#ive downed like one glass of wine in like half an hour. no food. so i am . on tue clouds rn

[bluebellhairpin]

ALL. My selfships are so "'Romeo amd Juliet' by Dire Straits" coded. But in different. ways. Amd it's amazing how one song can be so versatile when it really. Is not.

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

🥒🥒

pairing: dom minho x fem reader

genre: smut

word count: almost 2.2k exactly

warnings: food play (don’t do what you’re about to read. it’s not sanitary), punishment, slight degradation and name calling (out of my comfort zone, i’m a praise girlie. degradation usually makes me sad but i wanted to try.)

an: @whatudowhennooneseesyou recommended a few ideas for minho’s birthday. one of which was food play. which i was very interested in writing. so here it is. :) i completely deleted everything i had written for this and started over like a few hours ago. so fingers crossed that it’s not absolute garbage. i just couldn’t seem to get this one to my standards. but the birthday is here and it’s time to post. so lmk what you think. unless you hate it. then maybe don’t tell me. cuz im soft and ill cry. ♡

ᯓᡣ𐭩 happy birthday minho! ᯓᡣ𐭩

masterlist

‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼ adults only • mdni ‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼

————— ୨୧ —————

minho had been your boyfriend for years now. you thought you knew everything there was to know about him. but he somehow still managed to surprise you from time to time. and tonight was one of those nights.

it was your anniversary and the apartment was filled with the smell of him cooking dinner. the sky was dark outside, the sun having gone down a while ago now, the stars twinkling overhead, not a cloud in sight. the apartment was quiet. you didn’t have the tv on, or the radio. but it was a comfortable silence. neither one of you feeling the need to talk, but instead just enjoying being in each others presence. just the sounds of him cooking and you sipping on your wine.

you stood in the kitchen with him, but you knew to stay out of the way. you leaned against the far end of the counter, letting him do his thing.

you watched him. his black short sleeve shirt clung to his chest, his sweatpants loose on his hips. and his favorite apron tied around his waist. you had given it to him the year prior as an anniversary present. he had his back to you now, but you knew the words ‘kiss the cook’ adorned the front of the white material. the muscles in his back flexed as he cut up some vegetables.

you weren’t sure if it was the influence of the wine, but your mind started thinking some dirty things about him and his back muscles. you remembered how you could see the muscles in his shoulders working when he had his head between your thighs and his arms wrapped around your legs holding you in place, his tongue buried deep in your heat.

you rubbed your legs together, trying to get some friction. but it was no use. you watched him as he moved from the cutting board to the stove, tossing his freshly cut vegetables into the pan. you could see his side profile now, his sharp jawline and nose, his pouty little lips as he concentrated. what you wouldn’t give to have those lips on you right now.

“you’re staring.” he said, his voice loud in the surrounding silence.

“you’re pretty.” you replied simply.

he looked over at you, your flushed cheeks, half empty wine glass in your hand, your thighs rubbing together.

“oh i see.” he turned his attention back to the dinner and stirred the contents of the pan. “you’re needy.”

you sat your wine glass down and approached him. you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your lips to his shoulder. you kissed the material of his shirt and then inhaled his scent, his cologne only making your problem worse.

“you just look so sexy when you’re cooking. i can’t help but stare.”

he turned around in your hold, facing you now. he looked down at you, and brushed your hair out of your eyes. he kissed you gently on the mouth before starting to push you away. “this pan is hot and you’re drunk. you don’t need to be near the stove.”

you rolled your eyes. “i am not drunk. ive had like half of a glass.”

he had his hands on your hips, pushing you across the kitchen until your lower back hit the countertop opposite the stove. his arms were on either side of you, caging you in. “did you just roll your eyes at me?” he asked, his voice deep and challenging.

you realized your mistake. rolling your eyes is one of the things that minho doesn’t take lightly. he’s punished you for it before in the past. but somehow it’s become quite a habit of yours. maybe because his punishments always ended with him buried inside of you.

you shook your head no, feigning innocence. “i didn’t roll my eyes.” you looked up at him through your lashes, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

“no.. see i think you did.”

he turned around and switched the stove off, removing the pan from the heat.

“won’t that ruin dinner?” you asked.

“oh this won’t take long.”

he wrapped his arms around your thighs and lifted you up onto the counter. the surface was ice cold through your clothes. he hooked his fingers around the waistband of your pants, along with your panties, and pulled them off in one fluid motion.

“you’re fucking soaked.” he said, running his index finger through your folds and around your puffy clit. “just like a slut to always be ready, huh?”

he slipped two fingers inside, pumping them slowly, your wet sounds filling the previously silent space around you. your head fell back, your mouth open, soft whines falling past your lips.

he continued to finger you, curling his digits in a way that he knows you love, the sounds of your arousal only growing louder. his fingers were covered and so was the counter underneath you. he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking on it gently before circling it with his tongue.

“fuck—“ you mumbled, your hands grasping for anything to hold onto, to ground yourself but finding no purchase on the smooth counter.

“fuck you taste good.” he said, removing himself from your core, but still sliding his fingers in and out. “i always love the taste of you on my tongue.”

“please min..”

he slowed his motions to an agonizing pace, your pussy desperate to be filled, to be stretched.

he raised an eyebrow at you.“please what?”

you caught your bottom lip in between your teeth. “please.. fuck me. please. i need it.” you begged.

“oh but this is a punishment. only good girls get cock.” he took his free hand and slapped your pussy, stinging your clit. “you remember how you rolled your eyes at me?”

“i didn’t— i.. fuck— i’m sorry minho! please!”

“oh poor little slut, begging and crying for some cock. but you don’t deserve it. i can’t reward bad behavior.” his fingers were still moving so slow, your pussy practically crying for stimulation at this point. his hand was covered in your arousal.

“tell you what..” he started, looking over his shoulder at something. “i��ll fuck you.”

relief washed over you. “thank you minho..” you sighed. “thank you.”

he reached behind him to the opposite counter and grabbed something in his hand. he turned back to you with a smirk on his face as he held up his item between your legs.

“a cucumber?” you asked, confused. your brain was foggy with need but surely you were imagining this?

“i know it’s not as big around as i am, but it’ll do.” he said, removing his fingers from your hole. he brought the vegetable to your mouth. “open.”

you did as you were told and flopped your tongue out. he pressed the cucumber against your tongue and told you to suck. “get it all nice and wet. and don’t you dare bite it.”

you moved your tongue up and down and around, coating the bumpy texture with your saliva.

“there you go, finally doing what you’re told.”

you whimpered under him as he removed the vegetable from your mouth and brought it down to between your legs. he rubbed it against your slit. it was cold, but didn’t feel terrible as it touched your clit. he prodded your entrance with it, looking up at you, giving you one last chance to use your safe word, to tell him this was crazy and to stop. but honestly, it was kind of hot. and you were so needy. and if this is all he was going to give you, then you’d take it. you trusted him completely.

giving him a small nod, he pushed it inside of you. it was roughly the same shape, but minho was right, it definitely wasn’t as girthy as his cock. but as he slowly kept pushing it further and further, you realized it wasn’t as thick, but it was longer. it reached places inside of you that his cock has never touched. you missed the stretch that his cock gave you, but this… this was good too.

a soft moan slipped out of your mouth, telling minho everything he needed to know. he slowly pulled the cucumber back out, and then thrust it back in again, the tip hitting your cervix.

“fuck..” you moaned, your orgasm already building.

he moved faster and faster, his free hand snaking under your shirt to pinch at your nipples.

“such a dirty fuckin slut.” he spat. “letting me fuck you with a vegetable.”

your neck and ears flushed at his words but you didn’t care. it felt too good. it hit that perfect spot inside of you over and over, the ball in your tummy getting tighter and tighter, threatening to snap at any moment.

“are you going to cum?” he asked, his tone laced with disgust, though you knew that was an act. he thought this was the hottest thing that he’s ever done to you. “you’ll take anything in this pussy, won’t you? anything that might make you cum.”

he took the hand that was pinching your nipples and used it to rub your clit. you gasped at the feeling, writhing in pleasure on the kitchen counter.

“you’re such a fucking whore. go ahead and cum.”

and you did. your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave, your whole body seizing up and spasming. his name fell repeatedly out of your mouth like a mantra. your pussy clamped down so tight he could barely keep pumping to help you through your high. finally, you collapsed against the counter, your body weak and occasionally twitching with aftershocks.

carefully he pulled the cucumber out of you, a creamy white ring around its center. he placed it on the counter before turning back in your direction. he knelt down and licked your pussy clean, careful not to overstimulate you, but humming in pleasure at the taste. and then he retrieved your panties and pajama pants from the floor and slipped them back on you.

he helped you down from the counter, your legs weak and shaky. he scooped you up in his arms, bridal style and carried you to the couch. he gently sat you down and pulled a blanket across your lap, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before meeting your gaze.

“you doin okay, pretty?” he asked, smiling.

you nodded, a blissful look on your face, head still too fuzzy to speak.

“will you be okay here while i go finish cooking dinner?” he cradled your face in his hands. you nodded again, pulling the blanket higher up around yourself. he kissed the tip of your nose. “i’ll be right back.” and he headed back to the kitchen.

you could hear the sounds of him cooking. more chopping, and the pan sizzling. you could hear him opening cabinets and opening the fridge. could hear the silverware clinking against the plates. you sat on the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, brain empty, and waited for him.

after a short time, he returned with two plates in his hands. he sat them both down on the coffee table and went back to the kitchen, only to return with two glasses of water. he sat down next to you, grabbing his plate and bringing it to his lap. you watched him as he brought the fork to his mouth, the sound crunchy as he chewed. he looked at you and laughed out loud at your expression.

“aren’t you going to eat, baby?” he asked, bringing another piece of the cut up cucumber to his lips. you looked at your own plate and noticed it was absent of cucumber. you looked at him confused.

“i didn’t want to force you into anything.” he explained. “but if you want some, you can have some of mine.” he speared a piece of the vegetable on his fork and pointed it in your direction. “it’s delicious. i can still faintly taste you. though i can’t tell if it’s leftover on my tongue, or if it’s actually from the cucumber.”

you looked from his fork, back to him, and back to his fork again. had he really fucked you with a cucumber and then continued to cook it and is now eating it in front of you? minho was full of surprises.

you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the cucumber, pulling it off his fork. you chewed it slowly, analyzing the taste. “no.. i can’t taste me too.” you said, your voice raspy from not speaking for a while.

his eyes rolled back in his head, he grabbed his hard cock through his sweatpants. “fuck.. baby. watching you eat that about made me bust.”

you giggled. “well let’s finish eating and i’ll help you out with that.”

“i don’t know if ill make it through the whole meal. especially if you’re going to eat more of this.” he pointed to the green vegetable on his plate.

“mmm..” you hummed. “feed me another piece.” you opened your mouth wide.

he picked up a piece with his fork. “you’re going to be the death of me.”

————— ୨୧ —————

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©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

[hrina]

In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 10.6k REQUESTED: yes! 

well lads................this is it 🥺🥺🥺 thank u guys so much for all the love you’ve given this series. i would’ve never expected to receive such a positive response, but u guys rly went above and beyond. i adore u all so much 

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

as always, my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio! i worked really hard on this last part! i wanted to make sure it was all perfect, so i hope everyone enjoys it. gentle reminder to reblog the fics you like! it’s a great way to show appreciation as well as give authors more exposure. ok that’s all hehe can’t wait to hear your thoughts! take care 💙💙💙

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

    March 20, 2021

Harry keeps his promise, and Artie brings your car back around to your place the next day. You sit up straight at the table when you hear the familiar honking of a horn sound from outside. Your feet suddenly seem to have a mind of their own, carrying you out of the kitchen quickly with your father’s confused inquiries ringing in your ears. You open the front door before Artie even has the chance to knock.

“Thanks, Jason,” you tell him, breathless.

He hands you your keys and accepts the quick hug that you bestow upon him. “No problem, little girl. Is everything alright?”

Harry didn’t tell him.

“Yeah,” you lie, nodding. “I just—I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all.” Your voice drops an octave. “Don’t tell my dad, okay?”

Artie presses two of his fingertips together and drags them over the seam of his mouth, metaphorically sealing his lips. You smile, your heartbeat returning to its regular pace beneath the confines of your ribs.

You step back, extending an arm and gesturing for him to enter.

“Are you hungry? We were in the middle of eating lunch.”

“Sure,” he says, kicking off his shoes and arranging them against the wall. “Thank you.”

He and your father talk about anything and everything during the meal—boxing, the economy, the basketball game that had aired late last night. You just sit there and eat your food, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

They include you in the conversation for a bit—Artie asks how classes are going, and you tell him that you’re waiting for medical school acceptance (or rejection) letters to start rolling in. Other than that, they don’t bat an eye when you rinse your plate in the sink and politely excuse yourself from the table. You hide behind the fact that you have to work on an assignment that’s due in a week—the paper is worth a third of your grade and it’s crucial that you ace it.

But once you hobble back into your room, you’re crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over your head. You reach around blindly for your phone, snatching it up from where it’s charging on your nightstand. You unlock the device, scrolling through all of the grey messages that pop up right away—sent last night, one after the other, each of them unanswered, growing more and more desperate as the hours pass.

