[red-dyed-sarumane]

theres some weird freak in my notifications i bet they make mediocre posts and have awful taste in characters. we should all gang up & descend upon their inbox and tell them how we really feel

[ktheist]

ghost of a kiss.

muses. duke’s son!yoongi x marquis’ daughter!reader x crown prince!namjoon / professor!yoongi x student!reader x detective!namjoon

genre. historical au. reincarnation au. modern au. 

words. 5.3k

note. nobody come at me for the header pls. or as bretman used to say, like fuck i’m tryin i’ve only been doin this for 2 hours 😭

x

There weren’t that many things Yoongi wouldn’t do if his father so wills it. Perhaps it was the Min blood coursing through his veins that made him so apathetic to human emotions.

You want to laugh.

You also want to cry, scream and throw the closest thing you have which is your fan at Yoongi’s ever emotionless expression. Just like a blank canvas painted with invisible ink, Yoongi never shows his feelings. Never spoke his mind.

Well, not around you at least.

It was as if you were just a pretty little doll for him to play with –no, he doesn’t even pay you any mind. He just sat there, sipping on the cherry blossom tea that the maid poured into his cup and gave one worded answers to the questions you asked after your endless chatter came to, well, an end.

After that, he put up with you a little bit longer when you insisted you’d wanted to escort him out of the garden and to the front of the mansion where his carriage awaited.

“Until we meet again, my lady,” he would bow but you would hold out your hand for him to place a ghost of a kiss on like lovers would.

It was always you who were asking for too much.

Always you who were a slave for his affection.

But instead of doing all of those things you dreamed of doing when you meet him again –and meet him, you do– you end up running past the grandeur doors of the ballroom, down the red carpet splayed hallway and into the gardens where red roses glimmer with dew drops underneath the moon rays.

What a heartbreakingly beautiful set up for a damsel with a broken heart.

“My lady,” it hasn’t even been five minutes when you hear that stone cold voice of Yoongi.

“Why couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me running like a scared, defenseless mouse after we met. After all, you’ve always been good at that –pretending like I don’t exist.” You wanted to laugh and laugh, you did. It sounds withered, unlike the full blooms of floral that surrounds you two.

“As your fiance, I have a duty to–”

“Duty.” You spit out the word like it’s poison, “was visiting me every fortnight for tea a duty of yours too?”

The corners of your eyes are red from roughly rubbing the traces of tears that threatens to fall on your cheeks and ruin your makeup.

You take a deep breath before turning to him, pushing down a silent sniffle.

“As you may have heard from your father, Duke Min, you’re relieved from that cumbersome duty,” you hold your chin high.

As you should.

Yoongi Min stares at you a moment longer than he usually would. Is it the hair? Your hair’s grown since he last saw you. 

Or perhaps the bodice that wraps around you and enhances your curves and bosoms. 

‘Perhaps’, you somberly admits, ‘he simply forgot how I looked after four years.’

“As you should have heard from the Marquis,” Yoongi presses, “I refuse to break the engagement.”

“Wha–” the word slips past your lips before you even register it.

“It can’t be undone, his Majesty already approves of the annulment,” you know you’re repeating words your father and brother uttered. Like a hopeful little mouse in the face of a black panther.

“Only with the Majesty’s approval can you request to break the engagement but it’s up to the Min’s if we wish to grant your request –I reject it.” Yoongi stands only a few feet away from you, his eyes appearing darker than black, shadowed by the moonlight.

When he steps forward and out of the shadow, you find yourself forgetting how to breathe. Like a beast in the night, he ambles his way to you elegantly and swiftly.

Before you know it, Yoongi is standing in front of you. And you, a captor beneath those haunting, onyx, splendor. His gloved fingers twirl a strand of your hair around them before he brings the golden locks to his lips.

“I loved you blindly, Sir Min,” you send your gratitude to the gods and goddesses for the stillness in your voice, “I longed for you like a sailor long to sail the seven seas but do you know what’s so wretched about this sort of longing? Only a lucky few manage to love without drowning.”

Your slender fingers curl around his wrist. Even then, you couldn’t close your fist around it –your hand is too small and delicate compared to his. And at times like these, you’re reminded of how woman you are and how man, he is.

“Release me,” the air feels cold against your now damp cheek but your heart is icier, “once and for all. At the very least, I’ll be able to marry a humble Count who’ll receive part of my inheritance once my father dies.”

The scoff that leaves the man’s lips sends shivers down your spine.

“A humble count,” his eyes gleam with mockery, as if he finds your words ironic, “did the Crown Prince of the Isira Dynasty not propose to you? Did you not come back for the sole purpose to tell me you’re abandoning me?”

You suspected the rumors of your getting closer to the Crown Prince, Namjoon, would spread over the continent.

“If you know, then let me go.” You say steely.

It’s the rawness in your tear-stained eyes that steals Yoongi’s breath away. The night breeze that blows past him almost sends him tumbling down like waves crashing against the shore.

“[Name],” he speaks your name for the first time in a long time, the syllables rolling off his tongue like sweet honey, “I’m not a man of many words. I don’t know how to–”

“You didn’t know how to kill either but you got better at it with practice!” Your throat feels as if it’s being grazed by sandpaper.

Your heart, on fire.

It’s the first time you’ve shown a different emotion than that heartwarming smile that looks like you’re meant for spring and blooming flowers. In that blissful moment, you look like one of the crimson roses that bear witness to you and Yoongi’s altercations.

“That’s right, I know what you do,” you nod, gaze burning with acid tears, “all those months spent waiting for you to come back from those expeditions. Monsters weren’t the only thing you slayed, were they?”

“No,” Yoongi breathes out and for some reason, his chest feels like it’s going to cave in and crush his heart.

The sensation is alien to him. Hell, he didn’t know he had a heart to begin with. It was just an organ that kept his blood pumping –he’d gladly tore it out and gave it to his dearest fiancée if she so much asked for it.

But now – now – she’s saying she wants no part of it. 

The realization comes to him like poisonous smoke. Spreading around the hollowed part of his chest and seeps into that beating organ of his. Before he knows it, you’re already slipping out of his grasp.

“I’ll break off the engagement,” he finally says, his brain not registering the words that left his mouth, “for a kiss.”

But his heart knows what he wants.

You look at him like he’s crazy, eyes going round and glossed lips parting in a silent gasp. But when he makes no attempt to correct his words, realization gradually settles in.

“Make it quick.”

Long lashes flutter shut, lips pressed in a straight, unwilling line. The hand that clasps around his wrist falls to your side. Your shoulders are tense. You look like you’d rather be with those chimeras Jeongguk’s breeding than here. 

Yoongi takes another step toward you. 

Your eyebrows knit together when his gloved knuckles caress your cheekbone. The sharp inhale of breath you take as you brace herself doesn’t go past him. A rose, even in the face of the hands that threatens to pluck it, remains fierce and grounded.

The wait feels endless. As if time passes agonizingly slow yet the only indication that time hasn’t halted altogether is the way your heart keeps palpitating inside your chest as though it’s about to explode any second.

Then you feel them –a pair of softest, ghostly, lips on your forehead. As opposed to the hand kisses he left you, this one lingers with a sort of yearning. And even then, it feels short-lived.

As though you will never have enough of Yoongi Min.

“My lady, you look disappointed, if you wanted me to kiss you elsewhere, you should’ve said so.” There’s a mirth in his tone. And for a moment, you feel warm, like the warmth of the sun hugging you.

“What if I did?”

You want to ask but you decide against it. Thrusting your chin up like the noblest of women would, you remind him of the deal, “I’ll send someone to retrieve the annulment papers in a week’s time. I assume it will bear your signature, sir.”

With that, you walk past him, your laced hand brushing against his gloved one but even on the verge of goodbyes, Yoongi Min doesn’t let you walk out of it that easily. His pinky finger hooks around yours like a rusted, weak chain. Unsure whether to keep holding on or letting go.

Yet your feet stop dead in their tracks. Your heart races. Deep down, you know you want him to hold onto you like you held onto him for ten, pitiful years.

“Have a good evening, my lady,” is all he says, his hand falling away and he begins strutting to the opposite direction you’re heading even though there’s nothing in that direction besides a maze made of rose beds.

But you don’t plan to ponder too much on it. Namjoon, the Crown Prince, is waiting for you back in Isira where you’ll build a new home. A new life. And with a loving husband.

Or so you thought. 

x

That was a lifetime ago. To say you opened your eyes to a twenty-one year old body in a world plagued by motor engine propelled and electronic devices –would be a lie. 

This body is yours.

This life is yours.

You remember your first step, first successful ride on the bike after your father took off the supporting wheels, your first fall and the rest of your firsts, seconds, thirds and so on. And as such, you remember your first time meeting Min Yoongi.

At the age of twenty-one and him, twenty-six, his emotions are hard to pinpoint.

He isn’t much different in this lifetime.

His hair is a shade of rich brown that could easily pass as black if he’s not walking underneath the sunlight. He’s taller than the twenty-two year old boy you last saw before your carriage crashed into the ditch –that was the last thing you remembered from your last life. 

No, you didn’t die. But the rest of your life past that point was blurry.

And here he comes, all in his dark colored vest over a white undershirt and black trousers. Professor Min Yoongi is nothing short of perfection.

“[Name], do you have a minute?” He approaches you like a panther; soundless and undetectable.

Before you know it, he’s five feet away from you and if you were to make a quick u-turn, it would be too obvious.

“I’m afraid not professor, I’m sorry, should I email you at a later time so we can discuss matters of my assistantship?” You put on your best smile and he lifts a dubious brow that screams that he sees right through your lie. 

Yet he doesn’t press on.

Instead, he offers another alternative –though completely disregarding the last bit about the email, “right, then meet me after class.”

“I-I’m afraid I can’t do that either professor, I have to rush to Cyber, right after–!” You almost choke on your words.

“I’ll talk to Professor Park about that,” he says simply and taps you on your shoulder like any good-natured professor would with his top-performing student.

It just so happens that you’re extremely good at the class he teaches, which, ironically, is Neurocriminology.

x

“Professor Min?” You knock on the intimidating wooden door and hear a curt ‘come in’ from the other side before pushing the door open.

Behind his desk, Yoongi looks up at you through his long lashes and straight into the windows of your soul.

Even in your second life, his piercing stare affects you.

But you tell yourself that it’s because he’s just devilishly handsome and you’re humbly a woman. 

That, and he and Professor Park Jimin are the youngest professors in the department.

“Those assignments over there need sorting.” Yoongi points to the pile of papers in a box perched on the coffee table as though waiting for you to arrive.

“Yes, professor,” you breathe through your mouth and swallow back the words of accusation that threaten to fall past your lips.

You did volunteer to be a student assistant but you never thought, in a million years, that the man who resembled your fiancé in the past… Well, on paper at least. You never thought he would pick you as his supervisee.

The room is silent save for the rustling sound of papers fluttering as you shift through each assignment and place them alphabetical orders of the name. Every once in a while, you can’t help but steal glances at the man seated behind the desk. With his hair slicked back and the cuffs of his wrist rolled up to his elbow, he looks like every girl’s modern day prince charming.

“Why are you so keen on running away from me?” His husked tone cuts through the silence.

“Pardon, professor?” You blink, not catching the meaning of his words until a moment later.

Your cheeks heat up under his piercing gaze, the recollection of the occasions you fast-walked to lose him in the hallways burning in the back of your mind.

“I-it seems I always have places to be… classes to attend, I’ll make sure to meet you every morning to confirm my tasks, professor,” you can’t just confess that he has a face and name of the man you once loved in your past life.

If you so much spoke of your remembering you’d be sent to the asylum.

A ghost of a smile tugs on the corners of his lips but it was gone as soon as it came. You’re not sure if you’re just seeing things.

“Very well, send me the location of your apartment so I can pick you up tomorrow,” he doesn’t look up from the screen of his Mac when he says that.

“P-professor?” You blink, disbelief coloring your complexion.

“You said you’d meet me every morning, yes? I always have my breakfast at 7:30 AM at The Curve, we can discuss matters of your tasks over breakfast.” He goes on like it’s just another day of him assigning you a task to complete.

x

The next morning, you sit with your back straight, staring at the pancakes Yoongi ordered for you. The sweater he wears over his vest makes him seem more relaxed than his usual vest and tie look. His long lashes almost brush the top of his cheek as he casts his gaze down at the leaf shaped latte he’s drinking.

“Professor, I double checked with the administration office and they gave me a list of things I have to do to complete my assistantship. From the tasks you’d given me, I checked off at least three of the requirements,” you take out an azure blue notebook where you flip to a page that has a piece of paper and slides it across the table.

“You came prepared,” he muses, an amused smile playing on his lips and your little heart does its little flips.

“I take it you’re writing a paper on neuroscience and human behavior –if there’s anything, I can help you with, please let me know,” you return his smile with a schooled one –the kind that you use when you’re dealing with strangers.

“Sure,” the professor nods, “I could use some help researching neurodivergence.”

The conversation flows smoothly. The worries you harbored for the whole of your university life now dissipated. You were at your most comfortable when it comes to academia. Your passion lies in your interest in criminology and the one man who you could engage in an intellectual conversation is none other than the man whom you tried so hard to avoid.

At some point, you think your worries, silly. Just because they share the same face and name, doesn’t mean they share the same memory. For all you knew, you could be the one in a million who remembers your past life.

That is, until Yoongi asks, “were you happy?”

He uses the word ‘were’ to refer to the past. It takes you a moment to register that he didn’t mean your childhood nor adolescent years.

And when you finally put two and two together, you can almost hear your heart drop. You thought you’d be sweating bullets and heaving for air from the tangible pressure this conversation brings.

But before you could say anything, Yoongi speaks again, “I won’t push for an answer, I know where that led me before.”

He casts his gaze down, long, nimble fingers picking up the cup of latte and making the regular sized cup seem miniature in his hand.

x

It’s a few days later, as you accompany him to another university to meet with a fellow specialist, that you finally say, “you never pushed me.”

Stirring the cup of black coffee, sitting at one of the round, two-persons tables in the cafe of the Sociology Department, you go on, “in fact, you never asked for anything at all. I was always the one asking for too much, giving just as much.”

‘I loved you too intensely and I burned too bright.’ These are the words you never dare say.

Loved.

Because you don’t love Min Yoongi anymore.

Perhaps, that’s why you’re unusually calm.

“I can’t remember everything –only bits and pieces. That night,” you swallow –you don’t need to steal a glance at him to know he’s thinking of the same night; the night you said your goodbyes, “after the carriage crashed, I remembered seeing shadows clash against one another. Namjoon’s men went against the assassins who came for me because I was the rumored Crown Prince’s soon-to-be fiancée. I had to go into hiding after he was demoted to a mere prince because of his brothers’ schemes… at some point, I remember starving because we had nothing to eat.”

A new identity was all Namjoon could offer for his beloved. He spoke of claiming back the throne that was rightfully his yet his supporters scattered all over the continents after the siege. Their spirit waned overtime. He came for you after the shadows saved you but you both lived in poverty until one shriveled up like a dead flower and the other went mad for the crown that was once his.

The way his fists clench with remorseful anger doesn’t go past you, it’s almost as though you can hear him blaming himself for your choices.

You smile wistfully, “but yes, I remember being happy,” the smile tugs into a straight line as you face him with conviction, “would I give everything up for that sliver of happiness again? No,” you shake your head, “now I just want money.”

Yoongi laughs. Like truly laughs out loud with his shoulderline shaking and hand on his stomach. The sound lacks the menace that you remembered him to wear around him like a cloak.

All of a sudden, the air seems to change. The tension you once felt, now dissipated into thin air. A familiar warmth creeps up your neck but you mask it with indifference.

You can’t afford to fall for him all over again.

Not when you’ve had a lifetime to mull over and decide these feelings would die with you –get buried with you.

“What happened after your sister ruined the dukedom?” It’s when you both got to this point of the conversation that you felt your heart writhe inside your chest.

As if physically hurting for the fate that befell Yoongi –at this point, it was just an assumption, but you were sure that–

“Aera tracked us one by one until she killed every single Min,” he says simply, as if talking about a cherished sister who up and left home with the family’s savings a few hundred years ago, “she was the best of us. She knew people like us couldn’t be left alone to live a quiet life.”

In the lulled silence, you notice the festering remorse that dances in his eyes.

He clasps his palm over his mouth as he stares out of the window, “of course, things are different now. We’re not allowed to kill.”

At that, you almost spat out the coffee you’re downing. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“It was illegal to kill then, you and your family did it anyway because you were just so– so… messed up!” You explode partly, voice lowered as you lean over the table, cautious of anyone nearby who might hear you.

“Aren’t you glad neurocriminology gives justification to murderers, well, murdering nowadays?” He smirks, one corner of his lip tugging upwards.

You find yourself breathing in sharply as your heart skips a beat at the sight of Min Yoongi’s dark humor.

The Yoongi in your past life would never be able to even understand a joke –you were sure.

But now it’s you who doesn’t appreciate the humor.

“Is that why you became a professor?” It’s apparent in the way your brows knit together.

“Rather, paired with my previous… knowledge, it’s an easier way to get a PhD and a stable earning,” the shrug makes him appear boyish –younger than he is.

For some reason, he was several years older than you in this lifetime compared to the last.

“Apparently mine deems that I marry rich,” you remark playfully.

“Then, shall we get married? I missed my chance in my previous lifetime and I’m kind of well off in this lifetime,” it’s the easy suggestion of marriage that makes you almost choke on the pancake you just directed into your mouth.

“Professor, there’s just something you don’t joke about,” you say after gaining a semblance of your composure yet your heartbeat drums in your ears and your cheeks feel as though they’re on fire.

Why are you so happy to hear that Min Yoongi, your former fiancé and beloved, entertained the idea of marriage with you even in this lifetime?

x

“Your sisters... do they remember?” Yoongi asks one fine evening as you’re surfing the internet to research the needed materials he tasked you with.

“How did you know I have sisters?” You blink, surprised.

Yoongi had to mask the involuntary smile that tugs on the corners of his lips when he sees how lovely and adorable of a face you’re making.

“You mentioned them before,” he states, “even if you didn’t, I’d suspect as much since I was born with the same siblings from the previous lifetime –for now, it’s me, Aera and Hoseok, who knows where my dad hid the rest of his children and mistresses.”

“They don’t remember, I tried asking when I first started remembering –was it at the age of eight? They looked at me like a devil just possessed their little sister,” you sigh softly, “it’s better this way. Life isn’t all that easy for them either in the past.”

The cherry blossom tree standing tall and proud one the edge of the field is positioned so that anyone who stood in front of his window would get a full view of raining, pink petals.

“Why do you think we remember?” You ask, staring at the petal that fluttered into the room and found itself atop Yoongi’s deep brown lock.

“I’d say fate’s giving us a second chance but you’d laugh at me,” he plainly says, flipping a page of the journal he’s reading.

And laugh at him, you do, “professor, I didn’t take you for a hopeless romantic!”

x

“We both changed, you and I,” you told him over dinner at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

The piano playing in the background and the dim lighting gives off an atmosphere of a romantic evening. The waiter even thought you were a couple and offered a couple’s discount.

Yoongi being Yoongi, accepted it right away and called you his ‘darling’. Your cheeks burn up for a good fifteen minutes until the wine comes and you finish the whole glass in a few gulps.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he agrees wholeheartedly without even looking up from the menu, “for one, I’m not some apathetic maniac who goes around wielding spears.”

“No, you’re my professor and I’m your student, we should never be caught dead having dinner together,” you shoot him a rebellious grin to which he nods.

“Touche,” he acknowledges.

x

A week later, you stopped dead in your tracks when you saw a blonde haired, hazel eyed man approaching you and Yoongi. You’d stepped behind Yoongi’s broad shoulders, the man almost didn’t notice you at all.

He’s supposed to give a talk on neurocriminology –a guest of Yoongi’s.

“Are you okay?” He asks after you’re back in his office, he pulls you away from the spotlight when he notices your forced mechanical smile and fingers tugging at your sleeves.

“I know, right? Why did I get so weird like that?” You laugh to yourself, as though engulfed in your own world.

It doesn’t take a genius to – or perhaps, Min Yoongi was that, so that’s why he successfully – put two and two together and figured out that his esteemed guest is the reincarnation of Namjoon.

The blond didn’t seem to recognize you though.

But that didn’t stop him from taking an interest in you.

“[Name]... that student of yours, is she single?” Namjoon asked when they were out for dinner with the other professors but before Yoongi could even respond, the blond was already laughing it off, “nevermind, forget what I said. You wouldn’t happen to know anyway.”

“Don’t go around flirting with my students, they need to focus on getting a degree first before anything else,” Yoongi jokingly warned.

Something in his stomach twists and turns, as if a snake was slithering around his intestines, spreading its venom all over him.

But that did nothing to stop you and Namjoon from exchanging numbers and going out to brunches and dinners like he did with you. You keep on tugging on her sleeve and pushing your hair to the back of her ear when you spoke to Namjoon at the next talk he was invited to.

Much to Yoongi’s surprise, despite your obvious discomfort, you’re the one who suggested inviting Namjoonfor the new semester and handled all the matters pertaining to the talk.

x

“I don’t want to push you because if I do, you’d drift farther away from me and if I pull, you’ll recoil and take ten steps back –there’s no right way,” Min Yoongi has you trapped between the door and his body one afternoon. Particularly, after he saw the name Joonie flash across your screen as your phone vibrates.

You excused yourself to answer the call but just as your hand touched the door handle, his hand rested on top of yours, stopping you from walking out of his office.

“Wh-what are you saying, professor?” You stammer, the now still phone held in front of your chest.

He thinks he sees the tip of your ear turn red but it could be because of the fading winter air.

It was always uncomfortable to watch you and Namjoon interact but Yoongi attributed it to the fact that one remembered the times they spent together in their past life and the other having absolutely no idea yet still falling for your charms either way.

He twirls a strand of your hair around his index finger before he kisses it, “he may have your heart but I’ve loved you first –I’ve always loved you first.”

“P-professor-!” You exclaim, heels turning and so does your body.

No doubt, your sole purpose of turning around to face him is to caution him of his bold declaration –you were like an open book that Yoongi could just pick up and flip the pages to. You’d always been readable, even back then. Perhaps, that was why it felt like a hand clawed through his chest and wraps its talons around his heart each time you put up walls and turn away his subtle advances.

Because he knows winter has long settled in the hollowed part of your chest.

But because of how he was leaning down to kiss your hair, you end up face to face with only inches apart. There’s no mistaking the blush that spreads across your face, washing away the initial surprise of finding yourself so close to him.

“Call me Yoongi,” he implores with that deep, husky voice of his.

It’s the way he looks at you. Like he’s frightened beyond belief that you’d do exactly what he thought you would; take ten steps back –that makes your heart thump unceremoniously in your chest.

“Y-yoongi… we shouldn’t…” you murmur weakly, eyes tracing his soft lips before snapping up to meet his gaze.

“May I kiss you?” He knows he should let you go to answer the call –what you do and who you see in this lifetime is none of his business.

And yet, he can’t bear the thought of you walking away from him in this lifetime. Not when there’s the second chance he made a pact with the devil for.

Fate and the devil, what difference are there if they meant to serve one purpose?

You nod.

And all of a sudden, he’s back where it all ended. In that garden where roses bore witness to their tragic love affair.

He leans in and presses his lips on your forehead ever so gently –it feels as though if he puts any more pressure, you’d break like you’re made of glass.

“Kiss me for real –if you kiss me on the forehead, it feels like you’re saying goodbye,” your eyes flutter open and your brows join together in protest, he feels you tug on his shirt impatiently.

The softest of smiles graces Yoongi’s lips and you think your heart is going to explode into millions of pieces. Is it not enough that he’s the reason you almost forgot to breathe?

“Wasn’t it you who was itching to run away from me?” He teases, pinching your cheek and just like his hand kisses –you still feel them ghost over the back of your hand every once in a while– his touches are feather light.

“Only because you were an emotionally constipated idiot.” You argue back, lips puckered in protest.

“Then, if I may… my lady…” he trails off, index finger curled under her chin, tilting you face up.

“You may,” you giggle against his lips, arms tracing up the planes of his abs to his chest and find home around his neck as you pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

x

(“I was only putting up with Namjoon because he’s the head of the criminology department in Incheon –I was thinking of applying for a job there after graduating.” You confess some time later once you’re at le Saumon de Bord du Lac.

“Huh,” Dion blinks, not expecting that.

“Did you think I was going to date him in this lifetime?” You giggle as if you already know the answer, “true, he’s still as handsome as ever, but we did go broke and… I never truly loved him.”

You cast her gaze down, cheeks burning with warmth, shyness overcoming you all of a sudden. If he could, Yoongi would gather her in his arms and embrace her like he’ll never let go.

But he settles with a reach of his hand on top of yours on the table, thumb caressing the spot just below the knuckle of your fourth finger.

“In this lifetime… definitely.”)

x

note. this was shared on a discord server and posted on wattpad under a different pseudonym! 

[radiorenjun]

my first and last || huang renjun

¤ pairing : huang renjun x reader

¤ genre : fluff, slight crack, major angst, romance, drama, slight fantasy! au, slight coming of age!au, first love!au, slight 1880s!au, adventure!au, painter!renjun x street singer!y/n. runaway!au

¤ synopsis :  Huang Renjun was born on the coldest day on earth, which causes his heart to be frozen solid, requiring a replacement. The makeshift Doctor, Madam Wendy, who provides midwifery and medical services to the poor and the desperate of Edinburgh, grafts a miniature cuckoo clock in order to save it.

However his newfound cuckoo clock heart was so fragile that it could end him in a terrible fate of death if he does not follow the three rules said doctor had provided for him. One of which was he must never fall in love. Do come and enter this adventure through Renjun’s eyes as he falls for a street singer who hates wearing glasses despite of her poor eyesight.

¤ warnings: character death, HEAVY angst, mentions of blood, loss of family member, reader has terrible eyesight and is painfully oblivious, Madam Wendy mentions about her abortion, maybe some swearing (do people even swear in the olden days?), historical inaccuracies is sexy, heartbreak, renjun is mentally exhausted, mentions of taking ones life (once), adults smoking, reader wears glasses at the end. shakespeare shaming because i have a grudge against that man. hISTORICAL INNACURACIES. Renjun gets slapped by Wendy once, renjun gets hypothermia. i feel like this was quite rushed idk

¤ word count : 29.2k

¤ heavily inspired by  La Mécanique du cœur (the movie, not the novel because I’m not that cruel)

¤ playlist: my everything - nct u, instagram - dean, wayo - bang yedam, francis forever - mitski mitski, anxiete - pomme, faded in my last song - nct u, line without a hook - ricky montgomery, moi cest - camelia jordana, my first and last - nct dream, beautiful time - nct dream, 

¤ a/n: special thanks to @lebrookestore​​ for making this sexy header

‘Love. What does that feel like?' Renjun would always wonder. 

As his paint brush strokes the canvas, eliciting a bright yellow mark on the object, Renjun continued to stare into his painting with a void of emotion. Whenever the occasional question 'what does it feel like to love or to be loved?' pops up in his mind, he would often furrow his brows and purse his lips in a small pout in confusion at the thought. 

Renjun didn't know what it felt like to love, for his caretaker, Madame Wendy, had always told him since he was a young boy that 'love is the last thing you need in this world, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal.' Renjun didn’t care much for the aspects of love. How can he fall in love when he doesn’t even know what love is? What does it feel like to feel love? How can you feel love?

If you take one small glance at Huang Renjun, you would instantly have the assumption that he was a rather cold-hearted, emotionless young boy. Eyes so icy cold and void of emotion, it could send shivers down your spine. Though, fortunately for everyone else, it was quite rare of the young boy to walk out of his home. Some might say that he would step out of his home ‘once in a blue moon’ or whenever the sun shone brightly over the old town, which was quite rare considering it had been raining frequently these past few months in Edinburgh, France.

However, what they didn’t know was that the reason behind his infrequent appearance was quite tragic. He was an unfortunate young boy, really. Only a few people have known this, but long long ago, a sudden harsh snowfall hit his town on the day he was born. It was recorded as the coldest day on earth, for the snow had frozen everything in its path including the poor boy’s heart. Quite literally, not figuratively. 

Renjun’s biological mother had journeyed through the cold town to the house up the steeple. Rumors say, the quote unquote ‘witch’ of the town, who specialized in the medical department with her own unique ways that left doctors skeptical and poor. From what his caretaker had told him, she was holding her belly throughout the long journey as she tried her best to endure the cold without slipping on the frozen concrete. Muttering how if she could, she would’ve kept her child in her tummy safe and sound from the cruel world. 

How she slipped and fell unconscious in front of his current caretaker’s house with her tears frozen on top of her cold cheeks, how she was brought in and taken in just in time to warm up to gain consciousness and go through the birth process. He remembered being told how the moment he was born, he had to undergo intense surgery immediately for he almost didn’t survive. He remembered being told that his heart had turned cold. 

“Cold, not Gold, Renjun. A heart made of ice. As in cubes not cream,” as his caretaker would say. 

Since donors weren't available at the time as it was already way past midnight, he needed surgery before his heart stopped beating under the hard exterior of the ice growing around his heart. Luckily for him, Madame Wendy had improvised one with her excellent expertise. She built a small clock the size of her palm that nearly covered his whole chest at the time. Considering she was known for being a witch in town, (even though she tried to explain a countless amount of times that she was a mere mechanic with a medical degree) she miraculously provided him with a fragile heart made from scratch. 

However, the night of his birth was also the night his mother had decided to leave him with Madame Wendy, convinced that she would make a better mother for Renjun that she could ever have. It was quite a tragic tale. However, Renjun didn’t think much of it. Nor did he feel any sort of upsetting emotions like longing, curiosity and sadness. Why would he? He doesn’t even remember what his biological mother had looked like. He doesn’t know how to feel anymore other than the faux happiness his mother had taught him how to feel to ease the numbing feeling in his hollow, ticking heart held nothing but dust. 

A heart that was purely made out of strong wood, cogs and screws. One that makes soft, calming tick tocks that goes along with the soft pitter patters of rain drops with every beat, one that makes cuckoo’s every time it’s arrow struck 12. One that needs winding every single day with a golden key his caretaker had provided him ever since he was born. One with ironically three rules that he should always follow on a day to day basis. 

-

“Recite those rules once again, Renjun,” she ordered as she buttons up her adoptive child’s white shirt up to his neck. “Do I have to? I’ve been reciting this for years now,” Renjun would whine, looking down at his mother’s loving hands as she flicked her forehead softly with a face void of emotion. “It’s for your own good, Renjun. I can’t have you forgetting something this important, you know very well that your life depends on these three rules.” She tugged on the collar of her child’s shirt down. 

“Before I let you run off to town with me, I prefer that your heart would be much stronger,” she swiped her fingers through Renjun’s hair, swefting it to the side to make it neat. “Every beat of your heart is a minor miracle. You’re a fragile piece of work, far more fragile than glass,” the older woman explained, laying her hands on the boy’s shoulder with a grim expression. “I know,” Renjun replied with a sigh, shrugging his shoulders to release tension in his body. 

He sighed again, the young boy looked up at the ceiling to avoid his mother’s cold stare. “Firstly, never touch the hands of my heart,” he began, letting out an annoyed sigh as he felt his mother tucking his small key into the pocket sewed on his chest. “Yes, what else?” Madame Wendy asked, kneeling down to look at the child in the eye. “Keep your temper under control,” they recited in unison with the same emotionless tone. 

“And the last one?” 

“Whatever I do, I must never ever fall in love.” 

“Indeed, that’s why I’m so scared of letting you into town. You haven’t experienced love yet so far in your life, it is very important that you stay that way,” she said, standing up on her feet as her hand returned to Renjun’s shoulder. “I know,” he mumbled once again, looking up at his caretaker’s eyes as if to hide the fact that he wasn’t listening a total hundred percent to what she was saying. “It could be the very death of you, Renjun. Your fragile heart won’t be able to stand the emotional, mental and physical shock provoked with the feeling of love,” she explained once again, a worried expression glossing over her face.

“I know, I know. You tell me that almost everyday,” he muttered, playing with the small buttons on the clock that is his own heart. “My heart is not a toy, therefore it is not to be played with.” he almost rolled his eyes at the older woman, feeling her smack his hand away from his heart softly. “It is something that I want you to take seriously, Renjun,” she hissed, eyeing the small mechanic artwork on the boy’s chest. “How can I even fall in love when I don’t know anything about love?” 

-

To Renjun, today was like any other day of the year. The sun shining brightly against his skin, the cloudy grey sky accenting the sky’s beauty. His hair gelled to the side to reveal some of his forehead and leaving a few strands of his hair to tickle his skin perfectly, his calloused hand gripping his 60 x 90 cm canvas and his large box of acrylic paints to his side, his favorite paintbrush hanging against the skin in between his ear and his fluffy short hair. 

Spinning one of his smaller paint brushes in his free hand, right between his fingers as he walked down the sidewalk of his home town, trying to find a spot to sit and paint. It was his birthday recently, so his mother had delightfully just bought a fresh new set of acrylic paints, considering he finished them on his last painting which was the majestic dove fountain in the middle of the town less than a month ago. 

Renjun was only ten years old when his caretaker took him out to wander around town, which was on his birthday. It was then when Renjun was hitting the age of thirteen when his caretaker’s worry lessened when she saw that her child was nowhere to the point of Cupid’s next target. Therefore those annual town visits turned into monthly visits (under his caretaker’s supervision, of course) and when Renjun had turned thirteen years old, he had shown an interest in painting and drawing in his free time while Madame Wendy was working with a patient.

However, love can strike at any moment. And by the time Renjun became sixteen years old, he was finally allowed to venture into the town himself to paint landscapes and buy more art supplies at least once a week with a 5-6 PM curfew. Nothing more, nothing less. Cupid was cunning, therefore she believed that this was the best she could do. Considering he was a teenager, she couldn’t protect him as easily as she could back when he was still an infant. And that was what she had feared the most in her life. 

Renjun sighed heavily, looking around with emotionless eyes, a cold frown forming upon his lips as he leaned his chin on his palm, his elbow supporting on his thigh and his other free hand holding the canvas on top of his legs. He wondered if there was more to life than work and oil paints, eyes wandering on the busy streets filled with the latest carriages and the latest transportation vehicles. He felt as if his life had gone by boring and aimless without knowing how to express his emotions properly. Is this what life has come to in his 16 years of living? 

16 years of being almost completely isolated from this town without knowing what his caretaker was so worried about. Madam Wendy had absolutely nothing to be worried about. Renjun had witnessed love from time to time in the streets, watching a couple of different genders walking down the streets with loving expressions on their faces. Renjun could not decipher why you would be feeling such emotions. He had been venturing around town freely with his strict curfews for almost four months now. And all he’s done so far is wander around looking for something interesting to be his next muse or visit the local library to read books. 

One of the books Renjun was absolutely fascinated on reading was this book the librarian had recommended to him on his first visit, ‘The Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens. It was a small story of a young boy named Pip who went through amazing life changing experiences and going through hardships with his rather abusive sister, his blacksmith mentor and falling in love as well with a girl named Estella. (He would always snicker whenever she comes up in a scene as her adoptive parent, Ms Havisham, ironically reminded him too much of Madam Wendy) 

He often wondered if Madam Wendy’s strong dislike towards the aspects of love was merely because of his fragile condition or was it because of something deeper? However, looking back at when he found his caretaker’s family albums which were mainly pictures of her winning awards and bragging about her medical degree, he highly doubts it. (It was still fun to imagine theories while it lasted, though!)

“Ms Havisham stares at Pip coldly, and murmurs to the girl at her side: ‘Break his heart, Estella. Break his heart!’” Renjun read, his eyes moving as he read the brief summary at the back of his book. Looking down at the cuckoo clock heart hidden under his cardigan, he clicked his tongue before chuckling bitterly to himself. “‘Break his heart’, huh? What utter bonkers, you can’t break someone’s heart. That isn’t physically possible,” he shook his head in amusement, placing his book on top of the box of acrylic paints beside him.

Just as he was about to leave and head back home, a peculiar merry tune reached his ears, causing Renjun to pause in his step, looking around to find the source with furrowed brows. If this was like those small street cat sketches he would draw in his free time, it would seem like his ears perked up in slight interest. The merry tune turned on a bright spark inside of the young boy’s chest, curiosity growing in his veins at the tune he has never heard before. It was as if the angels above had descended to the earth while playing a symphony of flutes and harmonicas, making soft high pitched catchy tunes in the air. 

Renjun felt entranced by the music, it was almost as if it was pulling him- beckoning him to come towards it, towards its source. It was as if his feet had a mind of his own as he fought with his own rational thoughts to either go back home or find the source of the beautiful merry tune. He couldn't help but walk to where it's coming from, curious of who was making such a wonderful tune. Sooner than later, he found himself walking down a small alley that led him into a steep staircase that led him to another part of his town. And with every step he took, the music grew louder and louder. Soon, finding light at the end to see the small part of town he rarely visits.

He put his palm on the dirty brick wall, ignoring the uncomfortable texture against his skin, head poking out as he tried to decipher where the majestic music was coming from. Squinting his eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight for the staircase was dim enough to be mistaken for a tunnel with the broken rooftops covering the ceiling, he took a step forward. His eyes widening slightly in awe as he watched a young man his age push away a stack of crates to reveal the true source of music. 

A young girl, who Renjun figures is around his age, was cranking up a barrel organ right in front of the fountain. A hand going in circular motions on the crank, twisting the lever as she pulls it clockwise. The hand on her hip was soon placed on her chest when the music went on, clearing her throat softly as she began to sing along and harmonize with the melody. 

Renjun stood still in his place, baffled at the daunting beauty presented before him. The girl standing a few meters away from him was singing along merrily to the tune of the phonograph record, cranking up the lever as the other townsfolk that was walking by began to gather around her, enjoying the harmony that goes along with her soothing voice and symphony of flutes and harmonicas being produced by the portable barrel organ. 

As he sat down on the last step of the staircase to listen from afar, he couldn't help but pay close attention to the lyrics coming out of her lips. His paintbrush spinning in between his fingers as his mind focused on the words of the intro, smiling idly as he began to understand the words she was trying to convey. 

My vision's not quite right

But glasses make me look a sight

Enough to give the world a fright, like a sprite wearing specs

Renjun couldn't help but tilt his head in confusion. 'A sprite wearing specs? What the hell was that supposed to mean?' he pondered to himself as he found himself sitting at the last step of the staircase, leaning his white canvas against the dusty brick walls before putting his palm against his cheek, his elbow supported right above his knees as he gazed in awe at the little singer. 

His pupils never moved away from the young girl who began to twirl around with her hands on her hips. And that girl was you. He watched as you danced and sang as if you were in your own little world, almost clumsily bumping into an old man carrying two heavy wooden crates in his arms. He chuckled at the sight, a soft smile stretching across his face as he watched the girl apologize for almost bumping into him, making Renjun realise that she might have some sort of blurred vision with how she was squinting at the older man. 

‘Or she might just be an idiot,’ Renjun thought with a deadpan expression, laying his chin on his hand as he let out a soft sigh. Renjun had been living in this town all his life, despite the fact that he rarely goes out of his own home. He’s sure that no one in this town would blast such a merry tune so shamelessly in public while dancing and singing around like a fool expressing themselves. And it was quite rare for someone to walk around with a barrel organ out of nowhere.

The music stopped midway when you let out a small yelp and clumsily tripped over your own feet as you turned to your barrel organ when the lever stopped turning, eliciting a soft giggle from Renjun. You let out a soft grunt, huffing as you ignored the slightly concerned looks of your audience. You stood up quickly, hands coming up to brush off the dust and debris off your skirt, tugging on your suspenders as you attempted to ignore the embarrassed red tint on your own cheeks as you tried to play it off as cool. 

Renjun couldn't help but giggle at the sight, his cold emotionless expression morphing into one filled with the slightest bit of amusement. Though, it quite took Renjun aback when he saw you turn your head from your barrel organ to his figure sitting a few meters away from where you were standing, turning your head rapidly to find the source, raising a brow when your eyes met Renjun's. He stopped laughing when your eyes met briefly, eyes widening in shock as he began to fidget in his place as you began to waddle over to him, dragging your barrel organ with you. 

Wait, were you going over to talk to him? How did you even acknowledge his existence? Did you hear him snicker at your silly antics? Even if you did, how could you even hear him with how busy your surroundings were?

You stood before him with hands on your hips, lips pursed at him. "What were you laughing at?" you asked, a slight pout adorning on your lips as you looked down at the boy who raised his brow. Renjun felt his words pile up in his throat, trying to think of something to say without offending or upsetting the girl before him, as his Seulgi and Irene (his caretaker’s weekly patients) had always told him that ‘once you anger a feisty lady, there’s no turning back!’. 

Now that you were standing only a few inches away from him, he couldn’t help but take a small moment to observe your appearance more clearly. Renjun's eyes couldn't help but wander towards your figure, examining your facial features in full detail. The way the sunlight reflected upon your pupils, how your figure stood out that he could barely decipher that other people were present around them. The way your dress framed your body, lips pursed with a slight pout, eyelids fluttering softly as you blinked at him as you were waiting for a response. Renjun wondered how someone could look this entrancing.

"Hello? Are you listening to me?!"

Renjun blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. His mouth opening as his pupils went back up to catch the intense glare that the girl in front of him was sending. He closed his mouth when he realized he didn't know what to say in response, his mind turning blank when he saw you quirked one of your eyebrows up suspiciously. "I don't- How can you even hear me laugh from such a distance?" Renjun's voice faltered nervously, trying to avoid your question, furrowing his brows.