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

And then a final one, dejected and crestfallen, laced with palpable weakness even through the pixels of your screen.

Goodnight.

    April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

He’s never been bested this many times in a row. Your father is baffled by it, unsure of why he’s been so distracted in the ring. It’s even more confusing, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s at the gym every single day, lifting weights, practicing his technique, throwing himself into the sport. But once the actual fights roll around, things change. You’re not there, and you’re his lucky charm, and because of that, he finds himself meeting the ground far more often than he’d like to admit.

Your father said that the end of the semester was approaching—as a consequence, you were buckling down with school. Harry supposes that the timing is right, so the pretext must be true. But his opponents don’t know that (nor would they care). Your absence doesn’t stop them from knocking him down with snarling faces and heavy fists. The crowds holler loudly, goading him to get back up, but Harry doesn’t. He refuses to give them the satisfaction of watching him get beaten to a bloody pulp.

He stopped trying to reach out to you a week after the night of the kiss. He composed several texts a day, but each message had been met with silence. He remembers staring down at his phone one time, watching as three grey dots wiggled on the screen for a minute or two before disappearing entirely.

That’s when he gave up. If you didn’t want to talk, fine.

It hurt like hell, though.

And it’s still hurting like hell, even a week and a half later.

You told your father about James. He had mentioned it in passing to Harry, having to end practice earlier than usual because he had to set a court date to deal with some bastard who wouldn’t leave you alone. And that’s comforting, Harry thinks, because at least he knows that you’ll be safe, now.

He just wishes that he could’ve been the one to bring you that bit of solace.

That’s why, when your father invites him over for dinner one night after a particularly strenuous evening of training, he jumps at the opportunity. You’re making lasagna, your father says, having taken a break from studying for exams. Harry agrees to come over, because it’s been a while since he’s had a real, curated, love-infused, home-cooked meal.

And because you’ll be there, too, obviously. But he refrains from letting that incentive slip loose.

His heart is racing nervously when he parks his truck in front of your house. Memories flood his brain, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d been here—the glint of your necklace under his fingers, the alluring twinkle in your eyes. The softness of your lips against his, the sensation of your nails carding through his hair—

Your father taps on the window of the driver’s seat.

“H?” he says, muffled through the glass. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the vehicle. “Yeah, sorry.”

He follows your father up the porch steps, waiting anxiously as the other man unlocks the front door. It swings open; they both step inside. Harry’s eyes widen when your father calls out, “Gioia? I’m home!”

“Hi!” comes your reply.

He freezes when the sound reaches his ears, because he hasn’t heard your voice—much less seen you—in over two weeks. He shuts the door discreetly, removing his shoes and trailing after your father as he pads down the hall. The closer he draws to the kitchen, the more he can smell it—meat, spices, cheese. His stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Hope you made enough for three,” your father says, entering the room.

Harry lingers behind you, leaning against the wide threshold with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He’s still a bit sweaty, but he hopes that the lasagna in the oven will mask the musky scent of the perspiration gleaming on his skin.

“Three?” you ask. You’re standing at the sink, your back to them. “Hi, Jason.”

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

You stiffen immediately before spinning around. He doesn’t miss the quiet little gasp that leaves your mouth.

Your gaze locks with his, lips parted in surprise, and he can’t help but wonder if coming here was the smartest or the most foolish decision he’s ever made.

~*~

He and your father set the table.

After a few minutes, three plates and three collections of cutlery are laid out over a pristine white cloth. Harry eases into his chair as you carry over a hot tray of lasagna, your hands sheathed in a pair of red oven mittens. You put the pasta down in front of your father, who is sat at the head of the table. He inhales deeply, a small smile forming on his face.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he tells you, nodding in approval. “Even better than your mother’s.”

“That’s a lie,” you tease, chuckling quietly and removing the crimson gloves from your fingers. You cut a large piece from the platter and deposit it onto his dish. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He waits patiently as you separate another chunk of pasta for Harry, setting it down on his plate without a word.

“Thank you,” Harry tells you, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you say. The response is short, painfully clipped—it makes him wince.

As soon as everyone has food in front of them, you sit down in your chair, reaching for the fork and the knife resting a few inches away from your dish. Before you can dig in, however, you pause, lifting your chin and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shit,” you murmur. “Forgot the drinks.”

“There’s juice in the fridge, I think,” your father says through a mouthful of pasta.

“No.” You wave his suggestion away. “How about some wine? I’ll grab a bottle from the cellar.”

“Alright.” He nods, but then speaks again as you stand. “Wait—I think the treadmill in the basement is blocking the door. Harry—,” Harry’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring at the mention of his name, “—would you mind going with her? She won’t be able to move it by herself.”

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly excuses himself from the table, glancing over at you to register your reaction. Your expression is stony, betraying nothing. You swallow heavily, looking away and marching quickly out of the kitchen. He follows you without another word, hot on your heels.

The basement is dimly-lit, stocked with a few shelves of non-perishable foods and household supplies. Harry remains silent as you make your way over to the far wall, approaching the dark grey treadmill pressed against the door of the cellar. You place both hands on the side of the machine, giving it a firm push and grunting when it budges only an inch.

“You going to help me, or what?” you ask, casting an expectant glance at Harry from over your arm.

He blinks. “Right.”

Together, the two of you manage to ease the treadmill a few feet to the left. It’s enough space for you to open the door of the wine cellar and slip inside. Darkness envelopes your bodies, dissolving only when a small click! echoes through the still air. A moment later, the alcove is illuminated in a dull glow, compliments of the scrawny yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling.

You release the thin string attached to the light, turning around and gasping when you find Harry perched directly behind you. Your chests brush together—the contact sends sparks whizzing down his spine. You spin back around quickly, clearing your throat and scanning all of the different bottles balanced on the shelves.

“Thanks for your help,” you say dryly. “You can go back upstairs, now.”

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

He clasps his hands behind his back as you trail your index finger along dozens of cream-coloured labels. Your hair is gathered in a low ponytail; a few shorter, wispier strands peek out from behind your ears. You’re not wearing makeup, today—and why would you, Harry thinks, when you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“So,” he starts, itching to break the silence, “your dad told me that you’re filing a restraining order against James.”

“Yeah,” you reply curtly. He waits for you to continue, but you say nothing else.

“Feel better now that you’ve come clean?” he questions. Immediately, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to ask. But it’s out there, now, and he can’t exactly take it back.

A hollow laugh tumbles off of your tongue. Behind you, Harry notices the way you shake your head in disdain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?” He cocks an eyebrow challengingly, frowning at your tone.

“I said that you’re ridiculous,” you gripe, whipping around and fixing him with a fiery glare. “Need me to repeat it again?”

“If that means you’ll finally be speaking to me, then yeah, go for it,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

“I—,” you break off, surprised by the bite in his rebuttal. Harry clenches his jaw when you turn back around. Your hand quivers as you reach for a random bottle of red wine. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“When, then?” he demands, taking a step closer. His front skims along your shoulder blades, and when you face him once more, your eyes widen in shock at the close proximity of your bodies. The little room suddenly feels much smaller, walls looming forward and closing you in. Your chest swells as you suck in a deep breath.

“When are we finally going to fucking talk about this?” Harry presses, meeting your gaze. Desperation drips from every syllable of his query.

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

You angle your torso to the side, easily slipping past him and out of the cellar.

“But not today.”

    April 10, 2021

Your nose is buried in a textbook when the message comes through.

Cell biology. So much information to remember, so many reactions to list, so many molecules to name. And weeks of studying, just for a two-hour-long final that’ll take place three days from now. If you weren’t so stressed out, the sheer nonsensicality of the situation would have made you laugh.

So when your phone chimes with the alert, you figure that it’s time for a break. A quick conversation with one of your friends, maybe. Something to take your mind off of the looming exam, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time. After that, you’ll get back to revising.

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

Your eyes widen when the words sink in. As you rub your clammy palms against the grey material of your sweatpants, another text pops up below the first.

Please.

You shouldn’t. You need to study. But even as you warn yourself against it, your brain is already coming up with a multitude of reasons to meet with him. It’s just one night. Your exam isn’t for another few days. You have time. You deserve to take a break.

Your keys jingle cheerfully as you toss them into your bag.

~*~

Harry is going to town when you walk into the gym.

You’re not quite sure how that poor punching bag has managed to stay balanced on its hook. Harry’s coming at it from every angle, pummeling the leather with hard, heavy fists. He’s wearing a black tank top today; deep armholes cut into the sides of the fabric and expose most of his torso. The dark tattoos on his skin glisten under a thin sheen of sweat; a small, stupid part of you expects the ink to run and smudge before you remember that the designs are permanent.

What’s even worse? Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande is playing on his phone. The soft, feathery croons of her voice mix with the low grunts that escape Harry’s throat—sounds that claw their way out of him with each blow delivered to the bag. Under normal circumstances, the juxtaposition would have made you snort.

Now though, it just reminds you of that night all those months ago, when you’d asked him to teach you how to box. This entire train wreck could have been avoided if you’d simply kept your mouth shut.

Harry still hasn’t noticed you. How could he, when you’re standing behind him?

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

“Hi,” he says, surprised. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”

“I was halfway here when I realised that I didn’t text you back,” you reply, scratching awkwardly at the nape of your neck. “But, like…no handheld devices behind the wheel, and all that jazz.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, scanning your surroundings. You don’t know why you do that—nothing in the gym has changed. You’re just trying to avoid Harry’s gaze, which is a lot easier said than done.

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He nods, walking over to the ring and pausing the music streaming from his phone.

He then reaches for two pairs of boxing gloves, nestling one in the crook of his elbow and tossing the other at you. The strap of your purse slides from your shoulder as you catch the leather in your arms. You peer down at the gloves, eyes narrowing in confusion before you train them back on him.

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

“Really?” Harry asks. He hoists himself onto the raised platform of the ring and slips through the gaps in the ropes. “Because you’ve been begging to go up against me since January. Are you seriously gonna back out now?”

“Go up against—” The rest of your sentence fizzles out. “I…I thought you wanted to have a conversation, not a competition.”

He shrugs, regarding you evenly as he pulls his gloves on and tightens the straps around his wrists. He then bumps his enclosed fists together, tilting his head to the side.

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

Standing on the far side of the ring, wearing a black tank top, grey sweatpants, and bright pink sneakers—yeah, you look pretty. You’ve cuffed your bottoms so that they’re rolled up to the spot just below your knees, and your hair has been pulled back into a low bun. There’s no emotion on your face as you stare him down, taking a few steps closer and assuming a fighting stance.

You’ve gotten better—he’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s going to beat you, and you both know it. It’s just a matter of when.

He decides that, for the time being, he’ll go easy on you. The two of you will talk things out, and afterward, he might let you win. Maybe. He’s still on the fence about that.

You both begin to move in a circle. After a long moment of silence, Harry says, “You go first.”

“No, you,” you grit out. He just shrugs.

Fine. Have it your way.

You block the straight, pointed jab that he throws, and pride swells up in his chest. It’s a simple punch to deflect, but nevertheless, it tells him that you’ve learned something over these past few months. And that means that he’s done a good job as your teacher.

As your friend…not so much.

Do friends kiss other friends the same way you’d kissed him in front of your house?

He really doesn’t know.

“Right, then,” Harry starts, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” you ask. Your nose wrinkles in concentration as you direct a blow toward his stomach. He blocks it easily. “About how you kissed me back and then told me you didn’t have feelings for me?”

“I—,” he’s stunned, because okay, you’re coming right on out with it. “I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry for lying, but you don’t seem to realise that.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” you say, lunging forward and throwing a cross at his nose. He bats your fist away like it’s nothing more than a pesky fly. “But I guess that I’m mad at myself, too. Here I am, starting to like you, meanwhile I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, keeping his arms in front of his face.

(Deep down, beneath his stoic exterior, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You had been ‘starting to like’ him? He’s scared, then, because that means he ruined everything that night in his truck. Do you still feel the same way?)

Harry blinks—shakes his head free of those thoughts and continues. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Really,” you reply, though it isn’t exactly a question.

You drop your hands, taken aback by his offer. He’s not usually this open—you should seize the opportunity to probe while it’s still available. You will, he thinks. Over these past few months, he’s learned how you operate. You’re not predictable, by any means, but he knows that you can’t resist inquiring about his personal life when given the chance.

You want to know him. If he thinks about it for too long, his affections become exceedingly difficult to bear.

“Really,” he says.

He steps forward and curves his right arm in a powerful hook. You yelp jarringly when the rough leather of his glove makes contact with your left shoulder. He just shrugs, pulling back.

“Remember: don’t let your guard down.”

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

“Fine, then,” you say, sidestepping another one of his jabs. “Where were you born?”

“Redditch, England,” he answers simply. “Moved to Holmes Chapel when I was a kid, though.”

You nod. The two of you continue to circle each other.

“Got any siblings?” you ask, charging him and attempting to deliver a series of punches to his torso. He deflects each of them with his forearms, never faltering.

“A sister,” he says, unbothered. “She lives back home.”

“And what about your parents?” you press, retreating and watching him with careful eyes.

He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “Dad left when I was seven. Mum died when I was fourteen.”

At that, you pause. You heed his earlier advice and keep your hands in front of your face, but it’s clear that his confession has caught you by surprise. Your gaze softens, and he watches as your lips curl down into a sympathetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, your shoulders slouching. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s in the past—can’t change it, now.”

He takes advantage of your pitying nature, springing toward you and aiming a punch for your hip. You barely manage to avoid the blow, jumping back at the last second. His glove scrapes swiftly against your side. The attack seems to snap you out of your emotions, because you scowl deeply and return to your original stance.

“What happened after that?” you ask, breathing erratically.

“They put me in foster care,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was shit, though. I ran away after a couple of years. Went off on my own—that’s when I met your dad.”

“And he started training you?”

“And he started training me,” he confirms with a curt nod. “Couldn’t actually fight until I turned eighteen, but after that…I was taking up as many matches as I could.” He chuckles warmly at the memory. “Your dad said that he’d never seen anything like it. Told me I had to slow down.”

You smile a bit at his words. Your fondness quickly melts into shock, however, when Harry aims a hit for your face. You block the punch, retaliating quickly and throwing one of your own. Your fist makes contact with the barrier of his chest, and he stumbles backward, his eyes widening in disbelief. You got him.

Only once, but still.

You got him.

“Not bad,” he grunts, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe I should actually start trying, now.”

You grit your teeth, glowering at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”

He flashes you a contemptuous grin before lunging forward. You dodge two of his punches, but the third one catches you right in the stomach, making you double over and cough. Harry retreats, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

You shake your head, straightening back up. “Not yet.”

You make a valiant effort, Harry thinks. Your dedication is commendable. But he’s had a decade of training, whereas you’ve only had a few months. Your technique—though improved—is still sloppy. And that’s what allows him to sidestep all of your strikes and react quickly, enough so that he’s got you pinned to the ground in just under two minutes.

You’re panting heavily; one of his forearms holds your crossed wrists down over your head. His other hand is planted on the floor just above your shoulder, the flat front of his boxing glove providing a stable surface to keep him balanced. His knees are next to your waist as he hovers over your stomach, giving you no room to worm out of his grip. You flail your legs in frustration, but he’s perched too high up on your body for the action to do any real damage.

“I win,” he says simply, arrogance dancing in his eyes. He leans down so that your noses are only inches apart. “Any more questions, baby?”

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the inquiry to leave your lips. Once it does, however, it knocks every molecule of air from his lungs.

“Have you…,” you inhale deeply, “…ever been in love?”

The expression on your face tells him that you know exactly what you’re doing. Your chest heaves with exertion, and when his gaze flickers down to your breasts for only a fraction of a second, your eyes illumine with realisation.

“You want me,” you tell him, breathless. A thin, reflective layer of perspiration has gathered at your hairline. Your arms twitch from where they’re pinned beneath his. Despite the gloves still covering your hands, you grasp at his slippery skin, hoping that the contact will somehow make his already-weak resolve crack and crumble into nothing.

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

His green irises burn into your face. Who is he trying to convince?

“You’re lying,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “You want me.”

Your skin is hot. He can feel you radiating warmth like a fireplace. Heated, cozy, welcoming—it’s everything he loves about you, everything he’s been craving since he first became conscious of how badly he desired you. And, to top it all off, you’re looking at him like that—with eyes that could persuade him to jump from a skyscraper, if you so much as asked.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry spits. He pulls back sharply and stamps his own eyes shut. His nose screws up in frustration. “Fuck.”

And then he’s kissing you.

The elated moan that slips from your lips has his cock twitching fitfully in his shorts. You arch your back to get closer to him, because with his hand still pinning you down, it’s not like you can throw your arms around his neck and bring him to you. The kiss is messy and frenzied and hot and carnal. Harry licks into your mouth, savouring the squeak that echoes in your throat.

You’re vocal—he’s going to fucking die.

When the two of you pull back, no words are exchanged. Harry stares down at you, taking note of how your pupils have dilated immensely. Your chest is still heaving, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason. He releases your wrists from where they’re pinned beneath his forearm, watching you carefully as he sits up.

He lifts his fist to his face and takes the strap of the glove between his teeth. The sharp riiip! that ensues may as well be a starter gunshot.

You both dive back into a sea of teeth and lips and tongue. Harry throws off his gloves easily. You struggle with yours, but he wastes no time, helping you discard them in a matter of seconds. With your hands finally free, you bury them in his hair, pulling at the soft, damp tendrils as he presses several hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slanting his body downward so that his crotch is level with yours. “You—you have no idea—”

The rest of his sentence fades into a groan when you suck harshly on his jaw. He shudders at the sensation.

Gradually, you bring your legs out from beneath his own, lifting your knees up to your chest and then wrapping your thighs around his waist. It’s an impressive feat, if he’s being honest. And it gives him more room to lean over you, to grind his cock against your centre through the layers of fabric separating your skin.

“Off—,” you choke, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. “Get this off!”

He complies, sitting back up on his knees and ridding himself of the fabric. You take advantage of his instability, wrapping one hand around his bicep and giving it a hard shove. He topples to the side and you scramble up to straddle him, a small, smug smile ghosting across your face.

“What are you—?” he starts, but you place one finger against his lips, cutting him off.

You start to roll your hips gently into his—he groans, wishing more than anything that there were no clothes in the way. Goosebumps erupt on his arms when you lightly scrape your nails down his bare chest. You settle at the butterfly inked into his abdomen, tracing the insect’s wings with a wondrous look in your eyes. His palms sweep up your thighs.

“Why did you lie to me?” you murmur, keeping your gaze trained on his torso. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Why, then?” you press, frowning gently. “I—we could’ve avoided this whole thing if you’d just told me the truth.”

“Your dad,” Harry says weakly. “I can’t—you’re his—”

“My dad has no control over who I date or who I fuck,” you say. He’s stunned by the crudeness of your claim. “And if I want to fuck you right here, right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You—Christ,” he swallows heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” you smirk, grinding against him harshly and feeling the stiff outline of his cock in his shorts. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. You shriek when he flips the two of you over so that he’s back on top. His nose brushes against yours as he speaks.

“If we do this,” he warns, hot breath fanning out over your chin, “I won’t be gentle. In every single one of my fantasies, I’ve ruined you—made you drool, made you cry. You name it, I’ve done it. You sure you can handle that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, utterly enthralled. “I’m sure.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, peering down at you tenderly.

“Look so pretty,” he coos, fingers skimming down the side of your throat. “Can’t wait to wreck your cute, little—” He sucks in a deep breath, weakened by the shamelessness of his own thoughts. “Gonna make sure your knees knock together once I’m through with you.”

And maybe it’s not smart to get you naked in the middle of the gym, where anyone walking by could easily peer inside and witness him fucking you into oblivion. But he can’t find it in himself to care—he’s been waiting for this moment for years, and damn him if he doesn’t seize it while you’re like this: open, inviting, presented to him like gourmet food on a silver platter.

And speaking of food…

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Harry states. “You’ve got to cum first if you wanna take my cock, understand?”

You nod rapidly.

He shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, baby. You want it, too, right?”

“I want it,” you confirm, breathless. “I want it, I understand.”

He smiles. His fingers ruck up the material of your tank top, and you lift your back from the ground to help him remove it. Your bra is next, pale pink with a simple bow resting between the cups. He swears when you unclip it quickly, letting the straps fall down your shoulders before tossing it away.

“Christ,” he says, blinking. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

He lays you back down onto the floor of the ring, ducking his head and enveloping one of your nipples in his mouth. You moan. The bud hardens between his teeth, sensitive to his touch. He sucks harshly before pulling off, littering kisses along the skin of your breasts. His head swims with lust, transforming him into someone nearly unrecognizable. You seem to like it, though, so how bad could it really be?

“Next time,” Harry murmurs into your flesh, “I’m gonna get a proper taste. Eat you out ’til you go blind. But for now—,” he dips his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, “—my fingers will just have to do.”

You shimmy your bottoms down, kicking them off unceremoniously and spreading your legs. And fuck, he nearly loses it right there, because this is what he’s been picturing for months, if not years. Having you laid out in front of him, exposed and ready and willing. Your thighs stretched wide, miles of soft skin leading inward and morphing into sticky, wet folds. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply—the scent of your arousal floods his nose, rendering him utterly helpless. Something akin to a man unhinged.

He rubs you over your panties, first. They’re nothing special—simple black cotton covering your mound and your hipbones. But fuck him, he wasn’t expecting the ocean of excitement that seems to have pooled and soaked through the fabric. His fingertips are damp when he pulls them away.

“You’re drenched,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief. He hooks one digit into the elastic of your underwear, looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.”

He tears the material down your legs, and then you’re naked beneath him, save for the rose-gold pendant resting on your sternum. He sits back on his heels as you spread your thighs wider, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His index finger taps the skin just below your navel, tracing a path down to where you need him most. You whine when he bypasses your clit completely, dropping instead to gather some of your wetness before trailing back up. He smears your arousal over the nub—just to get a steady, slippery rhythm going—and then leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t wanna be too far,” he says sheepishly, sweetly kissing the tip of your nose. “Missed you.”

You seal your lips to his.

He makes you cum after a few minutes, slipping one finger into your channel, and then another. The entire time, his thumb stays perched on your clit, drawing expert circles and pulling wanton moans from your mouth. And when you cum—oh.

Oh.

You’re glorious, with lidded eyes and warm cheeks and teeth bared in pleasure. You ride out your high, spasming gently. Harry lays a firm hand on your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen twitch beneath his palm. He continues to stimulate your clit, basking in the little aftershocks that zip up your spine and make your legs tremble.

If you were aroused before…good fucking God. He didn’t know it was possible for a woman to be this wet.

You kiss him as you come down from your orgasm, nipping softly at his bottom lip and sighing in relief. Both of his hands find your face—you seem unbothered by the fact that his fingers are coated in your juices, smearing messily against your cheek. He melts into you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re an oasis, lush and green and good. So, so good.

“Do you—,” he exhales raggedly, “—do you still want to?”

You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, how quickly you can oscillate between actual human sunshine and the devil personified. One minute, you’re asking him to fuck you, and the next, you’re giving him those eyes that make him feel as though every cell in his body has been liquefied.

“What were you saying about not being gentle?” you tease.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. You gasp when he hooks a finger into the chain around your neck. He takes your pretty pink pendant between two fingers, lifting it up and dragging the cool metal along the seam of your lips. You inhale sharply.

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, sighing mournfully.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper, playing with the curls at the back of his head. “We’re good.”

He groans, dropping his face into the column of your throat. “You’re fuckin’ marvelous.”

You giggle.

He shudders when you begin to push his shorts down. You look up at him with raised brows when his cock slaps against his stomach, completely unrestrained.

“No underwear?”

“Always sticks to my balls when I get sweaty,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Need to let the boys breathe.”

A loud laugh flops out of your mouth. Harry snickers, too, trailing his nose up over your jawline so that he can catch your lips in a quick kiss. He moans as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few experimental pumps. Instinctively, his hips buck into your grip.

“You’re big,” you murmur. “Are you sure that it’s going to fit?”

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

He guides your legs up so that they’re wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slot himself closer to you. You gasp when his hand finds your cunt again, dipping two fingers inside before sweeping his palm over the length of your folds. He then smears your wetness along the shaft of his cock, makeshift lubrication to facilitate the first breach of your channel.

“You ready?” he says, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You inhale, and he nudges his hips forward. You gasp as he slips into you, inch by thick inch, stretching you out in a way that you’ve never felt before. Harry reaches for your hands, tangling your fingers together and lifting them above your head. You arch your back with the new position, and he’s unsure of whether you’re trying to wiggle away or bring him in closer.

When the heels of your feet press against his ass, guiding him deeper, he assumes that it’s the latter.

“Fuck,” he stammers as your tight heat surrounds his cock. “How—how do you feel this good?”

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

“Feel that,” Harry says hoarsely. “So fuckin’ hot and—and wet. Not gonna take any time at all, is it?”

“For me, or for you?” you taunt. He grumbles quietly, and you snicker.

After a brief moment of silence, you squeeze his knuckles reassuringly. “You can move.”

“Thank you,” he moans, capturing your mouth with his. Your breathing hitches as he pulls out before slowly sliding back in. When you sigh in response, he takes it as encouragement to pick up the pace.

Soon, he’s fucking into you quickly, your skin slapping together in a series of brutal thrusts. With each drive of his hips into yours, soft whimpers escape your lips, floating up into the hot air and melting like ice cream under the sun. Harry growls, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder. The pain makes you writhe—in a good way.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he grunts, laving his tongue over the indents on your skin. Your necklaces clink together—silver and rose-gold tangled in a mess of thin, delicate chains. “My—my hand could never—”

“Neither could mine,” you tell him, breathless.

His spine stiffens at your words, brain overcome with the thought of you lying in bed, your fingers buried between your legs and low whines pouring from your mouth. He groans; his next thrust is hard, keen, unforgiving.

He keeps you close, your bodies never separating. Your skin is slick with sweat, chests gliding together. Adrenaline rushes through Harry’s veins—he drives ahead, plunging inside of you with each fierce snap of his hips. You can’t do anything but lie there and take it, take it, take it.