Your expression lightened slightly at the nervous boy, a bright smile of your own stretching across her face. "Out of all of my five senses, my hearing has always been the best considering I don't rely much on my eyes," you shrugged, sitting beside him on the last step of the stairs. Stretching your legs out as you used your palms to smoothen your dress before crossing your arms on your thighs and turning your head to look at the boy. "I saw you staring at me from a distance, was I that good?" you smirked, raising a brow. 

“You saw me? I thought you said you can’t rely on your eyes that much?” he asked in a weak attempt to dodge your question once again. “I lied, some lady told me that you were staring at me even after this old thing gave up on me,” you huffed, kicking your foot lightly at the old barrel organ in front of you. “Stop dodging my question. I don’t want to assume that you were stalking me or something,” you turned your head back to the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, wiggling the finger in front of his face teasingly.

Renjun bit the inside of his cheek, a scowl forming on his lips as he rolled his eyes. "Don't get too cocky, I was just perplexed. I was baffled to see someone playing such a merry tune so shamelessly in this lousy, depressing town," he responded with a click of his tongue. "How so?" you asked, tilting your head in confusion at the boy before looking around at your surroundings. “This town doesn’t look that depressing to me. Just needed some lighting up, that’s all,” your positivity elicited another scoff from the boy.

Renjun turned to you, brows furrowed slightly, confused as to how you couldn’t see how this town was the literal epitome of the Great Depression itself. "You're not from here, are you? Come to think of it, I've never seen you around here before." Renjun asked with a curious expression, watching as a cheeky grin formed across your face. "You got me there." You let out a soft chuckle, shrugging shamelessly before gazing up at the cloudy grey sky. 

"My parents and I just moved in today. They told me to run off and go dilly dally-ing around town so as to not bother them as they set up the whole place,” you explained, nodding towards your barrel organ. “I think I made a great first impression as the new lady in town, don’t you think?” you asked, giving him a sweet smile, ignoring how Renjun gave you an affirming shake of his head to say ‘no’ bluntly. “Well I definitely knocked your socks off, didn’t I? That’s enough for me!” you exclaimed brightly, clasping your hands together. 

“You don’t even know me. I don’t even know you. And how would you know if I was moved by your oh-so-stupendous actions?” Renjun rolled his eyes sarcastically, gripping his canvas tightly as he spoke, looking down at his shoes. He had never spoken to someone his age before without being forced by his caretaker or having to meet them for the first time at Madam Wendy’s home. It was quite new for him to be talking to a lady as well, for most of them were too shy to even talk to the young lad for his cold glare struck shivers down their spine.

“The sound of your laugh was enough to convince me that my actions were indeed stupendous, good sir!” you shot back confidently, a proud smile on your face as you placed your hands on your knees. “Oh bother,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes once again at you, ignoring how the confusion he felt when the cogs and gears of his heart were speeding up in action. “I’m Y/n, by the way! It’s good to know I made a friend on my first day in Edinburgh. Perhaps my mini shameless performance wasn’t entirely fruitless!” you reached your hand out, gesturing for him to shake it.

Renjun looked at your hand for a brief moment, pupils gazing back up at your happy expression, raising a brow at you before sighing heavily. He pulled his hand from his canvas before leaning over to shake your hand gently, “Renjun. Huang Renjun,” he introduced, his tone emotionless. Your hand was warm and soft unlike his own dry ones. Your hand had small specks of dust, which he assumed were from the dusty lever of the barrel organ while his own was covered with dry acrylic paint from his previously wet canvas.

Upon the warm feeling surging through his body at the touch, he felt the tiny mechanical bird inside of his cuckoo clock heart burst out from his clock in response when his skin touched yours, the sharp wooden beak hitting the fabric of his jacket alarmingly. Thus making a small, almost inaudible ‘cuckoo’ that only Renjun (fortunately) heard.

"It’s lovely to be your acquaintance, Huang Renjun. Though, I must warn you, I might not be here for long. My family has been travelling from town to town for years, searching for something.” You told him, pulling your hand back to your side with a small shrug. “Searching? Searching for what exactly?” Renjun asked, watching your expression turned unreadable. You shrugged, leaning your cheek against your palm, your elbow supporting on your leg. “That’s the thing! I’m not quite sure, they won’t tell me.”

“A treasure chest, perhaps?” Renjun suggested, putting a hand on his chin in thought. “Perhaps so. Though, I’m searching for something myself, as well.  I haven't found it yet and I doubt I'm going to find it here." you sighed simply, leaning your head up to gaze at the cloudy sky. Eyes watching as the sun was barely visible due to the thick grey clouds layering over it, signalling that it might rain soon. 

"Well, what are you searching for exactly? Treasure? Money? Wealth is considered as a greedy sin in this town, so I don't think this is some place where you can find those." Renjun hummed, his hand going back to gripping his canvas as he felt the cogs and gears in his heart working faster than usual. Hell, he didn't know why he was so curious about this. This was none of his business, after all. This was your problem, why was he so keen on keeping the conversation going? Why was he so intrigued in a young foreign singer his age he’s just met?

You shook your head, sucking your lips into your mouth before pulling your bottom lip out in a pout. "I’m not a fool, Renjun. I'm not really interested in wealth or fortune. Though, telling you about my life goal appears to be too intimate for us, don’t you think? We just met after all. So all that I can say at the moment that what I’m searching for is for me to know and for you to find out," you send him a teasing smile, causing Renjun to frown and roll his eyes in annoyance, leaning back slightly before sending you a deadpan expression, 

"Does your extravagant search involve spectacles? You might look like you might need them, I know someone that could handle that," he mused, his lips quirking up into a teasing smirk, causing a frown to display on your face. A dead panned expression morphing on to your facial features. "I may have really terrible eyesight, but that isn't a way to talk to a lady, Renjun." you pressed your lips on to a thin line, rolling your eyes at the boy as you let out a soft laugh with a shake of your head. 

"Besides, I look terrible in them. As I said in my song, which I'm sure like all the other folks in this world that doesn't pay attention to the message I was trying to convey in my lyrics, it-"

"It makes quite a sight, enough to give the world a fright like a sprite wearing specs?"

You furrowed your brows as Renjun let out a sheepish smile with a raise of his eyebrow, teasing you as a baffled expression laid upon your features at his words. "You were saying, Y/n?" he mused, waving his hand, gesturing for you to continue with your words. Watching as your baffled expression morphed into an amused one. “Oh, that was quite charming of you, Huang,” you shot back with a flirty grin, causing the ticking of his heart to quicken against his chest, sending him small jolts of pain which he attempted to conceal with small chuckles.

"I’m surprised you were paying attention to my lyrics instead of enjoying my song like a normal human being," you huffed, pushing his face away with your palm against the side of his face, eliciting a small laugh from the boy beside you. "You really shouldn't play games with your sight though. They say a blurry vision will leave you in the dark," Renjun recited, remembering the words his caretaker had always said to him about the patients who come in their quarters using spectacles or glasses. 

You shrugged innocently. "I prefer life all a blur than to look horrendous for a living. You and your pretty face wouldn't understand. Also, I tend to forget my glasses frequently despite the fact that my parents’ constant nagging to bring them around," you , causing Renjun's jaw to drop at your bold statement. He has heard compliments about his dashing looks ever since he was a young boy from Madam Wendy’s relatives but ‘pretty’ wasn’t one of them, he should’ve brushed the compliment off and focus on the context of your words and stop acting as if he hadn’t been complimented before.

But however, something about this felt peculiarly different than the times where his family complimented him on his charming looks.

"Pretty? I haven’t heard that one before," Renjun spoke rather hesitantly, still quite bewildered that a woman his age had shamelessly complimented on his looks to his face. Yet again, said woman has a terrible eyesight so he couldn't be too sure that it was a compliment. You laughed, bumping your shoulder against his softly. "That’s the only thing you got out of my words? Are you an insecure lad, Huang?" you chuckled, giving him a slightly sheepish smile. “Are you sure you don’t need spectacles?” Renjun snapped back. 

"I’m just pushing your buttons! I assure you that even without my glasses. I can confirm that you are quite an attractive young man, and that’s saying something considering I’ve been travelling here and there for most of my life. I'm not as blind as a bat, you know." you giggled, clicking your tongue before adding on. "Besides, it won't make much of a difference, really. Even with or without glasses, I still see a very pretty boy," you joked, laughing lightly.

“Out of all the compliments you could’ve chosen, you decided upon the word ‘pretty’? Sounds quite feminine, don’t you think?” he asked, leaning his head to the side, looking at you with half lidded eyes. He realised that he didn’t mind being called pretty, he didn’t mind being complimented by you. Despite the fact that you two had just met. But he couldn’t help but wonder why you had decided to choose ‘pretty’ instead of the other synonyms of ‘attractive’. 

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing? I think pretty can be used for anything. It’s just a word after all, why do things have to be differentiated by the littlest of things? It’s just a synonym of ‘beautiful’,” you shrugged, watching as small raindrops started to pour down from the cloudy grey sky, reaching your hand out to feel the water drops hitting and wetting your skin slowly. Renjun raised his brow at you, perplexed at how you could be so nonchalant about your terrible eyesight considering his caretaker would endlessly bicker until he was forced to use spectacles until his eyes magically got better.

"What's that odd pitter patter?" you mumbled, snapping Renjun out of his thoughts once again. His eyes widened when he realised that the sound of his clock heart ticking had increased, blending well with the sound of the rain as water began to hit the surface of the concrete. He wasn’t supposed to tell anyone other than close relatives about his fragile condition, so his anxiety spiked when you turned to look at him, expecting an answer. "It's the rain." Renjun replied after a moment, gulping down his nerves before turning to you. 

"Do you like the rain?" Renjun asked, gulping afterwards when he realised how your eyes softly bore into his with an unreadable expression, the eye contact making Renjun’s clock heart steam up a bit as the gears worked even faster than before. Sighing as you felt the cold breeze that comes with the rain send goosebumps across your skin, you rubbed your arms before looking back to the pouring rain. You shook your head, "getting wet? Not really."

"But the sound it makes? Yes. It always reminded me of how I used to play in the rain back when I was still in elementary school," you nodded with a soft smile. 

The sound of the church bell pierced your ears, making Renjun’s eyes go wide when he realised that the clock had struck 6 pm. Quickly, he got up to his feet, his brushes almost slipping out of his fingers as he stumbled to get onto his feet. “Are you okay?” you asked, looking up at him in confusion, furrowing your brows at the boy as he gulped nervously. “I’m fine, I shouldn’t be out this late,” Renjun shook his head, biting his lip nervously when he realized that the rain wasn’t going to halt anytime soon.

“I don’t think the rain is stopping anytime soon, I suggest you wait here momentarily if you don’t want to catch a cold,” you commented, standing up as well as you stretched your hand out once again to feel the raindrops hitting your palm, smiling softly at the nostalgic feeling that came with it. He clicked his tongue, cursing at himself for letting his curiosity get the best of him as he contemplated on running all the way back home soaking wet. He wouldn’t want to lose his new found freedom.

Muttering a small curse under his breath, he stuck his book under his canvas before hovering it over his head. “Are you going to run? It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” you exclaimed, eyes growing wide when you turned your head to see him taking a deep breath. “Pardon me, unlike you, I have curfews. My caretaker would have my head if I don’t go back home soon,” Renjun deadpanned, rolling his sleeves out as he felt shivers down his spine when the cold wind blew against his skin. 

Right before Renjun was about to take a step into the pouring rain, you grabbed on the sleeve of his shirt, holding him back. “Wait, when can we see each other again?” you asked, eyes boring holes into the back of his head. He paused, his cuckoo clock heart ticking loudly against his chest at the small action. He slowly turned back to you, furrowing his brows as he felt the small machine heat up against his skin, causing him to wince slightly. Noticing his small reaction, you quickly dropped your hand, apologizing abruptly before clasping your hands before your hand. 

“It’s just- I haven’t been in this town for very long and I really need a friend beside me. I’m not quite fond of being alone. I know we just met, but I hope that we could be acquaintances at least?” you grinned up, your bright smile sending ominous effects to his heart as he took a moment to process your words. Renjun started at your bright expression, small steam coming out continuously from his mechanical heart as the seconds went by. His eyes dart from the rain before back to your figure standing right in front of him, waiting for his answer. 

‘Acquaintances?’ 

Renjun has never had friends before. His caretaker would introduce him to her client’s children from time to time but (luckily for Madame Wendy) he had never shown an interest in making colleagues.  But for some reason, something inside him was pulling him to say yes to you. Something inside of him wanted him to try and get to know you even more. It felt wrong. It felt very wrong. But yet again, it felt so right. 

Biting his lip, he gave you a soft smile. 

“I have faith that we’ll be seeing each other again very soon.”

-

“I just think it’s quite preposterous!” you exclaimed as you laid down against the smooth surface of the fountain basin. Renjun chuckled, pressing his paintbrush gently against his wooden palette to get bits of his white paint to add more details to his painting. 

It's been a couple months since the day you met, and since then, you two have been growing closer by the day. Your friendship blossomed as the weeks went by. Madam Wendy wasn’t very fond when Renjun came home soaking wet after curfew, but she excused his actions when he told her that he just lost track of time at the library once again. A rare occurrence but it still happens from time to time, and considering Renjun barely lies to his caretaker, she believed him when he told her so.

Every once a week, the two of you would meet up on the same exact spot as the day you first laid eyes on each other. Renjun assumed that your house was closer considering you were always there first, twisting the crank of your barrel organ, kicking your feet as you sat on the fountain base to wait for him to arrive in your usual dark magenta dress (which he assumed to be the uniform of the school you were attending). The two of you would always walk around town, searching for spots to relax yourselves and talk about random things as you watch Renjun paint whatever that catches his eye. Overall enjoying each other’s company as if the two of you were in your own personal little bubble. 

“What’s so preposterous about the infamous Romeo and Juliet, exactly?” Renjun asked, chuckling as he dabbed the brush on the canvas, blending the colours of the sky on his artwork. You clasped your hands together, huffing as you scoffed at him. “Ever since my school made us all read Romeo and Juliet for the next literature exam, I just realise how horrible this trope is,” you tossed your book to the floor with a click of your tongue, hopping off of the fountain to walk closer to Renjun. 

“Do explain why you think so,” Renjun giggled, watching you dip your finger against the white paint on his palette and kneeling down to smear it against the title on the front cover of your book with a frown on your face. “Why are the females always quote unquote ‘damsels in distress’? It’s very misogynistic if you ask me!” you tsked, grabbing your book and leaning forward to show Renjun the front cover of the book. “Mister Shakespeare was truly a legendary fellow to create a piece of writing this famous, but why use poor unsuspecting 14 year old Romeo and Juliet as the female protagonist?” you complained.

“Why couldn’t it be ‘Romeo romeo, let down your hair!’ instead of ‘romeo romeo, where art thou?” It seems a bit more fair to me,” you joked, causing Renjun to furrow his brows at you. “It might be quite improper for a boy to have tremendously long hair, y/n,” he had to lay the back of his hand against his chest in an attempt to calm down his mechanic heart, feeling it heat up against his skin as he noticed how close the proximity between you were. You scoffed at the boy before you, standing up straight and letting the book hand in between your fingers.

Putting your hands on your hips, you walked in front of him, covering his view of the town. “Well it doesn’t give Mister Shakespeare a reason to give the story an unhappy ending. The despair it brings when you found out they both died in the end? Absolutely preposterous, why would anyone like books with such unhappy endings?” you added on, poking your book with a scrunched up expression, bringing a smile upon Renjun’s lips as he found your figure poking the book in your hands as endearing as watching an small innocent child playing with their own food. 

He sucked in his lip, taking a moment to admire your beautiful form. The gears in his mechanical clock worked faster as his eyes wandered to your slightly pouting soft lips, wondering how soft it would feel against his own. He cleared his throat when he felt a sharp pain scorching through his chest when he realised he was starting to imagine things, patting his chest softly as he tried to bite back a smile. 

“Maybe you just haven’t read true masterpieces,” Renjun responded after a pregnant pause, opening his little bag and pulling out the novel he’s been obsessed with for the past few months, placing it in your palms. “Read this, you can thank me later,” Renjun smiled, patting the book in your hands with a light chuckle, looking up into your eyes for a brief moment before looking back at his canvas. For he feared that if he stared into them any longer, he would simply get lost in your eyes for ages, wincing silently when his chest started to ache. 

“‘The Great Expectations’? This sounds like those tedious books my parents keep on their shelf,” you raised your brow, sitting down on the fountain again as you began to observe the book in your palms, squinting your eyes at the summary written at the back cover of the book. “‘Break his heart, Estella! Break his heart!’ That sounds so cruel of her to break an innocent boy’s heart,” you frowned, looking up at your friend with the adorable frown Renjun came to endear. 

Renjun laughed, shrugging simply as he went back to painting. His fingers twitching against the brush as he coloured white clouds on his piece, feeling your eyes curiously on his content form. “You didn’t want the female protagonist to be the damsel in distress, did you? I just simply gave you what you asked for,” Renjun shrugged, feeling his heart do somersaults as you let out a loud huff of breath, scooching closer towards him so you can begin reading the book. “I suppose so,” you muttered under your breath. 

“Do you carry books like this around with you as you paint or are you a magician who can pull out rabbits out of that bag of yours as well?” you asked jokingly, pulling the cover open and flipping to the first page. “I-Wait hold on, a magician as well?” he furrowed his brows at you, turning his head towards you and leaning his head to the side in confusion. You shot your head up, giving him a bright expression as you nodded eagerly. 

“You might have half of the town convinced that you’re some cold hearted teenager living with the ‘witch’ or the makeshift doctor, as you would like to say, but you can’t fool me, mister! We may have known each other for less than a few months but I know for a fact that you are a magician!” you pointed an accusatory finger at him, wiggling your index finger around, your fingertip hovering right above his nose before poking it with a small ‘boop; coming from your mouth. 

He furrowed his brows, gently pushing your hand away from his face with a raised brow. “Do you mind explaining why you have come to that conclusion?” Renjun asked, an amused expression spreading across his features as he dropped his brush into the cup of water set right beside him before crossing his arms against his chest and leaning back slightly. You grinned, “you’re one of the few people I’ve ever known who can paint so majestically. Have you seen your own paintings, Mister Huang Renjun?” you exclaimed, giving him a wide smile as you threw your arms up in the air. 

He chuckled, adjusting the beret on top of his head. “You don’t know many people, y/n,” he commented with a small smirk on his lips. “Let me finish before I usurp you, Huang,” you frowned, furrowing your brows and squinting your eyes threateningly at him. “I doubt that you even know what usurped means,” Renjun chuckled, shaking his head profusely at you. “Don’t doubt my low vocabulary, Renjun,” you crossed your hands, letting his book lay on your lap as he let out a soft laugh. 

“Alright, what are you going to usurp me from exactly?” he asked smugly, raising a brow at you. “That’s not the point of this conversation, what I’m saying is that you and your aesthetically pleasing art skills are magical!” you shot back in a snappy tone, avoiding the fact that you used a word that you don’t entirely know the meaning of. (considering you only heard it from your mother when she was talking to someone on the phone every morning whenever your father was off at work)  

He swore he could feel the ticking of his tock stop for a few seconds at your words. “Pardon?” he spluttered, putting his hand on his chest once again as he felt the gears in his cuckoo clock turn rapidly against his chest. “The way you carefully apply to each and every detail on every crevice of your canvas is like magic, the way you know how much paint you should apply to get just the right colours and the way you focus on shading or blending the paints together to achieve the small shadows or to adjust the lighting of the painting is just-” 

You paused before letting out a loud groan, “superb! I can’t even find the words on how to explain your magical abilities, the simplest way I can put it in my own way is that you are equivalent to a magician!” you waved your hands around at the canvas in front of the two of you, your eyes going wide in awe as you stared at the half finished piece as if it was the first time you had seen a rare jewel in person. 

Renjun’s jaw dropped as he couldn’t find the words to express how flustered he felt. However, the way his cuckoo clock began to steam up was another completely different thing. He couldn’t help but look down shy at his own paint stained hands, wondering how you could find awe in something as messy as his artwork. “And it is an absolute crime knowing that you aren’t some kind of world wide painter, your paintings are absolutely beautiful!” you exclaimed, smiling up at him as Renjun stared wordlessly into your eyes. 

He couldn’t help but notice how close you have gotten when you began on your unceremonious ramble about his art skills, he couldn’t stop his eyes from darting up your eyes and down to your plump lips. Gulping silently, he scooched back a little bit, gripping the sleeves of his button up shirt tightly as he tried to take the ticking of his heart against his ears, a fuzzy feeling overcoming the slight jolting pain in his chest as he did so.

He watched your eyes go wide at his actions, realizing that you moved too far. “Oh crumbs!” you exclaimed, taking a large step back as you realised the close proximity between you attracted attention from the people around you, eyes watching you like a hawk. Some held disgust to see two teenagers of the opposite gender oh-so-close to each other as if they were going to share a sweet kiss. Some held awe in them, adoring the sight of the two flustered beings cozying up to each other like that. Some held shock as they had never seen the mysterious cold hearted boy who lived in the little house on the steeple that close to someone before.

“I’m so so sorry!” you rambled, feeling your chest swell up as you grew flustered by your own actions. “I didn’t mean to get over excited! It’s just that I was so happy to talk about your art knowing how you don’t think much of it but I just really adore your art and the way you paint- oh god that sounds very inappropriate of me to say. What I meant was-” your short nervous ramblings were cut off when you heard Renjun’s laughter filling your ears, the angelic sound sending warm feelings into your heart. 

“Pardon me for laughing, but that really caught me off guard,” he threw his head back laughing, his cheeks flushing red from laughing too much as he held his stomach, wiping his tears afterward. Your jaw dropped at his amused laughter, embarrassment overcoming your nerves as you huffed angrily at him. “You absolute jerk, I thought I did something wrong and invaded your personal space or made you uncomfortable!” you exclaimed, putting your hands on your hips angrily, only eliciting even more laughter from the sweet boy. 

“It’s really endearing that you find my art that interesting, you really did catch me off guard with your little outburst,” he chuckled, lifting his beret off of his head before running his free hand over his hair, putting the beret back on his head afterwards. You couldn’t deny how pretty he looked with that beret, but of course, you weren’t going to admit it (again) for the sake of your own pride. “I was just expressing my opinions like a normal person, you didn’t have to laugh at me like that, you know,” you crossed your arms against your chest. 

“I wasn’t laughing at your outburst, I can promise you that!” he exclaimed, shaking his head at you, ignoring the searing pain in his chest as he stared lovingly at you. You furrowed your brows, you couldn’t help but notice the slightly sad glint on his pupils, but you chose not to ask about it, focusing on the topic at hand. “Then what were you laughing at exactly, Huang Renjun?” you asked, furrowing your brows at the brown haired boy, who smiled sweetly at you. Leaning his chin against his palm, elbow supported on his thigh. 

“I couldn’t help but laugh at how sweet you looked while talking about the things I do in front of you as if I were moving the sun and moon with my own bare hands.”

-

“You know you have a lovely smile.”

Renjun looked up from his book in alarm, eyes wide at your sudden bluntness. “Excuse me?” he coughed, releasing one hand from the book cover to lay it against the rough surface of his clock heart hidden underneath his coat. “I really like your smile,” you gave him a tight lipped smile, putting the Great Expectations book on the desk you were sitting before laying your hands over the other, placing your chin on top of them before gazing up at him with an innocent shrug. “You’re being quite expressive today,” Renjun chuckled, looking at you with a perplexed expression, his brows furrowed as he kept his hand against his heart, suppressing the little bird inside from letting out a loud ‘cuckoo!’. 

“I don’t like to lie, you know that, Renjun,” you pouted, raising your head up to give him a knowing look. Sitting up straight, Renjun shot you a boyish smile, looking back down at his book. “Why, thank you. That’s quite flattering,” Renjun chuckled, burying his nose in his book in a futile attempt to hide how flustered he felt. Putting the back of his hand against his mouth, he coughed to clear his throat before removing his hand and putting it on his nape to scratch on it nervously. “How are you liking the book so far?”

Renjun cringed at the slight waver in his tone, biting back his tongue as he heard you let out a small hum. “So far, it’s pretty engrossing. It perfectly depicts the image of a young male protagonist losing his child-like innocence through heartbreak and hardship,” you clicked your tongue, folding the corner of the page you were reading before flipping through the other pages to see how many you have left to read. “A compelling coming of age story,” you nodded with a slight shrug. 

“Though, I still don’t understand why you recommended me this book,” you closed the book and placed it back down on the desk, furrowing your brows in curiosity. Renjun gave you a sheepish grin, shrugging as he went back to his own book before replying with a, “you’ll find out once you finish the book,” under his breath. You huffed in response, leaning your forehead against the hardcover of the book, letting out a dramatic sigh. He let out a silent smile, adjusting his glasses as he continued to read the last paragraph of his own book. 

Your eyes glared holes into his head as if he was going to tell you if you glared at him long enough, but you realised that he was back into his own little world now that he was fully immersed into the plot. Your eyes wandered back to the canvas on top of the desk right beside him, his set of acrylic paints and brushes gathered up into a small pile. He had just finished his latest painting of the statue of the founder of this boring town, his artwork never failed to awe you. 

“When I finally manage to finish the book, will you give me one of your artworks free of charge?” you piped up, outstretching your hand as you poked the canvas, trying to pull the large object towards you with a single fingertip in futility. Ever since you started spending your time watching Renjun paint while he listened to you rambling, you had often asked him to draw something for you for free. In which he would always reply with a brief ‘buy your own, acrylics are immensely expensive.’ before rolling his eyes and going back to painting. 

He wasn’t completely wrong. Madam Wendy always grumbled on how paint prices are constantly increasing as time goes on. And whenever Renjun would make a quick trip to the art store just to buy another bottle of white paint, he would always suppress the urge to sigh heavily in front of the kind store owner who would grin innocently (despite the fact that they know full well that they were being absolute gooses for increasing the price as Renjun was going to buy their products nonetheless.)

However it came as a shock to the both of you when he muttered a small ‘fine’ under his breath. Eyes blowing wide as Renjun slowly looked up from his book and eerily turned to you, right before he could open his mouth to retract his words, you shot up to your feet. Catching the boy off guard as you leaned over to cover his mouth with your hands. “No! You are not taking that statement back!” you exclaimed, shaking your head aggressively as you gave him a wide mischievous smile. 

Renjun furrowed his brows, eyes glaring daggers at you to let him go despite the fact that his gears were turning at a rapid speed at the feeling of your skin against his lips. “I’m not letting go unless you say yes,” you mused in a melodious tone, earning a shake of his head in response as he continued to send you his typical cold stare.

Renjun always had a really mean resting face, his eyes always managed to send cold shivers down everyones’ spines. However, there was something comforting in the way he looked at you. A familiar warm feeling blooming in your chest whenever he turned his head to look at you, even though his eyes barely held any emotion, even though his small chuckles and laughs held no genuine happiness in them, you couldn’t help but let a fuzzy feeling grow inside of your stomach. It was exhilarating.

“Come on, you probably have billions of canvases somewhere in town. Giving one away to your dearest friend shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” you whined, still refusing to remove your hand from his lips. He was internally enjoying the close proximity between you, but as the seconds went on, he knew his clock heart was going to burst out of his chest if he didn’t do something. With a small curse in his mind, he pulled your hand away from his mouth. “I would if you paid me. But considering you are currently penniless, I have to politely decline,” Renjun snickered, giving you a disgusted expression as he felt the heat around his mouth disappear into thin air. 

You frowned, pursing your lips as you sat back down on your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. “How could you do this to your most beloved friend?” you mumbled under your breath, loud enough for him to hear as you kicked one of the legs of the table in front of you childishly. Renjun chuckled, “‘Beloved’ isn’t even a word I would use to describe your existence.” Now it was your turn to glare daggers into his skull. “You’re incredibly mean, it’s almost bonkers,” you scoffed. 

“I know,” he shrugged casually, pulling his chair back to stand up. “Now if you excuse me, I would like to wash up to remove whatever bacteria you have oh-so-unceremoniously blessed upon my skin,” he bowed, pushing the chair back in the table as he tugged on the cuffs of his coat, giving you a small grin. “My hands are squeaky clean, excuse me!” you retorted, putting a hand on your chest in faux offense. “Keep telling yourself that, Y/n,” he nodded, abruptly walking towards the washroom at the back of the library with a hand on his chest as the effects of his emotions finally took place inside his mechanical ticking heart. 

As soon as Renjun turned to a corner, out of your line of vision, his whole body started twitching in pain. With a shaky hand he pulled back his coat to reveal the state of his clock. The hands of his clock were turning at a rapid speed, the small bird popping out of the clock and letting out a small ‘cuckoo!’. It was steaming up. Smoke was coming out of the contraption as if it was caught on fire. He felt like his chest was on fire. Renjun leaned his back against the wall, shakily blowing the smoke away and fanning it away softly with his hand. 

What’s happening to him? 

This has never happened before. What was happening to him? Why was he in so much pain? Why couldn’t he call out for help? Why couldn’t he make any sound?

Renjun wanted to cry out in pain, his body twitched as the tiny mechanical bird popped out of his clock with a loud ‘cuckoo!’. He gasped, patting his hands around his pockets for the key to his mechanical heart. He could hear the alarming ticking sounds of his clock with every second that went by, warning him something’s going to happen if nothing is done to stop this pain as he twitched in pain once again, clutching the clock with one hand, he felt something inside the pocket of his shirt. With a small grunt of pain, he fished out the small golden key inside. 

He pulled his hand away from his clock, gasping for breath as the pain in his chest increased with every tick of his heart. He plunged the key into the small hole connecting the arrows of the clock, quickly turning it counter clockwise as the pain started to lessen. Once the pain subsided, he dropped his hand to his sides, panting in exhaustion as his eyes blew wide with fear, his gears were working at their usual pace once again. His chest felt numb, a small throbbing pain lingering somewhere inside of him. 

‘What the hell was that?’ 

His eyes were glossy as he felt his emotions overwhelm his mind. His heart felt like it was going through a spin, as if the big hand of his core was going to pop out of his skin. His bones felt weak, as if it was about to implode at any second. The cogs and springs in his clock felt like they were about to explode. 

The loud alarming ticking in his ears made him wonder if he didn’t pull out the key in time, would his cuckoo clock heart halt for good?

-

“I’ll be off now, Wendy,” Renjun announced as he hopped down the stairs eagerly, gripping his fresh, new, empty canvas to his sides with one hand and spinning one of his brushes in between the fingers of the other. “Oh, you seem in a bit of a hurry, Renjun,” a familiar voice cooed teasingly, her words followed by another giggle. Renjun paused in his step, mustering up the energy to form a small smile as he looked up at the two women giggling at him. “Good morning, Joy. Good morning, Yeri,” he greeted with a polite bow. 

Joy and Yeri weren’t related in any way to Madam Wendy, but they are regular patients who would drop by weekly. And as far as he knew, they were one of the very few people who knew about his fragile condition (which is probably why they visit so often). “You look brighter than usual, what’s gotten you in such a rush, young lad?” Yeri grinned, sipping on her tea as she crossed her leg over the other with raised eyebrows. 

“It’s just a small trip to town, I need to buy more acrylics as well,” Renjun lied through his teeth, feeling the gears in his heart work faster at the thought of meeting you at your usual spot. “You haven’t had breakfast yet, Renjun,” Wendy spoke up, attracting the attention of the three in the room with pancakes stacked on three individual plates. “Do sit down! It’s been quite a while since you had a chit chat with your lovely aunts!” Joy giggled, patting the extra seat beside her before looking at her friend, who nodded in agreement. 

“I really shouldn’t interrupt-” 

“Renjun, go sit down,” Madam Wendy coaxed, placing a hand on his shoulder and nodding towards the empty spot on the sofa. Renjun looked back at his caretaker before sighing heavily, placing his canvas and brushes on the table near the entrance door and walking to sit on the empty spot the women had saved for him. “I’ll be upstairs cleaning up, if you need me,” his caretaker informed before exiting the living room, leaving her adopted son with the other two women in the room. 

“Okay, she’s gone!” Yeri exclaimed in a rather quiet tone before grabbing her fork and looking back at the teenager sitting beside them. “So how are you, honey? I just realised we didn’t even get to greet you last week considering you’ve been so busy lately,” Yeri hummed, shoving a spoonful of pancakes into her mouth as she spared a glance at Renjun. “Indeed! I assume you found something interesting in your great adventure in the outside world,” Joy giggled with an enthusiastic nod, causing Renjun’s eyes to widen. 

Renjun let out a small chuckle. “You two make it sound as if I was a protagonist of some weird story,” he mused, digging into his own stack of pancakes as he felt a warm feeling in his stomach at the memory of the day you first met. “Don’t beat around the bush and tell us!” Joy rolled her eyes at the younger boy, grabbing her cup of tea and pulling it to her lips. “How was this great adventure you’ve discovered?” she asked, her eyes flickering from her tea to Renjun briefly. 

Renjun bit his lip, scanning the room to ensure that Madam Wendy was nowhere in sight. He knew he could trust these two, considering the countless times he’s gotten away with his lies and rants. He bit his lip, glancing down at his hands nervously before giving his aunts a genuine smile. “It was fabulous,” he sighed dreamily, a sheepishly wide smile stretching across his lips as he took another bashful bite of his pancakes. “Tell all! Tell all! Don’t miss any details!” Yeri squealed. 

“What made it all so fabulous?” Joy whispered, her eyes peering curiously at the boy who appeared to be in a dreamy state. “A little singer with glasses which she won’t wear,” he replied almost instantly without any hesitation, a little bit too fast for his liking. “She isn’t all that, is she?” Yeri gasped, leaning back slightly in shock to hear her little Renjun was talking about someone and not something. 

He shot up, straightening his back as he dropped his fork on his plate with a shake of his head. “She is! She really is!” Renjun nodded eagerly, his hands coming up to make grand gestures as he continued on with his words. “She reminds me of a… sparrow! Perched up on the toppest tree branch in it’s tiny little feet, it gives her this calming fragile aura like a twig falling off of a branch. Her voice- her singing is like listening to a nightingale singing a bird song but with words! Or those soothing musical numbers they would always play in the telly after a good show has ended,” Renjun described, his eyes filled with stars and his heart filled with passion. 

The two shared knowing looks, bewildered at how dazed the boy in front of them truly was at that moment. “And her smile it’s like a work of art! Far greater than all of my masterpieces combined, far greater than the artwork displayed on museums! Her laughter makes her seem so miniscule, I could hardly believe that such a light heartening sound could be elicited from a human being!” Renjun went on, his smile wide as he leaned back at the thought of your smile which made his stomach do somersaults. 

“Oh Renjun, I bet that once she catches the flu, you’ll change your mind. Whenever women like those who catch the flu, they cough up a storm and sneeze like a steam truck,” Yeri joked, earning a brief frown from Renjun who scoffed in response. “Oh nonsense! I bet if she does, it would sound like a majestic flute found in the mountains!” Renjun waved his hand off with a roll of his eyes in disbelief.

The two women laughed in response, shaking a knowing look. “So basically, to sum everything up. You went to town and instead of catching the flu, you caught a bug in town, you young lad!” Yeri raised her eyebrow suggestively at the boy, indicating that he’s very much caught the love-bug she’s always ranted about on a daily basis. “Oh deary!” Joy gasped before letting out another fit of giggles, cupping her mouth to ensure that her giggles weren’t loud enough for Madam Wendy to hear. 

“You know it’s forbidden,” Yeri lectured, her tone turning serious when she realised that Renjun was actually serious about this. “For-bid-den!” Joy emphasized with every wave of her finger with a disappointing shake of her head. “I know,” Renjun sighed, a frown forming at his lips as he sunk back against the seat he was sitting on, leaning his head back sadly. “It’s for your own good, you know,” Joy smiled sadly, sympathy lacing her tone as she patted the boy’s head comfortingly. 

“Indeed. Oh deary, I wish I could live without love,” Yeri sighed, pulling out a mirror from her purse to reapply her lipstick. “Oh no, here we go again,” Renjun chuckled, sitting up straight once again as he prepared himself for another sad tragic love story his aunt has to offer. “Every day, every time I fall in love with a patient here or a man, they would always fall for some other girl!” Yeri ranted with a heavy sigh, smacking her lips together to get an even coating on her lips. “I am not letting Renjun listen to another one of your sob stories!” Joy huffed, leaning over to cup Renjun’s ears with her palms. 

“You might taint the poor boy with your bad luck with love!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t my condition a symbol of this bad luck?” Renjun chuckled, gently tugging on the older woman's wrists to remove her palms away from his ear. “Oh hush you, I’m sure you’ll get over this little infatuation you have with this little singer,” Yeri waved her hand off nonchalantly, huffing slightly. “It’s not like you see her every day of the week, you’ll get over it in no time!” she added with an encouraging hum, watching as Joy nodded with her in agreement. 

Renjun bit his lip, biting back his tongue as he continued to shove pancakes into his mouth as quickly as possible. At that moment, Madam Wendy finally came down with a key in her hand. “Renjun, I’ve always told you to bring your key wherever you go. Why won’t you ever take my words to heart?” Wendy sighed, handing the key to his mechanic heart to the young boy, who gulped slightly and mumbled a small apology under his breath before tucking his key in his front pocket. 

He couldn’t help but shiver as the memory of him having a near death experience flashed through his mind, the image of the key plunging into his heart and winding it up to lessen the pain he endured had traumatized him. He was terrified of it happening again. He was terrified of what’s becoming of him. Was this the effects of falling in love? Was he falling in love with you? He hasn’t even known you for very long, he couldn’t possibly fall for you in such a short time.

Besides, why does falling in love feel so good but hurt so bad?

-

“So how was the book I lent you?” Renjun asked in an attempt to spark up a conversation. “Quite interesting, though, I’m not quite sure that I’ll finish it any time soon. I like to focus deep into the depths of the story, fully imagine the characters emotions and thoughts,” you exclaimed, pushing your organ barrel beside the tree Renjun was leaning against, sitting down beside him under the shade and crossing your legs, tugging the edges of your dress over your knees. You dusted the bits of dirt off of the fabric on your dress. 

“I understand, it’s the thought process, right?” Renjun nodded, flipping a page of his book as he hummed. “Indeed! Though, I can’t quite get the gist of why Ms Havisham is so devoted to making Estella break Pip’s heart. She should’ve just left the poor girl alone, besides, I really don’t want to see the poor boy heartbroken,” you frowned, clicking your tongue in thought. “I despise Pip’s sister, as well,” you added with an innocent smile. 

Renjun let out an amused chuckle. “Yeah, she’s a rather insufferable character, isn’t she?” he nodded in agreement, remembering how heartless Pip’s older sister was when it came to Pip and her own husband before she passed away in the book. “She’s exactly what my mother would consider as a bitch,” you added on, pulling your glasses out from your purse with a small giggle, earning a loud gasp from the boy beside you.  “Y/n, language!” he gasped, pulling his book back to gaze at you with wide eyes. 

You giggled, mumbling a small apology before fidgeting with the frames of your glasses mindlessly. Renjun watched you play with your glasses from the corner of his eye, internally wondering why you have never worn them despite carrying them around in your purse everywhere you go. Furrowing his brows, he turned his head back to his book, biting back his tongue before shaking his head at himself.

“You know, you really shouldn’t play games with your sight if it leaves you in the dark, y/n,” Renjun deadpan, not sparing you a glance as he licked the tip of his thumb to flip a page from his new book. You huffed at your friend, fidgeting with your new spectacles in between your fingers as you rolled your eyes at the boy beside you. “How poetic,” you scoffed, earning a soft chuckle from Renjun. “I think I prefer life all a blur, thank you very much,” you added on with a snappy tone. 

“What does that even mean?” Renjun laughed lightly, putting his book down on his lap to turn to you with a soft expression on his face. “I keep forgetting to wear my glasses and now my eyes are blurry, I can’t even see the outline of my hand,” you stated, raising your free hand up above to the sky and squinted your eyes at it in an attempt to get a clearer vision of your hand that was merely a few inches away from you. “Your glasses are literally in your palms,” Renjun pointed out, nodding his head at the hand holding the glasses in question. 

You opened your mouth to speak, slowly putting your glasses in your little handbag behind you before clearing your throat. “As I said before, I forgot to wear my glasses,” you repeated, giving him a cheshire grin in response. “Jesus Christ, why do I even bother?” Renjun muttered under his breath with a shake of his head, “won’t your vision get worse the lesser you wear them?” he asked once again, rubbing his temples in distress. 

Humming in confirmation, you shrugged innocently before leaning back against the tree the two of you were sitting against. “Though, I believe it won’t get worse as long as I close my eyes. My vision won’t get worse if I don’t see, right? Besides, it feels good to close my eyes,” just as you finished your words, you clasped your hands on your lap, leaning your head back against the tree bark and closing your eyes before letting out a sigh of content. Renjun let out an annoyed puff of breath, “I don’t think that’s how it works.” 

Your content expression was enough to send fiery sparks into his mechanical heart, he could almost feel it steaming up again. He couldn’t help but notice how close you were next to him, as if he were to make one little scooch, your shoulders would be touching. His eyes wandered to your beautiful figure laying right beside him, internally suppressing the urge to clasp you close to his body in a tight embrace. Your soft lips causing his stomach to do somersaults the longer his gaze lingers there. He imagines that he would scatter confettis on the both of you if he were to press his own lips against yours in a kiss. 