“I want you,” he gasps, warm air washing out onto your collarbones. His hands are clammy, still locked with yours; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I want you, I want you, I—” He gulps. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Harry,” you murmur, grazing your nose against his temple. “Harry, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from your throat. Your eyes are soft when they land on his, forehead shining with sweat, lips swollen and raw. The bun holding most of your hair back has come loose (Harry is certain that it’s due to the way your bodies shift along the ground with every thrust.)

You swallow roughly and shake your head, staring past his features and searching for something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, nearly crushing his fingers in your grip. “I’m here.”

Your walls pulsate around him, and his rhythm falters. He swears softly, releasing one of your hands so that he can bring his thumb down to rub haphazard shapes against your clit. You moan, surprised.

“Cum for me,” he orders, nodding rapidly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll do the same. Where do you want it, hm? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you pant, your nose screwing up in pleasure. “Cum inside me.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks, awestruck. His stomach twists hotly at your invitation. “Want me to claim your pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“God,” you say. You squirm beneath him, nodding frantically. “Please!”

“Fuck!” he cries, and when you clamp down on his cock, he’s gone.

The two of you ride out your highs together, quivering and grunting in unison. Harry wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him like a piece of wood drifting through the stormy sea. Colourful spots dance in his vision—he tries his best to blink them away. Your thighs tremble around his hips, caught in an endless cycle of vibrations.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, exhaling shakily. “That was…”

Harry braces himself over your face, keeping you shielded from everything outside of your little bubble.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

A low laugh falls from your lips, but it quickly morphs into a moan when he pulls out of you. He pauses for a moment, watching as white liquid trickles from your abused entrance. The erotic sight nearly has him ready to go again.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scoops his release up with two fingers and plugs them back inside of you. “That’s hot.”

You gasp at the slight overstimulation, wrapping a hand around his wrist reflexively. He just shoots you a wicked grin, which has you giggling girlishly in response.

“I want a kiss,” you say, craning your neck.

Harry hums, crawling up your body to fulfill your request. You smile against his lips, tossing your arms over his shoulders. The two of you exchange soft pecks for the next few minutes, basking in the aftereffects of your orgasms. Warmth unfurls in Harry’s chest, potent and contagious. It spreads through his veins, dousing his senses in a golden glow.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “And I like you. So much.”

“I like you, too,” you reply, tracing your fingertips over the muscles in his back. “But if you ever lie to me again—” Your expression grows serious. “—let’s just say that you won’t have to worry anymore about your boxers sticking to your balls, okay?”

It’s an earnest threat—he knows that you mean every word—but nevertheless, it makes him laugh. You giggle along with him; he rolls off of you, his spine meeting the floor of the ring, and you cuddle into his side. Your nails tap languidly against his sternum as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. The two of you lie there for a few long moments, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“They’re taking my case against James to trial,” you say at last.

Harry stiffens, lifting his head so that he can look down at you properly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “But, um…my lawyer said that it might be a good idea to bring a witness to the stand. Just to seal the deal and stuff.”

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” you say hurriedly, resting your chin on his chest. “Please don’t think that I’m forcing you—”

“Hey, no,” he cuts you off, sweeping his fingers through your hair. The action soothes you, makes your eyelids flutter shut and your lips tremble with a nervous exhale. “’Course I’ll testify. I don’t want that piece of shit coming anywhere near you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his skin. You litter a few grateful kisses along his pectorals, and he smiles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t have to keep saying that,” Harry mumbles, chuckling tenderly. He takes your face between his hands, thumbs trailing idly over your temples. “I wanna keep you safe. Or—or make you feel safe, at least.”

Your eyes glisten.

“I do feel safe around you,” you say. Your lips twitch. “Except for when you’re trying to punch me in the gut.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “If you want to start tussling with me more often, you’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

Harry sighs, letting his head fall back against the ground.

“Speaking of keeping you safe…,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers resume their previous ministrations, stroking languidly through your hair. “You should go pee, yeah? Heard it’s important for girls to do that after sex.”

You laugh, surprised by his words. “How—how do you know that?”

“Sister,” he reminds you. His cheeks dimple as he grins.

You nod, mouth curling into a fond smile. “Right.”

    April 26, 2021

The crowd is deafening, encasing him in a cloud of noise. He refuses to let it distract him, zeroing in on his opponent with the intensity of a thousand suns. An experimental jab comes his way, gauging the distance between them, but Harry sidesteps it easily. He retaliates with a right hook, catching the side of the man’s head. It’s not a powerful blow, but it succeeds in disorienting him for a few milliseconds.

He charges forward, then, sensing an opportunity and seizing it before it can fade away. In a flurry of fists (and the odd kick here and there), he backs his opponent up until the ropes around the ring are digging into the man’s waist. He’s ruthless, giving him no chance to react, delivering blow after blow until his rival can barely stand on his own two feet. At that point, he retreats, stepping back and letting his victory come to him.

He needs this win. He needs this win. He needs this—

His challenger falls into the trap, stumbling forward with double vision and throwing a sloppy hook. Harry bats his hand away effortlessly, lunging forward and curving his arm up. Pride flares in his chest when his fist makes contact with his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back on his neck. He drops to the floor in an unconscious, muscular heap.

The seconds pass by like molasses, but at last, the referee is climbing into the ring and lifting Harry’s hand high above his head. The crowd roars. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the praise. When they flutter open again, they’re trailing upward, searching for one particular face in a sea of strangers.

And there you are.

You’re beaming, clapping frantically and pausing every so often to cup your hands around your mouth and amplify your cheers. Harry smiles, tilting his chin upward and letting his head fall back in relief. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, even as the referee releases his wrist and crouches to rouse his opponent from the ground.

He hears someone call his name and turns to the side. He finds your father peeking at him through the ropes circling the ring, a wide grin on his face. He beckons him over, a water bottle clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. Harry complies, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, you’re pushing through the throng of people that have now started moving toward the exit. Going against the current is difficult—you murmur quick apologies as you nudge past countless shoulders and elbows—but finally, you emerge from the crowd, unscathed. You see Harry chatting with a few people approximately thirty feet away, but before you can take another step, a big, burly security guard blocks your path.

“No spectators beyond this point,” he tells you gruffly.

“But, I—,” your mouth opens and closes, though no words come out. Instinctively, you point over the guard’s shoulder, your finger pinned on a very sweaty, very shirtless Harry. “That’s my boyfriend.”

You only have a moment to feel shocked by your claim. Boyfriend?

It’s been weeks since that night at the gym, and yeah, you suppose that the two of you are a thing, now. You’re going out. You’re exclusive. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

if you enjoyed this series, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[pondermoniums]

A little post season 3 ficlet (2749 words) featuring some holiday fluff <3 See tags or read on ao3 here ~

• • • •

Billy still feels it. He wishes his muscle memory had died with him, but it just came back with him too.

The things he felt.

The things It felt.

Everything It made him do.

His psychiatrist tries to tell him that his scars are his body claiming his soul back. Billy couldn’t agree. He didn’t like touching the starbursts on his torso because the shiny scar flesh felt tissue-paper thin—not to his fingertips, but underneath. His heart trembled as if he could just push a little too hard, and enter his ribs—

“Hey, the new place opened up off Main Street. You know those new roads they’re building? There’s already a Greek place there. Let’s get a menu.”

Billy frowned at him. Steve Harrington. He’d been at the mall. Billy didn’t remember seeing him…during…but afterward. In the spotty shreds of memory that were all his own, he remembered Steve looking nearly as bad as he felt. The memories swirled together like a circus dream. Steve and…Robin. Her name is Robin…in striped costumes. Steve carried Max away from his body. Robin practically did the same for the girl with a number for a name. All of them glowed with Starcourt neon pink and purple and red.

Steve’s car hummed around them, and fell silent when he turned onto the fresh asphalt of Hawkins’ new road. Steve laughed a little. “Farmer Higgins is probably still fuming. Last thing the mayor did before he got booted out of here was steal land for these businesses.”

“What’s it matter?” Billy exhaled. There were less people in Hawkins to fuel the shady economy anyway.

“Well I can’t speak for your Camaro, but my car doesn’t last long, driving brodies with trees in the way.”

His little sapphire. A dark mixture of humor and apathy seeped into his blood at the memory of Steve Harrington, of all people, slamming into him. He didn’t do it hard enough.

Now he sat in the car Steve drove. Not because the Camaro couldn’t be fixed, but because Billy wasn’t fit to drive yet. Maybe there was something full-circle about it. Or a broken circle; an open-ended thing, like Billy.

“As if you could do a brody.”

Steve smirked. “Thankfully I’ve ruined enough fields for practice.”

And then he pulled right off the road, slipped through a tiny thicket of trees framing the road, and burst upon a dry, yellow field. He turned sharply, throwing Billy against him…until the car locked into a paradox of calm and chaos. The back wheels revolved around them to dig a doughnut in the earth. Steve let the wheel go, and they rocked as the car jerked with the front tires straightening.

Steve looked around them to find the road again and made a mock sound of getting sick. “Glad we didn’t eat first.”

He grinned at Billy, making him realize a smile had stuck on his face like a cramped muscle. He pushed a hand over his mouth, physically melting it off.

The food was good. The flavors shoved their way over his pallet. It was kind of hard to enjoy food now. He ate when his body needed it but he didn’t get the emotional reaction to it—

“I didn’t know we had Greeks in Hawkins,” Steve conversed openly. A small, lost part of Billy remembered Steve calling him out for being mouthy during basketball, but Steve could talk. He wiped his mouth and dug back into his rice plate. “Then again, Robin and Dustin always have something to say about authenticity. Like you spend a day outside of Indiana and you’re worldly.”

“Did you forget where I’m from?” Billy spoke before he meant to. California didn’t seem to matter much any—

“Did you?” Steve tossed back.

Silence fell over their booth while Steve waited. Then he went back to his food when Billy clearly didn’t care about responding.

Over and over again.

Steve picked Billy up.

Hospital.

Food.

Back to Cherry Lane.

Steve talked. Sometimes Billy replied.

Then things began to change. Steve took Billy to the grocery store after Billy’s therapy. Billy had emerged ruddy-eyed liked he smoked a pound of weed, and Steve had merely said, “I’m feeling tacos.”

Only instead of a restaurant, he took them to the store. And then the Harrington house. Billy talked more there.

“No, no, it’s queso fresco.”

“It’s just cheese, though?”

“Jesus, it’s like I’m the one who grew up with farmers. Different rain waters different grass. That makes different cows, which make different milk. Do you know anything about breweries?”

“Do you?” Steve challenged while they made a mess of his kitchen counter. Crumbles of white cheese, lettuce, and other tacos toppings littered the fancy granite.

“I know that breweries stay put. Because the water’s different. They have to have the right water to make the right beer. I haven’t had my favorite lager since I moved here.”

“What’s it taste like?”

Billy told him. Billy told him a lot of things. Steve just…got a rise out of him the way his therapist couldn’t. Then again, Steve never asked about all the things Billy wanted to burn out of his brain.

Then Cherry Lane fell off the list. Billy couldn’t say how exactly he moved into Harrington’s house. Maybe the food flowed into Billy falling asleep, and starting the next day from Steve’s house just happened too many times. Maybe Max used Steve’s pool too many times. Maybe it was when Billy realized Steve wasn’t just driving him to his physical and mental therapy sessions.

He walked out of the physical therapy gym at the back of the hospital to meet Steve in the same lobby they parted ways in. But Steve wasn’t there. Billy asked the nearby receptionist if “the guy with the hair” had gotten lost to the bathroom, but she only replied, “He’s running a little overtime, but he should be on his way.”

Billy’s appointments took hours. It made sense for Steve to leave and come back—

But the elevator dinged, and Steve was too busy reading something to not walk into a passing nurse. “Oh! Ow—sorry! Sorry,” he exclaimed, holding his arm…

He rolled the shoulder of that arm on the way through the parking lot, swinging the arm round and around like he was warming up for tennis. Inside the car, Billy cornered, “What were you doing in there?”

Steve glanced at him but shrugged as he turned the ignition. “Blood work. An IV drip. MRI’s. My usual stuff. The drip took longer this time.”

“Usual stuff? How come I’m just now hearing of this?”

“Remember, Robin used to meet us here? She got cleared faster.”

“Cleared out of what? How are you more broken than she was?”

Steve stared at him for an unnerving minute. “They…kind of beat the shit out of me. So… I mean, you pack a wallop, but Russians with an agenda put you to shame.”

Billy suddenly wondered if he’d overstepped a boundary. Steve just talked so much, and took whatever Billy gave him without flinching that he never considered…

“Getting concussed and doped up with unknown chemicals isn’t everyone’s normal Thursday.”

Billy had forgotten that Steve had been through shit like this before. Not with the same variables, but… “I forget that your normal got thrown out the window before I got here.”

“It’s not a competition,” Steve tried to say lightly. He waved a hand in front of the vents as if their lingering in the parking lot was just to wait for the heating to kick on.

“And if it is, who’d win?”

“Oh, I think Will Byers has us beat.”

That…hit differently than Billy expected. A laugh burst out of him, like it had just been waiting for a weight to lift off of him to break free. “Yeah. Maybe he does.”

Then they went to Steve’s house, where more and more of Billy’s clothes had accumulated. The kitchen had been stocked with food bought from Steve’s wage and Billy’s top-secret government allowance—which turns out, was rather high. Steve, for all his fancy furniture and basically bottomless bank account thanks to his parents, had to pick his jaw up off the floor when Billy finally revealed the monthly check to him.

“Holy shit. Don’t let the nerds see that; they’ll siphon quarters out of you for the arcade.”

“They’re old enough to want beer and condoms.”

Steve scoffed as he flipped their dinner pancakes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think they’ll sooner pop their cherries than go for beer.” Then he grimaced and waved his spatula. “New subject! Change the subject.”

Billy laughed from the breakfast bar, where he was arranging his medication into a days-of-the-week organizer. It was just a bar of little snap-closed boxes, but it helped him keep track of the pills he took—and the ones he ignored.

Steve had asked him once, “Why do you always leave the red ones?”

“They turn me into a vegetable.”

“Oh. You can’t, like…split it in half? Half vegetable?”

Billy couldn’t say why he felt comforted by Steve’s uniquely clueless way of thinking. Perhaps the guy actually made sense, or maybe he just over-simplified things in an over-complicated world.

Now, though, he set the spatula down with the announcement, “Oh! I got you something. Well, I hope I got the right stuff.”

Billy didn’t go with him to the garage, but he did follow Steve with his eyes. Blue irises locked onto the shockingly familiar box of lager when Steve returned. “Where in the hell did you find that?”

That dopey, thrilled grin made Steve glow like the Christmas lights they’d thrown all over the open floor plan. “Dude, there are professional shoppers! I mean, that makes each can like…a twenty-dollar beer, and this is the only box I got, but this is the stuff you were talking about, right? The lady on the phone said they released other flavors, but you only said ‘lager,’ so it’s what I got.”

The cans were practically frozen from being in the garage, but Billy tore open the box as well as he could to pry one out. “I don’t think I’ve been given the okay for alcohol.”

“We can water it down.”

“You don’t water down beer!”

“Then split one with me. I’ve chilled glasses somewhere…”

He went digging in the freezer drawer and pulled out plastic wine glasses. Billy snorted as he accepted one. “This is so cheap.”

“Yeah well, even mom’s fancy bimbo friends break wine stems around the pool. Gimme that.”

Billy appreciated that Steve made it sound greedy, instead of pitiful. Billy had trouble with his hands.

The can snapped open with a satisfying metallic crack. Billy teased as Steve poured, “Is this your first rodeo? Look at all that foam.”

“We’ve got time. The pancakes are almost done.”

Billy pushed his pill organizer aside to rest his chin on his arms, listening to carbonation sizzle while he watched Steve’s shoulder blades move under his sweatshirt.

“When do you get cleared for pot?”

Billy rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be officially cleared for that—hey, hey!”

Steve had turned around, leaning back against the counter with a pancake in his hand and a full cheek. “Whuh?”

“You’re eating my dinner! Dump the skillet over a plate and get over here!”

Steve came around to sit on the stool next to him with a pancake in his mouth and—

“Are those my slippers?”

“You mean my slippers that I hadn’t worn yet? Yeah, I took them back,” Steve retorted.

Billy successfully knocked one off his foot. “They still had the tags when I got to them. So dibs.”

Steve kicked the other slipper into the living room. “No dibs if you don’t have both.”

“You’re wearing my sweatpants. I get your slippers.”

“I get your beer and you get my pancakes.”

“Not if you eat all of them! Syrup, now,” Billy demanded with a grabby hand gesture.

Steve disintegrated into giggles that made him sound as much like a little kid as movie heartthrob. He finished pouring and passed the bottle.

So it went. Back and forth. Back and forth.

First Steve took Billy’s time. The minutes that built into hours driving to and from the hospital. Then Billy ate his food. Steve covered the restaurant tabs until they switched to cooking at his house. Steve washed his clothes and wore them like his own. Billy took Steve’s car keys and drove for the first time with Steve practically hostage all the way to the tree farm.

“I didn’t take you for a real tree kind of person.”

“You have the ceiling space for a nine-foot tree.”

“How the hell are we hauling a nine-foot tree?” Steve practically blanched. “And with what car?” He adjusted his earmuffs because he’d rather be caught dead than wear a proper hat. Billy, meanwhile, strolled through the greenery and the first snowflakes spitting from the sky with leisurely ease in his beanie.

He laughed, “I like how you’re not saying no.”

Steve didn’t do much to hide his mimicry as he trudged behind Billy, who chuckled to himself. “For once it actually smells nice. The trees really cover up the cow shit of—oh my god, there are actual cows.”

A line of tables displayed other living decorations like wreaths and garlands, but beyond them was a field of black and red cattle. Billy moved under a line of wreaths hanging over their heads to see how they actually had blankets on their backs. “Are the cow jackets norm—”

Steve caught his mouth in a quick, firm kiss. The sound of their lips parting echoed in Billy’s ears. Steve’s fingers lifted off his jaw to touch something noisy above their heads. Billy dumbly looked up to see the tiny bells interwoven with a mistletoe wreath. “Careful. We have real mistletoe here. Not whatever plastic California has.”

He left Billy stupefied, having the audacity to stroll away with a whistle on his lips before Billy snapped out of it and nearly tackled him. “OW! Agh, fu-shit, Jesus—”

“You’re better about planting your feet,” Billy breathed against Steve’s earmuff. He held Steve’s arms trapped against his body.

“Are you always this mean when someone kisses you?” he strained in Billy’s tight grip. The gravel under their boots grit and rattled as Billy dragged Steve deeper into the trees. “Alright! I should’ve asked! I’m sorry—”

Steve might’ve stolen the first kiss, but Billy shoved him into a tree and took it back. He took Steve’s cold shock against his lips, until hot breath warmed them up between nervous stares. Then Billy took his lips, his tongue, the taste of the mint brownies Steve ate on the way here. The cold tip of Steve’s nose pushed into his cheek, and Billy’s heart felt fragile against the softness of Steve’s mouth.

His breath trembled as he asked, “Why did you do that?”

Why do you give me rides? Give me food? Why do you cook every night? Why did you give me a bedroom? Will you let me into yours?

Steve’s arms around his waist moved, tightening a little but also moving up Billy’s spine as if to comfort him. To anchor them together. Steve swallowed, and the fragility in his eyes made Billy’s throat hurt. “I didn’t get to the first time.”

Billy couldn’t stand it. He pushed Steve’s earmuffs off in his effort to press his face against Steve’s neck. To absorb the delicious little sound that escaped him when Billy’s cold nose found the warm pocket inside his collar.

Billy didn’t think he’d be able to kiss anyone ever again.

Not after…

But all he wanted was to keep Steve’s lips on him. To steal him away like some fairytale winter troll and either keep him or devour him if he tried to leave.

“Billy?” His name was muffled against his own scarf, so tightly did Steve hold onto him.

But if Steve was taking…maybe Billy could let himself be stolen again.

“When we’re home…” he sniffled on his way back up to standing on his own. “Kiss me again.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

Billy laughed through his tears. “No, you’re buying me the biggest tree your car can carry. And I’ll steal that wreath while they’re distracted.”

“You have the money to buy it!”

“That’s no fun.”

[bowsie22]

Pingxie Collection 4

Summary: There was something wrong with Wu Xie.

It started small, barely noticeable. A forgotten date, pricing an antique wrong. Then Wu Xie started making bigger mistakes. Confusing tombs, forgetting Xiaoge’s favourite meal. Pangzi was worried. Was Wu Xie sick? Had he touched something in the last tomb? Was he just messing with them? Pangzi swore that if this was some stupid joke or prank, he was going to destroy Wu Xie’s extensive cardigan collection.

Thankfully he wasn’t the only one to notice. Xiaoge was suspicious too. And he was a bit more proactive about investigating it, following Wu Xie whenever he left Wushanju and looking through his phone and computer. When Pangzi mentioned the invasion of privacy, Xiaoge responded that he’d apologise when they finally figured out what was going on. And more importantly, why Wu Xie hadn’t confided in them.

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

After two weeks of this, Pangzi and Xiaoge made the decision to search Wu Xie’s office. It was the only room in Wushanju that Wu Xie had completely to himself, sharing the living spaces with the other two and a bedroom with Xiaoge.

The door closed behind Wu Xie, but the two waited for a few minutes. It wasn’t unusual for Wu Xie to forget something and have to rush back in to grab it. Five minutes later they walked into his office which looked like a bomb had hit it. Avoiding a stack of papers waist high, Pangzi winced. “Does he not have a filing system? A way to organise these things? I can see why Wang Meng avoids this place.” Looking through all this junk wouldn’t be easy.

Half an hour later and they still hadn’t found anything of use. Financial records, maps, historical records, books, Pangzi had found them all and then some. But nothing suspicious. Collapsing into the chair behind the desk, Pangzi sighed. He had hoped that they would find some answer in here. Watching Xiaoge flick through a stack of papers, he knew he wasn’t the only one. He leaned back, concentrating on the ceiling, not expecting to find anything. But directly above his head, there it was. A barely noticeable gap between one ceiling tile and the next. Scrambling onto the desk, Pangzi reached up, shoving the tile aside and reaching into gap. Fingers gripping something, Pangzi tugged it towards himself. A box, bit cliché but it was something. Pangzi would accept anything at this point.

Handing the box to Xiaoge, Pangzi watched as the older man opened it, his face becoming somehow paler. “What is it? Oh god, is it his nudes?” Turning the box around, Xiaoge held it up for his friend to see. “Well, that complicates things, doesn’t it?”

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

“A dinner party?” Pangzi nodded, concentrating more on the food cooking in front of him than Wu Xie standing behind him. “You couldn’t have told me this before?” Dropping the spoon, Pangzi turned to face his friend, aware of Xiaoge dropping his knife and doing the same. “Wu Xie, we planned this last month, remember? Huaye and Heiye have been visiting Huaye’s shipping facilities around China. We thought they might like a nice dinner to welcome them home.”

Wu Xie stared at the floor for a second too long. He looked up, smiling brightly at his friends. “Of course, I’m such an idiot! How could I forget something like this? Well, I doubt you want my help in the kitchen. I’ll go get the table ready.” Listening to footsteps fade, Pangzi turned back to his cooking, Xiaoge returning to his vegetables at the same time. “Xiaoge, is everything ready for tonight?” Xiaoge nodded, eyes on the chopping board. Tonight was going to be interesting.

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

Surprising no one, the meal was delicious. Collecting the plates, Pangzi winked at Heiye, who stood up, pouring wine in everyone’s glass. “A toast! To say thank you to our generous hosts.” He tipped his glass to Xiaoge who sat with arm on the back of Wu Xie’s chair, a soft hand stroking down the younger’s back. Tipping his glass back, Wu Xie took a deep drink, realising too late that he was the only one who had. As his friends watched, Wu Xie slumped unconscious, face first onto the table.

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

Struggling to open his eyes, Wu Xie winced as he felt rope rub against his wrists and ankles. Looking down at his body, he realised that he was tied to a chair in the middle of Wushanju’s back courtyard. “Guys, this isn’t funny! Untie me, let me go!” He was quickly surrounded by the group, Heiye standing behind him, Pangzi and Xie Yuchen on either side and Xiaoge in front of him. Turning his doe eyes towards his boyfriend, Wu Xie pouted. “Xiaoge, what are you doing? What is going on?” Pangzi threw something at the younger man’s feet. “You know what, we were just about to ask you the same question.”

Zhang Haike swore as he saw his two face masks at his feet. Looking up, he froze at the coldness in Xiaoge’s eyes. Heiye leaned in to whisper in his ear, “The only reason Yaba Zhang isn’t killing you right now is because you know where Wu Xie is. Be smart about this Zhang Haike and tell us where he is.” Never let it be said that Zhang Haike wasn’t a smart man. He knew that he couldn’t fight his way out of this, not with Heiye and Xiaoge there. Not one of the men surrounding him would hesitate to kill him if it meant Wu Xie’s safety. “Cox has him. He thinks that Wu Xie’s blood is the key to his experiments. We sent a message pretending to be Xie Yuchen who needed help and the little idiot came running. I’d been studying his behaviours for a while now, so it made sense for me to replace him. I can bring you to where he is provided I get to live.”

After a quick discussion, Pangzi went to get the car while Heiye and Xiao Hua went to Wushanju to gather up some weapons. Xiaoge stayed behind, keeping watch over his old friend. The two stared at each other, Zhang Haike trying to see any fondness or softness that might be left. Xiaoge looked back at him, emotionless. “Why? Why did you do this? Why take him from me?” Zhang Haike couldn’t help but laugh, a horrible, bitter sound. “Why? Why? Are you serious? You are the Zhang family patriarch and you spend your time following that little idiot into tombs. You are at his beck and call constantly! You are wasting your blood on keeping him alive-“ Xiaoge’s sword flew through the air, resting against his throat. Swallowing, Zhang Haike felt blood trickle down his neck. Finally, some emotion from his old friend. Rage was better than indifference. “I follow him because I love him, I’m in love with him. Because he is the most important person in the world to me. If I don’t have him, I have nothing, there is nothing to keep me here. And I know that he feels the same way.”