His mind couldn’t help but wander back to those times where you had to walk up close to the signs to see what street the two of you were heading, the amount of times you had to squint and lean over the table to read whatever paragraph he was trying to show you during your reading sessions at the library. He felt this sudden urge to protect you, to constantly remind you to wear your glasses in case your vision worsened. 

There was something inside of him screaming at him to not let you stray away from the happy path you were currently in. Something inside of him made him determined to be your only guide, to be your pair of eyes. In return, he knew you would ignite the flame in his heart. No, you would be the special flame that burns his heart. You’d be a conflagration in the night. A pretty arsonist. A fire blazing so bright you’ll see the light of the heavens itself. 

“Oh why bother. You know very well, out of my five senses, my hearings best. I’m pretty sure I’ll recognize you without relying on my eyes,” you waved your hand off carelessly, keeping your eyes closed, oblivious to the way Renjun was looking at you so lovingly. “Well I assure you, I don’t think you can rely on your hearing to walk down the streets without my assistance,” Renjun chuckled, recalling the time when you almost walked into the wrong side of town due to your poor eyesight. 

“You don’t know that! My eyes always lead me astray, anyways. Far away down the street, sometimes I can’t bear to steal a glance at the sun or even look the sky straight in the eye for fear that my eyes would deceive me as well,” you confessed dramatically, finally opening your eyes and turning your head to look at Renjun in the eye. Your eyes widened at the way Renjun’s eyes softened at the sight of your own pupils staring back at his in confusion. You straighten up your position, putting your hands behind you and leaning on them. 

“Then let me be your eyes,” Renjun replied in an almost hushed tone. “I won’t let you stray, I promise,” he gave you a sweet boyish smile, making your heart flutter in your chest at his words. “Aren’t you being a little flirtatious? That’s quite unexpected of you, Huang Renjun,” you said with a raise of your brows as the corner of your lips quirked up into a smile that mirrored his own. You turned your head, feeling your faces grow closer and closer with every second. 

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” he hummed, turning his body so his shoulder was leaning against the tree bark, a dreamy smile stretched across his lips as he leaned closer to you. You chuckled, shaking your head softly. “I don’t know, what do you think? Maybe it could be a good thing?” you shrugged, closing your eyes and leaning your face closer to his. Renjun followed your actions, feeling the gears in his mechanical heart work at a fast pace. He winced in pain as his body jolted and twitched in pain, the mechanical bird inside of the clock rapidly hitting the door of his clock.

He felt your breath hitting against his face, your lips merely an inch away from his as his body twitched in pain once again. Letting out a grunt of pain, he felt one of the gears of his clock pop out of his chest. Putting his hands on his chest, he grunted once again as his body twitched uncontrollably in pain. There was the sound of fabric being ripped before his vision darkened and he fell back against the concrete floor, falling unconscious within a few seconds.

“Renjun!” a voice yelled out in alarm, causing your eyes to jolt open in shock. 

“Oh god, not this. Please, anything but this,” an unfamiliar voice gasped in a panic. Your vision was blurry, you couldn’t see much happening in front of you. You quickly fished out your spectacles from your purse, putting them on immediately before your eyes widened in fear and shock, your body froze on the spot. You could almost feel your heart stop beating against your chest for a moment. 

Right in front of you was an unconscious Huang Renjun in the arms of an older lady on the floor. He was leaning against her lap, arms wrapped around him tightly in a motherly way. His eyes closed in content, it almost appeared as if he was just sleeping peacefully. There was steam coming out of his chest, you couldn’t see where it was coming from considering the old lady had blocked your view of him almost completely as she pleaded for him to wake up worriedly. 

The lady in question snapped her head at you, glaring daggers at you as if you had committed some sort of arson. “What have you done to him?” she asked, her tone filled with malice and hatred. As if you were the cause of Renjun’s current state. Your eyes widened at her sharp tone, fear and anxiety creeping up in your veins as you couldn’t find the courage to even open your mouth, let alone utter a single word. You shakily got up to your feet, grabbing the strap of your purse before running off away from the two.

-

Slap!

The loud sound of Madam Wendy’s palm making contact with Renjun’s cheek pierced the room, causing his head to turn sideways at the harsh impact, wincing slightly as he laid against the chair, which was commonly used for Wendy’s patients, shirtless. His body jolted at the sudden contact, his heart making a loud ‘cuckoo’ sound at the shock it caused. “What were you thinking? You could’ve died!” Madam Wendy scolded, her fists balled up in her sides as she walked over to her table tray filled with tools. 

Renjun couldn’t speak as he looked down in his palms, his mind blank and face void of emotion. He felt numb at that exact moment, he didn’t know if it was the aftermath of the sheering pain he just endured in front of you or it was because of the feeling of his heart being fixed by his own caretaker. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Huang Renjun. Whatever bloody happened to rule number 3? Did you forget?” Madam Wendy exclaimed in an alarming tone, her voice strict and angry. “No,” Renjun replied before breaking into a small fit of coughs, wincing as his chest burned with every breath he took. 

“Do you have a pain in your heart when you cough?” Madam Wendy asked, her tone filled with worry, eyes filled with disappointment as she searched for a pair of pliers. Renjun nodded slowly in response, gripping the armrests of the chair as he leaned his head back against the pillow set behind his head. “Well multiply that pain and your suffering to a hundred fold and you still won’t understand the pain love causes,” she snapped, using some pliers to pull a piece of fabric from the arrows of his heart, placing the fabric on the small tray beside him before walking off to grab some more tools. 

“And the greater the love, the greater the pain,” she sighed, opening the drawers from across the room. Renjun’s eyes flickered to the woman frantically trying to fix his heart before his eyes moved down to the white fabric on the tray. He reached his arm out to grab it, quickly snucking it in his pockets before looking back at the window. During your near-kiss under the tree, the arrows of his clock must’ve pulled against the fabric of your dress. Your dress wasn’t made out of the most durable fabric, the pull must’ve ripped the top sleeve of your dress when he passed out. 

“First, your sense of ache, followed by pangs of rage and jealousy then incomprehension,” she started to explain, sipping on her coffee as Wendy’s heart ached at the thought of her own child going through that much pain if this goes on.  “Rejection, the agony of heartbreak,” she turned to point her tweezers that was holding a gear in between it with a strict motherly expression. One that Renjun couldn’t bear looking into for too long.

“Your mechanical heart won’t be able to withstand it, you know this! I told you countless times, this is why I’m always so worried whenever I let you go into town,” she barked, walking back to the tools to drop the rusted gear along with the other broken metals she pulled out and replaced from his heart. “It will overheat and explode, I transplanted it with my own two hands, therefore I know it’s limits,” she went on, her tone falling deaf onto Renjun’s ears as his mind wandered back to your figure. 

“A single kiss. A brush against your lips could be your last! Just like that, bang!”

With eyes closed in thought, he wondered what happened after he fell unconscious, how did Madam Wendy find him in such a short amount of time? What happened to you? Did he scare you when he fell unconscious? He was worried you’ll  be afraid to talk to him now. Did Wendy say anything mean to you while he was out cold on the concrete floor?

Oh god, your presence isn’t even here and your existence is entering his heart and filling it with flames as if you were a little fairy wandering around looking for a new home to live in. A home which is his heart. He couldn’t help but let out a small smile at the vivid memory of sitting so close to you under the shade, how his skin burns at the feeling of touching yours, how your smile and laughter gave colour to his emotionless dark world. Oh how the thought of you made Renjun feel as if he was floating. It was as if you were carrying him up into the sky, he felt like flying by your side. 

“Do you know why I saved your life?” a voice snapped him out of his daydreaming.

His eyes opened, head turning to his caretaker who took a seat next to him, gripping her gloves in her hands. “You were the son I never had,” she confessed, giving him a small comforting smile. “Why couldn’t you have one?” Renjun asked rather hesitantly, his voice almost hushed as if he was whispering, despite the fact that it was only the two of them in the room. Madam Wendy shrugged, sighing heavily. 

“It was no one’s fault. It’s one of those tricks love and nature plays on us, you know that more than anyone,” she chuckled, gesturing to the cuckoo clock heart on his naked chest. “Though, the day your mother gave you to me felt like it was heaven sent. Oh god, I would lose my mind and my reason for living if I lost you,” she reached over and ran her fingers through her child’s hair, making Renjun feel some sort of guilt deep down in his chest. 

“I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry I fell in love and I don’t know how to get out.

-

Madam Wendy finally allowed Renjun out of their home a month after the incident. For the whole thirty days he was prisoned in his home, all that wandered in his mind was you. He wanted to see you, he longed to hear your sardonic humor, he longed to hear your angelic laughter flowing through his ears like music. He longed to ask forgiveness of what had happened between the two of you under the tree.

He wondered if you harbored the same feelings for him as he does for you. He doubted you’d still feel the same after the incident, however, a part of him had hope that you would wait for him all this time. He tried to prove himself wrong as he ran around town to all of your favorite spots. The library, the fountain, the art store, the tree. Anywhere his mind took him, his feet didn’t stop moving. His feet couldn’t stop moving. 

He wanted to see you again. No, he needed to see you again. He needed to apologize to you to release the guilt in his heart. He didn’t care if his heart would explode right then and there, he needed to see you and he wanted to finally embrace you in his arms. He needed to know if you reciprocate his feelings, he needed to know if you longed for him as much as he longed for you this whole entire time. He never got your answer, either. He asked to be your eyes, he wanted to be your guide. He wanted to tell you to rely on him if you can’t rely on your eyes, he wanted to hold your hand to keep you from straying to the wrong path. He wanted to feel his lips brush against yours, he wanted to feel love. He wanted to feel loved by you.

His heart fell even more when he realised he couldn’t find you anywhere. No one knew where you went, no one has seen you since the day he fell unconscious. It was as if you had disappeared off of the surface of the earth. The only thing he had of you was the fabric he accidentally tore off of your dress. He realised you left your barrel organ ride beside the tree. It was already collecting dust as leaves fell in between the spaces of the organ. 

You were gone. 

The owner of the library informed him that you had fled abroad. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach at the thought of you running away. You didn’t even say goodbye. You didn’t even have the audacity to tell him you were leaving? Surely you would have informed him that you were leaving. Yet again, you did tell him on the first day you met that you weren’t supposed to stay here for too long. But was it too much of him to ask you to at least say goodbye?

-

Two years later, it was Renjun’s 18th birthday. Two years since he lost you, two years since he went back to the hollow shell he formerly was before he fell in love. He spent months wallowing in his own sorrow, he spent months wondering if you missed him the same way he missed you. He no longer looked forward to walking out of his home to paint, all he saw was grey. The places he spent with you made his vision dark and grey, it was as if the joy inside of him were stripped from his vision. 

He didn’t know what to do. His heart grew numb, he didn’t know how to make himself happy again. It was as if he had lost a part of himself. He had lost something precious. Which he did, he lost you. He didn’t know what to do. Yet, on a rare occasion, he would take small walks into town. 

Madam Wendy noticed how Renjun’s whole existence grew dull ever since that day, his eyes were always dark as if he hasn’t slept for centuries, a frown permanently placed on his lips, his movements weak as if he didn’t have the energy to move. At this point he admitted that he was barely living, he was just a human body existing with a cuckoo clock as a heart. His days were no longer as bright as they used to.

To Renjun, the days felt like it was repeating itself. He wasn’t allowed to go to school, for Madam Wendy feared that he would be made fun of and bullied by his peers. Everyday, he would wake up and wind up his heart, take a long shower, eat his breakfast, paint or read his books, occasionally talking to the patients who attempted to make small talk with him (however that wouldn’t last very long considering he had no interest whatsoever in interacting with strangers he barely knew), eat dinner, go to bed. Repeat. 

It was an exhausting cycle. His mind was growing dull. Whenever his mental health became worse, he would take a walk into town to clear his mind to try and lift his own spirits (despite the fact that he knew it’s futile. After all, he’s been trying this for the past two years.) Today was unfortunately one of those days. 

Renjun had decided to take a small visit to the library. He remembered how he had to apologize to the librarian for lending you the Great Expectations book when he remembered that you’ve never returned the book back to him. He still felt guilty despite the fact that the librarian didn’t mind it very much. The librarian lady took a liking to both you and Renjun, she thought the two of you would’ve ended up together if it weren’t for the fact that you had moved away without a goodbye.

But fortunately for Renjun, today was a different day. Today would be the day to end his miserable lifestyle. 

“Renjun! Renjun, my dear boy! How are you, honey?” the librarian greeted, putting a stack of books on the counter as Renjun entered the library with a bashful smile on his face. “Same as always, Mrs. Dust,” he bowed to greet the older lady politely, snucking his hands in his pockets after tugging on his coat. “Honey, I have lovely news for you! You remember your old friend, Miss Y/n, don’t you?” the lady giggled, walking over to the young adult with an eager smile on her face. 

Oh how Renjun’s heart perked up at the brief mention of your name. 

“Of course I do, Mrs. What about her?” he coughed, clearing his throat to prevent his voice from shaking. “I’ve received a letter from her! Oh hold on, dearie,” she giggled, squatting down to open the small drawer near her desk and pulling out a small postcard which had a familiar handwriting written on the back. “It must be your birthday soon. Happy birthday, my dear boy. The least I can do is give you this,” she smiled, handing Renjun the postcard with a hum. 

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Dust,” he smiled, gripping the postcard tightly in between his fingers as he looked down on it. It was indeed from you. You didn’t write much on the card, nothing more than a simple ‘happy birthday’ and a small ‘I missed you’. You had written your name at the edge of the card and a small ‘R’ beside the happy birthday, indicating that it was truly for him. Fireworks erupted in his stomach when he saw small hearts doodled all over the card with a red pen. 

You remembered him. 

You missed him. 

You thought of him.

Those words were enough to revive the spark in his heart. Those were enough to spread a bright genuine smile across his lips. His cheeks hurt from how wide his smile was, he felt like jumping for joy. He was so ecstatic he thought he could fly to the sky, he felt his fingers itching as his eyes wandered to the address you have written at the bottom of the postcard, giving him a hint of where you might be living. 

Andalusia. 

You were half across Europe. You were so far away, yet so close. He wanted to see you. He needed to see you. He couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste, he needed to get a move on and he needed to find you. He thought sending you a postcard back wasn’t enough. He wanted to see the girl who managed to turn his heart without the key, he wanted to see the girl who produced a spark in his heart with only a few mere words.

He ran all the way back home, encountering Joy and Yeri on the way back and shooting them with an uncharacteristically bright smile stretched across his face. “Renjun, lad, what’s gotten you all jumpy?” Joy exclaimed, causing Renjun to stop in his tracks. “I got a letter from her!” he informed them, his voice high-pitched as if he just got told that he had personally won the sun, moon and stars all to himself. In his case, he actually did. He actually did.

“A letter?” Yeri squeaked up, a smile stretching across her face at the sight of the younger boy’s. “From who?” Joy asked, giggles bubbling up in between the two ladies as they watch Renjun suppress the urge to jump for joy. “Y/n! She remembers me! She sent me a postcard from Andalusia,” he exclaimed, waving the postcard in their faces. Joy’s eyes wandered down to Renjun’s chest, watching as the hands of his clock spun rapidly, indicating how excited the young adult was feeling. 

“Y/n? Was this the young girl you went on about a few years ago?” Yeri asked, receiving an enthusiastic nod from Renjun himself. “Renjun, that’s great news! What are you planning to do then? Write her another letter?” she asked once again, clasping her hands in front of her at the delightful news. The boy shook his head eagerly, his smile never faltering. 

“I’m going to find her, I’m going to find her and confess my love,” he breathed out, his own words taking his breath away. The thought of seeing you again was enough to send him flying into the heavens, oh for all things that’s holy, he didn’t know how he was going to proclaim his love for you in person when he could barely explain it in words himself.

“To Andalusia? Renjun, that’s halfway across Europe! Madam Wendy won’t be very happy about this,” Joy informed him, a sympathetic smile replacing her previously bright one. Renjun’s smile faltered at the mention of his caretaker, looking down at the postcard you had sent him, your messy handwriting beckoning him to come to you. He sucked his bottom lip, his heart racing at the thought of rebelling against Madam Wendy’s orders.

Yet again, if he did end up dying from this, all of Madam Wendy’s efforts throughout the past two decades would be in vain. She was practically his guardian after all, but yet again, he was a legal adult now isn’t he? He’s 18 years old, he didn’t have to live under her rules anymore if he didn’t want to. But he couldn’t help but feel guilty for wanting to flee Edinburgh just to see you again, something inside of him was screaming at him to run.

Maybe this time, he would listen to it.

“Joy, Yeri, will you help me escape Edinburgh?”

-

“Renjun? What are you doing up so late?” 

Renjun froze, halting his movements as he dropped another sweater into his suitcase. He shut his eyes tightly as his heart raced against his chest, taking a deep breath to compose himself before standing up to face his caretaker as he zipped up his suitcase tight. “Wendy,” he cleared his throat, gripping tightly on the saddle of his suitcase with a small cough, slipping the key to his heart in his front pockets. “Renjun, why do you have a suitcase packed? It’s past curfew,” she narrowed her eyes at the boy.

“Wendy, I am now a legal adult. I have turned 18 years old,” Renjun started, suppressing the urge to gulp down his nerves but he kept his ground. “Yes, I know that, Renjun. That still doesn't answer my question as to why you’re up this late with a packed suitcase,” she nodded, tone laced with confusion as Renjun took a step back towards the opened window, looking out at the moonlight. “Y/n sent me a postcard… from Andalusia,” his voice grew quieter as the seconds went by.

“I’m planning to travel half across Europe to see her again.”

“No, I forbade it.” Wendy shook her head, taking a step forward towards her adopted child, her hands balled up into fists at how Renjun’s determined expression didn’t falter at the slightest bit at her strict tone. “I expected you to say that,” Renjun sighed, walking over to the open window and looking up at the moon shining down upon the dark sky. 

“Nature was cruel to pray this silly little trick on me. I spent two decades wondering ‘what is love’? I knew I didn’t need to love in life, you showed me that throughout my whole 18 years of living here. I didn’t need love to live,” Renjun started, clasping his hands together as he held the saddle of his suitcase harder.

“But I realise, I’ve always wanted to feel love. To feel love, to give love and be loved back. Y/n made me realise that when I started falling for her two years ago, and if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have come to this realisation either,” he chuckled in disbelief, looking around at the decorations of his room, realising how much he’s going to miss living here. “I want to go out and explore the world, I know you have been dreading at the possibility of this day coming, but it has, Wendy.”

“Renjun, no. If you leave, this might as well be the last breath you’ll take! You have never travelled outside of town before, how are you going to survive travelling all across Europe for some measly girl? I won’t allow it, I can’t allow it,” Wendy shook her head, her eyes wide with panic as she watched Renjun walk backwards to the open window behind him. “I know you won’t allow it. But it’s time to let me go,” Renjun smiled sadly.

“Thank you for the 18 years you have spent trying to keep me alive. But the past two years felt meaningless to me without her presence, it felt aimless. I was honestly thinking about taking my own life at some point,” he chuckled with a shake of his head. “But now, I realise I rather risk my life for love than spend the rest of my days here with an empty, cold feeling in my heart,” he shot his guardian a genuine smile, the first genuine smile she has ever witnessed from the young boy. 

“Goodbye Wendy.”

“Huang Renjun!” 

Renjun fell back from the open window, causing Madam Wendy to let out a cry of his name, quickly running over to the window to see if her child was okay. She gasped when she saw that Renjun had landed on a mattress Joy and Yeri had set before hand, a loud joyous laughter eliciting from the younger boy’s lips, a sound Wendy has never heard from the boy from his eighteen years of living. He got up from the mattress, grabbing his suitcase quickly before shooting a boyish smile to his aunts. 

“I’ll send you a postcard, Madam Wendy!” he exclaimed as he began running down the hill. 

“Renjun, no! Come back! Oh god, please no! Yeri, Joy, what are you doing?! Stop the young lad before he-”

“You can’t blame me for falling hard in love, mother!”

-

“Now my dear boy, what a lovely contraption of a heart you got there!” a man exclaimed, adjusting his monocle as he squinted his eyes at Renjun’s mechanical heart. “Oh, why, thank you,” he smiled politely, bowing at the older man as he gripped his canvas in hand. “Where are you off to? You seem quite young to be travelling all by yourself,” the man asked in an attempt to make small talk.

That night, Renjun had run off to catch the nearest train to Paris, he planned to take a trip from there to Andalusia. It was a 7 hour ride but he was willing to do anything at this point to get out of Edinburgh. When he finally arrived in Paris, he stumbled upon this man while waiting for his next train. “Oh pardon me, where are my manners! I’m Kim Doyoung,” he outstretched his hand for Renjun to shake with a toothy smile spread on his lips. 

“Huang Renjun,” he introduced with a sheepish smile. “Ah, So, Renjun, where are you going, my dear boy? You seem a little bit too young to travel,” Doyoung took off his monocle, wiping it against his tie before putting it back on. “I-I’m trying to get a replacement for my heart,” Renjun said, poking his little clock with the tip of his finger, grimacing at the small ticking sound it was making at the small touch. 

It wasn’t a complete lie. 

He had planned to get a replacement for his heart for so long, he figured that maybe if he changed into a new one, this wretched curse of forbidden love might be lifted. Maybe he didn’t have to part ways with Madam Wendy or Joy or Yeri. Maybe if he replaced his clock, he could live his life happily in love with you. Though, for now, it was just a small hope he held inside of him. All he could do now was find a clockmaker.

“I’m trying to find a clockmaker somewhere to replace my heart,” he spoke in a bold tone, looking down at his unfinished piece. He made it during his seven hour train ride while thinking of you just to pass the time, though, he was honestly considering giving it to you the moment you get to reunite with each other. “Do you happen to know one?” he asked, his eyes going wide with hopefulness.

Doyoung hummed in response, tugging on the tip of his tie. “Unfortunately, I’m not a clockmaker. But I do like tinkering in the mechanics direction! Maybe I could take a closer look at your heart to see if there’s anything I can do,” Doyoung suggested, pulling out a magnifying glass with a nod of his head. Renjun sucked his bottom lip nervously before taking out the key from his front pocket, plunging it into the mechanical heart and turning it to open the door of his heart. “Alright then.” “Oh! You say that this was grafted by the famous Madam Wendy from Edinburgh? She must be quite the genius to craft and piece this all for you with her bare hands to save your life,” he exclaimed, leaning closer to observe the small gears slowly turning with every small tick tocks his heart makes. “Though, I don’t know why you’d want to replace such a thing. Everything works just fine, clearly, she made this out of love. I could see it within every crevice of art she puts into this clock,” the older man clicked his heart, putting his magnifying glass back into his bag as Renjun closed his heart shut and pulled his key out of the clock.

“Love, huh? That’s the exact problem I have at the moment,” Renjun sighed heavily, tucking his key back into his front pocket before leaning back against his seat. “It’s very dangerous to me. At least that’s what Wendy said to me for the past eighteen years of my life,” he looked down at his shoes sadly, pressing his lips together in a tight line as he felt the guilt catching up to him at the thought of his caretaker’s efforts going in vain. 

“Tell me about it,” Doyoung grinned, putting his hand on his chin as a smug expression spread across his features. 

“You see, mister Kim-”

“Oh no! Call me Doyoung!” 

“Uhm- You see, mister Doyoung. There’s this singer I met in Edinburgh a long time ago and-” “Ah yes, I see. These things do happen quite often.” Renjun bit back his tongue when Doyoung interrupted him once again, but nonetheless he continued on with his story. “As time went on, we grew closer. And soon, I couldn’t help but feel as if my whole world was going through a life threatening earthquake. My head was spinning, I couldn’t breathe. The ticking tock of my clock sounded almost alarming as if it was going to stop at any given moment whenever I’m within her lovely presence,” he explained, making grand, dramatic gestures with his hands as he went on.

Doyoung chuckled, assuming that Renjun’s poetic explanations were purely symbolic. “And how did that feel, exactly, Renjun?” he asked, causing Renjun’s expression to soften. “Extraordinary,” he sighed, almost dreamily as he looked down at the postcard he was holding in his free hand that wasn’t holding his canvas. “There you go, my dear boy,” he chuckled in response, leaning back against the seat next to Renjun’s.

“I don’t know, Mister Doyoung. I fear Wendy might be right, though, what if love was just a trap and my ticking clock is just a bomb waiting to be triggered by it?” Renjun asked, scratching the back of his neck nervously as he kissed his teeth. “Renjun, if you fear of getting hurt, you will increase the chances of getting hurt,” Doyoung laid a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder comfortingly. “You should enjoy the thrill, the danger! That pumps through your veins at the thought of falling completely in love,” he exclaimed. 

“If you live your life worrying everything, you’ll get bored before you even die! Don’t you want to experience a life changing experience with this little lady you’ve been saughting after?” he asked, her tone encouraging Renjun’s spirit to get back up again. A smile stretched across Renjun’s face at the thought, he had flashbacks to the two years he spent without you. He couldn’t afford going back to the same depressing situation he got himself out of, and he’s definitely not willing to go back now that he’s almost there.

“If I can find her again. The last time I heard from her, she was in Andalusia,” he shrugged with a small laugh.

“I’d say,” Doyoung laughed. “When you’re eighteen and you’re travelling half across the continent for a girl, I’d say the rebellious genes in your DNA are highly developed,” he joked, retracting his hand from Renjun’s shoulders. “I bet I could make a whole film based on your cuckoo clock heart,” Doyoung whipped out an empty journal from his bag, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at his newfound friend. “Why not?” Renjun chuckled with a small shrug. 

“Young love, what a beautiful thing to see. You see, I never had any fond memories when it comes to being in love. All I do is invent and invent contraptions, and my former lover never appreciated my expertise. Life is far from easy when you’re in love, my young friend,” Doyoung sighed, leaning his arm against the seat with a heavy sigh. “Why don’t you come with me to Andalusia then, Mister Doyoung? I’m sure anything’s possible there and I wouldn’t mind having a bit of a company on my way there,” Renjun offered, the thought of making a new friend giving some light into his dark path.

“You want an unprofessional mechanic with constant near mental breakdowns following you in your journey to find love?” Doyoung’s eyes went wide in shock, a smile that mirrored Renjun’s appearing on his face. “I would love to have an unprofessional mechanic with constant near mental breakdowns in my quest!” Renjun laughed, nodding eagerly as he sat up straight to shake Doyoung’s hand to make a deal.

Renjun had  made another friend.

-

When they finally arrived in Andalusia, they stumbled upon a small amusement park where you were rumored to be staying in at the moment. “Well, first impressions?” Doyoung asked, looking around the ominous park filled with performers and eccentric workers setting up their tents. “It’s.. quite different than Edinburgh, I must admit,” Renjun chuckled, pulling on his suitcase eagerly as he scanned his eyes around in hopes that he might see your figure at the corner of his eye.

The park, unlike his old town, was way more colourful than Edinburgh. There were animals in colourful cages, happily interacting with their inmates. There were jesters and mimes practicing for their acts in the middle of the streets, happily entertaining a few visitors. There were food stands everywhere, Renjun swore you could exit this park penniless under five minutes if you really wanted to. 

“Come one, come all! For tonight we have special acts starting from 5 pm to-” 

He walked past whom he assumed was the announcer of the park, who was enthusiastically using a tricycle to spread his message all over the place. And upon walking around he stumbled upon what seems to be a horror attraction in the shape of a train, the owner standing inside of a coffin as she smoked her cigarette, eyeing Renjun suspiciously. “Looking for something, you little runt? A job, perhaps? Cause, I’m looking for a new employee to hire,” she asked, taking a puff of her cigarette in between her sentences. 

Renjun took his words back about Madam Wendy resembling Ms Havisham. Because at that given moment, he felt like Pip when he was first introduced to Ms Havisham in the book, clueless as to what he wanted with her. Renjun shook his head, no, mustering up the courage to give the older woman a polite smile. “I’m looking for a little singer?” he answered with an innocent smile. 

“A little singer? Here? The chances of that is equivalent to finding a snowflake in hell,” she rolled her eyes, taking another puff from her cigarette and blowing smoke into Renjun’s face. He coughed, taking a step back in alarm but he bit his tongue to snap back at the woman’s rude actions. “Listen, I’m just trying to find a little singer who sings like a lovely bird in the break of daw-” 

“Enough jabbering about her! Do you want the job or not?” she sighed exasperatedly. 

As Renjun was about to give the woman a piece of his mind for being so rude, the announcer cycling around him caught his attention with his words. “Ladies and Gentlemen, up next in our line of performers will be the young singing sensation, Miss Y/n! A lady who has travelled far and wide with her infamous street singing career,” the announcer said with a booming voice as he cycled to another part of the park.

“Miss Y/n?” he whispered with a soft gasp. “Well? Do you want the job or not?” the woman asked with a raised brow. He frowned involuntarily at the woman’s abrupt tone, clicking his tongue before running back to wherever Doyoung was. “I’ll think about it!” he exclaimed loudly before sprinting off, calling out his colleague’s name with a bright smile on his face. 

“I found her!”

-

“It is her!” he gasped, watching as you slowly come out of your little private trailer, music piercing his ears and your voice making its way into his heart like a knife throwing attraction. It hit right at the target perfectly. “It’s her, I can’t believe it,” Renjun could feel his breath being taken away. You had grown to be a beautiful woman, your features changed slightly due to the years but nonetheless, it didn’t do anything to stop Renjun’s heart from swelling up with adoration like a balloon being filled with helium. 

“Go into her trailer, no one’s going to notice you. Talk to her after her performance,” Doyoung encouraged with a slightly hushed tone. “Excuse me?” Renjun’s eyes shot wide at the unexpected encouragement, his eyes wandering to the trailer you came out of. “I can’t do that! That’s a lady’s privacy!” he exclaimed, shaking his head aggressively. “Trust me, it’ll go smoothly! Just believe in yourself and try not to let the conversation die,” Doyoung hissed, nudging on the younger boy’s shoulder.

Renjun got up slowly, gulping down his fear as he quickly got into your trailer, eyes wide at his own stupidity. ‘God, why did I decide to do this? This is very uncouth of me to do so,’ he thought to himself, wincing slightly when he realised that the music had died down. A bouquet of daisies were in his hand, he didn’t know what to do at that moment as he observed your trailer. It wasn’t very far from you. It was decorated according to your liking.

Your favorite colour was splashed all over the walls, a mannequin standing idly beside the entrance, your dressing table with a gigantic mirror showing his nervous presence. He froze for a brief moment at the sound of your enchanting humming and your little footsteps coming closer to the trailer, making him stand behind the mannequin on pure instinct as you walked into the trailer with a skip in your step.

You were humming the same song you sang on the day you first met. Muttering the lyrics under your breath as you removed bits of dust from your clothing from the performance. Looking up at the mirror, you gasped at Renjun’s awkward figure standing behind your mannequin. You stood up abruptly, grabbing a perfume on your desk and raised it up threateningly at him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” you exclaimed in alarm. You couldn’t see his face very clearly considering you weren’t wearing your glasses.

“I’m sorry! I was tying my shoelaces when I fell into your floor,” Renjun shook his head, waving his hands around nervously to give off the message that he wasn’t some weird creep or stalker snooping around your belongings. “Do you always fall into a girl’s quarters when she’s changing?” you snapped, lowering your perfume hesitantly as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the boy. “NO! No! I would never, I swear! I don’t even know why I’m-”

“You look suspiciously familiar as if I recognise you from somewhere,” you mumbled under your breath, squinting your eyes at him. “You recognise me?” Renjun perked up, a smile stretching across his face as he took a step away from the mannequin towards you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes before turning to the mirror to adjust your appearance. “What do you want anyway?” you sighed, as if you were used to this sort of encounter.

“I’d like to give you a bouquet of daisies,” Renjun bit his lip, pulling the bouquet behind him and leaning it towards your direction. “Daisies? I can’t say they’re my favorite flowers,” you chuckled, looking up at him with a more relaxed expression. “I have no idea why, but peculiarly, daisies always reminds me of my glasses,” you confessed, putting the bouquet on your desk and standing up towards the exit. “I stopped wearing them a long, long time ago. They make me look like some weird bug,” you joked, looking back at Renjun, who chuckled at your words.

‘You really haven’t changed, huh?’

“It’s fine by me,” Renjun chuckled, walking closer towards you in comforting silence. The way your eyes made contact with his softly made his stomach do somersaults, the gears of his heart felt like it was powered by a burst of energy. “Could we see each other again?” he asked hesitantly, “I’d like to get to know you even more,” he added, snucking his hands in his pockets. “Perhaps,” you shrugged, giving him a smile that mirrored his own. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?”

“Oh, no! I’m not, I’m the-I work at the ghost train,” Renjun lied through his teeth, letting out a nervous laugh. “Oh, you’re the new scarer? That’s wonderful news to hear,” you exclaimed, clapping your hands to congratulate him on his new job. “Yes, of course! Exactly, I’m the new scarer,” he nodded, a little bit too eagerly if you asked him. “Can I come see you in action?” you laughed lightly, observing how fidgety the boy in front of you is as he stepped out of your trailer.

“Of course!”

“Tomorrow? Around four?” 

“I’ll see you then.”

-

As the weeks went by, the love between you and Renjun blossomed like a rose. You bonded over your love for art and music in general, rekindling the friendship you used to have. But unfortunately for Renjun, you didn’t recognise him, not a single bit. It was against his beliefs to hit a woman, for that was very impolite of a man, but whenever you mumble how you couldn’t put your finger on how you recognize him from somewhere then proceeds to drop the conversation, he couldn’t lie. He wanted to smack you upside the head for your oblivious self. 

‘Oblivious, rather ludicrous and as blind as a bat. Why did I fancy her, again?’ he would always ponder to himself on a daily basis before watching you run around to try the newest food from each of the food stalls with a bright smile on your face. ‘Oh, right, that’s why,’ he sighed heavily before going over to you with his hands clasped behind his back, mentally preparing himself to fall head over heels for you over and over again.

Today, he was giving you a tour of the ghost train. (yes, he took up the offer with a roll of his eyes just so he can stay here and spent more time with you) “You’re doing a wonderful job here, by the way. It looked like people are having a lot of fun riding the ghost train with your assistance,” you complimented, giving Renjun a soft smile as you walk along the dark train tracks.

“Why thank you, my boss can’t say the same, however,” he grumbled under his breath, rolling his eyes at the thought of his boss being ashamed of him for ruining her quote unquote reputation. “Don’t mind her, she’s always been like that,” you waved it off with a small giggle, patting his shoulder. “Hmm,” he nodded, a pregnant pause settling between you two as you basked in each other’s company. “How did you like the glasses I gave you?” 

Everyday, Renjun would find the most ominous and peculiar looking glasses that were all twisted and broken to give to you, which always brought a smile upon your face knowing full well that you couldn’t wear them no matter how much you tried. “Awful, as usual,” you joked, clasping your hands behind your back as you skipped along the tracks, your shoes hitting the dark coal with a soft ‘tip tap’. “Wonderful,” he laughed lightly, shaking his head profusely at you.

“I still can’t shake over the feeling that I’ve been in this situation before, or maybe I dreamed of this moment before,” you blurted out, looking around the damp cave-like tunnel you were walking through. Renjun bit his lip sadly, suppressing the urge to tell you that he was the boy you met back in Edinburgh. Yet again, what if you left for a reason? What if you left because you didn’t want to see him again? He feared the worse as time went on. 

“I’m sure we’ve met before but I don’t know where,” you turned to him with a smile tugging at your lips. “Really,” Renjun looked down at his feet, kicking the coal as you both paused in your step and turned your bodies to look at each other in the eyes. You somehow found comfort in looking into Renjun’s eyes, but you couldn’t pinpoint why they constantly gave you a sense of deja vu whenever you stare into them for too long. “What’s that odd pitter patter?” you mumbled, hearing a familiar tapping sound in the tunnel.

He bit back a smile, “it’s the rain.” 

He knew those words all too well. “Do you like the rain?” he asked, putting his hand behind his back as he adjusted the top hat on his head. “Getting wet? No,” you shook your head, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “But the sound it makes? Yes,” you nodded enthusiastically, making Renjun laugh at your slight eagerness. “And I’ve heard that noise before somewhere,” you whispered, loud enough for Renjun to hear. 

“That’s because it’s my heart,” he couldn’t help but blurted out, putting a hand on his little coat. “Pardon?” you furrowed your brows in confusion, watching him tug on his coat to reveal a miniscule cuckoo clock on his chest. “My heart, they made it for me on the day I was born. It’s a bit cold and a little fragile, but it works,” he sighed, watching as you observe the small contraption on his heart with a curious expression, pulling out the key from his pockets.

“You can open me up with this little key,” he grabbed your hand and placed the key in between your fingers, letting you push the key into his heart and turning it to the left before opening the door of his clock. “Fascinating, do you always let other girls walk into the train tracks with you and let them open your heart?” you chuckled, raising your brow at the boy in front of you, whose eyes widened in surprise as you pulled your hand away from his heart. 

“No, not really. In fact, you’re the first one,” Renjun shook his head with a sweet smile, closing the door shut and pulling out the key before placing it back into his pocket. “Oh, thanks,” your eyes widened slightly at his blunt expression, putting a hand on your arm shyly. “You’re welcome,” he chuckled, patting the key in his pocket. Renjun’s eyes wandered from your eyes to your soft lips, his heart racing against his chest at the thought of finally picking up where you had left off all those years. He didn’t even realise that he was leaning his head towards yours. 

“Wait- no,” you pressed a hand against his chest, pushing him away as you turned your head to the side with guilt glossing over your eyes. “Don’t,” you shook your head as you took a step back. “I really like you. There’s a warm fuzzy feeling growing in my tummy that’s making me pull towards you like a magnet, but,” you paused, looking down at your hands nervously as they lay limp on your sides. “My heart belongs to someone else,” you gave him a sympathetic smile. 

“Someone I met a long, long time ago. You always reminded me of him. “I’m still waiting until the day we reunite once again, embarking on a romantic adventure with you would just be unfair,” you sighed heavily, rubbing your arms nervously as you slowly let Renjun down. A great pang of pain pierced through Renjun’s whole body at your words, he could almost feel his heart tear itself apart as he watched you walk away and out of the ghost tunnel. 

Away from him.

-

“Renjun! You’re back! So? How did it go?” Doyoung exclaimed, fixing his latest invention with a cough, dropping his tweezers in his bag as he wiped his hands on a nearby cloth. Doyoung had rented an empty building so that he could introduce his new inventions to the public and entertain them with them. “She loves someone else,” Renjun mumbled under his breath, tossing his top hat onto one of the seats they set up as he sat down on the steps of the small indoor stage Doyoung had built over the past few weeks.

“I travelled halfway across Europe for her for absolutely nothing,” Renjun laid his head on his palms, sighing heavily as he tried to keep himself from screaming in pain. His heart was hurting. It was way different than the pain he felt two years ago, it was a whole new level of emotional pain he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. “Did you at least confess your love for her?” Doyoung asked, taking a seat next to the boy as Renjun gripped his hair tightly in distress. 

“Why bother? Her heart’s filled to the brim, there’s no way I could empty it out like a sink,” Renjun pulled his head out of his hands, his elbows laying on his legs as he threw the golden key to his heart against the carpet floor out of frustration. “You can’t just let your efforts go to waste, Renjun. Did she at least recognise you?” Doyoung asked, leaning over to grab the key and place it back into his younger friend’s palm with a heavy sigh.

He shook his head, turning it to look at the older man who adjusted his monocle. “No, I’d prefer her not to remember who I am than to remember me and not love me in return,” Renjun leaned his cheek against his palm, eyes looking down sadly at his feet. “You can’t just give up like that, Renjun. Love is like a shooting star you’re supposed to seek after, a wish you must grant yourself with the fifty percent chance of getting the outcome you desire,” Doyoung encouraged, leaning back against his palms behind him. 

Renjun chuckled softly, a sad smile appearing on his lips. “I never felt so sad yet so happy at the same time,” he shook his head, pressing his knuckles to his temples hard. “Ah yes, two of the most powerful and impactful emotions of the human soul combined into one,” Doyoung mused, raising a brow at his lovesick friend. “If only she believed me about my heart, her expression tells me that she thinks it’s some kind of sick joke,” he scoffed, kicking the air with one foot as he let out a huff of exhaustion.

“Well, did she say who has captured her heart?” Doyoung asked, raising his brow, causing Renjun’s eyes to shoot up wide. 

The impact of Kim Doyoung’s words have never failed to get Renjun’s adrenaline rushing again through his veins as he walked into your trailer with a small push against your door. “Do I know him?” Renjun asked abruptly, wanting to get straight to the point as he was very eager to know who has captured your heart. “Could you stop barging into my trailer all the time?” you retorted, turning towards him as you put down your makeup brush on your desk. “The boy you’re in love with, do I know him?” Renjun repeated, the gears of his heart racing against his chest.

He doesn’t even know if he wants the answer to that question. “No,” you replied bluntly, adjusting the laces on your dress. “So you’re not in love with him anymore?” Renjun asked, raising his brow as he crossed his arms against his chest and leaned against the door. “No, that’s not what I meant!” you huffed, feeling yourself getting frustrated the more he edged you on. “Look, it was a very, very long time ago when I first met him,” you rolled your eyes.

“It was back when my parents still made me move from city to city. Oh god, that city was practically made for him. The aura of the city radiated the same aura he had back when I first met him, cold and depressing. Nonetheless the more I got to know him, the more I realised that inside he was just a warm human being that needed someone to light up his perspective,” you sighed, clasping your hands together right in front of you. There was a loud ‘cuckoo!’ that pierced both of your ears, and suddenly, a small gear shot from Renjun’s heart and hit the wooden closet right beside you. 

“Would you stop playing with your clock? You could injure someone, it won’t hurt to take it off occasionally, will it?” you exclaimed with a gasp, looking up at him with bold eyes as you put your hands on your hips. “I can’t help it, it’s not some bloody toy! It’s my heart,” he snapped back, his hands balled up into fists as he felt his blood boiling in his veins at the sound of you talking so highly of someone else that wasn’t him. The way you talked about whoever this boy is was the same way he talked about you to everyone else. 

He took a deep breath to calm himself down when he saw your taken aback reaction, “I’m sorry.” You let out a deep sigh as you stood up from your desk, putting a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort the poor fellow. “Look, I would really appreciate it if we could become friends. How about we go down to the theater tomorrow? I heard Mister Doyoung made a new contraption to add to the cinematic universe,” you suggested, giving him a kind smile as you took his hand in yours to try and cheer him up a bit. 

“I’d really like to go together.” No matter how much his heart was telling him to rest for the rest of his life, no matter how much in pain he’s currently in, but the moment he looked into your eyes, he knew he couldn’t say no. 

-

“Would you care to share more information about your romeo?” Renjun asked, holding his wrist behind him as you two walked outside of the amusement park together after the show. “Oh, don’t call him that. I absolutely despise that specific work of Shakespeare’s,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you hopped over a pebble, grunting as you caught your balance. Renjun chuckled, “why so?” he asked, raising his brow at you. 

“The typical damsel in distress trope never failed to make my blood boil like a pot of water on high heat,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “I prefer to call him my Pip,” you giggled, climbing up a small hill before sitting on top of the grass and laying your head down with a content sigh. “Pip? Why Pip to be exact?” Renjun asked, raising his brow as he took a seat next to your lying figure, leaning back against his palms. “A couple years ago, right before I left. We had this small debate on happy endings and shakespearean works,” you started, gazing up at the starry night sky. 

“I would constantly babble on and on about how women shouldn’t be the damsel in distress, then one day he whipped out this book out of nowhere like some sort of magician! It was called the Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, I finally finished when I left the city so I never got around to returning the book he let me borrowed,” you sighed, placing your hands on your tummy as you giggled at the thought of your first love possibly getting mad at you for leaving without a goodbye with the addition of not returning his book back. 

Renjun’s heart raced at your small story, his body froze as his ears grew a slight tint of pink (which wasn’t very visible, thanks to the dim lighting of the moon shining down upon the two of you) when he realised that you were talking about him. You were talking about him all along. “I realised why he let me borrow the book though, I asked for an unhappy ending without the female protagonist being the damsel in distress. It was a beautiful story, really,” you sighed, closing your eyes as you thought back to the times you shared back in Edinburgh.

“He would always listen to my rambles as he painted some random landscape in town, showing me his talents as well as listening to my words as I ranted about the foolish decisions of the characters. He reminds me of Pip a little bit. A bit childish, a bit foolish, a little bit misunderstood,” you went on, before pausing briefly, eyes opening to look up at your new friend. “Should I stop? I don’t want to bore you with my story, I tend to ramble a lot unintentionally,” you asked, receiving an aggressive shake of Renjun’s head. 

“No! No! Keep going, I’m getting very interested in your story, do continue,” he laughed lightly, looking down at his clock, biting back his lip to keep himself from jumping for joy. “The last day I saw him- oh god, I remember it every night before I go to bed. I never had my glasses on around him, so my memory of his physical appearance is rather blurry. But I remembered it like it was yesterday. Sure, I might not recognize him today with my own eyes but I remembered we almost shared a kiss,” a wide smile stretched across your face as a warm feeling bubbled up inside of you at the vivid memory. 

“Yeah?” Renjun couldn’t help but let a wide smile spread across his own lips at the thought, turning his head to the side to suppress the urge to tackle you in a strong embrace. You remembered. “He offered to be my eyes, he offered to keep me from straying down the wrong path. I never got a chance to say yes,” you giggled, rubbing your palms against your eyes as you felt a giddy feeling inside both of your chests. “Guess he was too eager to kiss you before you could say yes?” Renjun joked, grimacing at his own childishness. 

You chuckled, shrugging simply. “I guess so, I didn’t mind though. It felt exhilarating. I didn’t know how it happened but he also tore a little bit of my dress as well,” you shook your head, looking back up at the stars scattered across the sky. Oh how Renjun was using all the strength vested inside of him to keep his heart from going ‘cuckoo!’ right in front of you right now. “He might not remember me, I sent him a postcard a couple weeks ago. I never received one back. But someday, when we reunite, I’d like to thank him for the lovely book and for teaching me what love feels like.”

“Everytime I’m near his company I would always feel so safe. So happy, so loved. Genuinely happy and genuinely loved,” you sighed, closing your eyes once again as you took in the fresh air. “I’m sure he felt the same,” Renjun felt his cheeks hurting from how wide he was smiling. “Hey, can we see each other again?” he spoke after a moment of comforting silence. “Alright, when?” you opened your eyes, squinting your eyes suspiciously at him. “Noon? At the theater, I have something to tell you,” he grinned. 

“Alright then, is something wrong? Why the funny face?” you chuckled, sitting up from your laying position, cocking your head to the side as you raised your eyebrow at him. “Nothing, I’m just really excited to show you this,” he shook his head, he couldn’t hide his big smile from you any longer. 

Just like how he couldn’t hide his longing and love for you that he has been harboring for the past two years. 

“She’s in love with me,” he said to Doyoung, who gave him a proud grin in return. “Congratulations, my dear boy! You tamed the spark in your heart,” he gave Renjun a pat on the back, who smiled sadly in response. “But there’s a problem. She’s in love with the other me, the one back in Edinburgh,” he sighed, sitting down on one of the seats in the theater. “I don’t see why this is a problem. The ‘you’ back in Edinburgh is still the same ‘you’ now!” Doyoung furrowed his brows in confusion. 

“I assume so, but what am I supposed to say to her?” Renjun ran a hand through his hair in frustration. 

“Tell her how you feel! ‘It’s me! Renjun! The boy you loved oh-so-dearly for all these years! Your first love from Edinburgh, I have travelled far and wide all over Europe to find you, my love. So now let me take your hand and let’s venture and sail for the skies! In each other’s loving embrace!’” Doyoung boomed, throwing his hand in the air to make grand gestures as he spoke, standing up in the midst of his words. 

“Quite poetic, but I tried. The words are jammed at the back of my throat and I can’t let them out,” Renjun huffed, internally cursing at himself for holding himself back because of a small guilt lingering in his chest. “You’re still afraid of what might become of your heart once you fall completely, aren’t you?” Doyoung sympathized, putting a hand on his hip as he frowned upon his young friend’s unfortunate condition. “A part of me is still guilty for putting all of Madam Wendy’s efforts in vain,” Renjun laughed bitterly. 

“I thought you wanted to love and to be loved back, you mustn’t be afraid!” Doyoung encouraged, using the same tone he used previously to influence all of Renjun’s previous actions with a wide toothy smile. “You’re eighteen, you deserve the love you’ve been longing for, Renjun.” 

Renjun bit back a smile, shaking his head out of his insecurities as he stood up to his feet. “You’re right, I should’ve just told her who I was at the start. You have to help me come up with something.”

-

“Renjun? Are you here?” You called out, entering the theater bashfully. “Right here, Ms!” Naeun, Doyoung’s new friend, coaxed, waving her hand to tell you to sit on the front row, right in front of the stage. A familiar merry tune played in the background as the curtains were pulled back to reveal two puppets of what appeared to be you and a familiar little boy from Edinburgh. Doyoung came into view, clearing his throat as Naeun strummed the chords of the song you sang on the day you met your first love with a ukulele in her hand. 

“It was a lovely day in Edinburgh,” Doyoung began, looking towards the puppets. “Little miss y/n who was sixteen years old was dancing around in her dainty shoes, getting her feet all in a tangle before tumbling down to the floor due to her own clumsiness,” Renjun added with a small nervous laugh, moving his own little puppet around and towards the mini puppet version of yourself. “On the day they first met, she would ask ‘what’s that odd pitter patter?’ ‘What’s making that noise?’” Naeun hummed melodiously, causing your eyes to widen with every single word that comes out of their mouths. 

“It’s just the rain, do you like the rain?” Renjun asked, shooting you a short glance as if to say ‘sounds familiar?’

You furrowed your brows, lips pressed into a thin line as you silently watched the performance in front of you, taking every single last bit of information they were sharing into your head as took in the meaning of their words. “Miss Y/n adored the sound of the rain, but however, all this time she didn’t realise that the sound she came to adore came from the tick tock of Renjun’s mechanical heart,” Doyoung recited, looking down on his little card before sharing a knowing look with Renjun and Naeun upon seeing the flabbergasted expression etched on your face.

“Oh, how if he had told her where that pitter patter had come from, would she recognize him the instant they reunite? Would Renjun have to suffer the pain of travelling half across Europe to see her only to not be recognized for the little lady could not rely on her own eyes?” he added on, adding a bit of suspense as the settings on the puppet show changed slightly to the two of you sitting on top of a crescent moon side by side, sending you flashbacks to the last day you saw your first love. 

“Perhaps, if he had told her, would she have believed him and sampled the magical intimacy of blending dream and reality?” 

Soon, your eyes got glossy with tears. Your heart racing rapidly against your chest as you sat there in complete silence, the new information overwhelming your sentences as you watched the two puppets kissed on the crescent moon, the exact same way you were supposed to kiss two years ago. You sniffled, putting a hand up against one of your eyes to keep your tears from falling as Renjun walked up towards you and off of the stage with his hands behind his back. 

The curtains closed as he gave you a boyish smile, outstretching his hand to show you the piece of fabric he accidentally tore from your dress and the postcard you had sent out almost a month ago. You gasped, delicate fingers gently grabbing the postcard to inspect it. It was indeed the postcard you had sent, it was indeed your handwriting, it was indeed the same filthy postcard you sent a month ago. 

Within a few seconds, you fell unconscious as all this information was too much for you to handle. 

“Oh bloody hell, we killed her!” Renjun cried out in panic, taking a step back in alarm at your sudden concussion. Doyoung and Naeun’s head shot from in between the curtains, hissing at him to not panic and carry you back to your trailer. He sucked his bottom lip as he hesitantly wrapped his arms around your knees and your back, making you lean against his chest, your head so close to his. He gulped as he walked out of the theater, nervously praying to whatever God up there is watching him to not make him drop you in the middle of the streets. 

But fortunately for him, he managed to carry you back to your bed safe and sound. Laying your head on the pillow, he stood idly on the side of your bed, watching your sleeping features. You looked so content, his fingers itched to run themselves around your hair and to caress your cheeks. Oh how he longed to nuzzle his nose against yours lovingly and how he longed to press his lips against yours-

‘A single kiss. A brush against your lips could be your last! Just like that, bang!’

He grunted as his body twitched as his guardian’s words flashed through his mind like lightning and thunder, Madam Wendy’s sorrowful expression couldn’t help but make its way through his mind, causing his body to twitch once again. He took deep, staggering breaths as he palmed his heart in pain, eyes moving over to your sleeping figure before Madam Wendy appeared once again in his vision. 

‘Do you know why I saved your life?’

“If you really are the boy from my time in Edinburgh, why did you wait all this time?” 

His head shot up at the sound of your voice, his eyes wandered to your figure as you stared down at the piece of fabric. “What can I say? You’re an idiot, I feared you won’t recognize me considering you’ve never actually used your glasses during our small encounters,” Renjun chuckled sadly, sitting on your bed as you sat up and leaned on the headboard. “You didn’t even say goodbye, I thought you left because you were in shock of my sudden concussion on that day,” he said half-jokingly, putting a hand behind his neck.

You gave him a sad smile, caressing the postcard with your thumb. “My parents were tricked that day. They trusted the wrong person and the police got a hold of them, my mother left me outside all alone so the police wouldn’t find me and take me away too,” you explained, pulling your knees to your chest as you leaned your chin on your arms. “I remembered being so alone, so cold. That’s why I decided to flee Edinburgh, we weren’t allowed to stay for too long. Our neighbour told us they were going to get us permits but the next day… unfortunately that happened.”

Renjun’s heart ached for you, he never wanted to see you sad. Even though you weren’t supposed to be in Edinburgh in the first place, he felt slightly selfish for it. If it weren’t for the fact that your parents had moved her, maybe your parents would still be by your side to this day. However you can’t change what’s been done, the past is the past. He couldn’t do anything to make the pain of losing a parent go away that easily. 

He placed a hand on yours, rubbing his thumb soothingly against your knuckles in a silent attempt to comfort you. You smiled at him, scooting closer to Renjun without hesitation. “I’m so sorry about that, I didn’t know,” Renjun spoke briefly, letting your fingers intertwine with his own tightly. He reached over to his pocket, pulling out the key to his heart and tugged your intertwined fingers together. “I can’t make the pain of losing your loved ones go away like a magician could, but the only thing I can assure you is that I’m not going anywhere and this key is the living proof of it.” 

He laid the small golden key in your palm, tucking your fingers against it. “This is the key that winds me up, without it, I would be knocked out for good,” he chuckled, gazing his eyes deeply into yours. “You can wind me up, open up my heart, do whatever you want,” he shrugged, watching you scoot closer to him and mirrored the same actions as the ones he showed you on the Ghost Train. “If it hurts, don’t hesitate to tell me,” you informed him, turning the key to the right slowly. 

“It doesn’t usually hurt,” he laughed lightly, eyes filled with love and adoration. He felt his heart spark up with the same comforting flame you manage to set. He found comfort in the love of his life gently caressing his fragile heart as if it was made out of the rarest jewels in existence. 

He found comfort in you. You really are the key to his heart. 

“There you are, you little brat!” the owner of the ghost train spat, entering the trailer quite rudely. “You there, what are you doing holding back my employee? As if he doesn’t slack off enough on the job,” she sighed exasperatedly, taking out another cig from her pocket before lighting it up. “You have ten minutes to get there, it’s almost starting,” she hissed, her tone filled with anger and malice as she made her way out of the trailer with a huff of breath.

You and Renjun shared knowing looks, giggling softly as you pulled the key out of his heart. “I think we should get going,” you said in an almost hushed tone as if you were to make a louder sound, you would break the comforting silence between the two of you. You outstretched your hand to give him back his key but Renjun shook his head at you, chuckling softly as he gently curled your fingers against the key in your palms and gently pushed your hand back towards you. 

“Keep it, I insist,” he shook his head. “What? No, don’t be silly! It’s the key to your heart, Renjun. It’s yours, I can’t keep it,” you shook your head receiving the same chuckle from the boy in front of you. “No, from now on, it’s yours,” he grabbed your free hand in his, intertwining your fingers once again. “Let’s run away together,” he suggested, squeezing your hand in his as he crossed his legs together. 

“Excuse me?” your eyes widened at his words. “After your show, run away with me and let’s make the world our oyster,” he gave you the widest grin he could muster, his cheeks was starting to hurt from smiling too much and for too long. He didn’t know where the sudden suggestion came from his mind but he wanted to do what he’s always dreamt of doing with you, to sail for the skies hand in hand with you by his side. (And maybe live a content life in a cottage with three cats and a whole art studio, but that can wait. After all, he’s waited this long to finally reunite with you)

“This is going to sound very cliche but where would we even go?” you giggled, finding his eagerness quite adorable considering it was a rare sight to see, even back when you were still in Edinburgh. “I don’t know, anywhere! The seas, the trees, as long as I’m with you I’m willing to make do with anywhere. As long as you say yes,” he squeezed your hand encouragingly against his, loving eyes pleading for you to say yes. And the smile you gave him was enough to give him his answer.

-

Renjun ran all over the amusement park with his suitcase in hand, the sound of your voice booming through the speakers as he felt the adrenaline rush through his veins, happiness surging through every part of his body. He was finally living, he was no longer going to live in the same, miserable hollow shell he had been living his whole entire life. A bright smile spread across his face as he entered the theater, panting heavily.

“Well then?” Doyoung pipped up, putting his hands at his hips as Renjun gained his composure as though Renjun’s wide smile hadn’t given him the answer he was hoping for. “She loves me, the real me,” he sighed exasperatedly, putting his hands on his chest as he could hardly believe it himself. “Congratulations, my dear boy! I’m delighted for you, absolutely delighted,” he gave Renjun a hug and patted his back as if he was his own younger brother. 

“We’re going to run away for the hills together after her show, I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I’m sure I wouldn’t have done this without your help,” Renjun beamed, pulling away to shake his old friend’s hand enthusiastically, his mechanical heart racing rapidly against his chest at the thought of eloping with you all over Europe. “I’m going to miss you, Renjun. Do write to me from time to time,” he gave him a nod, a proud smile etched on his face, causing Renjun to chuckle and nod. “Of course.”

As Renjun was in the middle of packing, your show had finally ended. You snuck back in your trailer to pack your own clothes, but then you saw none other than one of your fellow performers, Choi San, sitting on your desk with a small piece of paper in hand. “San? What on earth are you doing here?” you asked, furrowing your brows as you took out your suitcases from your closet. “I heard you’re going to run off with that new boy,” he grinned, chuckling slightly as he smacked the paper against your desk. “Renjun? Oh! Turns out, he was the boy I fell in love with back in Edinburgh,” you giggled, shoving random clothes into your suitcase, your makeup bags, your shoes, anything you could possibly fit into one single bag. 

“I need to tell you something before you get into serious trouble,” San informed, giving you a hard expression before hopping off your desk to hand you the piece of paper. “I was doing my daily letter checking at the post office and I found this in the mail, it was from Renjun’s guardian from Edinburgh,” he sighed, crossing his arms as you opened the piece of paper to reveal a fancy handwriting underneath. “It tells you everything you need to know about Renjun.” 

You squinted, pulling your glasses from your purse and putting them on. “What are you going on about here, San?” you furrowed your brows as you read through the letter. It was indeed from the ‘Madam Wendy’ Renjun would always rant to you about during your days together back in Edinburgh. “That thing he calls a heart, it’s not what you think it is. It’s a grenade, a ticking time bomb waiting to be triggered, he’s dangerous, y/n,” San informed, his hard expression turning into worry.

“I'm just glad I came here before it was too late,” he sighed in relief, looking down at his feet. “No, San, you must be mistaken. Renjun wouldn’t hurt a fly, he’s absolutely harmless!” You shook your head, refusing to believe his words as you looked down at the letter. “For now, but until he loses control of his heart and therefore fails to abide by the three rules Wendy had given him on the day he was born,” San informed, his eyes narrowing at the letter. 

“The three rules?” you furrowed your brows at him, watching as San’s expression grew dim with sympathy. “Everything you need to know is in that letter, I’ll give you some time to yourself,” San patted your back with a comforting smile before exiting the trailer, leaving you with the letter and your own thoughts. 

-

“Are you trying to make me a murderer?!” you exclaimed, exiting your trailer with your fists clenched up tightly by your side. “Excuse me?” Renjun furrowed his brows in confusion, being taken aback as he took a step towards you with his suitcase in hand. “What are you even talking about?” he asked, letting the air sink back into his lungs from all the running he had to do all over the amusement park. “Madam Wendy told me everything in this letter,” you shoved the letter against his chest, watching as shock took over his features.

“Wendy sent a letter?” he gaped, his jaw dropping to the floor as he inspected what seems to be his caretaker’s handwritten letter. “She told me about the three rules, how you ran away against her wishes, everything! Were you not going to tell me these important details?” you hopped off of the first few steps of your trailer to come closer to the boy you love deeply in front of you. “Or did you forget to tell me something as serious as that?” you snapped, sadness and betrayal flossing over your eyes.

Renjun felt his heart sink into his stomach at your hurtful expression, he was so caught up in the fantasy of running away with you, he completely forgot about his fragile condition for a brief moment. “Who even are you, Renjun? I want to know who’s the man I’m falling in love with,” you gripped the hem of your dress to keep yourself from screaming at him out of pure frustration and anger, feeling your heart ready to explode at the fact that you had the potential to kill him if your relationship proceeded from this far on. 

“I wouldn’t ever forgive myself if you died,” you tried hard to swallow the lump in your throat, looking down to hide your glossy eyes as you tried your best not to think of what would happen to him if you hadn’t received that letter. 

Renjun froze in place, his eyes turning glossy with his own tears as he watched you speak, the words jammed at the back of his throat as he knew, deep down, there was nothing he could do to change your mind. It was far too late, he can’t do anything to change your mind anymore. “I refuse to love you, I refuse to be a murderer. That’s not my idea of love,” you shook your head at him, putting the back of your hand against your eyelids to wipe away the tears. Every word that came out of your mouth felt like a dagger into his mechanical heart. It hurt. Renjun was hurting. His heart was breaking right in front of you, and you both knew it. 

“It’s selfish,” you couldn’t help but splutter out. “No, wait. You got it all wrong, y/n,” he finally spoke up, frustration filling his veins as he found the courage to speak up. “Oh, so you didn’t escape your guardian’s home without permission, thus causing her to worry about you for the past few weeks with no information whatsoever?” you snapped, putting your hands on your hips after you wiped your tears away. “Yes, but that isn’t the problem here!” he shook his head, taking a step towards you as he groaned in frustration. 

“There you go! Oh, so now you’re going to disobey another rule and lose your temper?” 

“It’s not like that! Just listen to me-” Renjun reached his hand out to your face before his body started twitching in pain, causing him to drop on his knees as gears and screws popped out of his heart. You gasped, watching as your lover writhe in pain on his knees, letting out pained grunts for the next fifteen seconds right in front of you. Thus, giving you a brief image of what was going to happen if you continued on. 

“You’re scaring me, Renjun.” 

“I’m sorry.” he breathed out, putting his hand on his knees as he ignored the steaming state of his cuckoo clock heart. Your eyes softened at his guilty figure, your hands laying limp by your sides as you let out a sad sigh. “Goodbye, Renjun.” Were your last words before you walked away from him, leaving him to deal with his own pain. 

“I did the craziest things for you. My life isn’t always topsy turvy when it comes to love, but I put my life in your hands because I truly love you,” Renjun confessed, causing you to pause in your step. You inhaled deeply, not giving him a spare glance. “Yes, I agree, your actions are inhumane at this point, but count me out, Renjun,” you hissed back, wrapping your arms around yourself to keep yourself from shaking and breaking down right in front of him. “I’d prefer you to be hurt like this than dead, I can’t live with myself if I was the reason for your passing,” you sighed, looking down at your shoes briefly.

“Please just leave me alone. I’m not running away with you.”

You didn’t look back as you walked away, ignoring the sound of a distraught Renjun getting to his knees, holding his heart in pain. His eyes scrunched up in pain as he let out small grunts, trying to get to his feet back to make his way back to the theater. He collapsed back to the concrete ground as soon as he got to his feet, the ear piercing sound of his clock falling apart before him lingered in his mind as cogs and screws popped out of his makeshift heart. He wanted to scream out your name and plead for you to come back into his embrace, but he knew you wouldn’t turn back. 

So he did the only thing that came into his mind in order to stop this unbearable pain. He got up to his feet, putting two hands on his clock and pulled hard, ignoring the physical pain it brought him as he tried to rip out his own heart from his chest. Letting out a scream of pain as he collapsed to the floor, pieces of wood and metal scattering across the floor and drops of blood dripping from the doors of his heart. 

“Renjun!”

Doyoung and Naeun came up to Renjun as quickly as they could, holding him up as he coughed heavily. “I want to change into a new clock, I’m so tired of this one constantly falling into bits every time I feel the slightest bit of joy,” he mumbled almost monotonously, letting out another fit of coughs afterward. “Madam Wendy was right,” he added with a light painful laugh. “I suppose I have some spare parts to help you fix your clock from my camera, I’ll go get them-” Doyoung insisted but Renjun gripped on the older man’s wrist urgently. 

“No, I want a new heart. I’m tired of this one. One that works. I’ll never fall in love again,” he leaned over, cupping his mouth as he coughed once again, feeling more gears pop out of his clock like a confetti from a canon. “You’re running out of time, Renjun, you must seek help immediately. Is there anything you can do to salvage what’s left of your heart until you get back to Edinburgh?” Doyoung asked, furrowing his brows. “I can’t, I gave the key to Y/n. She left me, I can’t get it back anymore,” Renjun shook his head sadly, looking down at his own blood staining his fingertips.

“That key is your life, Renjun! You took a huge risk,” Doyoung shook his head at how deeply in love the boy in front of him was. “I know,” he mumbled, his words becoming more breathy by the moment. “You must return to Edinburgh and have Wendy patch you up again, it’s the only way to save your life,” Doyoung slung an arm around his shoulder, lifting him up as Naeun helped with carrying his suitcase. 

Doyoung led a heartbroken Renjun onto a carriage to the nearest train station. He insisted on coming with the young lad but Renjun wanted to face the consequences of his actions alone, he couldn’t bear to rip his friend away from the path of success he was walking into. So, with a heavy heart, Renjun rode the train back to Edinburgh with his eyes closed and his heart hurting like hell against his chest. 

‘This must be the same feeling Pip went through when Estella finally broke his heart to elope with some other man she didn’t love.’ he thought bitterly to himself.

-

“Madam Wendy what?” your jaw dropped as San shared a new bit of information. 

He leaned over, showing you the newspaper he was reading which informed you that Madam Wendy had passed in her prison cell. Apparently, she was caught for tampering with mechanics on a dangerous level with her other patients and was thrown in jail once again, but the disappearance of her adopted child had a great impact on her health, therefore she left her body in the cell she was staying in. 

“Oh, no. Oh dear god, no,” you hopped out of San’s performance tent, patting your pockets and pulling out the key that belongs to Renjun’s heart. “What’s wrong?” San asked, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth as he stood up as well, worried as his brows furrowed in confusion. “Renjun gave me the key to his heart, I forgot to give it back,” you yelled back, running as quick as you could to the theater, the only place where Renjun could be at the moment. 

You knocked as hard as you could, calling out the boy’s name in a panic. “Miss Y/n? What are you doing here?” Doyoung asked, opening the door as he rubbed his eyes from the lack of sleep. “Can you tell me where I can find Renjun? I still have the key to his heart,” you asked in an abrupt tone, showing the older man the key in your palms. “Nothing to worry about, Miss! He’s on his way back to Edinburgh as we speak, Doctor Wendy can patch him up in a jiffy!” Doyoung smiled. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of, oh god, no. But Madam Wendy’s passed away,” you informed, clenching your fists with the key in your hand. Doyoung’s eyes widened in surprise, his face turning pale at your words. “Oh boy, that isn’t good news. Go after him, hurry! Save Renjun before it’s too late, that’s what he wants more than anything. I put him on a carriage to the nearest train station. If you’re lucky, you might catch him on the train before it departs,” Doyoung rummaged through his bag, pulling out a random journal. 

“Here, take this. In case you don’t catch up to him, here’s something to read on the way. It’s a journal I kept ever since the very day I met Renjun,” he handed you the journal as Naeun called another carriage for you to ride to the train station. You sighed, your head filled with worry as you looked up at the two adults willing to help you save Renjun despite the fact that you were the main reason why he was in this mess in the first place. 

“Thank you.”

-

Renjun laid in the snow, near the house where he used to call home. Sniffling as he leaned against the tree at the bottom of the hill. Joy and Yeri had contacted him and brought him the news of his caretaker’s passing. Sulking as guilt took over his body, regretting every single decision he had made the past few months. And now he’s going to suffer the consequences of dying all alone. He couldn’t walk into his own home after the news, choosing to lay down under the snow to let himself slowly freeze to death and possibly hypothermia. 

So now, he was taking his last few breaths, enjoying the bright sky as he watched his skin froze, tears slowly turning into eyes as he laid there all heartbroken and damaged. His hair was white from the snowfall, with bits of brown peaking out in between as he sniffled and sobbed over the loss of his mother. Taking deep breaths to regain his composure, as his skin grew numb against the cold. 

“Renjun! I’m here!” 

It was as if the God above had decided to send an angel back to help him, he slowly looked up with half lidded eyes, a small shaky smile spreading across his lips as you fell to your knees to help him. “Renjun, oh dear god, no,” you whimpered, leaning close as you laid a hand on his jaw, making him lean his head up to look at you weakly. You grimaced at his cold skin, it felt like ice to you. It was as if he was turning into a giant ice cube right in front of you.

His appearance made your heart break. He looked so pale and broken since the last time you saw him. His eyes were red and swollen from the tears, snow gathering on his eyelashes, eyebrows, hair and clothing. Hell, he was wearing nothing but the thin coat he wore the last time you saw him. Dried blood was stuck to his cuckoo clock heart which was in a worse condition than it was back in Andalusia. You ran your thumb over his soft cheek, making him lean his face against your warm touch as you wiped the snow away from his skin. His breathing was slow, as if he was taking every breath he could before his last. 

With a shaky hand, you placed what's left of his heart back into their original place, your breathing becoming shaky as you held back your tears. It truly hurt you to see Renjun in this state, you knew he was on the brink of death. You didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if you had arrived much much later.

You pulled out the key to his heart from the inner pocket of your coat, leaning forward to press the key into his heart. But alas, his hand stopped you as he gently gripped your wrist and pulled it away from him. “No, I’m not too late. I’m not letting you die here, just let me turn the key,” you shook your head, blinking back the tears as you pushed your glasses up from the bridge of your nose. “I came back to save you, please just let me do this,” you pleaded, caressing his cheek with your thumb in a futile attempt to convince the love of your life to let you save him. 

“You came all the way back for me,” a tear streaked down Renjun’s cheek which froze under the cold atmosphere, sticking to his cheek. “That’s the most extraordinary turn you could ever give my heart,” he laughed slightly, half lidded eyes trying their best to stay open as his vision began to grow blurry and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was losing consciousness or if it was because of the tears he was holding back.

He tugged the key out of your hand before tossing it over the hill. “No, Renjun, what did you do?!” you panicked, your eyes growing wide at the key disappearing from your line of vision. “No, why did you do that?” you shook your head at him, pressing your body close to him as he leaned his back against the tree. “From now on, whatever happens to me,” Renjun spoke, giving you the same boyish smile he sent your way on your last day in Edinburgh two years ago. “I’ll only have myself to blame,” he sighed, intertwining your free hand with his icy cold one. 

“So now you can kiss me.” 

Your heart broke as you finally let your tears go, squeezing his hand tightly in yours as you sniffled. “As I said before, the things you do are absolutely inhumane,” you pushed your forehead against his, feeling your tears hit his wet clothes as you felt his other hand go to your jaw. “I’m just upset I never got to give you the painting I’d been working so hard on for all these years,” he chuckled, his eyes growing even more red as his tears streamed down his face like a leaking tap.

He caressed your jaw in his hand, eyes scanning your face one last time as he came with the fact that this was your last goodbye before he leaves for good. “If we were ever to be reborn again, I would still wish and pray for the gods to make you my first and last love,” he couldn’t help but laugh to stifle a sob that erupted from his throat. “And if we were ever to be reborn again, I hope you can always continue to smile like that until the day you close your eyes for good,” you nuzzled your forehead against his, sniffling hard. 

Thus with eyes clenched shut, you and Renjun pressed your lips together in unison for a passionate yet innocent kiss. You could hear the last strike of Renjun’s ticking clock, a loud ‘cuckoo’ piercing the quiet atmosphere as Renjun pulled you closer to him by wrapping an arm around your back and leaning his head to the side for a better angle. Your warm soft lips pressed onto his cold chapped ones, wet from the snow.  Your intertwined hands squeezing each other as you felt his mechanical heart put a ring on your own.

The next time Renjun opened his eyes, he was at the gates of heaven, standing in front of an actual angel with a bright expression on his face. “Huang Renjun, I assume?” the angel greeted, a soft smile spreading across their face as Renjun nodded. “You seem a bit too young to be up in heaven. Aren’t you just 18 years old?” the angel asked, pulling out a clipboard to look through Renjun’s life data. “I was almost nineteen, though,” Renjun shrugged, his wide smile never disappearing from his facial features.

“I’m so sorry you had to leave life so soon, young man,” the angel cooed, taking out a pen from their desk as they began to fill out Renjun’s form for his plans now that he’s in the afterlife. “Care to tell me what happened while I do the paperwork for you?” the angel asked, sticking their tongue out as they wrote Renjun’s life information on the glowing paper with a messy handwriting, reminding him of the postcard you had sent him less than a couple months ago. 

Renjun looked around the bright place he was in, sighing heavily as he stared up the gates of heaven with a content expression. He swiped his tongue over his pink lips as he finally felt his heart no longer empty, 

“I fell in love.” 

a/n: i didn’t like how this turned out lmfao but oh well HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOVE OF MY LIFE, HUANG RENJUN MWUAH

¤ taglist: @leetaeyonglover @lebrookestore @oifelixcmerebrou @vera-liscious @kunrengui @thats-a-jen-no-no

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Six (part 1)

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 3293

Warnings: ANGST, bad language words

A/N: Tumblr sucks. It forced me to split this chapter up because I exceeded the text block limit. That’s just how I write! Link to part 2 at the end.

A/N 2: Thank you again to everyone for showing this story so much love! And thank you to everyone for your patience and support as I struggled to put this out. As you can tell from the multiple parts, it was a doozy. 🥰 divider credit- @firefly-graphics​

In case you missed the update, I will be publishing a new chapter every other Saturday from here on out. Schedule is in the Masterlist in my header.

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

Monday morning rolled around, and your good mood from the weekend followed you into the office. Spending all of Saturday and the majority of Sunday texting James had lent to this early morning cheerfulness. You couldn’t help the smile on your face. You had even managed to arrive before most of your team.  

You hummed a sweet melody as you booted up your computer and organized a few files for Timmons to peruse. They were statements intended for the press needing his approval about a particular prominent CEO or A-list celebrity client. The firm was not confirming nor denying any knowledge of said client’s whereabouts the previous week or why there was photographic evidence of them coming out of FlashDancers NYC. Other files included those seeking rebranding approval for existing companies looking to revamp their image.

Most importantly, today was contract signing day for Stark Industries. 

You had compiled the document from a generic template the company used for all its clients, manually plugging in Stark Industries’ information in the correct spots and changing or omitting any services rendered or not. E-signing contracts were not only environmentally responsible, but they also saved a lot of your time from printing out numerous copies of a single agreement.

All you needed now was Timmons’ go-ahead to email the contract, and Pepper Potts could plug in her Jane Hancock.

Seeing Timmons enter the workroom, tweed coat draped over his forearm and attaché in hand, you rose from the seat behind your desk. You shuffled into his office after him.

He hung his jacket from the coat rack in the corner near a bank of expansive windows and placed the small, leather case he’d been carrying on the sturdy oak desk. He pulled out a stack of papers and tapped the pile against the desktop to straighten them before setting them down. Looking up at you briefly, he tugged out his laptop next.

You positioned a mug of coffee on Timmons’ desk, turning the handle just so, making it easier for him to grab. You cleared your throat gently. He glanced up at you again.

“Here’s the media statements for today,” you said, handing him a group of manila folders. You smoothed down the hem of your cardigan, smiling at the reminder of Bucky. You wished there had been a way to apologize to him again. He had left your apartment with such a pained look on his face. Maybe you could ask Peter. “And the Stark contract pdf is ready to go. I can email it over to you for final approval.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Timmons replied absent-mindedly, lifting the organized piles on the desk as if looking for something.

“Oh, okay,” you returned, nodding your head diminutively. “Do you want me to forward the contract on to Ms. Potts, then?”

“Ah-ha!” Timmons exclaimed, plucking a pen from underneath a stack of envelopes. He twirled the writing implement in his hand and peered at you, finally taking in your presence for the first time that morning.

An uncomfortable feeling washed over you as he evaluated you from head to toe. What was he looking at? Your hands tensed into fists as you continued to wait for his answer, growing impatient.

“Should I go ahead and do that, then, sir?” you asked, folding your arms across your chest like a protective suit of armor to deflect prying eyes.

“Yes, yes. That should be acceptable,” Timmons answered.

It threw you off balance. What had gotten into him? Timmons always had to have the final say on everything. It was so unlike him!

“Just so we’re clear- I will be sending the Stark Industries contract via email to Pepper Potts to e-sign,” you said, seeking clarification. You wanted to dot all i’s and cross all t’s because you weren’t going to lay your ass on the line for a misunderstanding. Especially not with something as crucial as the Stark Industries account.

“What? No, there’s been a change of plans,” he corrected.

You stared at him dumbfounded. Was he purposely trying to give you mental whiplash?

“Change of plans,” you affirmed. “Has Stark Industries decided not to use the firm, sir?”

“Oh, no. They’re still going with us,” Timmons said, rearranging the clutter he’d made on his desk.

You dropped your arms to your sides, although inside, you felt like throwing them into the air in frustration. Why was he so vague? He was usually wholly transparent with you. “Would you mind explaining it to me, please?” you asked, borderline annoyed. “Last time I checked, Stark Industries’ contract signing was still on the calendar for today’s agenda.”

“And it still is,” Timmons acknowledged. “It’s moved to an in-person signing.”

Your stomach plunged to the floor. Shit! You hadn’t printed out the contract! When was the appointment? How much time did you have? So many questions flew through your head.

How could Timmons keep something like this from you? Your heart hammered in your chest. You practically wobbled on your feet. Were you going to be sick?

I’m going to get fucking fired over this, you thought, trying to steady your breathing.

“Will you be ready to go in twenty minutes?” Timmons questioned, sitting down in the comfy desk chair and opening his laptop.

“Go?” you squeaked, attempting to recall how much you had in savings. You shook your head, trying to understand his words. Was he already asking you to clear out your desk?

“Yes. The car will be here at nine,” he said, keyboard clacking as he typed something.

“Car?” you asked, finding great difficulty comprehending the situation. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Timmons regarded you in bafflement. “Have you been drinking?”

“What? NO!” you declared. You didn’t need that added to “the inability to perform required tasks” as a reason for your firing.  “I’m-I’m just really confused, sir.”

“About what?” Timmons asked, sitting back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

“Well…” you started. “What do we need a car for?”

His chocolate brown eyes shone with what you imagined might be excitement. “To drive upstate, of course.” He smirked as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desktop.

Upstate? What was upstate?

Timmons’ smile broadened as realization crept across your face. “Are we-”

“Yup!” he interrupted gleefully. He was like a child in a candy store. “We are headed to the Avengers Compound with a personal invitation from Tony Stark himself!”

You blinked several times at your boss, not entirely computing what he’d said. You were usually a lot quicker on the uptake than this. Why were you having such an off-day? 

“We?” you asked, shaking your head clear of the cobwebs. Why on Earth would he bring you along?

“I need someone who knows the ins and outs of these contract signings,” he said, fiddling with his pen again.

Wasn’t that his job?

“I’m just the schmoozer- the people-person,” he admitted, shrugging. “You’re the real brains behind this whole operation.

You nodded your head in agreement. He wasn’t wrong. The office would collectively collapse without you, and it felt good to hear your actual boss say it out loud.

“You better not forget it, either. Especially when my job performance evaluation comes around,” you asserted.

Timmons swiftly saluted you as if he was the subordinate. You huffed a laugh at him while shaking your head with incredulity. You took a step or two toward the office door before looking over your shoulder at him.

Timmons had turned back to his laptop screen already and started typing again. “So, twenty minutes?” he asked with an air of levity.

You faltered, nearly tripping over your feet. “Wait? You were serious about that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Timmons wondered, looking up hurriedly from his laptop.

“I need to print out the contract and make copies, for one thing,” you mentioned, almost accusatory. Maybe if he had warned you ahead of time, you wouldn’t be so defensive.

“Already taken care of,” he soothed.

“What do you mean it’s ‘already taken care of’?” you asked, raising your hands to make quotation marks with your fingers.

“I had one of the other grunts do it last night.”

You gaped at Timmons like a goldfish, mouth popping open and closed. Did you hear him correctly? Timmons did something to make your job easier? You could hug him right now! You felt like pinching yourself to make sure it wasn’t a dream.

Once you gathered your wits again, you glanced to your feet bashfully. “Oh,” you spoke, absently fingering the bottom button of your cardigan. “Thank you.” You smiled gratefully.

Timmons returned the smile with one of his own. “You’re welcome.”

“Nine o’clock, then,” you agreed, moving further toward the doorway.

“On the dot!”

Words couldn’t even begin to describe the Avengers Compound. You’d seen it on the news, sure, but that didn’t compare to seeing it in real life. It was grandiose, imposing. You felt dwarfed in size looking up to the high rooftop. 

It was almost ostentatious in a way. Much like the man who designed it. Larger than life.

Tony Stark.

Tony had insisted he take you and Timmons around on the tour of the compound. You still hadn’t seen the need for a tour.

“When Tony Stark invites you to tour the Avengers compound, you don’t say no,” Timmons had said in the car-ride up when you questioned why it was necessary.

It was all superfluous, really. Like Tony was trying to woo the firm to sign them, not the other way around.

A headache was forming at the base of your skull as you waited in line at the reception desk to return your visitor security badge.

The tour of the facility seemed to have been drug out longer than it needed. Tony had appeared overeager to show off every little gadget or trinket. Or maybe he just liked to hear himself talk.

When Timmons excepted the lunch invitation after the tour was completed, you felt the urge to run down to the armory, grab a gun, and shoot yourself in the foot. You were kicking yourself for ever agreeing to come on this dumb tour.