Sheathing his sword, Xiaoge bent to untie Zhang Haike. “If I see you again, if you ever dare to wear his face again, I will kill you. There will be no hesitation, no mercy, you will die.” Zhang Haike stood, stumbling as blood flowed to his feet. Following his patriarch to the car where three heavily armed men waited for them, Zhang Haike realised that he may have made a mistake with this.

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

Saving Wu Xie had been surprisingly easy. There weren’t many guards in the building and Zhang Haike’s key got them to the main lab with no problems. Once the scientists saw the armed men, they ran, valuing their lives more than their work apparently. Wu Xie lay in a bed in the main lab. One arm had a needle that removed blood every half hour, his other arm an IV that was giving him nutrients. According to Zhang Haike, Wu Xie was kept sedated. He was easier to handle like that. Xiao Hua went through the computers, copying anything useful onto a hard drive, deleting everything when he was done. Heiye and Pangzi laid charges around the room, leaving enough time for the group to get out. Xiaoge removed the needles from Wu Xie’s arms, lifting the young man into his arms.

Pangzi and Xiao Hua settled Wu Xie into the car as Heiye kept watch. Xiaoge stood with Zhang Haike, watching his friends work. “Remember what I said Zhang Haike, I don’t want to see you again.” With a final look at his childhood friend, Xiaoge climbed into the car beside Wu Xie, pulling the other’s head to rest on his shoulder. His friend had made his choices and so had Xiaoge. There was never a moment of doubt, Xiaoge knew his choice had been the right one.

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

Once he woke up, Wu Xie showered, ate and collapsed onto the living room couch, pulling Xiaoge down with him. After some manoeuvring, Xiaoge lay on his back, Wu Xie lying on top of him, head resting on his chest. It was his favourite way to lie on the couch. He claimed that hearing Xiaoge’s heartbeat always relaxed him. Xiao Hua and Heiye settled themselves onto the love seat while Pangzi took the armchair. They sat in silence, knowing that Wu Xie would speak when he was ready to.

“I was unconscious for most of it. They woke me up for a few minutes every day. Not sure what they did with my blood. I think they made some serums or something? Ah Ning stopped them from injecting me with them. They injected some mice though. And then the mice melted, so thank God for Ah Ning. And yes Pangzi, I know we need to have another conversation about me rushing off by myself and being stupid.” Pangzi nodded, satisfied smile on his face. He was proud of Wu Xie knowing that he had made a mistake. Look at his little Tianzhen growing up. The group sat in the living room for another few hours, wanting to spend some time with their friend and knowing that Wu Xie always needed to be surrounded by the people he loved at times like these.

Pangzi was the first to move, dragging himself to his feet. Before leaving the room, he ruffled Wu Xie’s hair, laughing at the annoyed shout. Heiye and Xiao Hua followed him, Heiye also going for the hair, Xiao Hua leaning down to press a soft kiss to the now messy hair. “We love you Wu Xie.” Wu Xie sat up to pull his oldest friend into a tight hug. “Love you too Xiao Hua.”

Finally. Xiaoge got to tuck Wu Xie into their bed. Climbing in behind him, he pulled Wu Xie close, smiling as the younger man pressed a kiss to the other’s clavicle as he did every night. “I know I say this every time, but thank you for coming for me, especially considering what you lost to get me back.” Xiaoge took a minute to respond, hand running through Wu Xie’s hair, slowly lulling the man to sleep. “Wu Xie, I love you. I’ll always come for you, no matter what. And Zhang Haike isn’t as important as you. I can lose anything and anyone in this world except you.” Looking down he realised that Wu Xie had fallen asleep. Well, it wasn’t like Wu Xie didn’t know that Xiaoge loved him. Xiaoge would just have to happily spend the rest of their lives reminding him of that fact.

[just-some-girlll]

home.

Kara and Lena’s relationship as told by the different spaces in Kara’s loft.

-

i. front hall.

it’s an entryway. a starting point.

here, Lena would linger just a little bit too long after their movie nights – not quite ready to leave, but also hesitant to overstay her welcome. she’d smile at Kara, one of those warm and sleepy ones that no one else gets to see. tell her, ‘thank you for having me. i had a nice time,’ before sinking into Kara’s warm embrace that lasts for maybe a little too long.

it’s where Kara first thinks of asking Lena to stay over.

‘it’s cold,’ she’d say, ‘and late. you should stay.’

‘are you sure?’ Lena would say, because she’s polite and reluctant to intrude.

‘of course.’

‘okay.’

that didn’t happen.

they’d danced around their feelings for years, tip-toeing that fine line between friendship and something more. then Lena had found out about Supergirl, about how Kara had lied for years, about how everyone had lied for years.

that’s when their movie nights stopped. when everything stopped.

Kara would come home late into the night, bone-tired and numb. she’d stumble into her apartment, kick the door shut behind her, and drop back against it with a muffled thud. her glasses would get tossed aside, same with her bag and coat, and then she’d slide down the door until she was sitting on the cold wood floor. sometimes she’d cry, sometimes she’d just sit and stare, but what was always consistent, was that blue emptiness she felt in her heart.

it’s where, months after fighting, Lena stands, asking for help. and it’s where, months after fighting, Kara stands, feeling that emptiness in her heart slowly begin to fill.

it’s an entryway. a starting point. a place where their relationship begins to heal.

ii. living room.

an open space, and where Kara and Lena take those first few steps at healing. together.

there’s some shouting – lots of it actually – but it doesn’t come from a place of anger or hate, rather hurt and love. and soon enough, the shouting stops. that’s when the quiet sets in. it’s like the quiet after a storm: everything’s been unearthed, thrown around, and is just waiting to be picked up in soft, careful hands. that takes a while – Thanksgiving comes and goes – but they do that together too.

Kara starts hosting game nights again, and Lena starts coming to those too. their movie nights are still on hold, and Lena rarely stays after nine, but it’s progress.

it’s early in the new year when their movie nights start up again, and by complete accident as well. everyone had been over for game night. Lena had fallen asleep on Kara’s couch during a bout of Jenga, and everyone had left not long after. when she’d woken up, Lena saw Kara at the other end of the couch, feet curled beneath her, and nursing a cup of tea as the opening credits of The Goonies played on the TV.

‘what time is it?’ Lena asked, sitting up and stretching her back.

‘late,’ Kara said, almost a little sad. ‘i can fly you home.’

‘that’s okay.’

Kara nodded. ‘do you wanna watch the movie with me?’

‘yeah,’ Lena said, and then she smiled that warm sleepy smile that only Kara gets to see.

iii. dining room.

some say the kitchen is the heart of any home, but Kara likes to think the dining room is a worthier choice. it’s a place to talk, to gather, to reconnect.

she hosts Thanksgiving most years there, stuffs mismatched chairs around the table so everyone can fit, and makes a point to claim the seat beside Lena, even if it means she has to sit on the not-quite-sturdy lawn chair for dinner and dessert. she has to hover a fraction of an inch because she’s genuinely worried the chair may give out beneath her.

don’t tell Eliza though. she has a rule about no powers at the table.

it’s totally worth it though, because, with everyone stuffed around Kara’s table, it means everyone’s pressed close together. it means Lena’s sitting almost flush to Kara’s side. it means Lena’s hand brushes against Kara’s when they’ve finished eating and resting their hands on the table, pinkies reaching out and linking together.

if anyone notices, they don’t say a thing.

it’s also a place of certainty, Kara realises one morning as she's eating breakfast. unlike the front hall and living room, there’s no mystery about what you’re supposed to do in the dining room.

it’s as she takes a sip of orange juice, mulling over the events of the last year and a bit, that she realises her and Lena seem to be exactly where they were before everything blew up in her face. it’s as she dunks her spoon back into her bowl of cereal, that she realises she's never been happier. and it’s as her phone pings with a new message from Lena – confirming plans for lunch – that she realises she’s in love and has been for a while.

iv. kitchen.

a place of creation, of making things, mostly food, but just as many memories too.

it’s where Kara first made Lena laugh. like, really laugh. one of those laughs that shakes your body, makes you breathless, and leaves you giggling hours later. Kara can’t remember what she did to make Lena laugh that much, wishes she could, but definitely prefers the memory of Lena’s laugh to whatever dumb thing she said or did.

sometimes they sit on the floor too, backs pressed against the cabinets, a bottle of five-dollar wine Kara found in the back of her cupboard and a half-melted tub of Ben & Jerry’s between them. those are the times where they’ll talk well into the night about their hopes and fears, falling deeper as they do.

the first time they kiss is on one of those nights. it started as an unfiltered confession from Lena.

‘i think i’m in love,’ she said, poking her spoon listlessly at the pint of ice-cream.

and Kara felt her heart sink, because Lena loves someone, and that someone isn’t her. ‘yeah?’

‘yeah.’

‘have you told them?’

‘no.’

‘well, they’re lucky, really lucky, if someone as great you loves them.’

‘you think?’

Kara turned her head to look at Lena, stars in her eyes and with one of those soft smiles that says more than words ever could. ‘how could i not?’

and then Lena had asked if she could kiss her, and Kara had sputtered out a confused ‘what?’ too which Lena asked her question again.

Kara had blinked, had understood, and then leant forward to kiss Lena with the biggest grin on her face.

v. bathroom.

it’s a bit of an anything-goes sort of space. a combination of hurt and love and friendship.

hurt, because sometimes they fight. their first big fight as a couple came a few months into their relationship. it had started as a small irritant. some little habit Kara unknowingly picked up in adolescence that drove Lena absolutely mad. as all things do, the annoyance grew as the time they spent together increased. it ended with Lena storming off to the bathroom and locking herself in, and Kara standing in the kitchen, realising she really fucked up.

she gave Lena space and waited a little while before going to the door and knocking gently. the door opened shortly after.

‘sorry for yelling,’ Lena said.

‘sorry for being annoying.’

‘you’re not annoying.’

‘some of my habits are annoying.’

‘so are mine.’

‘we’ll work on it?’

Lena had nodded and smiled.

‘can i have a kiss?’

‘like you even have to ask.’

Kara laughed as she pulled Lena close and kissed her sweetly on the lips.

love, because sometimes Kara will sneak into the shower with Lena, wrap her arms around her waist, and press a line of kisses along her shoulder and neck. Lena had admonished Kara the first time she did it, had said she had a meeting at nine and couldn’t be late. that had only served to spur Kara on.

‘i can be quick,’ Kara had said, her hands wandering up and down Lena’s wet and smooth body.

‘i know you can.’ Lena spun around in Kara’s arms, leant in close so their lips were barely a hairs width apart. ‘but why would you want to be quick? we both know that slow’ —she dipped her hands between Kara’s legs, started with slow teasing strokes— ‘is so much better.’

Kara had moaned and closed her eyes, very happy with where her morning was going. she listened to Lena’s voice, listened as she explained exactly what she’d do to her, what she’d say, and how it’d feel. and then—

the water turned off and Lena slipped out of the shower, telling Kara that she really had to get going and that they’d pick this up later.

friendship, because even though they’re dating, they’ll always be best friends. Lena had let herself into Kara’s apartment late one evening, juggling folders from work, her keys, and a bag of groceries she picked up on her way because she noticed Kara was missing a few things earlier that morning. she’d called out to Kara, and when she got no response, ventured deeper into the loft. the bathroom was where she found Kara, who was stood in front of the mirror with a pair of scissors.

‘really?’ Lena had laughed, stepping into the bathroom and over the strands of blonde hair scattered across the floor.

‘i was bored.’

‘so you decided to cut your hair?’

‘yes?’

‘need a hand?’

‘please.’ Kara all but threw the scissors into Lena’s hands before she sat down on the closed toilet.

Kara had thanked Lena when she was finished, and Lena had replied with a simple, ‘that’s what friends are for.’

‘we’re girlfriends, Lee.’

‘yeah, but we’re still friends.’

‘the best of friends.’ and then Kara had pressed a quick kiss to Lena’s cheek before darting off to get started on dinner.

vi. bedroom.

this is an open space. an honest space. like the living room but only for the two of them. they don't have secrets anymore. this is where they share them. some big or small, and others new or old. it’s no secret that they love each, not anymore. those quiet declarations of love whispered into the dark as they both lay on their sides facing each other, fingers twisted together, and legs a tangled mess beneath the sheets. the first time Kara said those three words was in her bedroom.

‘i love you,’ she had said in the quiet. Lena had been asleep, her breath steady and body free from the invisible weight she carries with her each day.

she wanted to test the words, see how they felt on her tongue, and sounded to her ears.

she decided that they’re good words. words Lena should hear.

Kara drifted off to sleep with those three words on her mind. it was the first thing she said when she woke up in the morning. Lena had smiled sleepily, eyes still closed and limbs heavy with sleep.