As the line slowly dragged forward, the muffled noise of men’s voices caught your ear. It sounded like an argument. Your line of sight followed to where the altercation originated.

Standing twenty feet away was Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, clearly disagreeing.

Your breath stilled as you watched the two super soldiers quarrel in a near-stage-whisper. What could they be fighting about?

From your place in line, you saw Bucky shake his head adamantly, his chestnut hair swishing about his shoulders. He might have even stamped his foot like a child, but you were too preoccupied with the look of abject horror on his face. He turned away as if to flee, but his friend caught him by the shoulder to stop him.

Were you causing this reaction from him?

You looked to your right to see if there was possibly someone else. All you noticed, though, was an empty space. Had you hurt Bucky’s feelings that badly? Your stomach clenched. The last thing you wanted was to be on an Avengers’ shit-list.

Glancing back to the two men, you caught Steve gesturing Bucky forward with short sweeping motions of his hands. Bucky shook his head again, stubbornly.

Even at this distance, you could feel the frustration rolling off Captain America.

Like a sucker-punch to the gut, you suddenly became very aware you were eavesdropping on Captain America and his best friend.

Your cheeks heated instantaneously, embarrassed of your staring. You shouldn’t be spying on them, you admonished. No matter how much your curiosity is piqued. 

It was none of your business.

You turned away from them, facing the reception desk again.

As hard as you tried not to pay attention, you could still see what looked like wild gesturing from the corner of your eye.

What if they started fighting? Shouldn’t you be conscious of your surroundings for your own safety? You fidgeted in your spot as you debated your moral compass.

Fuck it, you thought.

As you peered over to the two super soldiers, Steve shoved Bucky forward gently, causing the latter to trip over his booted feet. Bucky glared back at his friend, his hands clenching into fists. Steve shooed him further. You could barely make out the word “Go!” on his lips.

As if in slow motion, you eyed Bucky taking step after step toward you. Was he coming over here?

Once you realized what was happening, your heart plummeted to your knees as your head whipped around to the front of the line.

Bucky Barnes was definitely walking over to you. 

Had he noticed you staring?

You tried to stabilize your heart rate with slow, easy breaths, but Bucky was beside you much sooner than you could imagine.

A waft of aftershave hit your nose- woodsy and deliciously masculine. Your stomach swooped.

God, he smelled good.

Without having to turn your head, you could feel his brawny mass hovering near you.

How do you play this?

Perplexed? 

“Oh, my gosh! I had no idea you’d be here!” Of course, he wouldn’t believe that. This is where the Avengers lived. He’d probably think you were a stalker.

Apologetic?

“I’m so sorry Peter and I made fun of you! Will you ever forgive me?” Nah, too needy or clingy.

Or--

Before you could think of any other ways to portray the situation, you heard a large gush of air escape from Bucky. Was he nervous?

“Hey-hey, (Y/N),” he said, voice shaky.

You gazed to your left. Bucky looked as white as a ghost. Had his ego taken that big of a hit?

At that moment, you wanted to do nothing more than wrap him in your arms and tell him sorry, and everything would be okay. You couldn’t, of course. You didn’t know the guy. So you settled for the next best thing.

You smiled at him beatifically. “Hello, Mr. Barnes.”

Like a veil had been pulled, his demeanor changed instantly. He returned the smile. “Ja-” he started but scrunched his nose as if he’d made a mistake. “Please. Call me Bucky.”

“Okay, Bucky,” you replied.

Timmons turned around, ahead of you in line, and eyeballed you. You gave him a dismissive look, praying he wouldn’t butt in.

“So, you here visiting?” Bucky asked, observing the badge in your hand.

“Sorta. It’s a work thing,” you remarked, waving the plastic fob in the air. “Stark Industries has hired my firm as their PR representative. It was signing day.”

“Ah,” Bucky said, nodding in understanding.

“And I got the tour and lunch courtesy of Tony Stark,” you added.

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky’s eyebrows raised in interest. “What did you think?”

“Honestly?” You watched Bucky shake his head in agreement. “It was extremely overwhelming. How do you not get lost in this place?”

Bucky laughed. Crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes, yet he looked so boyish. He was beautiful.

“When I first got here, I did several times,” he huffed. “Every hallway looks exactly the same!”

“Right?!” you exclaimed. “I kept thanking my lucky stars that I had a tour guide!” 

Timmons rolled his eyes and pivoted, facing front.

“Steve had to draw me a map to help me find my living quarters after the third time,” Bucky confessed, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh, no!” you empathized, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth. “That must have been so embarrassing!”

“Bird brain caught wind of it and gave me shit for weeks,” he lamented.

You gave him a confused look, not understanding who or what he was referring to.

Realizing his mistake, Bucky corrected, “Sorry. Bird brain is Sam.”

“Because he’s Falcon?”

Bucky bobbed his head yes, looking a little sheepish.

“It’s clever,” you grinned. “I like it.”

Bucky reciprocated the smile, and your chest warmed. It was a feeling you usually felt while texting James. Light and airy.

Finally making it to the reception desk, you relinquished your security badge to the pretty blonde in the too-tight sweater set. She handed you a clipboard to initial and fill out your departure time.

While signing, you surveyed the blonde as Bucky stepped closer. Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly, and she bit down on her bottom lip. Was she giving him bedroom eyes?

A new kind of warmth flooded your body. It felt a lot like jealousy as it snaked its way up to your ribs and circled your collarbones, which was absurd because you had no claim to this man. You’d met him one other time. Why would you feel this way?

Shoving the clipboard back at the receptionist, you spun toward Bucky. He regarded her politely and nodded, “Ma’am.”

Her shoulders slumped, and a frown slithered onto her painted lips. Somehow you felt triumphant, but not sure why. Bucky hadn’t picked you over her.

Your heart thumped harder in your chest as you walked side by side with Bucky, nearing the exit. You were suddenly overcome with the feeling of apologizing. What had you told James if you ever saw Bucky again? Apologize profusely and ask him to coffee.

You smiled at Bucky once again as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. The sound of a throat clearing resonated nearby. It wasn’t until you glanced up did you register Timmons standing so close. You had nearly forgotten about him.

Trying to gather your courage, you glimpsed between the two men. Bucky was squinting suspiciously at Timmons, and it made you chuckle lightly. “Easy tiger,” you assured. “That’s my boss, Roger Timmons.”

Bucky’s blue eyes widened a fraction, and he raised a hand in hello. “Sir.”

Timmons raised his chin in acknowledgment before looking down at his watch. You took it as his way of telling you to hurry up.

Okay, it’s now or never.

“Would you like to go to coffee with me?” Bucky blurted out, cheeks coloring pink.

Your eyes roamed across his handsome face. The boyishness was back, along with a touch of uncertainty. He was sweet, regardless of what the media claimed about him. Your lips curled up into a broad smile. “You read my mind,” you revealed, then winced. “That’s not one of your superpowers, is it?”

Bucky tittered. “No, no mind-reading.”

“Good,” you said, relieved.

“Whaddya say? Coffee?”

You dipped your head in a slow yes. “It’ll have to be after work, though.” You motioned over your shoulder with your thumb. “The slave driver over there is taking me back to the office to put me to work.”

Giggling, as you heard a scoff come from behind where you were standing, you reached into your purse and pulled out a pen and an old receipt. You quickly jotted down your work address. Handing it to Bucky, you began moving towards Timmons. “I get off at five,” you called. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.” You waved goodbye.

Bucky smirked. “Don’t work too hard!”

You flashed him one last smile before disappearing through the exit door.

You had a coffee date with Bucky Barnes!

You couldn’t believe it! The giddiness swelled inside you.

You gazed at Timmons’ profile as you walked to the waiting car parked at the curb. He had that look on his face.

It was a long drive back to the city. There was no way you could endure it if he started up now.

You gave a stern look before you stated, “Whatever you’re thinking, keep it to yourself.”

Timmons threw his hands up in mock surrender. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“Uh-huh,” you said dubiously. Timmons smiled smugly as you both climbed into the town car.

Chapter Five | Chapter 6 (part 2)

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[meow-bebe]

Pairing: Ten x reader Genre: fluff, friends to lovers Word count: 1.3k Warnings: food mention(?) Tonight’s soundtrack: What You Waiting For - Somi A/n: written in participation of @neoculturechristmas​‘s sectret santa event

this is for @jaeyoonurl​! hi mar! as im pretty sure you know, im cosmo, and i got to be your secret santa for this event. i had a lot of fun coming up with this, and im truly sorry i ended up being pretty late, but it gave me a chance to remake the header and finish things up. I hope you enjoy this, and that the holidays have been good for you! <3

“So are you planning on going to Johnny's New Years party next week?” Ten asks as he flops down on the couch next to you, offering you a plate and a styrofoam takeout box.

You groan in response. “Is New Year’s really next week? I am not ready to deal with going to that party alone for the third year in a row.”

“Want me to be your plus one?” Ten jokes through a mouthful of food.

You roll your eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he wiggles his eyebrows.

You sigh out a little laugh, shoving a bite of food into your mouth. "Really though, I'm tired of everyone's slightly pitying glances because poor me still can't find anyone to tolerate me long enough to date me. It's been—" you pause to mentally count back— "six months since I've even been on a date." You sigh to yourself, eating in silence for a moment.

"What if I take you out?"

You raise your eyebrows at this. "And what's your intention with that?" Secretly, you wished it would be something slightly nefarious. Part of your dating issue stemmed from the fact that you were infatuated with your roommate, though you could do absolutely nothing about it. He wasn’t interested in you, and it’s not like you could force him to reciprocate your feelings.  

“I’m just trying to be a good friend,” Ten says, and secretly your heart sinks a little. Perhaps allowing yourself even the slightest bit of hope could cause more pain than living with the fact that he’ll never love you back. “You’re sad that you haven’t been on a date in forever, so I’ll take you on a date!”

--

Several days had passed, and the date with Ten had consumed your mind. It was all you thought of. Was he really just trying to be a good friend? Was there another intention masked beneath his proposition that lay closer to your own?

Ten hadn’t mentioned anything about it since he first brought the idea up, and you were starting to lose hope that he was being serious in the first place. He’s always been quite the jokester, but at the same time in all the years you had known him he had never once broken a promise or gone back on his word.

For the most part you had been doing your best to keep the churning mess of thoughts and emotions that came with this sudden proposition under control, but constantly doing something to keep yourself distracted could get exhausting and you had given up. Thursday early afternoons were your lazy time anyway, as it was the only day when you had several hours between classes, so you ended up back in your apartment and couldn't do anything productive anyway. 

So what better to do than sit around thinking about how you’re absolutely in love with your roommate who has given you no reason to believe he felt the same. Except for the invitation for a date he extended and then promptly never brought up again. Sure, it had only been three days and Ten had a tendency to forget to tell people when things were going to be happening, but overthinking seemed to be a talent of yours and unfortunately this was a topic that couldn’t be easily shoved under the rug. 

Just as you were ready to get up and actually start pacing, your phone dings. Grateful for any distraction, you lunge across the couch to grab it. 

[Ten: are you busy tonight?]

[You: what a stupid question]

[You: you know i do almost nothing]

[Ten: awesome! i’ll be home around five thirty to pick you up]

[Ten: don’t bother asking where we’re going, its a surprise]

[Ten: oh, and dress warm but cute ;)]

You roll your eyes at this, holding in giddy laughter and sending back an equally flirty reply. Perhaps your worries were unnecessary after all.

--

The sound of a key in the door alerts you of Ten’s arrival, and you hurriedly finish shoving all of your necessities into the pockets of the coat you had just been eagerly modeling for yourself in the mirror. Perhaps you had put a little more effort into your outfit than you usually would for a date. You wore quite a few layers, but your favorite coat and boots disguised the slight bulk, and the cherry on top of the whole outfit was the scarf Ten had gifted you a few years ago. 

“Hi!” you say, ducking out of your room to greet Ten. 

“Hi,” he responds, “ready to go?”

“Yep!” you say, following him out into the hallway and failing to keep the bounce out of your gait. “Care to tell me where we’re going?”

“Well that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it,” Ten finally gets the door locked and pulls it shut behind him.

“I suppose it would,” you huff out a melodramatic sigh, but can’t keep the smile spreading across you face down. “Well, come on then.” You take his hand, and though he refuses to look in your direction, you think you see a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. 

---

“How did you know I’d want to go ice skating?” you ask incredulously, staring up at the sky and the snow slowly drifting down through the air. After open skate had ended you had wandered around the city hand in hand with Ten until the sun set and you finally decided on a restaurant. "That's literally my ideal date."

"You've mentioned it a few times," Ten says, unable to hide the smile fighting its way across his face. He always tries his best to stay cool and collected, but the truth is Ten is a romantic at heart. 

“That was like once,” you say, letting your gaze slip away from the streetlights illuminating the snow and to your best friend’s face. 

“You do realise I actually listen when you talk right? Maybe more than I should.”

You brows scrunch together, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ten’s fingers start to fidget a bit, and you squeeze his hand in encouragement. 

He takes a deep breath, refusing to meet your eyes as you stare up at him, curiosity shining in your eyes. 

“This is something that I probably should have brought up a long time ago, but things get away from you sometimes, you know. Especially when it comes to—”

You squeeze his hand again. “You’re rambling.” Ten had a tendency to just talk when he was avoiding something—about the topic of avoidance, something to steer the conversation elsewhere—but it was always the same, and you knew it annoyed him just as much as it did everyone around him. 

“Sorry,” Ten says, obviously steeling himself for the big reveal. You listen intently, ready for whatever he’s about to hit you with. “I….like you. A lot. Like in a romantic way.”

You were not, in fact, ready for this. “Oh. I, uh—”

“I know you probably don’t feel the same, and that's okay—”

“No! No, no, not at all.” Concern flashes through his eyes and you panic for a second, wondering if you’ve made it seem like you're attempting to communicate the opposite of your feelings. “Ten, I’ve liked you for more than a year.” 

A different type of surprise seizes his features now, and you choke down a laugh at the way his eyes seem ready to pop out of his head. 

“Seriously?” You nod, and Ten just about skips with joy. “You mean this whole time we could’ve—God, I could just kiss you.”

“So do it,” you smirk.

Ten’s eyes widen in surprise, but he tugs you closer to him anyway. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do this forever.”

“Actually,” you say, “I think I know the feeling.”

[louiserandom]

Of Punishments and Rewards

Pairing: Senju Tobirama/Uchiha Madara | Rating: M

Summary: The citizens of Konoha have long grown used to (and frankly bored of) the often destructive spectacle that is Madara and Tobirama screaming their lungs out at each other in the market district. During one such clash, however, Madara suffers an accidental concussion and proceeds to not-so-accidentally flirt with, grope, and expose his secret affair with none other than the white-haired Senju he's supposed to hate.

Now this has the whole village intrigued.

Read Chapter 1 on AO3 or continue under the cut :3 Ko-fi info is in the header!

The citizens of Konoha have long grown used to (and frankly bored of) the often destructive spectacle that is Madara and Tobirama screaming their lungs out at each other in the market district. So when today the Uchiha Clan Head, foul mood and all, stomps towards an unsuspecting Tobirama (who really isn’t bothering anybody and seems to be busy enough picking out oranges) and starts shrieking at the top of his lungs about some manner of ‘experimental bullshit' crawling out of Tobirama's 'death trap of a lab,' most of the passersby find themselves stifling a yawn.

Another day, another bout of fires and flooding from the two village founders whose hate for each other hasn’t diminished in the slightest in the two years of Konoha’s existence.

Grown stronger, if anything.

“BECAUSE I AM NOT,” Madara bellows at the end of his first public rant of the day (though surely not the last), “GOING TO STAND FOR YOUR BRAZEN INCOMPETENCE ANYMORE, SENJU!”

Of course, Madara accusing Tobirama of incompetence is also nothing new, although it is common knowledge that it’s the latter who often has to get the Hokage and his best friend out of ridiculously foolish debacles.

(Konoha still remembers how the two godlike shinobi somehow stumbled into quite the deep hole intended for garbage disposal and in their drunken stupor ended up forgetting that they could have simply jumped outーwhat with their immense chakra reserves no less. Tobirama, naturally, had been exceptionally cross that day.)

“Incompetence?” Tobirama only scoffs in answer. “Whatever problem you have with how I handle my duties, Uchiha, pales in comparison to the damage your complete lack of logic deals to society.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Madara snaps, fists clenching and chakra becoming visible alreadyーa faintly shimmering fire-cloak upon his form. That really never bodes well for the market’s survival. “And study the logic behind proper fucking sleep so your complete lack of sense and self-restraint doesn’t lead to more dangerous fucking jutsu that spiral out of fucking control!”

This does perk up a few ears; after all, what novelty of Tobirama Senju’s could appear more dangerous than his summoning of an undead army that past Obon Festival?

“I am conducting a perfectly safe study,” Tobirama says, though Madara doesn’t seem like he believes him at all. “And not of a jutsu but a living being. Though it’s unsurprising your handful of brain matter failed to distinguish the two.”

“A living being with nine godsdamned tails made out of enough chakra to wipe out the whole of Fire Country?!”

This perks up a few more ears but seeds no panic; it’s thanks to Tobirama, after all, that most of Konoha has seen much, much worse. 

“It's a perfectly docile and friendly chakra fox,” Tobirama insists, crossing his arms. “Now for the love of all things holy and unholy, stop your shrieking.” He glances at the mostly disinterested crowd. “You’re embarrassing me. And yourself, though I doubt there’s any room to sink lower than you have.”

“I will fucking destroy you, you worthless piece of shit!” The crackles of a budding Katon flicker around Madara’s fists. “Now go and take care of your fucking experiment-living-chakraーwhatever bullshit, or I will fight you and there will be no remains left for your brother to cry over.”

Tobirama glares, straightening to his full height which has him towering above Madara’s bristling frame. “How so much fight can fit in so little a man,” he sneers, “I will never understand.”

Three things happen in quick succession.

Naturally, Madara attacks. A massive raging wall of fire sizzles straight at Tobirama, who matches Madara’s wild toothy grin with a smirk as he jumps out of the way with the usual easeーonly for Madara to charge at him, fist coated with white-hot flames, and unsurprisingly, Tobirama dodges yet again.

What does come as a surprise is Madara’s slight... miscalculation, it seems, as his eyes linger a bit too long in the general direction of Tobirama’s thighs for some reason, and he’s just slow enough to miss the giant crate of oranges that falls from a panicking store owner’s shelf.

“Madara-sama!” the salesman cries as the legendary Uchiha collides with the box headfirst and drops limply to the ground. “F-forgive me,” the poor man stutters, appearing quite a bit more worried about Tobirama than Madara’s squirming form.

After all, neither of the two are happy when their fights are interrupted before they can destroy at least one building, and as expected, the Senju in question frowns and visibly deflates.

“Madara?” Tobirama asks, tentative, banishing the spikes of ice he’s conjured with his jutsu.

“Mmm,” Madara articulates from the ground, face scrunched in pain as he squints at the sky as if it’s personally offended him. “Mm-wha?..”

In a yet unseen show of kindness, Tobirama walks up to him and kneels to check on Madara’s condition. Quite a few stares shift in their direction. Shouldn’t Tobirama be inclined to leave the Uchiha to suffer?

Apparently not.

“Madara? Can you hear me?” Receiving no answer, Tobirama coaxes him to sit up as he checks over his head. Though unwounded, it does appear he’s seriously concussed as he starts slurring nonsense and pointing at a part of the crowd mumbling something about ‘fute birdsies.’ “Listen, IーAnija will be really upset if you’re seriously hurt, so can you tell meー”

Madara slaps a gloved hand roughly over Tobirama’s mouth. Another uncharacteristic move that provokes many a frown. The pair usually avoid skin to skin contact religiously, even when fighting.

“Your lips,” Madara slurs, eyes unfocused as he stares dazedly at his supposed enemy, “could putーbe put to... much better use than talking.”

“W-what?” Tobirama stammers, shoving the hand away and scrambling to his feet.

“I said your lips,” Madara tries to clarify, before Tobirama cuts him off, “Shut the fuck up, you moron!” he grits through his teeth, extending a hand to the Uchiha as he flops back down to lie on the ground.

“And get up," Tobirama orders, "now. I’m taking you to Anija. Concussions are tricky to heal and I might not be able to avoid leaving lasting effects.”

Madara smirks, and for some reason that prompts a look of horror to settle on Tobirama’s face. For good reason, as the onlookers discover.

“It’s always up for you, Tobirama,” Madara’s slurring is mixed with a bit of a stupid-sounding drawl as he positively ogles Tobirama, eyes once again lingering a tad lower than appropriate. “The question is if you wanna play.”

“Madara!” Tobirama hisses, casting death glares at the crowds now circled around them as one unified and now definitely intrigued mob. “Stop this foolishness right this instantー”

“Stop isn’t our safe-word, Tobiー”

“ーand take my fucking hand!”

“I’d rather have it wrapped around myー”

“MADARA!” Tobirama is trembling with fury at this point, chakra radiating killing intent enough for shinobi and civilian alike to feel it wash over them. The people gathered only scuffle closer, disappointed that the rest of Madara’s sentence gets drowned out by Tobirama’s shout and their own collective gasp. Tobirama pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not. Here.”

“I kno-ow,” Madara whines, finally grasping for Tobirama’s hand only to use it to yank him down once he gets ahold of it. “This hand indefーit definitely needs to be reaching a lot lower.”

“Madara, gods fucking dammit,” Tobirama growls as he wrests himself from Madara hold, “people are staring.”

To be fair, the self-proclaimed honorable and pure-hearted citizens of Konoha make an effort to pretend they aren’t gapingーwhich really isn’t an easy task though, because the display is turning out to be more exciting than any of the village-wide festivities to date.

“Oh?” Madara seems to be trying to raise one eyebrow but ends up skewing his face into an awkward frown at best. “If yesterday’s anything to go by, you don’t mind a little voytriloquism yourself, koibito.”

Another round of gasps follows as Tobirama blanches, mouth slightly agape and lips trembling. Someone helpfully shouts, “Do you mean voyeurism, Uchiha-sama?”

“Yes-yes!” Madara pipes up, still squirming helplessly on the ground. “Voyagerism. That.”

“Uchiha,” Tobirama glowers, a sheen of blue energy wrapping around his limbs as his ire escalates, “I am literally begging you toー”

“Didn’t get enough earlier, eh?” Madara leers, finally managing to wriggle into a half-sitting position, sending a few oranges rolling on the ground. Intrigued and unperturbed by Tobirama’s spluttering (and what a strange sight it is, to see the usually composed Senju at such a loss for words), Madara picks up two of the fruits and proceeds to shock the bystanders to the core once more, “You know, they say fresh squeezed oranges are good for you in the morning, but I think your fresh squeezed diー”

“MADARA, NO!” Tobirama roars, this time quite evidently to drown out Madara’s words.

“Madara, yes,” the Uchiha moans, “that’s all I remember you saying to me this morning.” A few desperate “Kai” resound in the area as Madara Uchiha incarnate starts licking the oranges in his hands. He keeps eye contact with Tobirama all the while as he sucks on them, shameless and wanton, swirling his tongue over the fruits with such wanton enthusiasm one might think him a common harlot. “Remind you of anything, To-bi-ra-ma?”

Needless to say, the world plunges into chaos. Choruses of cheers and wolf whistles, sounds of both affront and confusion erupt from the bystanders as quite a few women rush to cover their husbands’ eyes lest they require the same astonishing level of skill from them.

Tobirama, meanwhile, seems to have finally regained his ability to act, if not speak, and proceeds to grab Madara by his collar and drag him into a wobbly stance, slapping a hand bathed in faint green glow against the Uchiha’s forehead.

"Get permanent brain damage for all I care.” Tobirama gives Madara a pretty hard shake. “Now will you stop fucking talking?”

"You don’t tell me what to do, Senju,” Madara grumbles, looking a bit steadier on his feet now even as his voice still sounds a bit shaky. “And how did I get here?”

Tobirama ignores him, directing one last glower at the excited crowd as he commands, “Don’t you dare speak a word of this to the Hokage,” before disappearing into thin air with Madaraーhis secret lover, something Konoha still can’t wrap its collective head aroundーin tow.

Granted, the younger Senju must have sensed his brother’s approach because the next second none other than Hashirama steps into the market with the usual wide grin on his face, flowers sprouting on each patch of ground he steps on. The crowd stills and grows silent but for a few moments as Tobirama’s order rings clear in their minds, and yet,

“What happened here?” Hashirama asks in childlike confusion.

In just a handful of moments, it proves too much of a temptation for Konoha prolific rumor mill to resist.

“Madara was doing what in front of my Otouto?!”

[raendown]

First entry for @madatobiweek this year! Today’s story is for the prompts magic au and de-aged.

Companion art for this story found here!

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 10,519 Rated: T+ Summary: All the magic he could possibly want at his fingertips and yet he can't stop one big brother from meddling. Forced in to revealing both his heart and his deepest secret, in the end Tobirama is happy - and happily plotting revenge.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Small Problems

“What do you mean you don’t know how this happened?”

“I’m not sure how else to say that so you can understand it.” Tobirama was aware of the dryness in his tone, aware that was one thing that never failed to rile this man up, but in a situation like this he simply could not be bothered to modulate himself. 

Not when the brother who should have been two years older than him sat across the room with rounded baby cheeks, chubby little toddler legs, and a face he hadn’t seen since he himself was about five years old. What on earth his brother had been doing to land himself in such a predicament was uncertain but the two remaining adults both understood one thing without having to voice it. 

They needed to right this wrong before Mito returned from visiting the Uzushio Temples or there would be hell to pay. 

“Haven’t you memorized basically every damn book in the entire library here?” Madara demanded. “Take a look around! You could say which ones here have spells in them that could do this!”

“I have read many of them, not all. I would need another hundred years at the very least to merely skim the entire collection.” Not that he hadn’t been giving his best shot at doing so. Almost every spare moment not spent bored in council meetings or crafting charms for gullible tourists to buy was spent with his nose in whatever books he could get his hands on. If not for Hashirama occasionally dragging him out of his study he might not eat some days. 

“Ugh. What even is the use of you?” His companion crossed both arms and turned his head away, dark hair swaying forward until it almost concealed the way his eyes traced back over to watch Hashirama very intently pluck at a loose thread on the cushion underneath him. 

To be fair he did make for an adorable sight. Despite reverting to an age when he had once sported an abominable bowl cut his brown locks remained as long and smooth as ever, long enough to give the effect of a permanent cape draped over tiny shoulders. His fingers were clumsy, tongue sticking out one corner of his mouth in concentration, and the look in his eyes was about as vapidly thoughtless as any seven year old had ever been. Whatever nonsense he’d been fiddling with had well and truly brought him back to childhood. 

“Anija?” Tobirama kept his voice soft since he’d already discovered that speaking sharply led to even easier tears than normal. “You said you can’t remember what you were, ah, playing with. Do you remember anything at all?”

“I remember Tobi! Up! Up!” It was disgustingly hard to resist the cuteness of a tiny Hashirama holding out both arms with a beaming smile. 

Madara stared at him when he inevitably capitulated, snagging the miniaturized man under both arms and hauling him up to rest on one hip. “I never took you for a softy, Senju. You like kids or something?” 

The tone was clearly meant to be a mocking one but the sneering laughter cut off at a calm nod from the one he was trying to poke fun at. Even as a child himself Tobirama had adored taking care of other younglings. Children were uncomplicated, innocent, and they never judged unless they were taught to do so by an adult. None of their endless questions had ill intentions. Sometimes he very seriously considered taking his brother’s frequent suggestions to get out of the house and take up a second job as a teacher of some sort but the thought of not having an out for the times when he just couldn’t concentrate around his latest obsession always brought him back down to reality. 

When Hashirama began to babble he listened at first, hoping his question was actually being answered, but it only took half a sentence for him to recognize the usual nonsense and tune it out. He looked to Madara instead with a contemplative expression. 

“How do you feel about children yourself?” he asked, unsurprised when the man narrowed both eyes suspiciously. 

“Don’t hate ‘em, I guess, why?” 

“If you want me to figure out what part of this mess caused my older brother to become my younger brother then I’ll need some time to dig through it all. Can you watch him? I won’t get anything done if I have to constantly pull balls of paper out of his mouth and drag him away from things that could hurt him in this state.” 

Watching those dark eyes widen and fill with horror was one of the simpler pleasures in life. “Me? Watch tiny kid Hashirama? Have you lost your entire mind!?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be his best friend?” Tobirama snorted. “One would think you knew him well enough to keep him entertained for a day or two. Or is childcare too much of a challenge for one such as yourself?” 

That had exactly the effect he suspected it would. Madara spluttered and grumbled about how he was perfectly capable of watching one child for a few hours, how hard could it be, and other such nonsense. Amusing as that was, Tobirama did his best not to laugh. He truly wouldn’t get anything done with Hashirama underfoot and being obvious about his amusement would only send the very sexy bane of his existence storming away with no offers of help. 

Honestly if the man weren’t so attractive both in mind and body Tobirama would have drowned him in a water sphere years ago. As long as he drew all the moisture out of the room afterwards it would be the perfect murder. No way to trace it back to him. But of course he had never lowered himself to fantasize about shutting that infuriating mouth up before - murderously, amorously, or otherwise. Wanting anything from someone he argued with so frequently would be a futile exercise and Tobirama was nothing if not a practical man. His time was better spent buried in books as he had been for the past two centuries. 

If he learned enough about the world sometimes he wondered if it would make it all feel less lonely. 

“Does he even know who I am?” Madara’s capitulation was as easy as that, although he made a point of not verbally agreeing, which was just like him. It was a good point, though. Tobirama hefted the child on his hip and cleared his throat.

“Anija? Do you remember who this is?” he asked.

“Maddy!” 

“Yes. That’s exactly who this is.” Tobirama’s lips spread in a shameless smile. “Maddy.”

The sounds of spluttering from across the room were music to his ears, doubly so when the teasing hadn’t even really come from him so he couldn’t be blamed for it. Just for that he resolved to be a little less angry when everything was back to how it should be. Only a little though.

“You’re going to go play with Madara for a while, alright? Be good for him. And use your manners.”

“We’re not going to play,” Madara groused. He seemed to regret it immediately when Hashirama began tearing up. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, but the tears had extra impact when spilling out over chubby cheeks, big brown eyes even wider than normal when set in such a tiny face. 

“B-but I wanna!” he cried, chin wobbling dangerously. 

Madara backtracked wildly even as Tobirama stepped across the room to hand over the man-child. “No no! Of course we can play! I have lots of board games at home and a pack of tarot cards you can read and I think I still have some kid-friendly runes in one of the cupboards. Kagami likes to play with those. That’s good, right? Please stop crying.” 

The way he took Hashirama’s small body in both hands like a sack of potatoes spoke to a certain inexperience with kids and yet once Hashirama finally quit producing tears and giggled at his best friend’s high pitched tone Madara looked much more comfortable, enough that when he set Hashirama on one hip the motion was as smooth and thoughtless as any full time parent. It did ridiculous things to Tobirama’s insides. Attractive, intelligent, and apparently decent with children. If it weren’t for the fact that he just couldn’t see it happening he might have been tempted to pursue something that would definitely end up terrifying everyone around them. 

Unfortunately he had many times gotten the impression that Madara did not find displays of intelligence as arousing as he did - usually seemed more annoyed by it than anything else - so the thought was set aside just as it had been every other time it showed up again. While the other two whispered together about how they would fill their time for the rest of the day Tobirama looked around the room and tried to decide where he would start first. He’d initially found his brother buried under the small mountain of scrolls and tomes in the eastern corner of the room but it was all too possible that he’d simply knocked some things over in his struggle to understand this new body. Still, it was the only lead he had and it wasn’t any better or worse than starting somewhere else. 

“Right.” Cracking both wrists in preparation, he turned to lift one eyebrow at the co-conspirators giggling away by the door. “I should get started if we want him back to normal before the next meeting of the Magic High Council.”

“We’ll get out of your way,” Madara took the hint, thankfully. 

“Don’t forget to feed him. No sugar though, he was a demon whenever he ate sugar at that age.” 

“Got it.” 

Hashirama whined but Madara was already turning to leave with a little extra bounce in his step to distract the tiny body on his hip. 

Although he did his best not to be obvious about it Tobirama watched them until the door closed behind his favorite pair of mischief makers. Only after their voices began to fade down the hallway did he turn and cast a weather eye over the messy study. How his brother got anything done in here was beyond him. Every inch of him itched to clean up, mourning briefly that he hadn’t been born with an affinity for air magic. With air he could have simply waved his hand and called the spirits to help him tidy the room without so much as moving from this spot, could have spent his hours in the library calling books to him without getting up, but alas he had been born with a connection to water instead. 

The pile where he started took more than an hour to sift through and at the end he found nothing but the tear stains left by a confused young-again toddler. It probably wouldn’t have taken him half that long just to look at all the book titles and determine whether they were a likely culprit but his instincts demanded that he organize as he went, sorting the books in to categories by subject and gathering the papers that seemed to go together in separate piles as well. Several of the scrolls were unmarked and those he set aside for later. Messing with unknown, possibly magical artefacts was a mistake he’d made several times before. Now was not the time for a repeat. If the rest of the chaos around him yielded nothing he would look in to the unmarked items with due caution and only after advising someone else to come check that he wasn’t dead afterwards. 

From there Tobirama began to move around the perimeter of the room, going through each new spot of chaos with a fine toothed comb, leaving order in his wake when he moved on. It saddened him to know that all this effort would probably be ruined in less than a week after his brother was free in here once more. 

Beneath one pile of debris he discovered a couch and under a different one he found a table. In one pile after several hours of labor he found some books that he had loaned to his sibling and never gotten back, told they were mysteriously lost somewhere. From now on anything he loaned this idiot would be tethered to a tracking rune and carefully monitored; then the first time Hashirama tried to say something was lost he was going to go dig it up out of this trash heap of a room and commit violence with it. 

Maybe he would even let Madara watch. The man did always seem like he could use a good laugh.

Over half the room had been torn apart and rebuilt in to piles of satisfying organization before Tobirama finally unearthed a clue as to what his brother had been messing with. Bundled under a few tomes about interdimensional flora trades he found one that he himself hadn’t read yet, though he remembered mentally noting it for a future subject of interest. Age manipulation was one of the few subsections of time magic he had yet to turn his attention to. His last experiments in those areas had led to tears from several of their neighbors and angered Kawarama so badly his youngest sibling had refused to speak to him for a whole year. Not truly such a large portion of their extended life spans but he’d felt the loss all the same and no matter what others thought he was capable of learning from his mistakes. Even if the mistake he interpreted was not being sneaky enough with his research. 

There were probably at least a dozen other ways that Hashirama might have landed himself in the state that he did but finding materials specifically to do with age regression magic in his possession was fairly damning evidence for that possibility. Just in case, Tobirama took a moment to pause and look around the rest of the room. One corner that he hadn’t yet gotten to was an area he very rarely saw his brother digging in to and had thus left it to be dealt with last. Now he looked a little closer and noticed that several piles of nonsense had all been very carefully arranged to give the appearance of being the same old stacks of garbage while concealing a cleared area in the very center, a suspicious little set up if he’d ever seen one. Tobirama set down the thick Treatise on Age Manipulation: Techniques of the Elemental Nations and padded his way across the carpet on silent feet as though if he made too much noise he might startle away whatever lay in the hidey hole before him. 

As soon as he poked his head around one tall stack of paper he was frowning deeply, more suspicious than ever. In the very center of the mess, hidden from sight at any other angle but the one he was looking from, a small area had been cleared out to set up an obvious workspace. He remembered when they were little and Hashirama had been so fond of building himself little forts or secret hideaways where he could practice with the natural magics in his blood, making games out of pretending to be some Master Enchanter conducting secret experiments. 

Fun as it was to think back to such innocent times from two centuries before, not even the nostalgia of childhood was going to save Hashirama from his wrath if it turned out the idiot had done all this on purpose. With a deep scowl scoring lines in his forehead to match the tattoos on his cheeks, Tobirama slid carefully in to the cleared out space and hunkered down, pulling several open notebooks towards himself to read through his brother’s familiar handwriting. 

His fears were proven disgustingly true in but a few pages. Judging by the typically scatter-brained notes, it seemed that not only was this not an accident but that Hashirama had actively sought out this brand of magic for the specific purpose of regressing himself to a toddler. Why he wanted to be seven years old again was not mentioned in the initial notes and so Tobirama read on with a headache already forming from clenching his jaw too tightly. 

Two more notebooks of terribly organized outlines and vague descriptions of eighteen different experiments granted Tobirama no more clarity on the situation, although he did pick up enough crumbs of information to piece together a decent knowledge of the subject matter. His temper was barely contained by the time he worked his way down to the final notebook. Fascinating as he had always found it comparing the theories of one spell to another, he needed to figure out which one had actually been used that morning in order to properly reverse it. Truly a regrettable restriction. 

Well, regrettable from Hashirama’s point of view, probably. He was the one who would suffer the wrath of an angry water mage until Tobirama had worked out the frustration of this moment. 

The last notebook left unread sat open to a random page that Tobirama smacked his hand down on in a temper. Dragging it towards him across the worksurface made the distinct sound of crumpling paper as he did so. Instantly mired with an instinctual scholar’s guilt, he very carefully lifted the book to peer underneath and assess whatever damage he’d just done. 

A lone sheet of parchment fluttered back in to place where he easily identified it as a letter. The frown that already might as well be permanently etched in to his face deepend at the sight of his own name at the top. Why in the many interdimensional worlds would his brother need to write to him? They lived right next door to each other! Setting the notebooks aside, he used both hands to smooth out the rest of the letter and held the edges down so he could skim the contents. The moment he reached the bottom his eyes snapped back to the top for a more careful read through since clearly he must have hallucinated what he thought he’d just read. 

Nothing changed. Tobirama’s hands were shaking with rage as he read through his brother’s words for a third time like they might somehow change in to something less stupid. 

Dear Tobi

If you’re finding this then my plans are in motion! You will be very proud of me, I’m sure, for how carefully I conducted my experiments and research. Just like you! 

Watching you and Madara dance around each other the way you have been for half a century is starting to get ridiculous. I really hate seeing both of you so lonely but you both refuse to do anything about it so I decided to do that myself. You’ll thank me, I promise! 

The spell I’ll be using will bring my body and mind back to when I was a child - but I guess you’ll already know that when you find this. Don’t worry for me, I still have all my memories. But there is only one way to break the spell and bring me back to normal. All you have to do is say a few simple words. Easy, right? I hope so because the words I chose for my release incantation are words you should have said a long time ago. 

You have to ask Madara on a date! Isn’t that fun? I told you that you would thank me later! You can’t just say any old words, though, you have to say it exactly like this: “Madara, it would make me very happy if you would take me on a date tomorrow.” You deserve to be pampered. He should be the one taking you out and treating you nice!

I can’t wait to see how happy you’ll be when I’m back to normal!

Love, Hashirama (the best big brother in the world)

The sound of crumpling parchment filled the air around him, fingers clenching in to the letter with white-knuckled rage. Happy was not even close to any of the feelings chasing red hot through his blood. After he managed to get this idiot back to his usual height Tobirma was going to punch the man right back down to the ground. Stagnant thought it may be, his love life was his own damn business.

His first instinct, of course, was to tear his way through the final notebook in search of which exact spell his brother had ended up using. Almost every curse and rune and incantation that had ever been crafted could be broken or cancelled out by something if a man was desperate enough to do something stupid - and Tobirama was fairly desperate not to get backed in to such a ridiculous corner. Of all the hills he’d been prepared to die on over the years this probably ranked among the pettiest and yet that knowledge did nothing to stop him from slapping the notebook back down in a rush of fury when he discovered what he had most feared. 

For a very stupid man Hashirama did have his moments of evil genius. All the notes appeared to be there just as they had been for the rest but here the letters were blurred with some sort of privacy seal, visible only to Hashirama’s eyes. The only thing keeping Tobirama from whipping the entire thing across the room was knowing he would feel compelled to go clean up whatever mess his little hissy fit might cause. 

Dragging both hands down his face, he leaned back in what small space was available and tilted his head back to look up blankly at the ceiling, wracking his brain for a way to get around this. He knew dozens of counter-enchantments that could be attuned to different spells but of course Hashirama had known those would be his answer. Without knowing how to attune them he could end up hurting the idiot before he had a chance to murder him properly and that was far from what he wanted. Revenge would be sweet - but deliberate. 

It couldn’t hurt anything to go home and do a little research of his own to see if there was some solution that might not be occurring to him in the panic. He had salvaged dozens of seemingly hopeless experiments over the years long after something appeared to be impossible, he wouldn’t know until he tried. With any luck he might stumble upon some hidden nugget of information to save the day and prevent him from making such an utter fool of himself in front of Madara by asking questions he was fairly sure he already knew the answer to. No need to expose himself like that. He’d been lucky in his experiments before, there was no reason to think he might not be lucky again.

Except for perhaps the fact that fate was often a bitch like that, abandoning him when he needed her most. 

There was nothing really to pack up since none of the materials around him would be very useful so it only took a moment to squeeze his way back out of the little fort before he could head for the exit. Concentrated as he had been on the task of figuring out what the fuck was going on, his brain had rather easily filtered out the muted sounds drifting over from the other end of Hashirama’s ridiculously oversized home. Thanks to some rather clever seal work designed by Mito the inside of the house was nearly three times as large as the outside, new rooms and wings added on whenever Hashirama took a fancy to some new hobby or another. Until he was intercepted halfway to the front door Tobirama hadn’t realized one of the newest additions was a nursery. 