‘love you too,’ Lena said before sleep pulled her back and Kara pressed a featherlight kiss to the tip of her nose.

ao3

[seanfalco]

(More Than Just) Travel Partners - Part IV

Fandom: The Witcher Pairing: Jaskier x f!Reader Word Count: 3.7k Rating: E Warning(s): Smut a/n: okay so, I promise this is a reader insert.  There is a plot relevant reason why the reader is introduced with a name, you just have to find out why.  :3

[ Masterlist ]

——

This was it, the hour of the king’s party.

Upon arrival at the palace you’d been surprised to find that even a humble minstrel such as yourself was to be treated like a guest, and you and Jaskier were shown to separate rooms to freshen up.  Your stomach buzzed with anxiety as you checked your reflection in the large gilt framed mirror in your room.

Nerves about the party mixed with the lingering apprehension from your episode in the market the other morning until you were pacing the room, muttering positive affirmations under your breath in an attempt to calm yourself.  The knock at the door startled you, but you were glad to see Jaskier standing there, a reassuring smile on his face.

“You ready?” he asked, his blue eyes flicking down to admire your new dress once more.  “For the record, you look amazing, by the way.”

“We look amazing,” you insisted with a grin, admiring him in return.   Suddenly you remembered the gift you had for him and swore under your breath, rushing back into the room, wanting him to wear it with his new doublet.  “Hold on!  Just a moment!”

Jaskier followed, watching you curiously as you rummaged through your belt pouch, left on the bed.

“Forget something?” he teased.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed instead, giving Jaskier a level look when he merely stared at you in confusion.  “Come on we’ll be late.  Close your eyes,” you repeated.

Sighing dramatically Jaskier obeyed, an amused half grin playing at his lips.  “What are you going to do to me?” he asked coyly, wriggling his eyebrows though his eyes stayed closed.

“I’m going to prick you with this pin if you don’t stop moving,” you grumbled, fastening the small silver brooch you’d picked out at the market to his lapel.  “There,” you breathed, stepping back.  “You can open your eyes now.”

Jaskier’s eyelids fluttered open and his hand went to his collar and he turned toward the mirror.  “You got this for me?” he murmured in disbelief, leaning closer to his reflection to get a better look.  

“I saw it at the market and thought of you,” you replied simply.

When Jaskier didn’t respond you stepped up to his side, your reflection joining his in the mirror.  “What’s wrong?” you asked, afraid you’d upset him somehow.

“Nothing.”  He grinned, turning to you.  “It’s just, I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a gift just for the hell of it.  Thank you.”

You could already feel your cheeks heating.  “Compared to how much you spent on this dress, it’s really nothing,” you murmured.

“Well I don’t think it’s nothing,” Jaskier said, hesitating before leaning forward quickly to press a chaste kiss to your cheek.

Without giving you time to react properly besides pressing your fingers to the place his lips had been moments ago Jaskier hooked his arm with yours and pulled you out into the hall, laughter in his voice.

“Come on, they’re gunna start without us if we don’t hurry!”

——

The throne room was resplendent in gold and royal purple with candles glittering on every surface and you couldn’t help but gape at the sight.  Courtiers and revelers filled the long tables arranged around the great hall, decked in their finest garb and jewels, and you were somewhat surprised to find you blended in quite well in your fine new dress.  The rich smells of the different dishes laden on every table had your mouth watering and you chewed your lip as you decided which you wanted to try first.

Catching Jaskier watching you with an amused smile you leaned in so he could hear you over the hum of voices.  “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“Really?  I couldn’t tell,” he teased dryly.  “If you don’t pick your jaw up off the floor you may trip over it.”

“Rude,” you gasped, elbowing him in the ribs, unable to hide your smile as he winced.

Taking your place with the other musicians you eyed them as you began softly tuning your fiddle.  You were the only woman in the group.

There was one bard that stood out to you above the rest, wending his way across the room, lute in hand, toward the royal table to speak with the king.  He was a peacock of a man, his doublet richly coloured and the silk hat on his golden curls bore a ridiculously long feather.

“Let me guess, that fellow over there is the friend you met with yesterday?” you asked Jaskier.  He glanced up from his lute, his gaze following yours.

“Yeah, that’s him, Monteforte,” he grumbled darkly.  “At least Valdo Marx isn’t here,” he added under his breath as the King rose from his seat to address the crowd, welcoming them and calling for the food to be served.  As he sat, the bard Jaskier had called Monteforte stepped out onto the floor with a flourish, much to Jaskier’s chagrin, his lips twisting with disdain during the man’s performance.

After a couple songs Monteforte swept his arm out, gesturing toward yourself and Jaskier.  “Your Highness, I’d like to introduce my old friend, Jaskier and his lovely companion, Miss Aevryn.”

Jaskier threw you a shocked glance before composing himself and swaggering over to Monteforte.  As you followed, trying to look half as self-assured, you noticed the way the guests tittered excitedly when Jaskier took the floor; several ladies’ gazes following him with interest as they spoke in hushed tones behind their silk fans.

Curtsying to the King to match Jaskier’s bow you positioned your fiddle under your chin and began to play on his count.  Closing your eyes you focused on your breath and the feel of the strings beneath your callused fingers; the sound of the music and Jaskier’s voice filling the hall.  Soon people were getting up to dance and the overall feel of the space was becoming more familiar to you, chasing away the nerves that threatened to overwhelm you.

After several songs Jaskier turned the floor over to you and you nodded to the rest of the musicians to back you up, playing the first notes of a lively hornpipe; looking to show off a little.  Surveying the crowd when you could spare the concentration, you managed a smile and a wink for the King, who looked absolutely tickled, before finding Jaskier.  You half expected him to be surrounded by a handful of young countesses or the like, but to your surprise he stood off to the side speaking with Monteforte, their eyes flicking to you as the other bard clapped Jaskier on the back.  

‘What’s that all about,’ you wondered, dying to know just what the two were talking about.

Bowing to the King after several more songs you headed straight for your table and downed a glass of wine before searching the room once more for Jaskier.  The revelers were everywhere now and it took several minutes for you to pick him out, circled by a group of noblewomen.  Scowling, you poured yourself another glass, thinking to numb the pang of jealousy in your chest with more wine when Monteforte approached, his gloved hand extended.

“I’ve been waiting all night for this chance, my dear, and I’ll be damned if I don’t take it before someone else snatches you up.  Won’t you please honour me with a dance?”

Taken aback you stared at his hand before glancing back to Jaskier, whose gaze met yours across the room.  Clearing your throat you nodded, setting down your goblet and taking the bard’s hand.  Joining the other dancers Monteforte spun you and you fell into step with him easily.

“Julian was right about you, you know,” he murmured cryptically, flashing you a charming smile.

“Julian?” you asked, confused.

“Forgive me, Jaskier,” he clarified with a chuckle.  

“And what was he right about?” you asked, watching Jaskier out of the corner of your eye.

“That it would be a travesty if you were not in attendance tonight,” Monteforte replied smoothly.

“What do you mean?”

“Those were the words he used as he begged me for an invitation for the two of you.  I must admit I was rather surprised that he was more worried about making sure you should be in the spotlight than himself.  I’ve known Julian for a long time and believe me when I say that this is a first for him.  I’d say he cares for you rather deeply.  He hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off you all night, you know?”

Monteforte smiled knowingly as you fought for the words that were caught in your throat.  

“Ah, speak of the devil,” he announced as Jaskier appeared at your side looking flustered, a frown creasing his forehead.

“Okay okay, that’s enough of that,” he exclaimed shooing the other bard away.  “I’m cutting in now.”

Monteforte merely smiled as he bowed to you and backed away; the amused look in his eyes speaking volumes.

“Hey, he didn’t say anything, oh I dunno, inappropriate to you, did he?” Jaskier asked, a touch defensively and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“No,” you gasped with mirth as he spun you across the floor.  “We talked about you actually.”

“Me?”  Jaskier nearly stumbled, muttering something about loose lipped cads under his breath.  

“Why did you tell me that Monteforte invited us to play tonight when he made it sound like you begged him for the honour?  Is that why you didn’t want to meet him initially?”

The more questions you asked the more uncomfortable Jaskier appeared.

“I told him not to tell you,” he grumbled under his breath, glowering across the room at the other man.  Turning back to you he sombered.  “I”m sorry… I wanted to surprise you with this, and yes, I didn’t exactly want you to see me abase myself for this opportunity,” he admitted.

“He said you did it for me,” you murmured, watching his face carefully.

Jaskier’s eyes met yours as the music stopped.  

“I did.  I would do anything for you.”

The words were so soft you almost didn’t catch them as the next song began and the other dancers moved around you as you stood still in the middle of the floor.  Overwhelmed with affection you did the first thing you could think of, leaning in to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

“Oh, Jask.  Thank you.”

——

Jaskier sat down heavily on the edge of his bed as you took a swig from the bottle of wine you’d taken with you once the party had finally wound down.  Giggling, you handed him the bottle before plopping down next to him.

“That was so amazing,” you exclaimed, replaying the evening over in your head, still in awe of everything you’d gotten to experience.  Jaskier stiffened next to you as you leaned into his side, but didn’t move, instead offering you the bottle back.  

Feeling slightly tipsy, but not yet drunk you shook your head, not wanting to worry about a hangover in the morning.  Shrugging, he brought the wine to his lips for another long drink.

“So,” you mused, warm and slightly uninhibited; the words falling from your lips without filter.   “You seemed a bit jealous when Monteforte asked me to dance.”

 Jaskier choked on the wine, quickly pulling the bottle from his mouth to cough.  “Wha -- no!” he spluttered, setting the bottle on the nightstand and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  “I certainly, was not, jealous,” he remarked haltingly.

A coy grin crossed your face.  “I dunno, you extricated yourself from that group of ladies rather quickly in order to steal me away from your rival,” you pointed out.

Jaskier cleared his throat, not quite looking at you.  “And I suppose you weren’t jealous either that I was surrounded by beautiful women all vying for my attention?”

“Nope, not at all,” you quipped, though your voice came out tenser than you planned.

“...Aev,” Jaskier sighed, his expression sobering.  “How long are we going to keep up this farce?”

“What farce?” you asked, voice cracking, and in that moment you wished more than anything you had the bottle of wine back.

“That we’re not crazy for each other.”

“Jask…” You couldn’t remember leaning in, closing the already thin gap between Jaskier and yourself, but as your eyes flicked up to his you realized just how close you were and suddenly you hesitated; wanting so badly to just give in.

What’s stopping you?  A voice in your head whispered.

I’m afraid, you whispered back.  Afraid of trusting, only to get hurt again.

But think of what you’re missing if you don’t even try?  The voice replied, giving no quarter.  We both know you want this.  Have wanted it for a long time now.

“Aevryn?”  Jaskier breathed, his lips so close to yours and you shivered at the warmth of his breath against your skin.  Closing your eyes you pulled away though every fibre of your being screamed in protest.

“I can’t.”

Your voice came out more like a strangled sob and you pushed off the bed, the urge to run growing.

“Why not?” Jaskier asked, following you to your feet.  “Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh Gods, no!” you exclaimed, looking at him and then and knowing it was a mistake.  

“Then why?”  The crack of desperation in his voice was too much and you shuddered.  

“Because if I kiss you now, i won’t be able to stop,” you whispered.

“Then don’t stop.”

Jaskier’s plea broke what little restraint you had left and you fell into his arms, your lips colliding.

The whine that left your throat was quickly swallowed as Jaskier deepened the kiss and you eagerly gave in, pulling him closer, stumbling back toward the bed as his hands roamed your body.  Your head swam at the intensity behind his kisses and you tugged at his open doublet in a feverish haste to undress him.

Spinning you suddenly Jaskier tilted you back and a gasp burst from your lips as you fell to the bed and he shucked off his jacket, climbing over you to resume where he’d left off kissing you thoroughly.  The soft moans and whimpers he managed to elicit sounded foreign to your ears, but all you could think was that you wanted more.

Desperately your hands went to his undershirt, fingers fumbling with buttons until the light fabric fell open, baring his chest, and you ran your fingers over the dark exposed hair.  Humming into your mouth with pleasure at the feel of your hands on him Jaskier ran a palm up the outside of your leg, pushing up the tulle of your skirt and massaging your soft skin as his body pressed you further down into the mattress.

Your bodies nearly flush you gasped as you felt his arousal straining his trousers and the fog of lust cleared for a moment as the reality of what you were sprinting headlong toward caught up to you.  

“Jaskier, wait,” you murmured hastily as his lips left yours to gasp a breath and he froze, worry flickering across his visage.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the huskiness of his voice sending heat flooding through you despite your request.

“I need to tell you something first.”

“What is it?”

“My name isn’t Aevryn.  It’s [ y/n ],” you blurted out, the urge to tell him the truth overpowering the white hot desire that gripped you.

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t interrupt as you quickly continued.

“I should have told you sooner, but I was afraid.  I’ve been on the run, hiding for so long now,” you trailed off, shame welling up inside you and you turned your face to the side, unable to face him.

“Hey,” Jaskier murmured as he gently turned your face back to him, his hand caressing your cheek.  “I know.”

Swallowing, you nearly gaped up at him.  “You know?” you asked, unable to keep the incredulity from your voice.

“I guessed, anyway,” he admitted softly.  “I figured you would tell me what you were running from when you were ready.”  A chuckle burst from his lips then.  “I didn’t exactly think it would be in the middle of getting hot and heavy.”