“Play!” Hashirama’s tiny voice demanded with childish imperialism. “Tobi play!” 

“Get back here you miniaturized tree! How the hell do you move so fast- oh.” Madara froze in the doorway, arms outstretched where he had clearly been attempting to capture his runaway charge. 

“Having fun, are we?” Tobirama murmured. He tilted his head down to see two wide brow eyes staring back at him as though he’d hung the very stars in the sky. It’d been years since any of his brothers looked at him like that. Some small corner of his heart melted instantly, fingers twitching with the need to pull this tiny figure up on to his hip for a good cuddle. 

Madara straightened up and cleared his throat. “You don’t need to check up on us, you know.”

“Up!” 

“Not now, Anija.” Absently patting the man-child’s hair, Tobirama lifted one eyebrow. “I was on my way to look a bit deeper in to our options for this rather unorthodox situation. My own laboratory is much better equipped for such research so if the two of you would excuse me. Anija, please let go now.” 

Hashirama’s bottom lip wobbled dangerously. “No. Tobi has to play!” 

Difficult to tell at the best of times, it was even harder to figure out if his emotions were real or put upon with such an earnest and tiny face. He hadn’t lost his memories, after all, only his emotional and mental maturity. Which wasn’t all that great to begin with but Tobirama had been given enough lectures on the subject not to mention that anymore - at least not where sensitive ears might carry his words to a vengeful Mito. 

“I can’t stay and play, Anija, I need to work on getting you back to normal.” And planning his revenge, of course, though he refused to give any hints of that. Surprises were supposed to be fun, or so he’d been told. 

“But Toooobiiiiii!” Hashirama’s pudgy fingers curled around his leg in a stubborn embrace. “I already said how! I wroted you a letter! Play!” 

“The correct word is ‘wrote’,” Tobirama corrected him out of sheer habit. He may not have accepted any of the teaching positions offered to him over the years but there would always be an educator buried somewhere in his heart. 

Nodding furiously, the limpet clinging to him faithfully repeated his correction. “Wrote! Now come give me piggyback rides? Madara’s really good at them but his hair is all slippy and I keep sliding off!” 

Listening to the strange mesh of adult language and the childish need to bastardize grammar was bound to give him a headache in less than five minutes. Hashirama’s pronunciation was perfect, it was clear he was aware of every mistake in his sentences, so Tobirama was left to conclude that it was all very deliberate. The undersized nuisance was acting as childish as he could to play it up. He had to be. Nothing else could explain how he remembered writing that letter but ‘didn’t remember’ how to properly communicate as such. 

Even worse, it was working. Tobirama could feel his resolve weakening with every tug as Hashirama pulled insistently at his fingers. In his current state he had next to no strength and barely a fraction of his usual body weight, there was really no reason he should be able to pull a fully grown man around, and yet Tobirama found himself shuffling forward in half steps anyway. As an instinctual defense against his own stupidly soft heart he made sure to roll his eyes heavenward in an expression of great suffering. From the quiet snort that Madara let out he could guess that his efforts were wasted. So much for all-consuming rage.

As he allowed himself to get pulled in to what looked like the aftermath of a tornado Tobirama quickly revised his plans. He would allow himself to be distracted for ten minutes or so, just enough time to appease Hashirama, then he would head home as planned and see if there was anything helpful to be gleaned from his personal library. 

“Maddy helpeded me build a tower!” Hashirama scurried over to show him the wobbly structure made out of wooden rune blocks, imitations of the stones and charms Tobirama himself often peddled for money. Not exactly work to be proud of but it was fairly easy income and quick fingers meant he could produce them fast enough to give himself lots of time for the research he was truly interested in. Pride was all well and good until it got in the way of his experiments. 

“It’s a very...tower.” Try as he might Tobirama couldn’t bring himself to compliment that architectural monstrosity. 

“He worked very hard on that,” Madara pointed out.

Tobirama turned to level him with a flat stare. “I have my own hard work to be doing right now.”

“Awww but you haven’t even given me a piggyback ride yet!” Abandoning his tower, Hashirama toddled over to strike an admittedly very cute pose. “Stop trying to run away, little brother!”

“Which one of us is little right now?” he snapped back. 

Madara didn’t even bother to stifle the bark of laughter that jerked his entire frame, although he did turn his face away to let out a long bout of snickering. Being mocked by him was nothing new, that was pretty much the basis for most of their interactions, but it still wasn’t pleasant to realize he was acting so childishly in front of the man he had such unfortunate feelings for. Tobirama just barely stopped himself from crossing his arms; that would have really driven the nails down in his coffin. 

Instead he appeased himself with a pointed glare down at the little body dancing from side to side near his feet. He’d sort of forgotten just how fidgety his brother had been at this age. Of course, the years hadn’t really dulled the habit all that much, just enough that he was able to pass for a semi-respectable adult for short spurts at a time. 

“One ride,” Tobirama offered stiffly. “I will take you once around the room and then you will let me leave. Do we have a deal?”

“No! You have to play with both of us!” 

“What on earth led you to believe you have any sort of bargaining power here?” 

Daring to produce a sunny smile, Hashirama giggled in his face, clearly unaware of the massive hole he was digging for himself by the minute. Vengeance would be sweet once he was returned to a mental state that would understand the sort of tortures Tobirama had in mind. 

“If you don’t play with me I’ll tell Maddy what I wrote in the letter!”

Tobirama had never snatched a child off the ground so fast in all his life. Doing his best to ignore the curious and increasingly irritated questions from Madara, he settled his brother across both shoulders and began trotting about the room. When Hashirama demanded it he even gave a very flat neigh. If they had been alone, if this were any other child on his back, he would have had so much more enthusiasm for play. Normally he loved kids. With Madara doubled over in the corner and both hands wrapped around his stomach to contain the mirth it was a little harder than usual to lose himself in the joy of youthful innocence. 

Once around the room was deemed far from enough when he tried to stop. All it took was one glance over at Madara for him to set off again with barely a grumble. Mortifying as this was, making the other man laugh was preferable to letting him catch his breath enough for curiosity to set in again. He must have heard something about the letter. Or maybe he hadn’t and the spirits had for once decided to have mercy and allow Tobirama to escape this room without embarrassing himself with the one thing he would never recover from - his feelings. 

For perhaps a whole five minutes he was allowed to have hope. Hashirama directed him like a little general on several laps around the nursery before dragging him over to the blocks and demanding he help make an ‘even betterer’ tower. With his guidance the results were at least structurally sound, if not entirely practical. He wasn’t so sure how necessary it was to have so many rooftops. After playing with the rune blocks Hashirama cheerfully announced that he wanted to play dress up and that, unsurprisingly, was where Tobirama drew the line. There were many things he would do to save himself from the fate his brother had chosen to be his doom but putting on a fashion show for a toddler and a man with the power to burn memories in to his own mind was not one of those things. Just the thought of whatever monstrosities might be hiding in this home, waiting for his tortured form to be stuffed in to them, was enough to turn his stomach. His brother was not known for any sort of fashion sense. 

“Alright, that is enough,” he declared, standing up to brush imaginary lint from his pants. “You asked that I play with you and I have. Now I will be going-”

“But you didn’t play with Maddy at all!” Hashirama’s tiny legs fluttered him across the room to hang off his best friend’s sleeve.

“I don’t think he’s all that heart broken about it,” Tobirama pointed out flatly. 

To his horror, Madara chose that moment to feel a little mischievous. “How would you know? Maybe I’m just torn apart inside with despair that you could possibly think to leave me out of the fun. Come now, Senju, stay and play with me too!”

“Oh! We could have a sleepover!” Clapping both hands to either side of his face, Hashirama’s eyes practically glittered at the very thought.

He wilted sadly when Tobirama shot him down with a short, “No.”

“Whyyyyy!?”

“Because I have work to do.”

“No you don’t!” Hashirama stuck his tongue out. “You just want to go and read a bunch of books a-’cause you’re trying not to ask Maddy-”

“FINE!”

Both of them stared at him with wide eyes for such an unexpected outburst. Madara’s eyes quickly narrowed again in thought, a dangerous expression. The man may have been famous for his manipulation of fire magics but only because there were so few people who had witnessed just what those dangerous eyes could do and lived to tell the tale. And as much as Tobirama knew that should have sobered him with fear he could only mentally sigh at the warm burst of intrigue that bloomed in his chest. 

Clearing his throat, he did his best to smooth away the panic from his expression and coached his voice to more normal, less panicked tones.

“If you absolutely must then you may have your...sleepover.” The word came out through gritted teeth.

“Why do I keep picking up hints that there’s something you don’t want me to know?” Madara asked.

“Because there is something I don’t want you to know.”

The offended squawk was amusing, at least. Madara always had this way of bristling like an angry hedgehog whenever they traded their usual insults and that, Tobirama realized now, was probably the origin of his downfall. He couldn’t help it if his poor taste thought it was cute to see an already wild man made even wilder as his hair spiked up and his cheeks puffed out with indignation. 

Before his thoughts could run too far away and bring any sort of damning color to his face Tobirama followed tiredly along with his little-older brother’s instructions to set up the room for a good old camp out. In a magically expanded mansion like this one there were a dozen or so futons to choose from. Hashirama picked out the ones he declared the cushiest and conducted his two temporary slaves to drag them through the halls, hemming and hawing with all his seven-year old eye for decorating, demanding they rearrange things four times before it was perfect. If he were honest it looked completely the same to Tobirama in each iteration but he knew better than to say so. He wasn’t looking for a three hour lecture on home decor from someone whose voice had reversed to prepubescence. 

When all was about as perfect as he wanted it to be Hashirama threw his tiny body in to the very middle of the mess and began squirming around with all four limbs flailing. Irritating as the situation might be, that was still an adorable sight that forced Tobirama to hide a smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to wait at least until the little idiot fell asleep before he slipped away to hit the books. He just hoped that whatever spell had shrunk his brother would not have any adverse effects with lengthy exposure; it would be just his luck to finally have everyone back to their correct age only to discover that he had accidentally saddled himself with a man forever stuck in the mind of a child. 

Not to mention that Mito would have his head for that. 

He wasn’t the only one who seemed suspiciously okay with the proceedings. As unselfconsciously as though he were entirely alone, Madara straightened to pull off his outer robes and reached back to sweep the great mass of his long hair behind him. While he listened to Hashirama chatter excitedly about the bedtime stories they should tell he separated his hair in to three sections and began to braid the lot of it in to a thick rope. It was entirely unfair how much more approachable he looked without all that snarled black wire bristling around his head. 

Tobirama looked away before anyone could catch him staring. He occupied himself instead with fussing at some of the blankets, turning the edges down and pulling them in to place a little better. Presumably Hashirama would be sleeping in the center and even at his full size he somehow managed not to hold on to any body heat during the night. All the blankets around them might feel excessive but they were probably necessary.

In an effort to relax himself he allowed his body to flop down over the mess of bedding, grateful when his head landed at least somewhat over a pillow. There would be no escape until little eyes had fallen asleep so he might as well get comfortable for now and since he had no long hair to braid or extraneous outer layers to remove there was nothing to do but consciously loosen the muscles in his body until he felt himself all but melting down in to the futon. Someday when this nursery was occupied by actual children he was pleased to note that they would undoubtedly be quite comfortable with soft beds, tasteful decor carefully chosen for a soothing atmosphere, and so many spells layered together for climate control he didn’t think it was even possible for one to grow cold in this room - unless you were Hashirama. A good place to raise children. 

Crude as it was, his plan of waiting until Hashirama fell asleep to make his escape sounded perfectly fine right up until the tiny traitor passed out sprawled over his lap in the middle of a story he used to recite for their younger brothers. As soon as Tobirama realized what had happened he fell silent with a baleful glare.

“What’s he done now?” Madara asked with a snicker. “I thought the whole point of telling him stories was to make him fall asleep so what’s with that look?”

“I didn’t mean for him to do so on top of me.” 

“Guess you’re trapped here with us, then.” Strangely enough, he didn’t look all that upset about it for a man who’d never seemed particularly enamoured with his best friend’s little brother.

Heaving a deep sigh of resignation, Tobirama closed his eyes and prayed to the spirits of water for patience. This was exactly the sort of situation he did not want to be in. He’d been stupid enough to admit that he was keeping something from Madara specifically and now here he was trapped in place at the other’s mercy. If he wanted to move he would risk waking Hashirama who was even more likely to simply blurt out his secrets than he was to reveal them on purpose. With despair he noted that it seemed Hashirama’s plan would be coming to fruition after all, the bastard. There didn’t seem like a way out of this now. If he woke Hashirama and left his Anija would simply tattle on him but if he stayed here Madara’s relentless personality would not stop until he had the answers he knew were being kept from him. 

Staring back at the expectant grin watching him like a hawk, Tobirama could already taste defeat heavy on his tongue. He wasn’t going to get out of this without making a fool of himself. At least, he consoled himself, it wouldn’t be all that hard to avoid the man for a decade or so and by then either his feelings would hopefully have faded or Madara’s memories would have.

“Anything you want to fess up to while we’re stuck together?” 

“You,” Tobirama snarled, “are not stuck anywhere. He’s not even a little on top of you.”

“I forgot how cute he used to be - in a dorky sort of way. The lack of bowl cut is a definite improvement.” Already sitting with his legs crossed, Madara folded himself a little tighter so he could lean down and inspect the small sleeping face between them. 

Tobirama did his best not to track the movements of that thick braid or think about how much he wanted to unravel it loop by loop with his own fingers. It took a sizable chunk of self control but he managed to meet the other’s gaze once Madara finally sat upright again. “After a prank like this one I am tempted to recreate the bowl cut while he sleeps. He deserves to be laughed out of town.”

“Oh come on, he’s just trying to get you to open your mouth as far as I can tell. So why don’t you just make your confessions and then everything will be fine, ne?”

“Go to hell.”

“Been there, done that, won the throne.”

“Ugh.”

Even that was enough to spawn some very interesting pictures in his mind, images of this man in dark robes lounging on the throne of hell, which made Tobirama glad that he had more self control than most. Otherwise having his brother spread across his lap would have suddenly become twice as awkward. 

“Go on then, putting us both out of our miseries now would save a lot of time and badgering,” Madara said. 

“And yet I still find myself reluctant to say anything,” Tobirama shot back. 

“It must be extra embarrassing then; I’ve got to know!”

With a scowl he turned his head away and declared, “No, you don’t.”

“The more you protest the more curious I become,” Madara laughed. The truth of the statement brought one of Tobirama’s hands up to drag tiredly down his face. 

“Right. I should have expected that. Would the reason why we’re in this situation satisfy you? That sounds like a decent compromise to me - and brother is always whining at the two of us to compromise more.” It wasn’t as though they didn’t get along at all but they were both possessed of cantankerous personalities that led to bickering more often than not. Hashirama hated it but Tobirama was often grateful for the way his feature naturally affected a scowl, neatly hiding the fact that he actually enjoyed their verbal spars. 

“Sounds entertaining, at least!” 

“Hmph.” 

Entertaining the other was the last thing he was after, no matter how deviously attractive Madara looked when he was bent over with laughter at someone making a fool of themselves. Right now his biggest concern was mitigating the damage. With that in mind he shored up what little courage he had left the matter and cleared his throat.

“In a stroke of brilliance that I was unaware he possessed - and will happily beat out of him later - Anija located a spell that requires an incantation to break. He chose a certain phrase that he would like me to say, something he has made the decision on my behalf that desperately needs to be said out loud no matter my personal feelings on the matter.” Tobirama took a deep breath in an effort not to get himself riled up. “In short, I am under duress to make confessions I would rather not. Does that satisfy you?” 

“Not in the slightest,” Madara declared with a grin. 

“You cannot be serious!”

His companion fell back in to the bedding with a bark of laughter. “If anything I’m even more curious. So he won’t turn back in to an adult unless you say whatever he set as the decantation?” 

“Mn.”

“Would just be easier to get it over with, wouldn't it?”

“Not really.” Tobirama studied a spot on the wall without actually seeing it. “One doesn’t just say things like this without expecting the consequences to be remembered. You do, after all, have quite the long memory when it comes to mocking others. Not so much when it comes to important dates.”

“I forgot his birthday one time! One time!” 

For a moment he breathed a subtle sigh of relief. Madara seemed content to be distracted by going off on a rant about how it should be completely forgivable that in several hundred years he had only missed one of Hashirama’s birthdays, too deep in his studies to see the way time marched on around him. It was a state that Tobirama could more than sympathize with, although that did nothing to stop him from throwing it in the man’s face whenever he needed a good distraction. 

To his poor luck, however, today his foolproof distraction failed him at last. Madara’s rant ended after only a handful of minutes when he snapped his jaw shut with a suddenness that clacked his teeth together. A curl of his top lip slowly blossomed in to something downright evil looking. 

“Something you don’t want to say to me but Hashirama thinks that you should.” He cackled softly under his breath. “Oh this promises to be so embarrassing. Perfect! I have to know!” 

“No, you don’t,” Tobirama said again.

“I really, really do.” 

A growl slipped out between his teeth as he gnashed them together. “What would it take to convince you to just drop it?” 

“More than you could ever afford,” Madara answered promptly. 

“Would begging help?” Tobirama’s voice carried a note of mounting desperation. 

Yet still Madara shook his head, expression filled with malicious delight. His toes were practically wriggling with it. If it weren’t for the visual comparison spread across his own lap Tobirama might have been tempted to call the man a child for looking so pleased over something so cruel. 

Why, in the name of all things holy, did he find that so attractive? Clearly there was something wrong with him. 

“I’m afraid you just talked yourself in to a corner by piquing my interest even more. Which means that you have two options.” Madara held up his fingers in a V shape. “One, you tell me whatever this gift wrapped blackmail is yourself. Two, I wake Hashirama up and we hear it from his mouth instead.”

Tobirama stared at him with his heart sinking in his chest because the man was right. He had only two options and of those two he knew which one would feel worse. Saying the words himself was going to end in pain - for more than just himself if his plans for revenge had anything to say about it - but cowering in the corner like a shy child ashamed of his own feelings while someone else exposed his vulnerabilities? Just the thought of standing back and letting that happen made him shudder. It took several tries drawing breath deep in to his lungs but eventually he was able to force his chin up, shoulders square. He held Madara’s gaze for all of three second before his eyes skittered away of their own accord to stare at the wall instead. 

“Madara,” he breathed, “it would make me very happy if you would take me on a date tomorrow.”

“W-what?”

“AH!” The booming baritone of Hashirama’s voice was startling after an afternoon of listening to his seven year old squeaking, almost more of a distraction than the way his body returned abruptly to its usual size with a rending crack that echoed off the walls. When he sat up he did so with the clumsy movement of a new faun learning its own legs. “Did I fall asleep? How did the story end? Why does my voi- oh! Oh brother! You must have asked him! I’m so proud of you, I can’t wait to hear how your first date goes!”

Shoving his giant lump of a brother off, Tobirama ignored the indignant whine as he surged upwards to his feet and stormed towards the door. “Don’t hold your breath. The answer is no.” 

“You said no!?” Hashirama exclaimed, turning to his best friend who sat very still with a poleaxed expression. 

“I didn’t say anything…”

“He never said anything, Tobi. How do you know what his answer is if you don’t let him speak?”

“Easy.” When he paused at the door to look over one shoulder he could meet neither of their eyes. “There was never a chance he would say yes.”

Without waiting to hear a response from either of them he turned back to the door and left, down the hall and through the many twisting corridors of his brother’s stupidly large home. Drafting seals in his mind to cancel out the magic expanding the inside of Hashirama’s house was so much easier to think about than the fact that he would probably have to avoid Madara for the next couple of decades. The man did have a long memory. There was really no guarantee he would ever forget but hopefully the shine of mocking Tobirama for his feelings would have faded away by the time he allowed them to talk again. 

His nose wrinkled against the cold when he finally managed to find his way outside to the cobblestone streets of the capital city. Council meetings; he’d forgotten that all three of them sat together on the Magic High Council. That would make it infinitely harder for him to avoid conversing with either of those morons but he was sure he could find a way. Maybe he could design a rune that would remove his voice for a while.

No, that would make it difficult to sell his wares when he needed money. Not to mention that many of the spells he spent his time researching required incantations. He would have to think of something else. 

It wasn’t exactly a long journey to his own modest home next door, although with his head lost in the swirl of dark thoughts it felt like it took forever to get there. Stepping in to the ring of fae-fire light illuminating his front step brought with it the familiar shiver of wards scanning him for ill intent and he was glad to have his attention pulled back to reality. Thinking about Madara wouldn’t do him any good. It never had before. Tomorrow he could lock himself away with several notebooks and brainstorm some underhanded method or another to minimize the contact between them until he could meet the other man’s eyes again but for now the best thing would be to just get some sleep. 

The house was dark and Tobirama didn’t bother to turn on any lights, familiar enough with his own layout not to need them. Living by himself as he had for so long meant that he really felt no desire to expand the inside as his brother had. What need did he have of more space? He already had more rooms than he knew what to do with, filling most of them with books and the results of failed experiments, so the thought of adding more felt ridiculous.

Even without light enough to see it Tobirama could feel the comfort of his living room the moment he stepped inside. Well worn carpet buoyed his steps on his way to collapse down over the threadbare couch. Not many things in his house had been replaced in the past couple of centuries. Impressing the rare guests who entered was far less important to him than the precious memories attached to every item here that had been with him through discoveries, achievements, and heartbreaks. He gave the cushions underneath him a chance now to help him through one more of the latter as he stretched out on his back to stare up at the shadows on the ceiling. Would that he could turn his mind off. To not think any thoughts for several hours would be a wonderful boon at the moment but sleep felt as far away as the ocean.

A good thing, as it turned out. The spirits of water only knew what sort of reaction he might have had to being awakened by the sound of booted feet storming in to the room and a violent hand smacking the light switch without looking. Despite knowing exactly who had invaded his home - he knew those footsteps, would always know the pattern of that confident stride - Tobirama pulled himself in to a sitting position where he could glare down his unwanted guest. 

“I have never understood,” he growled, “how you always bypass my wards.”

“Don’t need to. They let me in just fine.” 

“They shouldn’t!”

“Why the hell not?”

Shifting forward to the edge of his seat, Tobirama pointed back down the hall. “Get out. I have better things to spend my night doing than being mocked by you - like figuring out what loophole you’ve found that keeps letting you in here.”

“They’re intent based, aren’t they? I get in because I have no intent to harm you in any way.” In deliberate ignorance of being asked to leave Madara stepped further in to the room. Somehow he managed to look both his usual confident self and oddly hesitant, arms folded closely to his chest.

“Like hell you don’t. It’s not just physical harm they’re supposed to guard me against. Just leave. I don’t want to listen to whatever-”

“Just let me talk!” 

Sitting down while the other hovered menacingly over him felt like weakness, like offering himself as bait, so Tobirama stood to fold his own arms with a frown. “I’m sure I don’t want to hear whatever it is you came here to say.”

Whether that be mockery or some kind of apology for not returning his feelings he really didn’t want to listen. Both options would hurt equally as bad. It was something he had observed long before falling prey to the same thing himself; beings like themselves with lives extended by the magic in their veins tended to harbor their pains much deeper and much longer than the humans with more natural lifespans. He’d been in love with Madara for so long it was hard to remember when he first decided to push it all down and simply forge ahead. Learning to let these feelings go was going to be even harder than learning to ignore them had been. 

“I think you do. But first I need to know; did he make you ask me that because…”

“Don’t make me say it,” Tobirama said quietly, looking away. 

“So you do... Then you meant what you said to Hashirama? You really think there’s no chance at all that I could ever say yes to you?” Madara took another step forward only to pause when Tobirama took a step back in answer. 

A glare probably wasn’t enough answer so he forced himself to say, “Obviously.” 

“W-What do you mean ‘obviously’? That’s not- Like hell!”

“Either make sense or leave. Actually, just leave. Now.” Tobirama took a step back with the intention of turning and walking away. His bedroom was much more heavily warded than the rest of the house, he would be safe in there from whatever the hell was going on.

He froze when Madara blurted out, “I would have said yes!” 

“I...beg your pardon?”

The particular shade of red currently spreading across Madara’s face was one Tobirama had long ago learned to associate with an impending explosion, generally one of words and almost always directed at himself. Some part of him braced for impact out of sheer habit even as the rest of his body hung loose with shock and his thoughts ground to a stuttering halt. He watched Madara fidget and held his breath.

“What? Don’t look at me like that. You like me, I’m allowed to like you back!”

“Since when!?” Tobirama demanded. Then, because that didn’t feel like enough, he also spluttered his way through, “How? What? Me?”

“Of course you! It’s always been you! You’re the only one who knows how to properly yell back at me, you’re so smart already and you still spend every day lost in your studies, you’re more attractive than I know what to do with; who the hell wouldn’t say yes to all that?” With a toss of his head Madara scoffed and tried to stand casually as though he weren’t blushing redder than his own family crest.

Tobirama could only stare. “I don’t...what?”

By the determined expression on the other’s face Tobirama figured he should probably turn tail and run when Madara began marching across the room towards him. As luck had it, he was still too deep in shock to do anything but stand there like an idiot until his collar was bunched up in a pair of fists. 

“Fuck it,” Madara snarled. “Neither of us was ever any good at words anyway.”

Despite all the clues laid out so neatly in a row for him Tobirama’s first thought when he was yanked forward was that he was about to be headbutted, a ridiculously mundane attack considering how much magical power they both wielded. Nothing could have possibly surprised him more than Madara’s lips crushing against his own in a kiss that began as brutally as their clashes ever had only to soften, taking and taking and then suddenly asking, exploring, reaching out with a question he could finally understand. It took several heartbeats for him to respond through the shock but when he did-

Oh, when he did. Centuries of yearning coalesced inside him and faded away to dust as he slid his fingers in to midnight hair and tilted his head for a better angle, a deeper kiss. Madara sighed in to the affection like he too had been waiting much too long for this moment. The feeling of that strong body pressed against his own was like finding the other half of himself and finally finally coming back together again. Tobirama held tight and prayed that none of this would disappear when he woke the next morning. 

“Was that clear enough?” Madara asked him in breathless words, quiet as though he didn’t want to disturb the moment. 

“I will have a lot of questions,” Tobirama warned him. “Later. Just- again.” He was grateful that his incoherency made sense to the other, pulled in for another kiss that felt like learning how to breathe for the first time. 

They could have made their way to the bedroom, to the couch he was still right next to, up against the wall or anywhere really. It was late and the day had been filled with more emotions than either of them were accustomed to dealing with in such a short time span. Still they remained where they were. Even when the kisses began to fade and the desperation in their movements settled in to the confounding knowledge that this was truly happening they stood where they were, wound together with their eyes closed and their cheeks pressed against each other in silence. Tobirama breathed in the scent of smoke and ash, closed his eyes, and smiled. 

Maybe he wouldn’t kill his brother after all. It was possible - unlikely as it sounded - that Hashirama had been right in the end. And as much as Tobirama protested the methods used to force his words in to the light he was self-aware enough to know that he would never have said them otherwise, too wrapped up in his own interpretations to see the truth. 

Another deep breath and Tobirama admitted to himself that he should probably thank his brother. Without interference he might have never had the opportunity to feel the beat of Madara’s heart against his own, the way their chests pressed together with every synchronized breath in. His eyes cracked open but it was only to crinkle at the edges with a smirk as evil as he had ever been accused of being. Thanking Hashirama could come after the revenge he was equally owed. A few smiles, a day or two of playing nice, and he was sure he could weasel out of the man which spell he had used to reverse his age. Tobirama was patient. Locking his brother in that limited body for a week or so would be so much sweeter after Mito came home and he could leave the idiot to her lack of mercy. Only after apologies had been given on bended knee would he relent. 

“You’re thinking something evil,” Madara’s voice rumbled in his ear. “Your fingers always twitch when you do.”

“Sorry-”

“I like it. You’ve always been a mean son of a bitch and that’s part of what I like about you. Share whatever evil thoughts you have in your head?”

Tobirama bit his lower lip to keep himself from laughing, curling tighter around the body in his arms as he whispered, “Stay.”

“Always,” Madara whispered back. “I always meant to stay.”

It seemed like it should be impossible to have everything he wanted handed to him as easily as that but Tobirama was hardly going to question it. He questioned enough in his research. All thoughts of giving thanks or revenge could wait until after he’d spent at least a few good hours memorizing the way it felt to finally hold this man in his arms. 

Pressing their lips together again was more of a rush than any magical discovery had ever given him, dusting his cheeks with a pleasant warmth, and Tobirama decided that he was happy to stand here for the rest of time if it meant he never had to do anything but trade gentle kisses just like this. It felt like the events of tonight had gone by so fast he wasn’t entirely sure how any of this had happened but that was alright.

“Always. I like the sound of that.”

[madhattervanessa]

Pain Management (Chapter 1)

Well this isn’t a very funny title but I’m sticking with it for now! Welcome to a little series about Leonard McCoy getting to know you (a dentist on the Enterprise) and maybe more...?

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader (female)

Warnings: Dentist stuff, slow-burn-ish, tooth rotting fluff, other content warnings will be written as headers of the coming chapters

Words: 2419

Hope you’ll like it, don’t forget to leave a heart or a comment. It feeds the beast

(Chapter 2)

Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

You sigh as you go through your list of check-ups, two names highlighted red by now: James T. Kirk and Leonard H. McCoy. The usual suspects.

Although it was common knowledge around the ship that the CMO practically had to hunt and strap the captain down to a biobed for his physicals only few, including the more unknown part of the medical staff, knew that the captain was even harder to get for his appointments for your field. Both the captain and the CMO hate the trips to the exam rooms in the dentist's and orthodontist's sections of med bay.

Even though you had just taken the position of your now retired colleague you had already picked up on the bad experiences that quite a few crew members had gained along with their appointments.

You send another thoughtful look towards the office of said CMO before you switch the PADD in your hand to stand by and approach the door with self confident steps. With another deep breath you gently knock the door before you open it up, already preparing a soft smile. Or at least as well as you can, seeing as it is nearly the end of your shift and it had been a very long one this time.

Dr. McCoy keeps his gaze glued to the screen in front of him at his desk, his hands hovering just above the on the table projected keyboard. His eyebrows are scrunched together in a frown which thankfully clears up a little as his eyes flicker towards you.

''Oh, hello, Dr. Y/L//N. I'll be with you in second I just have to finish this report and then-''

''Leonard Horatio McCoy, you've missed your appointments with me five times by now.'' you interrupt him and see the man break a sweat in one fell swoop. His mouth opens for a second without any sound coming out before he grumbles something under his breath that sounds like a curse.

After another final look to the screen in front of him and then towards you, he sighs. Then suddenly his shoulders raise a little in time with his head but you're already prepared for him making new excuses.

''I know that your shift ends in a few minutes and you have no meetings as you are cleared of any because of your appointment. So there's no way out of it this time, Doc.''

The corners of his lips turn up to a bitter smile, his hands raised in defeat.

''Alright, alright. Long time since someone whipped out my second name to scold me. Give me a second.'' he chuckles lightly but you can see the way his jaw clenches as he closes the files. Meanwhile you can't fight is the way your eyes automatically start following his hands fly over the keyboard, steady and precise as always. Before your mind can drift off to the stories of his athlete days at the academy, he gets up.

Immediately you get your PADD up and raise it a little higher than necessary, resetting the timer for Dr. McCoy's check-up to distract yourself. When you risk another gaze up to his face he is already approaching you. Hazel eyes fixate yours but you just return his probing gaze the best you can.

''Alright, let's go then. It's just a routine check, you'll be out in a few minutes.'' Another smile in his direction and you turn your back to him, his steps now steadily following after yours.

''Doesn't mean I like it.'' You almost miss his murmured response and have to hold back a pitiful smile as you lead him into one of the exam rooms down the hallway.

''Just sit down and try to relax, I'll be extra careful, alright?'' you reassure him and watch him reluctantly sitting down in the chair as you adjust the headrest for his height. When he doesn't lean back you gently tug him by his shoulders, pulling a heavy breath from him.

''You're alright, just breathe, I'll be right there in a second.'' With another pat on his shoulders you go over to washing your hands and slip into the gloves. When you return you catch the CMO eyeing the instruments on the table next to him.

''So, did you have any pains or bleeding?'' you ask and he shakes his head 'no' while you shift the chair into his direction, grabbing the light above him.

''Alright, then I'm just going to take a look. Open up for me please.''

After another gulp he opens his mouth, exposing the insides of his mouth but you can't help but notice how dry his lips are. As you gently probe and test a few areas you observe how he sometimes holds his breath or squints his eyes.

''You okay? If you want I could play some music or put on ambient sounds?'' you withdraw from him a little to give him space to answer.

''I'm fine.''

''Alright. So, I have some good news and some bad news but nothing dramatic.'' you conclude loudly. That gets his attention and you lean onto the armrest he isn't using.

''Well, bad news are that I found some signs of cavities in one tooth and will have to clean that tooth and freshen up the filling. There's also some dental calculus we'll need to get rid off but it really is just a teeny tiny bit. Good news is that this will not take much time.'' you explain, leaving out the unnecessary medical jargon. You made the experience that including too many strictly medical expressions or talking over the head over the patients just makes them more nervous. Seeing as the CMO in front of you already is an anxious patient you hope this will calm him but it only seems to make him even more nervous: His face has lost all its color and his pulse has sped up incredibly as you see on the vital display on your left.

''Do you want somebody else to do it or should I-''

''No. Just. Careful what you do, kid.'' he interrupts and you huff out a laugh as you pull the instruments a little closer and place a cup beneath the tiny sink to Dr. McCoy's left.

''I'm no kid, Dr. McCoy but I promise I'll be careful. Please clean your mouth before we proceed. If you want you can just grab my knee with one hand and squeeze if it hurts or anything and I'll stop immediately, alright?'' You get a nod as he rinses his mouth. A much larger than anticipated hand hesitantly settles on your leg and you smile reassuringly at him before he leans back, opening up his mouth and letting you go to work.

You hum as you do your job, the grip from the Doctor sometimes becoming a little tense but he never really squeezes even though his heart rate seems to be through the roof. But after the first few steps he relaxes a little, the tension leaving his body little by little as you tell him what you do as you go and just as anticipated he is done just a few moments later.

''Alright.'' you finally mumble and roll away to get a few swabs. The warmth his hand left on your leg is still tangible as you pull out a package of the white cottony material. Out of the corner of your eye you catch the CMO getting up.

''Hey, wait I wasn't done with you yet!'' you call as he moves to leave the room, his shoulders rising as he hears you.

''You were bleeding a little- would you be so kind to sit back down?'' you smile at him, his face still tensed up as he looks back.

''Yeah sure.'' He bites his lip and focuses on his feet as he walks back. He keeps his hands behind his back until he sits down, where his right hand rests on your leg again. He blinks into the bright light above him as you mumble for him to open up again. You patiently dab the blood away and proceed to find a little injury which in return makes you curious as to what caused it.

''Uh. Did you- experience any pain in your jaw the past few days?'' you carefully ask and feel the grip on your knee tightening a little.

''What why?'' You back up and let the now bloody cotton dab fall into a spare metal bowl.

''Well, it seems like you have been grinding your teeth. Are you under a lot of stress?”

“Well, I’m the CMO, of course I am.”

“What about headaches?”

He sighs and rubs his temple.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been drinking quite enough either.”

“Those reasons are all legitimate sounding enough but I’d like to give you a bite guard so your teeth won’t be grinding against each other as much. It will resolve some of your problems. But you’ll need to do something against the tension in your jaw, too. We’ll do the imprints for the bite guard at another time if you’re alright with that.”

He seems a bit skeptical but nods.

You roll off the gloves and throw them into a bin before lifting your hands to the sides of his face.

“I can offer to massage the tension out or you can try-”

“How often do I have to come back?”

“I’d like to get you in at least once a week or something close to that until the grinding stops”, you answer and he nods before warily looking at your hands.

“What about massaging the tension away? Would that even work at this point?”

“Let’s just try and you’ll tell me if it feels good.”

“Yeah, okay”, he mumbles and you smile before pressing his head back against the headrest, your hands on both sides of his face. The angle is a little awkward but this way he can still hold on to your knee.

As you start slightly letting your fingers dig in to find the right muscle, he tenses considerably.

“It’s just me. Try to loosen your jaw a little”, you mumble in an attempt to help make this less painful. “You know, a shoulder and back rub would probably be good for you, too. It’s very important to remember to put your own health first.”

He grumbles but stays still as you feel around for the most tense spots.

“You know, once I almost lost my right hand because I didn’t stop to think about how my hand was already cramping before pressing around on sensitive nerves. So look out for yourself first, okay?”, you mutter, focusing more on his tense jaw than your own words. He smiles and you make the mistake to look into his eyes. He has been watching you the whole time and you hurriedly look away again, feigning absolute concentration. You suddenly notice how close your face is to his. You clear your throat and back up. However, your cheeks betray you and start to warm up.

His grip on your knee loosens as you rub small circles underneath his earlobe. His heartbeat slows and a sigh escapes him. You smile involuntarily as he closes his eyes as well and leans into the touch.

“Does that feel good?”

He just hums and you let your thumbs trace forward, moving on to his jawbone. With more pressure you move your thumbs up underneath his cheekbone and resume your work.

“Open your mouth a little, please.”

He does as he is told, brows furrowing slightly as you find a tense muscle. He grips your knee as you work more into it.

“This is a little uncomfortable, right?”

“Uh huh”, he breathes and a frown shows on his face as you continue to put pressure on that spot.

“There’s no way around that, sorry. This might take a while.”

You spend a few minutes like that, the CMO’s eyes fluttering open when the tension moves out of a muscle a little. The only sounds are steady breathing and a noise of content here and there.

When your own neck starts to get stiff, you have to consciously remind yourself of your own scolding a few minutes prior. He looks so relaxed, though, that it takes another minute for you to will yourself to stop.

“Okay, then. I’m going to have to stop here, for now, but I think we’ve made some progress”, you explain and he closes his mouth as you lift your hands from his face.

After moving your head to relieve the pain in your neck, watch him again. He moves his jaw before actually yawning.

“Did I tire you out already, Doc?” You grin, amused as he rubs his eyes afterwards.

A smile sneaks its way onto his face.

“Dr. Y/L/N”, he breathes and fixates you again, “your hands are magic.” The seriousness in his answer makes you blush. You scratch your neck.

“That’s big, coming from you”, you mutter and look at the hand still resting on your knee.

“What?”

“You have the steadiest hands of the ‘fleet. Or so they say.”

“Well, I can’t really allow myself not to”, he retorts but you can tell by the vitals he must be flustered.

“Just like you can’t allow tension to build up like that again. Find someone to give you that back and shoulder rub, there must be a few people on your team with chiropractic training, after all. They are be better trained to help you with your jaw, too”, you tell him, slowly becoming even more conscious about that hand on your knee.

“I’ve tried to get some help from them but I feel guilty about taking their time, they already have a lot on their hands. Plus they seem hesitant to scold me. So I was thinking… maybe you could continue helping me with that tension in my jaw?”

“I’m not sure-”

“You don’t have to!”, he interrupts and scratches the back of his neck. 

There’s a second of awkward silence and you bite your lip in thought.

“I’m always hesitant to take over duties which aren’t originally mine and I can’t note that in my schedule either- I’d have to do it after my shifts.”

“I’ll do my best to repay you then, Dr. Y/L/N.” He sincerely retorts, looking directly into your eyes.

Your heart stutters before you smile, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Dr. McCoy.”

[jinterlude]

An Easy Façade

↳Story Header © @softjeon (do not steal this header!)

‣ Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (female OC)

‣ Genre(s): CEO!AU, SMUT, Angst, Fluff, & Slight-Humor

‣ Warning(s): good old fashion, jealousy fueled sex

‣ Word Count: 4.9K

‣ Summary: It’s always easy to have a façade; however, it’s even easier for someone else to break it down. You and Yoongi have an interesting relationship with each other. The two of you never remotely hinted at any interests towards one another, but how’s it possible that one night changes that? For someone that never finds you attractive, Yoongi couldn’t help but feel jealous when a certain rival captures your eyes. What made him so special to earn your smiles and warm gazes? Yoongi never believed in sharing, and you are no exception.

A soothing sound of the saxophone fills the room. Streaks of sun peek through the curtains as the sound of fast typing invades the sweet jazz melody.

Sitting in a modernly decorated office, a stoic man eyes his computer screen. His eyes scanning for any errors in the report while his secretary currently lays in his bed. A soft scoff escapes his lips as he remembers his previous encounters with the young woman, AKA, you. Boy, your relationship with each other has always been nonexistent. If anything, you two are strictly boss and secretary. That is it. You are tasked with fetching his files, making phone calls, scheduling any important meetings, and everything in between. You always turn down his drunk advances, fully aware that you know that he strictly wants a one-night stand. No relationships. No strings attach. Nothing. Just one and done is Min Yoongi’s number one motto in life. Yet—he finds himself wondering how on Earth did he manage to get you into his bed—naked. Your gala dress lies on the floor, along with the rest of your lingerie—courtesy of him, of course. The billions of dollar jewelry, he bought days prior, rests on the marble counter in his bathroom.

Suddenly—a faint smell of sweet wine invades his nostril as his mind drifts to a couple of days ago—where his feelings for you began to change.

Patiently waiting for the elevator as you clutch your boss’s important files against your chest. You tap your foot as you eye your expensive wristwatch, counting down the seconds until the slow as fuck elevator arrives at your floor.

Your heart races as the big hand almost touches the six, which means that it was almost time for his incredibly important meeting.

         “Oh…I’m so fucked…” You curse underneath your breath.

Having enough of playing the waiting game, you hurriedly take off your heels and push the door leading to the stairs. You take a deep breath before hauling ass up four flights of stairs—desperate to make it to the meeting on time.

You run up the stairs; the pads of your feet connect to the cold stone of each step. Your hand wraps around the railing, hoping that it will give you the leverage that you need.

And just like that… you manage to make it to the main conference room.

You quickly slip your heels back on, smooth out your pencil skirt, and brush any hairs that are out of place. Min Yoongi loves perfection to the point of obsession. Seriously, you always find yourself questioning why your CEO has a thing for perfection—but of course—you bury your curiosity, not wanting to anger the pale man.

Once you deem your appearance meeting worthy, you inhale then exhale nice and slow before wrapping your hand over the door handle. You slowly press the handle down and enter inside the room.

The sound of the door opening enters Yoongi’s ears as his eyes lock onto the door. His eyes have become slits as you come waltzing in as if you are not late to this important meeting. To say that he is incredibly annoyed would be an understatement. This is your third time arriving late to a meeting, and that is two times too many.

Yoongi takes a mental note to have a little chat with you after the meeting before gesturing the head of finances to continue with her presentation.

You feel an icy-cold shiver rush through your entire body as you awkwardly walk over to Yoongi’s side. You hang your head low as you place the files in front him. Then, you step back and fold your hands in front of your, waiting for the meeting to be over.

Chatter after chatter. Business proposal after business proposal. That is all you hear. Your brain has become embedded with statistics and events; however, you pay little to no attention to them as your mind focuses on the fact that your boss has informed you that the two of you are going to talk once the meeting finishes.

         “Great. I’m fired…” You think to yourself as a tiny frown forms on your face.

A soft yet sad sigh escapes your lips as you silently pray to yourself that you remember your close friend’s number. Maybe she can hook you up with a new job at her fiancé’s company. Kim Seokjin has a reputable company, so you aren’t too worry.

         “Miss?” You hear Yoongi call.

Your attention instantly snaps onto him and quickly muster your business smile.

         “Yes, Mr. Min?” You reply as you see him stand up from his chair and walk towards the door.

Using his middle and index fingers, he gestures you to follow him, which you do.

         “Why were you late, again? As you know, as my secretary, it is crucial that you arrive to the conference room minutes…hell! Even hours before I do. I should never arrive to the room before you.” He pauses, taking a second to compose himself. “Maybe you’re not cut out to work for me…” He mumbles, walking into his office.

Your eyes widen at his words. This is it…you are going to be laid off. Your fingers tremble slightly as your heart pounds against your chest. A tiny nervous sweat trickles down the side of your face.

Contrary to your earlier thoughts, you don’t want to lose your job. You can’t explain it, but you have grown attached to this job your boss…you can’t just leave it him behind.

Just as you open your mouth to basically beg to say, Yoongi beats you to it.

         “However, seeing how I’m actually feeling lazy and don’t want to deal with the interview process yet again, I’ll keep you and as for your punishment, you will accompany to this year’s gala.” He tells you; his unreadable gaze piercing your naïve one.

A wave of relieve washes over you as you no longer feel dread. He didn’t fire you. There is a God.

         “Thank you, Mr. Min.” You smile politely at him, “May I ask what is the dress code for this event?” You ask.

With a raise brow, Yoongi explains the event and the dress code. He surprises you by adding that he is going to send his personal stylist to fetch your attire for the evening and recommends a salon for you to get your hair all prim and proper. Oh, can’t forget the makeup as well.

         “Now, Miss L/N…please do not arrive fashionably late. I hate taking pictures by myself.” He warns before sending you away.

You nod your head and reassure him that you won’t let him down again. You smile at him one last time before exiting his office.

Little do you know, Yoongi eyes your retreating body; his heart suddenly feeling weird.

He purses his lips as he swiftly brushes the odd sensation away before attending to his work.

And in just a blink of an eye, it is D-Day. The most important event of the year. The winter Gala. This is the event where every CEO comes together in one luxurious ballroom to schmooze and gather intel on rival companies. Basically, pretend to like one another only to backstab him or her in the future. Fun, huh?

Currently standing next to Yoongi, you continue to smile sweetly at other CEOs and their dates while your boss chats away with them.

With your throat feeling a tad dry, you quickly excuse yourself to grab a glass of champagne.

Yoongi looks at you, again with that unreadable expression, before excusing himself as well.

The look of confusion enters your eyes as you stare at your boss.

         “You didn’t have to leave your colleagues.” You tell him as the two of you find a waiter with a tray full of glasses of champagne.

Yoongi grabs two glasses and hands you one of them.

         “I know, but I couldn’t have my date defenseless against these drunk yet powerful men.” He explains casually, masking his true reason for staying by your side.

You smiled; a soft giggle escapes your lips. You then place your lips over the rim before tilting the champagne flute slightly. The bubbly drink lands on your taste buds before exiting through your throat.

         “Careful Mr. Min, or else people might think you care for me.” You tease as your eyes scan the room. Your gaze becomes still briefly when you see someone that you know Yoongi absolutely loathes.

You quickly glance back at your boss; a sigh of relief exits your mouth. Good. Yoongi hasn’t notice his rival, Lee Jihoon. What is he doing here? According to the gossip, Jihoon isn’t supposed to arrive until the two of you left. Fuck.

You lean slightly towards Yoongi, whispering his ear that you are going to use the ladies’ room. Yoongi nods, telling you to be careful as he unwraps his arm from your waist.

You smile warmly one last time before excusing yourself from his company. You then make a bee line for his rival, hoping that your charms will get him to leave before Yoongi notices. The last thing you need is to bail your boss out of jail for starting a fight.

         “Ah, Miss L/N!” Jihoon hugs you politely, “I believe this is my lucky night since I have the chance to witness your beautiful face.” He flirts shamelessly as his eyes trails your body. His lips slightly ajar as he sees the James Bond style of dress accentuating your curves. Your mid-thigh slightly peeking through the slit. Seeing you like this is too much for Jihoon. It is no secret that he desires you, but you know better. He only wants to sleep with you as revenge towards Yoongi for snatching away a deal that was meant for Jihoon.

Moments of silence has passed and his predator like gaze has yet to cease. You have grown uncomfortable to the point that distracting Jihoon is no longer worth it.

As you are about to excuse yourself, a cold voice enters your ears. Your body suddenly tenses as you register the voice. Shit—Yoongi is right behind you.

You slowly turn to face him and as you are about to say something, Yoongi’s hand locks around your wrist, and he roughly pulls you away from and out of the ballroom.

The cold air slams against your body as goosebumps begun to appear on your bare skin. Yoongi releases his hold on you, only to demand the valet to bring his car.

You feel uneasy as you never seen him this angry. Correction, never seen him this angry with you. If anything, he only expresses endless frustration and annoyances.

Second later, his car appears. The valet worker rushes to Yoongi, sensing his anger and hands over the keys. The poor boy fears for his life. Powerful CEOs are terrifying.

         “Get in.” He coldly orders you.

Not wanting to piss him off any more than you already have, you swiftly enter the passenger side and shut the door behind you, careful to not snag your dress in the door. You buckle your seat belt as Yoongi speeds out of the venue; the tires screeching echoes throughout the area.

The car ride is dead silent. Not even music can be heard inside the vehicle. Just awkward silence and—sexual tension?

Yoongi’s knuckles are white as he continues to grip the steering wheel.

After what it seems like an eternity, the two of you finally arrive at his place.

Yoongi parks in his garage and saying nothing else, he exits his car. He walks towards the garage entry door and slips off his shoes. He then slams the door behind him.

Your body flinches at the loud impact. You honestly feel helpless and unsure as you never have experience this side of him. Not even when a business deal went terribly wrong, he remained unnerved. The one time he expresses this type of anger is when he finds out that Jihoon somehow one-ups him in terms of deals and other business endeavors.

Then—it hits you. Jihoon. He is the source of Yoongi’s sudden fury. In your eyes, you only conversed with his rival as a distraction, but to Yoongi—Jihoon plans to steal you away from him.

Gathering enough courage to go after your boss, you exit the vehicle and walk right up to the door. You slip off your heels and just as you are about to enter through the entry, the door flung open.

You feel something wrap around your wrist, and you are abruptly pulled inside.

Your body is press against the wall as you feel something, or someone hold you in place.

Your chest heaves up and down slowly as the butterflies in your stomach went into a frenzy. Your mouth is slightly agape as you feel an unknown force take your hair out of the tight bun. The strands of your hair cascades down the sides of your face.

         “Mr. Min?” You whisper; your voice sounding incredibly meek as a field mouse.

A brush of silence only greets you as his gaze continues to penetrate yours. What does he plan to do?

Before you can flood your mind with more questions, his hand cups your chin; your head forcibly tilts up.

         “What are you doing to me?” He asks, unsure if he means it seriously or sarcastically.

A blank expression graces your face as you become unsure what to say next let alone do next.

         “I…don’t know w-what you mean, sir.” You stumble over your sentence. Not because you are shy around him, but it’s because you are afraid of what is going to happen next. You have heard countless of stories from your friends about what happens when one sleeps with the boss. You become his and only his. It’s not like you aren’t attracted to the man. You just don’t want to progress your relationship like this. Innocent thinking on your part.

Yoongi remains still as he studies your emotion and overall body language. Unlike his close friends, he never lied about his attraction towards you. He just didn’t want to pursue anything because he didn’t want to put you through the emotional roller coaster that his father put his mother on. He didn’t want to do this game of push-pull when you deserve his uttermost attention. However, with his position as CEO, Yoongi knows that he couldn’t give that to you. Unless—you become his wife.

Not wasting another second, Yoongi captures your lips. If this is going to be the only night he’s allowed to have with you, then he’s going to savor each second.

Contrast to his cold exterior, his interior displays nothing but warmth. He just shows it in his own special way.

The kiss immediately back takes you. You start to feel confused; however, like Yoongi, if this is going to be the only night that the two of you share intimately, might as well enjoy it.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you. Your tongue lightly brushes against his bottom lip, hinting that you want in.

Yoongi sighs as he opens his mouth enough for your tongue to dart in. He wraps his arms around your waist as he lifts you slightly.

The two of you remain like that. Stuck against the wall as he begins to grind against your center. Thank God for the slit in your tight dress or else it would’ve been hard to hook your leg around him.

You feel this pool of pleasure settle in your core. You aren’t a virgin, but this sensation and overwhelming of emotion is foreign to you. The more he grinds against you, the more the desire increases. The desire for him to simply fuck you against the wall. The desire for him to pleasure you and you to pleasure him. You want him.

A teasing smirk appears on your face as a devious idea plants in your mind. You pull away one of your hands from his neck, but your lips stay connected.

While his tongue continues to massage yours, earning him a few moans from you, your fingers trail down his torso. The pads of your fingers meeting the silky-smooth fabric of his dress shirt until it lands on his leather belt.

Feeling something tug against his waist, Yoongi finally pulls away as his eyes trail down and sees something that only fuel raging hormones.

He raises his brow, feigning confusion, “Now, what you are doing, Miss?”

You eye him innocently, “Oh, nothing… I just wanted to undo your belt since I know it’s probably uncomfortable.”

Yoongi chuckles softly as he steps away from you. His hands reach towards his belt and quickly undoes it. He pulls the belt through the loops, loosening up his dress pants and freeing his hardened member from being pressed against the zipper. Though—it is still pressing against it. That is how arouse he is with her.

He tosses the belt to the side; a loud clank echoes throughout his condo.

         “Now, what Y/N?” He questions, catching you off guard since he never refers to you by your first name. Always your last name.

Strangely, hearing your first name roll off his tongue arouse you even more. Your mind begun imagining him moaning your name as he thrusts into you mercilessly. His grunts and swear words coming out like water as your body meets his thrusts. Your hands marking up his back as you end up scratching him, wanting to show the world that he is yours.

Without a second thought, you whisper a phrase. A phrase that Yoongi only imagines you saying softly whenever he pleasures himself.

         “Take me…”

His arms wrap around your waist and then tells you to jump. You do as you’re told and jump, not giving a shit if your dress rips on the other side. Yoongi is a rich man. He can always buy a replacement.

With his hands place underneath your ass, Yoongi carries you to his bedroom; his foot kicking the door shut once your bodies are inside.

He walks up the bed and lowers the two of you down; your backside hitting the soft sheets.

He captures your lips as his hands fumble with the zipper of your dress.

Giggling into the passionate kiss, you take pity on the man and assist him with your zipper. You sit up, pausing the little make out session, and reach behind you. Your middle finger and thumb touch the tiny metal as you slowly pull it down, revealing your strapless, dark-red bra.

Yoongi’s brows perk up as his harden member begs to be free. Seeing your body become expose like this is truly a dream come true.

You lay flat on your back, going painstakingly slow when shimmying off the dress. You want to make him crazy with desire as he has done with you.

Your chest rose slightly as a thought enters your mind. You are gradually close to doing what you fantasize about. Having sex with your boss.

A low—almost animalistic—growls sends your heart into a racing frenzy. Then, you feel his cold hands on your hips as Yoongi kisses the base of your neck.

His calloused fingers messes with the waistband of your panties as his teeth and tongue mark your neck.

         “God…” He mutters as his fingers hook themselves around the waistband and starts to pull them down.

The cool air hits your center as your wet core is in plain sight for him.

Just seeing how wet you are, is enough for Yoongi to tear off his clothes and take you at once—and he does.

He practically tears off his dress shirt, not giving a shit if it cost him $1000, and discards it to the side. He unbuttons and unzips his dress pants and pulls them down, along with his boxers.

His erection is now in plain view. Your jaw almost drops to the floor as your eyes widen. Damn… your fantasies didn’t do him justice.

Yoongi reaches for a condom, taking the latex out of its wrapper before covering his harden length.

His index and middle fingers touch your center, wanting to make sure that you are still nice and wet for him.

Once he deems that you are, Yoongi place his knees on the edge of the bed. His eyes trail over your body, then goes back to your chest. Your gorgeous breasts are still covered by your bra.

         “Your bra. Remove it.” He demands, gesturing you to sit up.

You shoot up and undo the hooks. The straps slide off your shoulders as you pull your arms out of them. You fling piece of lingerie to the side, not caring where it lands.

You smile sweetly yet alluringly at him as you gesture towards your completely naked body.

         “Better?” You ask, maintaining your alluring smile.

Instead of replying verbally, Yoongi grabs your face and kisses you roughly yet passionately. With his free hand, he hooks your leg around him and inserts his cock.

You are amazed with the fact that entered you without looking. He must have tons of sex then, not that you care since this is going to be a one-time encounter—right?

You let out a tiny gasp as you tilt your head back, breaking the kiss. Yup, he definitely knows that he’s doing as he instantly found your g-spot.

You grip onto the sheets as your moans gradually increase in volume. You shut your eyes as you feel your neck become assaulted with nibbles and sucks. You feel his lips move downward and latch onto your nipple while his free hand massaged the other breast. God, the combination of his harsh thrusting and his biting is just sending you into overdrive.

A spew of curse escapes the both of your lips as the pleasure starts to grow. This pool of pleasure settles in the pit of your tummy. You are incredibly familiar with that feeling, and you didn’t want this to send.

You place your hands on his semi-sweaty torso and push him up, ceasing his amazing thrusting.

Yoongi eyes you with pure confusion, wondering if you suddenly regret this.

Just as he opens his mouth to ask, you push him down. Curiosity fills his entire body as he watches you swing your leg over his waist. He then sees you raise yourself slightly as you align yourself with his dick.

A soft moan escapes his lips as you lower yourself slowly, engulfing him with this warm sensation. You anchor your hands against his chest as you begin to move your hips.

You slowly raise and lower yourself. Normally, you are this pillow princess when it comes to sex, letting the man do all the work, but with Min Yoongi, you experience this urge to prolong the pleasure. You find a suitable rhythm quickly as you ride him. His fingers dig into your soft flesh as you increase your motions.

You cock your head back, arching your back as the pleasure floods both of your bodies.

         “Fuck…” Yoongi grunts as he watches your boobs bounce in front of him. Damn… he’s getting a show while you’re fucking him. How much luckier can he get?

         “You’re gonna make me release, Y/N…” He manages to say through his constant moans.

You lower yourself down, pressing your addicting lips to his ears.

         “Oh? Then, I should probably stop…” You whisper teasingly; your hot breath fans his ear, sending a quick shiver down his spine.

Yoongi growls and then flips the two of you over. His hands pin yours above your head.

         “Not a good idea to tease me, Miss L/N…” He warns deeply; his deep voice turning you on even more—if that’s even remotely possible right now.

He pulls himself out of you, then without any warning, he practically slams his cock into you. Your boobs jiggle upon impact.

His thrusts have become rough and fast. He shows no mercy as he hits your g-spot each time.

At one point, you feel like you are going to pass out with how much you are moaning. It didn’t help that his thumb and index finger rub your clit, adding more to the pleasure that you are feeling.

Sounds of skin-on-skin contact and moans continue to fill the air. Your bodies continue to sweat as you guys show no sign of stopping.

Whenever the pleasure has grown to be unbearable, Yoongi would switch positions and/or take a break. He didn’t care that it was almost 3 in the fucking morning, and you are more than likely in desperate need to release. He needs this. He needs you.

         “Y-Yoongi… please let me c-cum…” Your moans interrupt you every other word.

Yoongi smirked, “I don’t know, Miss L/N… you made me incredibly jealous tonight…I think that deserves a prolong release, don’t you think?”

You whimper as the desire has grown to the point that you are close to coming undone with just one kiss.

         “I’m sorry for making you jealous. T-that wasn’t m-my intention.” You tell him, secretly finding it a tad weird that he’s telling you his feelings while he’s fucking you into oblivion essentially.

His pace slows down, almost in a teasing way, “Well… I don’t like people touching what’s mind. Whether it be business deals or even people…. What’s mine is mine.” Yoongi says; the possessiveness in his tone sent chills throughout your body.

You nod as your brain couldn’t form any words let alone a full sentence. Something about his declaration made you feel weird. When did you agree to be his?

         “You’re mine, Y/N…” His thrusting increases once more, “Remember that…” He tells you as he messes with your clit and continues with his quick and rough pace.

And before you know it—the two of you come undone together.

He releases into the rubber as you release all over him. With one final pump, he pulls himself out of you, suddenly missing the warmth. He rests his sweaty forehead on your sweaty shoulder before gathering enough strength to take off the used condom and throw it away.

You stare absentmindedly at the ceiling as you try your hardest to steady your breathing. You then feel a shift in the bed as your bare-naked body becomes covered with his blanket.

You turn on your side and meet his gaze, taking note of the hint of love in them. Love? That’s odd, but you’re too tired to address that. Maybe in the morning you will.

         “So…” You start, not sure whether to say something or just grab your stuff and leave.

         “Let’s sleep.” He mumbles; his eyes sewn shut as the fatigue washes over his body. He then pulls you closer to him; your head resting on his chest.

You smile softly, shaking your head at him. Yup, you two are definitely going to talk about tonight.

You allow the sleepiness to take control and in a matter of seconds, you enter a dreamless sleep… not knowing what tomorrow will bring to you two.

And that feeling of uncertainty still lingers. Yoongi’s almost positive that you seen the hint of love in his eyes. How’s he going to explain himself?

“Oh, by the way sorry for having sex with you because I was extremely jealous?”

Yeah not gonna happen…

A loud sigh exits his mouth as he angrily runs his hand through his hair. Why did he have to develop feelings for you? Why…?

Then, a light tap on his door pulls Yoongi away from his thoughts.

He swivels his chair around just as you enter inside his office.

         “Good morning, Y/N. Did you sleep okay?” He asks, noticing that you are wearing his clothes.

Your line of vision remains on the floor as you mess with the hem of his black t-shirt.

         “I hope you don’t mind that I took some of your clothes. Um… I guess I’ll just call a cab and go home.” You say, unknowingly alarming your boss.

Yoongi stands up from his office chair and walks over to you.

         “Actually, I want you stay a little bit longer. I believe we need to have a chat about what happen last night.” He says, hiding his true motive of wanting you to stay. In truth, he isn’t ready for you to leave. Not yet.

You lift your head; your gaze meeting his finally. You tilt your head slightly, wondering if this is the right time to discuss the loving look in his eye, but you’re dying to know. Does Min Yoongi actually love you?

         “I think we do too.” You agree, nodding slowly.

Yoongi then gestures to the door, “Shall we? I think I have some food here that we can turn into brunch.”

You chuckle softly as you follow him out.

         “Can I ask you something before we cook?” You ask, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

Yoongi stops in his tracks, letting out a long sigh.

         “What is it?” He replies with a question, even though it’s kind of pointless since he knows what the next question is going to be.

         “Do you love me?”

Yup. His gut feeling is right. Now, how’s he going to tackle this without scaring you?

         “…I…”

A/N: For some strange reason, I thought I had written this in 2018 but since I cross post to my AO3, I learned that I had written this back in 2017. TWO YEARS! Holy crap! But, I am amazed with how well this turned out in comparison to the smuts I had written in 2016 So go me!

Don’t forget to leave a like/reblog/comment/send in an ask on your thoughts! I love hearing them! :)

- Kim

[peach-and-gold]

entry one:

11.14.19 8:37pm

So I think I’m over you…for real this time. Like, when I see you my heart doesn’t ache anymore. She doesn’t call for your name. I don’t think of you in the night as often. And when I do it’s more of a passing thought. Although I used cry about you. Whisper your name in the wind as if you could hear me , and even if you did I don’t think you would have cared. There’s this quote/ poem thing that really reminds me of you and me. “Because isn't the real tragedy how you found yourself in one another. How you took one brief look into the mirror of her, turned around, and walked away?” To be quite honest the whole thing makes me think of you. Because you were my first HUGE crush. Would it be weird to say you were my first love? Or I guess first unrequited love would sum it up better. But I know you loved me, just maybe not in that way, but I know you have thought about me that way. You wouldn’t held me the way you did if you didn’t. I remember you used come up behind me and tickle me and I would squeal, but I was also insecure so I didn’t really enjoy it.  But I remember in that brief moment of joy  it felt like us. Like it was you and me. Our friendship is very complicated, we always banter like we hate each other and honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. Because I would hate me too. It would be a lie to say that I barely developed these feelings for you because the truth is the moment I met you I was immediately attracted, I was hooked like a drug and I can’t get enough. I think that’s why I keep you in my life because I don’t know what I would do if you left. That’s why I basically forced you to sign those KIH papers, and why I wouldn’t let you quit band. I always thought you were gonna be in my life. And I’m not sure maybe you will be. As of right now we are in a spot where we are friends but kind of not and idk what to do. I wanted to call you the other night but my sister told me not to. Everyone in my life is telling me to leave you, to cut you off. And I don’t understand why I can’t. It’s physically impossible for me to stay away from you. Like literally EVERYONE says that I can do so much better and that I deserve better, and I do and I know I can. Charlie’s teacher said “we accept the love we think we deserve” but I refuse to believe that I think that low of myself. Because if that is true then that means that I have made no progress and I still hate myself. Because why in the world would I yearn for you? When I could have some that is so much better. I don’t deserve someone who touches girls without consent. Someone who is manipulative. Someone who knows how I feel and I perceive things and still intentionally hurt me.  I’m glad that I didn’t tell you how I felt because I know you would’ve wanted to date me but only because I wanted you, not because you wanted me too. You reek of loneliness and I think that’s what drew me to you. Im still not sure what it is about you that I like so much. I can tell everyone is tired of hearing about you from me. I think you’re growing tired of my foolish attitude too but I’m so confused and you don’t seem to want to figure this out. Like you don’t want to talk this through and I don’t understand why. Because if you really cared about our friendship you would’ve taken the time to talk to me. And if you really cared you wouldn’t have asked me to suck your dick, but in your defense you did take it back so you did care. It was something that you explained the day after. But I still wanted you. I guess that’s why I was upset about it. Because you made me all hot and bothered. You dragged your lips along my ear and whispered in my ear all of my dirty fantasies. You traced your hand along my hips down to my stomach and right as I was ready for you to send me to heaven you left. It was cold. I turned around and darkness. Darkness was all I saw in the spot that you were supposed to be. And that when I saw you off in the distance with her. Its as if I ran her right in your arms. I brought you to this school and within the first week you had your eyes on her. Does she know that you would dance with me with the lights off? Does she know that I’m the one you come to when you’re sad? Because no one can make you feel the way I do. Does she know that right after you kissed her goodnight you came to my house and climbed through the window I left open for you. The same window you always come through. You always get so caught up with your new play thing that you forget about me and when you brake again I always have to fix you up again. I remember the last time you came to me. I remember that I had seen you both on your snapchat story with two hearts. I remember because that was the day I cried as I walked home from school because I knew that’s why you were being cold to me. You would always be touchy with me. Tickle me, grab my head, or squish my cheeks so I puckered my lips. But I also remember that a couple weeks after you were sad. And as much as I wanted to leave you there, broken. I couldn’t I picked you up, took you home with me and I stayed up all night fixing your broken pieces. I didn’t care that I had an exam the next day, because if you weren’t there I didn’t want to be there either. So when I went on your twitter and saw your new girl as your header, my heart broke. I could actually hear my glass heart break. Because you REALLY like this girl, more than you could ever like me. I guess that’s why you would rather make the trip to kit in your car and stay just so you could spend those extra two hours with her. One last think before I get back to work. I remember never wanting to date you. Obviously I wanted to date you, but I was saving my chance with you. I was saving you for later. Because I know that if we were to ever date we would break up. Even though daily horoscope tells me that we are basically soulmates, I know we aren’t right for each other. It’s something I always knew. I guess I just didn’t want to  come to terms with it. So I guess this is my farewell letter? A farewell to my feelings for you. I know I will probably still have feelings for you but I think this is a turning point for me. 

[slytherinshawn-blog]

hopeless - chapter 4

summary : you and shawn grew up together, best friends who made blanket forts and shared secrets in the dark. when he found fame, he lost you. five years later, and he’s stumbled his way back into your life, disrupting the peace you had eventually found.

word count : 2.5k

masterlist 

prologue - chapter 1 - chapter 2 - chapter 3 - chapter 4

note:  this is v loosely going to based around elements in to all the boys i’ve loved before. it will eventually probably turn into a sort of fake dating thing. i’m having a real party writing for this fic. i hope u all are enjoying. let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. also let me know what u think about this chapter and the series so far :)) header credit to shawnmendesicons

When sun breaks the next morning, filling your room with its bright luminosity, there’s a shift in the usual pattern for you. You feel something different, something undeniably eager and you’re practically skipping through your morning routine. You spend a little bit of extra time on making yourself look presentable, despite the hour. You add a gloss to your lips, a bit of concealer under your eyes to cover up the bags from your recent pattern of staying up late. There isn’t much you can do with your hair, you decide, opting just to pull it up into a messy ponytail.

There isn’t a dress code for your job, but you always remain casual. Today you’ve decided on a pair of black jeans that you roll at the ankle, thin black belt visible from where your cropped sweater rises just a tad above. It’s still chilly even when the sun has reached its peak in the sky this season. You pull on a simple pair of black Chelsea boots before transferring boiling water into your travel mug with an earl grey tea situated inside.

You skip breakfast, knowing that on Saturdays, Jack brings warm croissants from the bakery down the road and you make haste with hurrying out of your apartment building, not forgetting your money for lunch with Shawn later.

Lunch with Shawn later. Just the thought is hard to believe, and you’re reminded of the night before, almost forgetting that it wasn’t only a dream. You couldn’t wait to catch up with him later in the day, hear about his travels, his life, his music, his mom. You knew that your stories would be far less interesting than what he would have to say. That fact doesn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. Simple for you just worked.

Upon arriving to the store, you unlock the door and flip around the ‘Open’ sign. Not like it would matter too much. The only people that still visited the store were loyal customers from when Jack was your age. Older men and women would visit the store primarily, especially on Saturday mornings. A few college kids who absolutely fit the stereotype of being the ones that would visit this “super cute vintage book store,” as they would describe it to you. All in all, it was an easy job. You would help people find the books they had in mind, giving advice on your personal favorites.

The morning drags on with ease, the bell atop the door only ringing a few times, which would have you looking up from your book and croissant to smile at the customer arriving before diving right back down into it. The hours continue to roll by, coming closer and closer to noon, your off time. As the clock reads 11:30 now, you close your book for the day and stuff it into your bag that you carried. You go about tidying up the front of the store, wiping down the tables along the front window and placing borrowed books back on their appropriate shelves.

The bell rings while you’re in the back, organizing the room that Jack usually occupies himself in when he comes to visit and check in on the store. “Hello!” you call out from where you are, always greeting everyone who comes in. When you don’t hear a response, you walk back up to the front and behind the counter, your eyes widening when you see who it is.

“Elliot,” you breathe, taken aback. He has never come visited the store on a Saturday. He always stuck to his schedule of Wednesday and Thursdays, so this came to you as a total surprise.

He smiles at you; perfect teeth, and it makes you want to melt into the floor. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m great! I’m good,” you say, trying to will your heart to chill out in your chest. “I’m surprised to see you here. This isn’t your usual study day, yeah?”

He laughs with you, nodding his head as he prances right up to the counter and leans his forearms along it. You’ve never been this close, yet alone talked to him for more than a few sentences. His eyes are like magnets, drawing you in. You’d guess that you’re wearing huge heart eyes. “You caught me,” he charms. “Usually Sadie and I have brunch on Saturdays, but she’s got some event to attend with her sorority sisters.” He shrugs. “So, I figure I’d stop by my favorite book store. Get a bit of reading done before I head home.”

You pull your lip between your teeth, watching his lips move while he speaks and it’s not even like you can help yourself. You’ve had your eyes on this boy for 2 years now. He’s always been the forbidden fruit, hardly ever sparing you a moment’s glance. You’re so captivated in his words and his eyes that you don’t even hear the bell above the door chime, yet again. Too busy sending heart eyes at Elliot to notice Shawn enter the little store and stop when he sees you wrapped up in conversation.

Elliot makes you giggle, sparing a shy glance down to your shoes before you look back up at him, dripping in charm. Shawn clears his throat from where he’s stood behind your crush. That makes the both of you snap back to reality and turn your attention to Shawn, who’s taken his sunglasses off and let them hang in his shirt.

“No way,” Elliot says, cutting the silence. “Is that you, Mendes?” you had forgotten that Elliot knew Shawn too, from before he found his fame and it’s like life really has a way of humiliating you, watching your crush and your ex-best friend reunite before your eyes.

“Elliot DiMarco,” Shawn repeats. “Nice to see you, man.”

“So, you decided to join the common folk again, huh? What brings you here?”

Shawn spares a glance at you, still standing mouth agape behind the counter, blush high on your cheeks. “Well, I had a lunch date with (Y/N). Unless I was interrupting something…”

“No!” You cut Shawn off, shaking your head. “No, we were just talking. I’m good to go.” You grab your bag from off the floor and sling it over your shoulder before making your way into the back to hurriedly shut the lights off. You shoot Jack a quick text while you’re back there, steadying your breathing to let him know that you were on your way out.

When you return up front, Elliot has taken his spot by the window as usual and he’s already got a book pulled out in front of him. He gives you a wave goodbye and a charming smile which makes you blush and quickly turn your attention back to Shawn, who’s looking at you with one eyebrow raised.

“C’mon,” you tell him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him out of the front door with one last chime of the bell.

The two of you make heed down the sidewalk, heading to the familiar diner that so many of your late nights were spent in years ago. Shawn has slid his black sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose, a hoodie pulled on over his black jeans and signature black boots. He’s got the hood covering his soft curls, and you recognize that this is probably his way of disguising himself from the public. It’s only once you’ve gotten far enough from the bookstore that you drop his wrist, letting out a deep breath.

Shawn looks at you, your short legs moving in long strides to keep up with his easy gait. “So… you and Elliot,” he muses. He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. “I never would have thought.”

You roll your eyes at him, “Oh, whatever, Shawn. There’s nothing going on. He’s got a girlfriend. He just – he comes into the store every once in a while, to read. We’re friends. Barely.”

“Okay, but you definitely have a thing for him.” He emphasizes on the word, and nudges into your shoulder playfully. The chill of the Canadian wind nips at your nose and you duck your head down.

“I mean… it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t even notice me. You should see his girlfriend.”

Shawn’s hand brushes up against yours, fingers knocking together to get your attention. You look up at him, have to crane your neck at his height. In middle school, you were the same height. You teased him for being short. “It looked like he was noticing you back there.” Shawn shrugs. “I don’t need to see his girlfriend to know that you’re selling yourself short. As usual.”

Your eyes stay on his for a moment longer before you break the connection; you’re at the diner, anyway. Once the host seats the two of you at a table, Shawn removes his glasses and puts them in the pocket of his hoodie, finally letting the hood down so you can see his bouncy brown curls. He’s handsome, you can’t deny it. Many years of seeing him only over your phone or television screen was nothing compared to the way that he truly glows in person. His skin is flawless, curls soft, teeth perfect from his time with braces. His jaw has grown strong and sharp, shoulders broad and arms toned and big. He’s grown fully into a man, so different from the boy you used to cuddle into when thunder would shake your house.

“This wouldn’t be a proper visit unless we shared the chocolate milkshake,” Shawn grins, holding the menu in his hands as if he hadn’t visited the place enough to have it memorized.

You nod in agreement, the memory of you and your friend with two straws in the same milkshake making its way into your head. “I agree,” you say. “One chocolate milkshake and two burgers with fries?”

Shawn smiles, soft, lets his eyes study your face with a glint of something you can’t pinpoint. “Wouldn’t have anything else.”

You drop your gaze to the table and wait for the waitress to take your orders. Once she’s removed the menu from your way, you continue to study your fingers as if it suddenly held the most interesting thing in the world. A wave of nerves had rushed over you out of nowhere. The realization of being here with Shawn, in this place that held so much of your youth, had your stomach turning with nerves.

“Hey,” Shawn says, quiet, his large hand reaching out to touch yours where it rests on the table. It gets your attention, like you know he wants, and you look up, eyes meeting eyes. “I know this feels… weird. Like, unreal, or something. I know I have a lot to explain.”

Lip between teeth again, you nod, urging him to go on.

“I really don’t have an excuse… there’s nothing I can say that would really make anything I did make any sense or seem any better. I don’t want you to think that I’m excusing my actions, because I’m not. You know, you were my best friend. And we were just, like – perfect. Just the way that we worked and fit together was so unique, and I think a lot of that was taken for granted. Now, you know, that we’re older, it’s easy to look back and see that the relationship that we had was so great, and a lot of people don’t have that. You were easily my favorite person in the world, just – my best friend.”

His words are genuine, honest, and he hasn’t broken eye contact since he stated speaking. You’re having a hard time doing the sane, but you force yourself to stay locked on his gaze, everything he is saying bringing up a burn in the back of your throat.

“When we were sophomores, that’s when everything really started to change. And it wasn’t you… it was nothing you had done so I don’t want you to ever think that. I was just so stupid. I got really lost in my music and my dream and I never imagined in a million years that I would actually become something of it. I started getting all of this attention from everyone. You know, suddenly people knew who I was, and girls were noticing me, and it was – it was easy to get caught up in. And I was young, and that’s no excuse, but I had all of these people who wanted me, that I let you get pulled away.

“I have regretted it every day since I left. I’ve never met anyone who would ever come close to what you meant to me. I knew I wouldn’t have a friend like you for the rest of my life. And honestly, I didn’t even want one. But I figured, after all this time, you know, you probably hated me enough that you forgot. And I didn’t imagine you’d want to speak to me.”

You swallow back how stunned you are, voice getting caught in the back of your throat. You clear it, brushing your knuckles against the back of Shawn’s hand, only inches from yours on the table. “I never hated you, and I never forgot about you. I was mad, of course, and yeah, I did blame myself. But I could never bring myself to hate you. I was happy for you and your new life and I’m proud of how far you’ve come. You deserve all of it.”

Shawn smiles at you, and he has to pull his arms away when the waitress comes back with your food and milkshake. You politely thank her, and Shawn grabs the two straws and pops them in the drink.

“I want to start over,” Shawn says, pushing the milkshake between the two of you. “Or, pick up where we left off. Whatever. But I want my best friend back. And I want to hear everything.”

Just as you’re about to reach for the straw as some symbolic meaning of your forward friendship, you are interrupted by a small, trembly voice. “Hi! Are you… are you Shawn Mendes?”

You look up to see a girl who’s stood next to your table, her eyes bright and beaming at Shawn who is looking at her with a polite smile on his face. “Yeah, yes I am.”

“Can I have a picture?” she asks him, giggly and nervous looking. You look between the two, Shawn and who was clearly a fan. He shoots a look at you, almost apologetic. You shake your head at him to reassure that you aren’t bothered.

“Sure, honey,” he says, and stands up out of the booth to duck down beside her while she snaps a picture, thanking him before scurrying off to where she came.

“Sorry,” he mumbles when he takes his seat back, and you shake your head, letting out a quiet and amused laugh.

“No, don’t be sorry. You’re a real Rockstar now, Shawn. Adoring fans who follow you everywhere. I can hardly even handle your celebrity presence!”

He throws a fry at you, rolling his eyes playfully. And, yeah, this feels back to normal again.

--

taglist :  @woeme @qxeen-of-hearts @muffins-cookiesm

[breitzbachbea]

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like), 6. What character do you have the most fun writing? 10. How would you describe your writing process? 16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?) -> I'm beging nosy and asking FOUR questions 👀😂

Oh Amber, PLEASE be nosy. I love answering questions about my writing or characters, even though I take 5000 years to answer.

Fun meta asks for writers

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

Okay, I thought about this for a while and I think I have a few more I could also share (and I'd probably have a sizeable amount of scenes or sentences if I reread ALL I wrote). But this scene was the thing that came to mind first and stuck the most.

From Italian Affairs, Chapter 9 "Drained Chances", Scene 3:

“I know I have to make up for what a jerk I’ve been”, he said. “But I still wish I could just forget.” He looked back into the room and spotted the wine bottle on a sideboard. “Charlie, you’ve got to face this”, Harry said and Michele sighed: “Okay we’ve got to think sober about this situation. Well, you do, Charlie.” “Damn right”, he muttered before walking over to the sideboard, almost falling over when he came to a hold with his hands on its upper side: "I have to correct my mistakes tomorrow!" “That’s the spirit!”, Harry said and Michele smiled. “You most certainly have the right ideas even now, Charlie.” “I have fucked up but I am a grown man and like that I will take responsibility for my actions!” He had grabbed the bottle even before the other two could yell “No!” and they only watched in horror as he emptied it. Charlie held down a burp, put the bottle back on the table and smile confident: "I have to talk to him again and explain myself." “And there it goes down the drain, the last piece of his common sense”, Harry hissed. “Thanks for lending me your ear, guys”, Charlie said and took a wobbly step away from the sideboard. “I am going back to my room now, enjoy your night.” He walked towards the door: “Or maybe I could try to talk to Marco again – no, that’s a stupid idea.” “You just drank half a bottle of wine in one go, mate, you are not going anywhere”, Harry said and Michele sighed but Charlie waved his hand while he staggered towards the door. “Don’t let me cockblock you, Happy fucking.” And with that he tripped and fell to his knees. He frowned at the floor while Michele got up to help him. “You know, Michele”, Charlie said while the Sicilian pulled him on his legs. “On second thought it might have been six beer.”

'Don't let me cockblock you, happy fucking', followed immediately by Charlie tripping and nearly falling on his face is deadass THE funniest thing I have ever written. I love how hilarious the entire situation is, solely because Charlie is an impulsive son of a bitch who keeps making bad decisions. Whenever he seems on track, he just cannot shut his mouth, he just cannot control a whim for a moment too long and it bites him in the ass the very next second. I love him so much. Furthermore, the scene itself is a perfect blend of wit and slapstick. I've outdone myself here.

Also, fuck you, ao3 says I have 382 170 words uploaded right now and that is still far from all I've ever written. So you're getting another scene.

From Smudged Makeup & Cleaning Up:

“I hate myself,” she said in French. “I hate myself and I hate him, I hate both of them so much,” she sobbed as her breath hitched and tears began to run down her face again. “Don’t cry again, shhht, don’t do that,” Hugo whispered and began to rock from side to side. “It’s okay, it’s nothing to cry about.” “I wouldn’t have to see it if I had just opened my stupid mouth and had told him how I felt, if I had just told him these stupid three words I now wouldn’t have to see this.” Her voice was something between a whisper and a hiss.

There are at least two more little paragraphs I could have shared from that one-shot, so I decided to go with the most emotional part. I reread it last night and I still think it is a pretty damn good piece of writing. It's funny, interesting and it shows all of the characters (Timothea, Hugo, Arielle) and their relationships to one another marvellously. I'd sincerely reccommend it to everyone, although the (not as good for sure) A French Trio Of Bad Decisions may be required reading to understand who Arielle is talking about in the above excerpt. (Amber, since you already read that one though, you can just go and enjoy Smudged Makeup & Cleaning Up as your first taste of Thea before you delve into The Amulet for more <3)

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

That's a good question! I was going to go through Irish Problems and Italian Affairs again, tallying up who has how many POV Scenes, but gave up rather quickly; it's just very hard to determine with all the headhopping that happens in the beginning. Last time I checked it was Harry. The following list is by no means exhaustive and talks mainly about the characters as POV characters. I very much enjoy writing all of my children, whether they're the POV character or not in any given scene.

Charlie is definitely one of them, I feel very at home in his head and he's so much fun to write. His catastrophizing, his intense but jumpy emotions, his impulsivity and kindness, his dialogue and thoughts ... He is so much fun. I'd have to lie to say this gay adhd mess doesn't hold a special place in my heart.

Francesco is another good one, solely because I love being in his head. It's a nightmare in there at times, but that's what makes it fun. Let the sadism fight the catholic guilt, the lust for pleasure at all cost the need for kindness. He's a very vibrant character with an undeniable presence in each scene he is in and it's always fun to write interesting characters.

Lovino's also always a blast. His ranting, his annoyance, his fidgeting (oh, god, if someone asks me for a favourite scene again, I am sharing the one where he shuffled around too much during a car ride and ended up folded like a lawn chair in the footwell). The tumultous inside of his head, his doubts, his fears. I have nothing but love for him and I already miss him, despite not technically having finished Italian Affairs. The rewrite is still ahead of me and I am going to savour every single moment I get to write my favourite South Italian.

Last but not least a shoutout to Hugo. I think he is very interesting as well, with the masks he wears and the intensity that lies beneath them. He's both a sweet young man AND a fuckboy AND a little bitch. The only problem with Hugo is that I'm never 100% sure in his characterisation and have to consult Jonah, his creator, in those cases.

10. How would you describe your writing process?

Messy as shit for being this organized - or Surprisingly organized for being messy as shit. I've developed this process over the past eight years and I'll probably keep tweaking screws as time goes on.

This is my process for my big, multi-chapter, novellength main series entries. Anything else usually gets done in a similiar fashion, just with some of the steps lacking. (I didn't vomitdraft for rarepairweek, for example, nor did I do the proofreading on paper because deadline.)

1. I make an outline. I used to call this "Scene Plan", because it is just that - a list of each scene, with a very short description that makes no sense to anyone but me. Seriously, YOU tell me what is going on here:

2. I collect all snippets that come to mind for a series in a document; if I already have an outline, I copy whatever scene they would belong to as a header. Those things happen all the time, it isn't a conscious effort.

3. I take those snippets, paste them into Quollwriter and then vomitdraft for a few days. Each day around 500 words, as fast as possible. Whatever comes to mind goes onto the page, rarely backtracking. It's not about it being presentable, it's about having something written that serves as skeleton for the scene. I research jack shit at this point and directly type (Look this shit up) into the text.

4. Once a scene/chapter is done, I copy it into word and read through it to take notes in a little notebook. I write down what to research, what I like in the draft, what I dislike and what I still ponder. I try to draw the first connections to give the chapter a coherent feeling. (Chapters for the main series consist of three scenes, so I take notes for a scene and edit it before I repeat the process for the next - I don't take comments for three scenes in a row.)

5. I begin to edit the scene with a goal of 200 words a day. I usually exceed it; during a very bad day I fall a little short of it. I try to write every day or every two days, unless something else requires my focus more (like a term paper). Oftentimes I start a writing session with tweaking what I did the day before, before I continue. I usually also do the research as it is called for at this stage - The Amulet was the only time I did research before I even begun to write. My usual timer is 30 Minutes, but I tend to write for a little longer if I am in the flow. Or I sit there for 4 hours to finish a scene because I am THAT much in the flow and I want the GODFORSAKEN THING DONE.

6. Once I finished editing the chapter or one-shot, I print it out and go through it with a red gel pen. I correct typos, formatting errors or formatting choices I don't agree with. I rewrite sentences that I think read clumsily and cross out words that repeat too much. I sometimes add things to moments that are lacking or I cross out sentences that now feel unnecessary. Once finished, I apply the corrections to my document.

7. If I have a beta-reader (like the lovely @swabianmapley for Herz Auf Beat), this is the point at which I send them the document and wait for their feedback & corrections.

8. I post the thing onto the black void that is The Internet, lie to myself that I don't care about feedback & yet still keep checking ao3 for new hits/kudos/bookmarks/comments and begin the same process for my next project a few days later.

16. Tried anything new with your writing lately? (style, POV, genre, fandom?)

Hmm. I don't know if it counts, but in the coffee one-shots for rarepairweek I tried to make peace with the 'holes' I left. To not explain everything, but let the reader draw their own conclusion. Aside from that ... Been trying to put more emotion into my writing. I felt so unsatisfied with the big Charco kiss at the end of Italian Affairs that I'm now making an effort into describing emotions and sensations more, especially internally and not simply physically.

[magistralucis]

Trinitas [2017 EDM Secret Santa]

“My place is with you, always.”

(This is my @edm-secret-santa gift for @finex09! Merry Christmas, dearest. You asked for Seb/Kav or the Justice pair as part of your preferences; howsbout a generous helping of both pairings baked in fluff flavoured fluff with a sprinkling of extra fluff on top y/n?)

There is in Paris a street called Boulevard Saint-Germain, lit up with silvery blues and bright shimmering golds late into the night as yet another Christmas dawns upon this high city. Not much is open at this hour – if business still needs doing, the Champs-Élysées is nearby for that purpose, its parallel glory laid out just across the Seine – but the street lies fresh-faced and cheery for all those who wish to walk along it. Never mind that most would prefer the home and hearth tonight. Some things in life are best appreciated at the fringes of it, ideally with a partner in crime at hand.

Sebastian Akchoté is undergoing one such experience tonight. His new scarf is snug around his throat and his cheeks are pink. He exhales white smoke into the air with one breath and inhales the grey of nicotine with the other. He is not alone. No one walks the streets for the streets during the daytime hours. In the chaotic bustle of daily life, it is easy to miss the structural beauty of this city, where avenues broaden into leisurely stretches and narrow winding paths lead to small-time pleasures. But the shops and bars are closed now, the street itself is there for the taking; for Christmas its whole length has been decorated thrice over, lamp-posts wound with speckles of golden light and themed artwork dotted along the pavement. There is no rush here, no demand, only decorations and the serene glimmer of the Seine ahead to excite the heart and for the eye to be delighted at.

"Isn't it beautiful," he murmurs. His companion reacts with surprise, unspoken but with his head visibly tilting in wonder. Sebastian is seldom this straightforward about anything. "you reckon this makes up for the family somewhat, Vinco?"

Vincent Belorgey barks out a laugh, the first in a good long while. Sebastian grins back and they hurry on their way. Call it an improvisation, what they decided to do tonight. Vincent was originally planning to host his entire family for Christmas, disappearing for up to a week as he likes to do in order to eat and drink and be merry, but his plans have fallen through spectacularly this year. His brother's away in a different country altogether, held up by checks and delays. His sister apparently has a 'headcold' of such extent that their mother has gone to look after her for the holidays, and of course all of them live away from Paris. Vincent hasn't had the news long enough to work out a way to be with any of them, so he'll have to do without, a fact that struck him hard: "For all my numerous faults, I'm a family man, and especially so for the holidays!" He'd lamented, several times, while his friend puffed nonchalantly away at his cigarette in the background. "They all know that. All that food in the fridge, what the hell am I going to do with it?"

"Can't it wait until the New Year?"

"Some of it, yes, but the other stuff's – ugh – themed," Vincent wrung his hands briefly, but then straightened up again, keeping precarious balance between concerned and overblown. "but forget the food, I wouldn't be this worried if I could make my way to somebody."

Sebastian tapped away the ash. "Any news from your brother?"

"He's fine. In a hotel the last time I checked. Comped. Everyone's all right, I just don't remember the last time we were apart."

Sebastian finds that hard to believe. He has no such tale to tell, as the twenty-fifth of December is not as meaningful to him as it might be for others; Christmas takes place then if he's in France, but if he doesn't want to make a fuss about it, he's got another coming up on the seventh of January. His plane tickets are booked for the New Year, anyway, that means more to him than either of those Christmases put together. This year he decided to pass on most of the festivities because he was – ‘get this’ – working, more interested in echoes and melodies and birdlike sips of muscatel wine than anybody else. Anybody else, but Vincent.

Not that he means anything deep by it. Probably not. Vincent's a friend. No reason Sebastian can't spare a few hours to keep him company. He provided initial sympathy while Vincent mourned his situation and didn't shoot it down when he proposed they go for a midnight walk. At first he was unsure, but two hours in, this is shaping up to be the most relaxed Christmas he's ever known. Yes, they have no destination, and the weather might be so cold that his phone battery straight up died on him. But Vincent lent him his phone to keep, he's good company, and he just likes it when the older man smiles and sweeps back his silver windmussed hair as if to restore order into his world. It's better if Sebastian's the only one who can see it, and even more so if he's the one to inspire such gestures. Vincent's gladness has come to correlate directly with Sebastian's level of satisfaction with life.

"What time is it, Seb?"

"Eleven forty-three. Do you think we might run across someone we know?"

It's not that far-fetched a question. Vincent considers it seriously. "I doubt it. Even if we did, it'd have to be later, wouldn't it?" His phone chimes; a new email. Sebastian takes a peek first and snickers out loud. "Providing no one else's plans fell apart, I can't think of what they'd be – you're laughing. I never see you laugh. What is it?"

Sebastian holds out Vincent's phone, not to hand over, but only to look. "Here. Check this out."

"Eh?"

He's not even trying to hold back his smirk. "It's the adopted son."

A flash of sheer terror and confusion passes over Vincent's face before he gets it. "Oh, what does he want," he grumbles, but it's in high spirits; he's more chastising Sebastian for the reference, and playfully at that. "he and Louis went abroad for the holidays, no? What are they doing sending emails at this hour?"

"Well-wishes. Are you complaining?"

"Hell no. What does he say?"

Sebastian scrolls down. (His breath catches in his throat, registering that Gesaffelstein has worked his name into the email header as well as Vincent's, but he doesn't mention this fact.) "... It's not just the two of them, but the whole Bromance crew, he says. According to him, they're just glad they planned ahead to make plenty of time for themselves. ("Clever," Vincent nods, looking oddly envious.) They're all at a party now. There's a photo. Louis seems drunk. I don't know where Mike's undershirt has gone, and I doubt he knows, either. There's a cat. Hell. That's right. A cat. No word on whose it is. Merry Christmas and a most wonderful New Year to you, he says."

"Beautiful. What colour is the cat?"

"Mackerel tabby."

Vincent is delighted. He leans over to peer at the photo, smiling down at the happy pair and the cat that looks very much like his own. "He's a rascal, that Mike; really, both of them are. But I'm glad someone's remembered me at this hour. Where are they now exactly, did he mention the place?"

They're walking past a particularly well-lit sculpture. Sebastian shields the phone screen with a hand. "Bernkastel-Kues."

"Gesundheit. Where?"

"I just said." Vincent offers a cheeky grin. If Sebastian is in any way charmed, he's still too deadpan to let on. "He must be living it up there, Germany's lovely in winter."

Then, without warning: the warm touch of Vincent's hand upon his, followed by the linking of their fingers. Sebastian looks up and comes face to face with a knowing smile. "Shall we go together next year?" Vincent offers softly, tracing his thumb over Sebastian's own.

Oh.

Sebastian thinks his pulse skipped a beat.

This is not a new subject between them. They're very close. Sebastian's as aloof as they come, but he has always accepted the other's open affections with an attitude beyond simply putting up with him. Vincent's hugged him – he's kissed him – they've been teased endlessly (but always kindly) for their closeness all those years they've known one another. It's no coincidence that Gesaffelstein guessed, and rightly at that, that he and Vincent would be spending Christmas together. Why, it was only last month that Vincent himself suggested that maybe they could give it a try – nothing official, just to see where it might go, he said – and though Sebastian hasn't dwelt on the question since, he never actually said no to Vincent at the time. It just dawns on him then that all he'd offered was a shrug and a faintly thoughtful look; maybe this is the reminder. That is, if he didn't outright hurt Vincent back then and just never realized it until now.

The thought makes him anxious and deflective. "I thought you were a family man when it comes to the holidays."

"I am."

"Is there a leap of logic I needs must make here, Vincent?"

"I'd like us to go together, not that we have to go full speed ahead."

The chime of the bells of Notre-Dame echo across the river. Sebastian realizes that midnight's upon them, and is suddenly mortified down to the tips of his toes; it's officially Christmas and they're spending those precious first few minutes on this. He didn't want to argue – he wanted to give Vincent his well-wishes, and maybe affection then if he wanted- "If... if you're playing games, I'm not interested."

"And not because I'm older, just a friend, or a man?"

Sebastian splutters in shock, but there's no real retort to be made. "Oh, Seb," the older man laughs quietly, squeezing his hand once before he lets go. "I assure you I'm not playing games, but I'm not demanding that you let me sweep you off your feet, either. I should be thanking you twice over for spending time with me tonight; you didn't have to, but you did. And," he leans down, gentle-voiced amidst the last of the bells, brown eyes soothing blue. "I want you to know that you do more than enough for me, Sebastian, as you already are. Friend or brother, or more than that, you're family. You are that and dearly precious to me before anything else we might become."

"..."

"I would never trade that for a shadow of smoke."

I like you too much, is the conclusion that hangs suspended between them, but Vincent does not voice it out loud. He knows Sebastian is not one for excess emotion, not ones he has to wade through in public anyway; Vincent must consider a thanks appropriate, a little flirting acceptable, but that anything else needs pulling back. "Jardin du Luxembourg isn't far from here, it must be a pretty sight right now," he says, and offers his arm, beaming. "Monsieur."

Sebastian takes him up on it. He's warm, scented sweet, a gentleman for his best friend only. Along the way he shyly leans his head against Vincent's arm.

He seems to understand.

-----

There is in hell a place called Maleborge, made of stone the colour of iron like the circle that encloses it. Or so it's said, anyway, within the play of someone else's imagination - exactly the kind that should not be running wild in Gaspard Augé's mind as he stands at the back of this church. The theology brought up this chain of thought, his current situation led him to pursue it; Gaspard's not so much concerned with the thought of frauds and thieves and simoniacs as he can foresee something he might need to do in the near future. He sneaks a glance next to him. Xavier's eyes are closed, lips moving faintly with the hymn. His eyelids are damp and ghastly pale and there's no question that he finds the hymn comforting because it's familiar, because he need not work hard to follow it, because he's too unwell to do much else.

Né si stancò d'avermi a sé distretto. So Virgil to Dante. As he would Xavier.

How could he possibly not oblige this man, is the question.

Gaspard recalls the process through which they ended up here. For the past several years their families have gotten together for the holidays. But this year, Xavier has fallen sick with a cold, and will not be better for Christmas; he requested a quiet couple of days, and Gaspard decided to follow suit, despite the other's protests that it was his God-given right to go and celebrate with his family. "Not even for dinner and presents?" He'd asked through a fit of coughing. "Gaspard, I'll be asleep. It really is fine. Just bring me all of mine to open when I'm better."

"And that's where the catch is, trying to drag the entire pile with me onto the Métro," Gaspard replied dryly, but tucked Xavier in with care all the same. "my place is with you, always. Get some sleep. I'll wake you closer to evening."

"Nnh."

He didn't say anything more, just rolled over with his back facing Gaspard. His response was to ruffle his hair, concerned. Xavier's always been a good sleeper, especially in response to stress. And upon his waking, his guilt has worked as a moving force upon him. Despite his illness, and despite Gaspard's protests, Xavier insisted that they attend midnight Mass; it's tradition for both of them, starting at eleven at the Saint-Sulpice, and wild horses couldn't stop Xavier when he really has his mind set on something.

So Gaspard wrapped him up extra tight and off they went. Halfway to the church Xavier stopped against a wall, his eyes glazed with fever, and pressed his forehead against frozen brick. Even in present time he stands bent over, too much heat and weight upon his head; the twinge Gaspard feels in his heart is that of the old present, Xavier's pain wounding him now as clearly as it did back then.

"Xavier. Xavier, are you all right?"

Ah, yes. He can see him all over again, panting out a breath, eyes bright and cheeks far too pink for Gaspard's comfort. "I'm fine," he'd said, and he'd say it now if Gaspard nudged him and asked. "go, I'm more than strong enough."

Repeat question. How could he possibly not oblige this man?

"Go in the peace of Christ, thanks be to God!"

And then it's all over. The whole thing hasn't taken longer than an hour. The good thing about Mass as a tradition is that there are no surprises. Not too far in the distance, their Lady of Paris rings her bells, and the congregation buzzes with their requisite Joyeux Noëls. Xavier lingers as the others file out; Gaspard squeezes his arm as if to affirm that he was, indeed, more than strong enough. A shadow of a smile crosses Xavier's mouth like he's pleased. Together they wait, and they are the last people to leave, with Xavier leaning with catlike bliss against the first blast of icy Christmas air.

"Ahhh," he exclaims, and breathes in so deeply it looks like it'd hurt. When he regards Gaspard, however, he's bright-eyed in the good way. "do you know something, my dear fellow, I'm glad we went; I feel ready for the New Year already, like I'm done proving myself for this one. What do you want to do now?"

Good for him. Gaspard decides not to mention that this is the most anxious Christmas he's ever had; he's happy if his friend is. "I was about to ask you the same," he says quietly, fastening the last button on the other's coat. Xavier blinks at him, unsure whether to brush him off or accept. "is there something else you'd like to do, or would you like to go home?"

Xavier shakes his head. Gaspard doesn't protest, but places the back of his hand against the other's forehead, feeling for himself what the other was unable to voice all along: Xavier's just too warm for comfort. Forget soup and radiators and blankets. He's reached the stage where he needs to cool his body, and this weather's perfect for the purpose, no matter how he might answer for it later. In the absence of a destination he takes Xavier off the beaten path and proposes that they walk around the Saint-Sulpice, long enough to let the crowd clear, and this suggestion is accepted.

Before they go, though, he'd like to add his own blessings to the holiday. He doesn't have an excuse, aside from that he's relieved the other man's all right, and that Xavier isn't the only one who can be strong and bold. It's not new. He'll understand. "Wait," he calls, and beckons Xavier back towards the entrance; before any inquiry can be thrown in his direction, he dips his finger in the stoup again and crosses Xavier in his stead. "I feel like you could do with a second round," he explains as Xavier stares at him; a drop of holy water lingers on his forehead, beaded delicately against his dark hair, and Gaspard gives into the temptation to kiss it. "get better soon."

He wonders what Xavier's more confused about, the kiss or the gesture or his demeanour. "What doctrine call you this?"

"I don't. It's a blessing. For Christmas." Gaspard rolls his eyes playfully but leads him down the steps, his touch delicate against Xavier's gloved fingertips nevertheless. "There's a prayer that went with it, too. Would you like to hear it? - Our Father in Heaven, O you who are there, hallowed be thy name; visible in candlelight, going over where the river goes, bless us and this city both and please make my friend well. Amen."

Xavier gives him a deadpan look. "Happy Birthday."

Gaspard splutters in mock outrage. "Mec! Really?"

It's always been this way between them, one of them blurting out honest sentiments and the other deflecting. Thanks be to God that Xavier didn't react like this to his actual confession, some five weeks ago; even then, they were always so close anyway that being official hasn't made much of a difference. (They kiss and hold hands more often, yes, but they've had no more intimate or serious or revelatory considerations than what they were already sharing before.) So they've still got things to iron out, clearly, appropriate reactions to sincere good wishes most of all. Little do they know that two of their friends are having a similarly heart-racing time of things, less than ten minutes away. Unlike them, Xavier bails Gaspard out straight away, resting his warm cheek against the latter's shoulder as soon as they're at the bottom of the stairs. He doesn't say anything, but lingers there as they walk, eyelids half shut and dreamy with pleasure.

Later, he will trace the scales on Gaspard's arm, and whisper his thanks as he sleeps. But this is the moment Gaspard assumes it, and the weight on his heart lifts immediately in response; gratitude is always appreciated, yes, but it need not be verbal. Not when two people know each other as well as they do.

"... Gaspard?"

"Mm?"

Xavier raises his hand to where the Saint-Sulpice's Christmas tree stands. "Look over there... right at the top."

He doesn't quite get what he's talking about at first. But upon Xavier's insistence, he soon understands to look past the top of the tree. What he sees makes him smile: doves have settled in each crevice for the night, and from the way the lighting's set up, the golden star of the tree sits at the same level as a pair of snow-white doves tucked up soft and warm against each other. "Show-offs," Xavier mumbles affectionately. "I wonder if they know they're being watched."

The breeze is a gentle one. He catches a hint of Xavier's scent, warm and smoky with the faintest tang of salt.

"You know, Gaspard? ... They mate for life."

Gaspard leans down wordlessly to kiss the top of his head. Their hands have crossed the distance between them and have folded, one over the other, like a pair of wings settling after flight.

Xavier's eyes drift shut. He is too tired to talk much, but keeps pace with Gaspard without too much difficulty. Regardless of whether the pigeons know they're being watched, he knows he and Gaspard ought to be. "I wish they could have seen us tonight," he says, his voice nearly inaudible. "... they should have seen us tonight. I'm sorry I'm so ill."

Ah.

There it is, the heart of the matter, the one Gaspard set aside in case Xavier felt too guilty about it. Their families are still under the impression that they're just friends. Neither would have been surprised to know they were official, but they were planning to make quite the announcement of it tonight. This is why Xavier was so anxious to do something together, even with his illness, so that someone would see them and notice how loving they were. There's a pang in his heart but he presses it back, thinking instead of what he foresaw in the church; he looks down at Xavier and bends his knees, gesturing towards his back.

"May I?"

So Virgil to Dante. It is time to do what he must.

Xavier puts up no resistance. He settles himself against Gaspard's back and slumps contentedly against him as he stands. He's even lighter than the usual, not having had much of an appetite since his cold. "Please still like me?" He murmurs against the other's hair, nuzzling quietly into the birdsnest warmth, and Gaspard hums in response.

The water torture of his heels emptying them both down that Parisian street, evacuated as the channels of their hearts.

This will be one memory.

-----

There is in Paris a cafe called Les Deux Magots, host to Sartre and Beauvoir and countless discussions of prominence in prior decades. Like everything else it's closed for the night, but it is here Vincent and Sebastian pause to contemplate where they must turn; they could have turned left at any of the dozen splits in the road they've come, but they came here because this is the landmark they both recognize. "Hold on," Vincent calls, and quickly crosses the road to check the Mass timetable at the Église de Saint Germain des Prés. He comes back, shaking his head. "last one started at ten thirty, they're all gone now. A pity, even we used to go sometimes."

By this time, Sebastian has had the time to think over all that Vincent has said: Germany, being part of Vincent's family (whatever that means), where their friendship stands. He's not confident he's come to a conclusion, but he can comment on it. "You're a honest man, Vinco," Sebastian says, and Vincent turns around, eyebrows raised at the switch back to his nickname. "but it's seldom you give away so much of it. I was a little blindsided, I think."

Vincent offers a crooked grin. "Merry Christmas. Enjoy it while it lasts."

"Thank you. I, um. You know I'm going away on the thirtieth," the older man nods, a little more puzzled as to where this is going. "my maternal family, in Belgrade – I'm more for the New Year, really, and next Christmas is a long time away for Germany's sake – if you... if you wanted-"

"Mon Dieu, what are you guys doing here?"

Vincent whips around at the voice. What he sees makes him whoop for joy and run right across the road, again. Sebastian only wishes he could curse the heavens but hasn't the strength, not after seeing Xavier heaved upon Gaspard's back; now that's something he never imagined he would see. "Never mind us, what are you doing here?" Vincent's asking in the meantime, while Sebastian cautiously waits for the lights to change before crossing. "Are you coming back from somewhere?"

"Mass at the Saint-Sulpice," Gaspard answers in Xavier's stead. (‘Saint-Sulpice, why didn’t I think of that!’ Vincent exclaims, though he grins at the sight of Xavier trying to clamber down with as much dignity as possible.) He pauses to let him down proper, smiling as his partner throws his arms around Vincent, and then Sebastian too when he arrives. "Xavier's not feeling too well, so we opted to have a quiet Christmas, the two of us."

"Oh, excellent. Don't give it to me or Seb."

"Puh-lease. I'm not that ill. It's not because we didn't want to see anybody!" Xavier's perked up in the presence of familiar people. Sebastian shifts awkwardly on his feet, suddenly unsure what to do in the company of extroverts; but Vincent comes to his rescue again, resuming his place next to him to affirm them as a pair. This is very much Xavier's own language, too, as they find out when he looks at them up and down with a slow wicked grin. "... I'll be. Gramps got a bit lonely for Christmas, huh?"

Vincent's not shaken in the slightest. "Hardly. I'm never lonesome with family around, such is life." He squeezes Sebastian's hand. "And considering you ended up seeing us, I guess now's about the right time to extend that definition. You two lovebirds want to come along and tackle a fridgeful of pheasant with us? Compete for the wishbone, maybe?"

And this is how he and Sebastian never make it down to the Jardin du Luxembourg that night. But the trade-off is better; Vincent has made the one offer neither Xavier nor Gaspard can refuse, considering that they only woke up for Mass and haven't eaten in a number of hours. "Hell yeah, Vinco, lead the way," Xavier exclaims. "and do wish me and Gaspard good luck, if anything – it's been five weeks!"

So they all have a destination now, and they'll all be fed. Xavier hops back into Gaspard's arms, presenting a laughing and faintly damp weight from his fever starting to break. At least part of his illness has to do with the lack of food, and what better cure is there for a cold other than good rest and food and cheer? Vincent gains company and Xavier and Gaspard receives recognition. It’s not quite gift-giving, but maybe it’s better. And as for Sebastian, who has the most important and yet the least concrete desire of all, his initial deflated feeling is not made to last for long. When they're nearly back to his apartment, Vincent gives Gaspard the keys, and tells them to go ahead and set up something comfortable for Xavier to rest on. This he does with gratitude, which lets the older man turn back to Sebastian so he can give him the full attention he deserves. "I've made you wait because I was weighing up what my responsibilities were," he says. "and – you know something?"

"... Ah?"

Vincent smiles. "I confess I've never been to Serbia before."

He loves to travel, but has always lamented that he never got to do much of it in his youth. He's sometimes been ashamed of the fact, unwilling to be open about it to others. Sebastian gets it straight away. It's his turn to be the guide now, as Vincent has been for him. And unlike how he is with almost any other responsibility that falls onto his lap, he doesn't hesitate this time.

"I would like that," Sebastian whispers, and links their fingers together. "I'd like that a lot."

[snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales]

No Matter What - Part 3

A/N: Based off of the song “One Call Away” by Charlie Puth, this will be a multichapter fic with a line of lyric being the headers to break down the thought process of the chapter. None of the lyrics are mine, and they are all in bold - Again, I do not claim to own them, all credit where credit is due.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

Word Count: 1,749 (Not including lyrics.)

Warnings: None that I know of. Mild language? Some slight angst, and mention of blood and injury.

Beautiful people who helped me when I came to them with this crazy idea and said to run with it: @wheresthekillswitch @aworldmadeforme @life-what-life-i-dont-have-one

How to be a Werewolf 101: Getting bitten was the easy part. Controlling the shifts that come after? Not so much. It’d been a long, hard road for you once you were bitten, never quite being able to control the shift even now, almost a year later. You were always told that Beacon Hills would hold a handful of people willing to drop everything to come an help you, no matter the situation, all you had to do was let them know, and they’d be there. So far you hadn’t had to ask a single time. But when pride becomes a bigger issue, and the war raging inside of you becomes more and more of a losing battle, you find yourself having to let go, and give in, putting your trust in others once again, instead of yourself, and believing they will do what is best for you, no matter what.

Series Masterlist

Xxx

I’m only one call away

“Hey, it’s Derek, leave a voicemail.”

You rolled your eyes at the unimaginative outgoing message he had as the loud beep sounded.

“Hey, Derek, it’s me. I’m uh- oh, shit!” Ducking down right as an arrow flew over your head from the shadows behind you, you stumbled forward slightly, sending a wary glance over your shoulder.

After a few moments of searching and still no other body in sight, you remembered you were mid-message, so you continued as you began to walk forward again. “Sorry. Apparently there are hun-”

A low lying branch smacked straight into your face, halting both your movement and speech. After a long moment of heavy breathing to try and keep yourself calm, you reached out with your free arm and flailed, beating the branch with everything you had, batting it out of your way, because how dare a branch interrupt your phone call- Stepping just past the branch, your eyes glowing their brilliant yellow, you froze and let them fade back to normal as you resumed your now lengthy voicemail. “Branches. Apparently there are branches in these woods.”

You huffed, dragging a hand roughly through your hair as you stared at the ground. “Look, Derek. I’m in trouble. I think. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. Just have Stiles look me up on GPS, I really could use some backup.”

Gulping down the rising fear that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, you hung up, pocketing the phone, and venturing deeper into the woods.

I’ll be there to save the day

Gasping as you reached the phone booth, you bent slightly at the waist to try and catch your breath, bracing your hands on your knees, glancing over your shoulder quickly before looking back to the booth, glad that the small little town you found yourself in still had the relics.

Fumbling into your pockets for any spare change, you found enough and quickly dialed the number you knew by heart, keeping a steadfast cautionary glance cast over your shoulder every few seconds.

Ringing seemingly endlessly, the phone finally connected, but went to voicemail.

“It’s Stiles, you know what to do.”

Groaning you hung up quickly and pushed the button to return your change. Quickly inserting it once again, you dialed the next number, which also went to voicemail, and you found yourself stomping your foot like a petulant child.

“Hey, it’s Scott! Sorry I missed your call, but if you-”

You hung up once again, got the change, and tried the number you hadn’t dialed in a while, seeing as it always went to voicemail.

There was no ringing, only a loud, unpleasant sound that drew your attention away from your gaze over your shoulder.

“We’re sorry. This number has been disconnected. Please hang up and try again.”

Disconnected?

Moaning when you heard the box eat your change, you hung up the receiver and dug through your pockets with shaking hands, hoping you still had enough to make one more call. Finding just enough, you quickly pulled your hand from your pocket, but in your eagerness you accidentally bumped your midsection and winced, eyes screwed shut in pain as you let out a muffled groan from behind tightly closed lips. Pulling your jacket to the side, you noticed the bloody spot was growing, and you wanted to burn every bit of wolfsbane on the planet simply for it’s use as a nuisance.

Putting in the change, you dialed the number once again, thinking surely you had misdialed.

But that annoying sound quickly told you otherwise.

“We’re sorry. This number has been disconnected. Please hang up and try again.”

This time quick enough to get your change back, you dialed the number one last time, just in case. Your hands shook. You refused to believe that it had been-

But the shrill sound yet again told you it was true.

“We’re sorry. This number has been disconnected. Please hang up and try again.”

Slamming the receiver down, you ventured to the nearby bus stop, and asked if you could borrow someone’s cell phone. A kind older man obliged, and you thanked him, taking a small step away for privacy, but staying close incase you needed to blend in. You had gotten lucky that the people chasing you hadn’t caught up yet.

Staring down at the number before you hit send, you quickly ended the call when the horrid noise started again, pulling it away from your ear and looking at the numbers to make sure for the last time that they were absolutely right. Hitting send one last time, you stared ahead blankly, lost in the hope that was dashed away by that sound one last time.

You closed your eyes as it accosted your ears, only letting the message get as far as, “We’re sorry,” before hanging up, taking a deep breath, and returning the phone to the man with a small thank you uttered through a tight lipped smile.

Quickly walking to the drugstore across the street, you pulled the lighter from your jacket pocket, already grimacing as you knew what you would have to do. You’d already removed the bullet, whoever was hunting nowadays was a terrible shot, barely getting you just enough that the bullet went an inch or so deep so it was easy to get out, the second only grazed your skin, but was enough to infuse you with wolfsbane. Shaking the lighter, you groaned when you realized it was out of fluid, trying to get it to ignite a few times anyway, simply on principle. Stuffing it back into your pocket with a grunt, you began walking to the entrance of the store.

“I hate it when that happens.”

You shot your gaze up to the voice, seeing a guy in a uniform that matched the drugstore logo sitting on a bench out front, damping out the remnants of his cigarette in the provided disposal nearby. Standing up, he tossed something your way, and despite your injury, you caught it with little effort, wanting to groan at the pain from the sudden movement. Opening your hand, you looked to see he had tossed you his lighter, a cheap disposable one, but it was better than nothing.

“Keep it. I have another five in my car.”

You slowly nodded a thanks, smiling a tight smile, both of which he returned before going back in the store. Making your way to the secluded alley beside the store, you looked down to the lighter, marveling at the encounter. It wasn’t often that someone showed you a kindness, that was just what came with being what you were.

Finally slumping against the wall in a secluded corner you were sure wasn’t visible to any cameras, you took a deep breath as you looked at the lighter one more time. When all this was over, it would be mounted on your freaking mantle, always a reminder that someone, somewhere, had unknowingly saved a life, and you only hoped that you could do the same.

Superman got nothing on me

An unknown caller lit up your screen where it sat on your coffee table. Narrowing your eyebrows in question at the screen, as if it would tell you who was calling, you hit the answer button, and slowly held it to your ear. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Y/N.”

You sat up straight from your slouched position on the couch. “Derek?”

“Yeah. Sorry it’s been so long, I just-”

You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you. “No, forget all that. Where are you?”

“I just got back to the loft.”

You were already on your feet. “I’m coming over.”

I’m only one call away

Walking into the loft quickly, you didn’t even say hello, you just did a quick scan of his body to make sure he was okay before slamming him up against the wall he stood in front of.

“What the hell, Y/N?”

“What the hell me?! I think you mean what the hell you, Derek!”

He reached up and out, pushing your arms off his shoulders, and you took a step back to avoid falling against him.

“I had to cut all ties. Beacon Hills wasn’t safe if I was still connected to it. I tried looking for you, but I always seemed to catch up with whoever was hunting you right before they found out where you were, and by the time I had taken care of them, you were already gone.”

So that was the reason you kept getting lucky, you had a shadow.

Backing up before letting out a frustrated huff, you turned your gaze away from his while running both hands through your hair, letting them sit atop your head as you turned to walk a few steps away. “Well, thanks, but I don’t need the help, I was doing fine, thanks.”

“Where did that come from?”

Glancing to him, your brows knit in confusion, you saw him pointing at your midsection, a stripe of skin showing where your shirt rode up displaying the jagged scar left from your little lighter.

Lowering your hands quickly, you tugged at the hem of your shirt uncomfortably, looking to the ground as you spoke. “Wolfsbane bullets. Had to take care of it myself. Only had a cheapo lighter, so, now I have a scar. At least, for a while, anyway. Deaton said it might be permanent.”

“When did this happen?” He sounded angry, and when you looked up to meet his eyes again, you saw indeed he was, but at himself.

He had been following you, so you knew he was blaming himself. But at the moment, you wanted him to. He had left without so much as a word to you, but followed you around anyway. And the only reason you were out that night was looking for him.

“A few months ago. Made a call for backup, but the number was disconnected.”

His eyes snapped to yours from where they were staring at the spot that held your marred skin. “I was under investigation by the-”

“I don’t care, Derek. It’s done. If you need me again, you know where to reach me.” Backing out of the loft with your hands held up by your head as if in surrender, you gave him one last look before your lips pulled into a tight line, and you slowly jogged down the many steps of the building, feeling worse with every flight you descended, like the weight of the building was resting on your shoulders.

Xxx

Tags: @evyiione @mayahart02 @palaiasaurus64 @shydinosaurcandy @lucyqueenofthestars @storytelling-reader @jazzrivera27 @c-breanne1999 @bless-my-demons What’s this?

[cheollies]

Internet Friend!Seungcheol

requested by anon: who wanted an internet friend Seungcheol in which you didn’t know he was a part of Seventeen

Seungcheol was curious

he was curious over this whole rave about Tumblr

he knew his fans were so into the site, but he couldn’t find anything amusing about it

so he decided to give it ago

Creating a whole new tumblr account dedicated to himself

His username @ xcoups

‘Get it, because it sounds like s.coups’

‘Please stop’

he chose pictures he felt were his best and placed it as his profile picture and header

the members broke in laughter seeing the leader be so interested in the new technology, they even tried to help make a short bio which only ended with them teasing him

after two hours of hard decisions over pictures and a short bio,

It was time for him to start working the actual site

it took him fifteen minutes to figure out the reblog button, ten minutes to find his likes page, another ten minutes to write a post accidentally and then trying to delete it

he finally mastered the art of tumblr after about an hour and a half

and he was addicted

he mostly reblogged things, pictures of himself, some of the members, and some random things he found along the way

Seungcheol was mesmerized by the tags, he followed his own tag, and seventeen’s, he scrolled late at night often staying glued to his phone

Overall he was impressed, his fans created intricate gifsets and pictures that honestly he thought made him look better

he even showed off to the members all of the tumblr users dedicated to him

in just a few days, he followed more than fifty people so his dash could be filled with random things

Seungcheol knew your tumblr by heart, he hadn’t realized he did until he kept getting notifs from you reblogging stuff that he had

He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t stalk your blog

You were a Seungcheol blog, he found your tumblr cute, your header was a gif of him and your profile picture, well it was also him

He scrolled through your post, most of it was reblogs but once in awhile he’d come across a post you’d make, some of it describing the little things you loved about seungcheol, and others were of just random parts of your day

and sometime he’d unconsciously reblog them which he would then kill himself over because now he thinks he’s a creep

you on the other hand, smile when you receive the notification, it felt nice to have someone like and reblog your random personal post, it made you feel like someone was listening

and with small interactions, here and there, the title of mutuals falls between you two

it all started when you weren’t having a particularly nice day so you took to tumblr, writing that all you needed was to be tagged in a few seungcheol post

and you weren’t expecting much from your just over thirty followers who probably don’t even see your post

but it wasn’t ten minutes later that your phone buzzed

a little tumblr notification popping up from none other than xcoups himself

Your heart filled with joy seeing a cute gifset of Seungcheol in which he smiled and waved

you reblogged the post, thanking xcoups with your whole heart and a smile on your face

and now, you two constantly reblog post tagging each other

until tagging turned into sending each other things privately

and then conversations of anything besides himself of course

Seungcheol was smitten

He was glued to his phone even more now because he awaited your messages

he didn’t care if it was of you screaming over a cute pic you saw of him, or just you saying you were lying in bed snuggled in your blanket

and when he wasn’t waiting by the phone, he was thinking, he was thinking of what to message you

should he message you about how one of his friends (Mingyu) who tripped over air, or should he message you that he saw something cute that reminded him of you

he got jealous sometimes

Because you talked about other members being cute, often joking how you might leave Seungcheol for them

and he would pout at the phone

‘Seuncheol’s going to be really mad if you drop him’

‘oh but Jihoon looks so cute’

‘ S T O P’

You’d laugh at your friend’s reaction to keep you loyal to seuncheol

to be honest, you assumed you were talking to a girl, never in your life would you think you were talking to a boy, let alone Choi Seungcheol himself

It’s been a year now

You two have talked non stop almost every day for a year now

You’ve always wanted to meet your friend but Seungcheol on the other hand, nervously didn’t want too

he felt that when you met him, you’d feel lied too, because you’ve poured your heart out to him multiple times, and it’d feel as though he broke your personal space

so when you said that you were so excited to be attending a fanmeet, he was panicking

Because he was finally meeting you, face to face, up close, he was going to actually see you

he knew what you looked like, you sent him selfies unexpectedly sometimes and he’d grin ear to ear because to him, you were the most beautiful person

he knew it was finally time, to tell you the truth, to let everything out on the table

he was waiting for you on the stage, sitting in his chair, he was looking everywhere, his hands were antsy as they messily wrote other people’s names, his legs bouncing rapidly as he tried to remain calm in front of everyone else

and he was so focused on trying to remain calm, he didn’t notice you standing next in line

so when he saw you, when he looked into your eyes, he froze

this was the moment, this is what he waited for for a year now

‘Hi! I’m such a huge fan’

and he got scared, he smiled brightly just like he did to the others, continued a nice conversation where he gave fanservice and you moved along with his eyes slowly glued onto you who moved over to Wonwoo

you got off the stage buzzing, you went back into the crowd of fans, you were so excited to show xcoups your signed Seungcheol page, you flipped to the page quickly to sneak a quick picture when you noticed it

it was not signed ‘S.coups’ like you’ve seen other people’s page have, no it was signed @xcoups

and you were in disbelief, it must have been a mistake, so you looked up, looking at Seungcheol who was already staring at you

you felt deceived

Seungcheol watched as you scowl, the fansign just finished at the moment when he saw you packing up, trying to get out of the crowd

he excused himself to the bathroom, running backstage, he was at the entrance, waiting as your figure walked towards him

‘y/n’

‘No!’

‘What was i supposed to do, tell you I was the leader of Seventeen from the beginning?’

you remained silent, you knew he was right, he couldn’t have just outright told you

Seungcheol pulled you into a private room

‘Okay what i did was wrong. You practically confessed your love for me to me without knowing it and I’m sorry. But i like you, a lot, and texting you everyday was the highlight of waking up’

‘Flatter isn’t working right now’

‘Can we start over. We can be friends, i promise i’ll just forget everything you said’

You look at him skeptical ‘i guess’

‘Okay. Hi, i’m Choi Seungcheol’ he grins with a hand out

You shake it with a smile yourself, ‘I’m y/n, hey aren’t you a member of Seventeen? My bias is Jihoon’

‘HEY!’

Your heart swooned even more now than when you hadn’t met him officially. Watching him up on stage, messing around with his members, eyes secretly looking at you. The feeling was weird, because you knew him for a year, and yet now, knowing his true identity, it felt as though time reverted to when you met this awkward tumblr user xcoups.