You couldn’t help but huff a laugh in return at the irony of it.  “Yes well, I didn’t want you to go into this, believing a lie.”  Taking a shaky breath you looked into his face, your hand reaching up to comb your fingers through his mussed chestnut hair falling over his forehead.

“Jaskier I’m married.”  There you’d said it.

If he was surprised he didn’t show it.

“My-my… husband,” you began, fumbling over the word, now foreign to your mouth, “he’s a monster.  He —“ Having to stop to take another breath Jaskier waited patiently, his thumb slowly caressing the length of your jaw as you fought to get the words out.  “He would beat me when he was unhappy and-and… I had to get away from him and there was no other way.”

“Shh, it’s alright,” Jaskier quickly assured you, not wanting you to have to put your pain into words.  “I get the picture…” Sadness filled his blue eyes, but he didn’t pull away.

“You’re not mad?”  The question left your lips in a whisper.  “You’re not going to leave me?”

“No.”  The fierceness in Jaskier’s voice stunned you and all you could manage to do was stare at him.  “Aev — [ y/n ],” he corrected, seeming to savor the sound of it, “I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to leave.  I-I think I’ve finally discovered what pleases me and I’m not going to let it go.”

“Oh, Julian,” his given name fell from your lips and you tightened your arms around him, pulling him back down to you.  “I want you,” you admitted softly.  “Now there are no more secrets between us.”

A smile spread across his face and he leaned forward to press his lips to yours slowly, his kiss gentle but far from chaste, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as he pulled back slightly to catch your gaze.  “I want you too,” he groaned, resting his forehead against yours.

“Then don’t stop.”  

You purred his words from earlier back to him, your eyes finding and holding his as they darkened with lust.  The low desperate growl that rumbled from his throat sent heat pooling low in your stomach and then his mouth was on yours again, though this time slow and deliberate as though he were savoring you like he savored your name.

Breaking to pull his shirt over his head he pulled you up with him, his hands deftly working to loosen the laces on the back of your dress as his lips explored your neck and jaw until your dress fell away.  Lowering you back down Jaskier eased the delicate fabric down your waist and your lifted your hips so he could slide it off completely, letting it pool on the floor, soon joined by the remainder of his clothes.

By the flickering light from the fireplace you admired him, committing his body to memory, as no doubt he was doing the same.  Crawling back over you, his hands gliding up your body stopped to caress your breasts as he kissed you, tasting you, the heat between your thighs spreading.

You could feel his hardness twitch against your thigh and you rolled your hips against him, pleased with the low groan it drew from Jaskier’s lips.

“Jaskier,” you moaned and could feel his grin against your skin as his hands continued their exploration of your fevered flesh.  “Please…”

“Please what?” he asked, lifting his head to watch you.

“Please, touch me,” you said, breathlessly.

“Oh, but I am touching you,” he replied, pausing to trace a finger teasingly down your navel and over the crest of your hip; your body practically quivering in response.  He was so close to where you wanted him and it was clear he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted until you begged.

“Jaskier please, you know what I want,” you tried again, but the coy smile that curved his lips wickedly made it clear you would have to say it.

“Do I?” he mused, leaning back down to trail kisses across your chest, nipping at your skin between each open mouthed kiss.  The warmth of his tongue nearly drove you mad and you finally gave in.

“I want you inside me,” you gasped in frustration and Jaskier chuckled in response.

“Oh, like this?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow as he brushed his thumb over your throbbing cunt and slid a finger between your folds, adding a second one as you rolled your hips instinctively to meet each slow thrust.

“Are you always such a tease?” you managed to gasp, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Maybe I just want to take my time with you,” Jaskier replied, wetting his lips.  Your eyes followed the quick swipe of his tongue, biting your lip as his fingers continued to move in and out of you, curling up to hit just the right spot.  “All the best things are worth waiting for, are they not?”

Smiling, you pulled him closer, kissing his laughing lips, feeling the heat between your legs coiling.  Just as you hit the brink, ready to overflow Jaskier pulled his hand away and the frustrated whine that left your lips only seemed to fuel him.

Before you could complain, you felt his length press against you, replacing his slick fingers and you shuddered as it teased your entrance.

“Oh please,” you whimpered, closing your eyes.

Jaskier kissed you slowly as he pressed into you by increments until he was fully sheathed.  “Oh fuck.”  The plea that tumbled from your lips was soon replaced by moans that grew louder as he began to move in you, thrusting slowly at first until he was certain you were accustomed to his size.  

At some point you wondered if the guests in the rooms next to his could hear your cries, but you were past caring.  All you could think of was him and how wonderful the moment was, how good and right he felt, until you could no longer think at all, the pleasure his every movement, his every touch overwhelming your senses, pushing you toward the edge.

Your cries reached a fever pitch, mixing with his string of praise and encouragement, begging you to cum for him, to call his name.

And you did.  

[blinder-baker]

Carnations | IV

Alfie Solomons x reader 

Warnings: Alcohol

Part One         Part Three

Dinner. Dinner. Dinner. That’s all it was. Dinner was easy, all you have to do is sit down, eat, and make polite small talk. There weren't any tricks or hidden clauses in a dinner date. A dinner date? Was it a date? Maybe you should have asked for clarification. But that would have been embarrassing. If he didn’t intend for it to be a date, he would have thought you were odd and that you were sweet on him; but if it was meant to be a date, he would have thought that you didn’t think of him that way and would have retracted the offer. So maybe it was better that you didn’t ask, you could just interpret the atmosphere and you would be able to tell whether it was a date or not. Unless, of course, you interpreted wrong… 

You were ready nonetheless. Wearing the nicest dress you own, you hoped that it highlighted your assets in a classy way - like your mirror reflected. You looked nice, you had taken your time getting ready and put thought into every choice. So what if you were ready an hour early? You had been waiting for this all week, ever since Alfie had walked you home. After killing Mr Hayes.

Don’t think about Mr Hayes. Don’t think about his lifeless body on the cold floor. Don’t think about his crushed skull being bashed against the wall. Or the blood stains on the bricks behind your desk. 

Just think of Alfie. How he gave you his coat despite the chilling winds, how he accidentally slurped his tea, the flowers he gave you. The pretty flowers: orchids, hyacinths, and gardenias. The note written by his own hand. The hands that killed Mr Hayes in a flash of savage brutality. 

You could have screamed in the safety of your own home. There was no escape from that feeling of guilt. How could you write that in your notebook, and have it become evidence against you if the police were to come looking? Even if you didn’t physically murder him, it was deed was done because of you. Alfie did it to protect you. 

Your knee shook up and down where you sat on your couch, fingers fiddling in your lap as you waited for Alfie. Everything would be alright. The police weren’t going to be after you or Alfie! Alfie Solomons could take care of something so benign as one man with ease. You knew he had the police on his payroll. So, even if they did go looking for Mr Hayes, as soon as anything pointed in the direction of the bakery they would drop the case instantly. You were certain of that. It was all taken care of.

The clock chimed for the mark of a new hour, and only seconds later the door was knocked upon. A deep breath in, and a deep breath out. You rose from your seat, smoothing down your dress with the palm of your hand. You painted a smile on your face. A charming one you hoped.

You opened the door to reveal Alfie Solomons. His black shirt’s top buttons were undone in such a way that screamed of Alfie. A thick golden chain around his neck that gleamed in the light of your hallway. He clutched his hat in front of him, every finger adorned with a ring. 

“Good evening, Alfie” You greeted, just how you had rehearsed all day. 

He looked stunned, his eyes were wide like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming motor vehicle. “Petal… You look… astounding,” He finished, taking a step back to allow you out of the flat.

“Well, so do you, very handsome.” You stammered, closing the door behind you. You jiggled the door handle to check that it was locked, before smiling at Alfie.

He offered his arm to you and you quickly slid your arm through the crook of his elbow.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

The restaurant was nice, you had never been there before, despite it being less than ten minutes away from the bakery. It was small and cozy, it seemed to be a family run business. Every nook and cranny was filled with candles, the melting wax dripping onto the candles next to one another as if recreating itself. The food was good too, maybe a little too expensive for your taste but since you weren’t paying you tried to feel guiltless about spending so much money. The waiter was generous with the wine too, he seemed to fill it up every time you sipped the glass. 

But the most intoxicating thing seemed to be Alfie, he seemed more relaxed here. He told you all sorts of interesting stories that didn’t seem possible. But most of all, you didn’t feel anxious, at least not the sort that you were used to. You were almost certain that nothing would go drastically wrong, maybe you would spill a little wine down your dress or trip on the way out. You could live with that, you probably wouldn’t come here again anyway. And Alfie wouldn’t embarrass you by mentioning it. 

Maybe your tranquil state was induced by the alcohol, either way, it was well timed. It seemed to end all too quickly, as the waiter brought over the bill. Alfie discreetly put a wad of notes in his hands, you were certain that half of that would cover the meal and the rest must be a tip. His generosity did not go unnoticed. 

Once the cold air outside hit your face, you realised you probably had too much to drink. A queasy feeling settled in your stomach and you closed your eyes for a moment; trying to breathe through it. Once you were certain that you weren’t about to unload your dinner on the cobblestones you opened them again. 

“You alright, petal?” Alfie’s hand found your lower back, his thumb moving in small circles against the fabric of the dress. 

“I’m fine Alf’, thanks for taking me out tonight,” You smiled at him

“Oh, it was my pleasure, now, let's get you home before you freeze to death, eh?” 

His hand curled around your waist as you walked through the streets, he guided through the darkness with only the lamplights illuminating the narrow alleyways. 

Within twenty minutes, you had reached your home and were yet again fiddling with the lock. You stumbled inside slightly as the door gave way without warning, you giggled slightly to yourself as clutched onto the wooden frame. You straightened yourself out, not wanting Alfie to think that you were beside yourself due to the alcohol. 

His face bore an easy grin as he held his hand out to make sure you wouldn’t fall. 

It was definitely a date. A romantic restaurant. His hand around your waist in a gentlemanly yet intimate nature. You weren’t blind, but how long had it been since you went on a date? What was the etiquette? 

“Do you want to come in for a drink?” You offered, rubbing your arms slightly.

No, that wasn’t date etiquette. That was ‘I want to sleep with you’ etiquette, if there even was such a thing. You could envision it now, he would call you a whore and leave immediately. The night would be ruined, and it was all your fault.

“You still got that rum?” He inquired as he followed you inside, placing his hat on the coffee table. 

Oh. Oh. 

You nodded and departed to the kitchen. You pulled the bottle of rum from the dark depths of the cupboard, and two glasses. You inspected them to double check that they were clean, before pouring a decent measure in both. 

Alfie had made himself at home on your sofa, reclining back with his arm stretched across the back. You couldn’t help but think that he looked out of place. It was a peculiar notion, that anyone could look out of place in someone’s living room, but he did. It was as if it was all too small for him, but you were unsure if it was physically or metaphorically. The ceiling seemed to stoop lower than usual, and the sofa creaked everytime he shifted his weight. 

“Bread?” You joked, offering him one of the glasses.

He let out a bark-like laugh and swilled the rum in one before setting the empty glass on the coffee table. Alfie wiped the excess off his beard in one solid motion, before resting his hand on his thigh.

You looked at him with wide eyes as you slowly made your way to sit beside him on the sofa. Tucking your legs underneath you, you looked down into your glass - hoping that one more drink wouldn’t push you over the edge.

“Did you enjoy dinner, Y/N?” He asked, his rumbling voice pensive. He seemed so close to you, just a couple inches away. From this distance, you could see every minor detail of his face. The slight curve of his upper lip that was usually hidden by his beard. The blur of blue and green eyes peered at you as he waited for an answer. 

You snapped back to reality, “It was brilliant, Alf” You whispered, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. 

His eyes widened and he tilted his head in surprise, “Well, yeah, it’s a nice little spot, innit?” A smile broke out on his face and his tongue danced across his bottom lip. The daring side of you wanted to lean over and kiss him, to just forget about professionalism and what you wanted for a change. 

You blinked and the spell was broken. You looked away from him and took a large sip of your rum; you really needed to get a grip before you embarrassed yourself. What was it about Alfie Solomons that made you incapable of thinking straight? He was just a man! A man that made you lose all senses, it seemed.

The clock once again chimed to mark the hour. 

“Right then pet, I should probably get going,” He suggested, looking into your eyes. 

“You could stay, for just another drink,” You pleaded, your hand going to hold onto his in a moment of drunken courage. His fingers curled around yours and gripped them tightly, 

“One more, then” 

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

One more drink had turned into several, several had turned into plenty. Now, Alfie had fallen asleep on your sofa. With his back straight and his head thrown back against the cushions, he seemed unwakeable. 

You giggled to yourself as you crawled to the kitchen. Your legs felt so weak, like they were made of plasticine. So instead of walking, you dragged yourself along. You knew that the smartest thing to do would be to chug down some water.  What was it about the kitchen tiles that was so cooling? You were just one metre away from the sink. But to get up from the tiles seemed like a painful idea. Reaching one hand out, your fingers lightly graced the cupboard door, water was so close. Yet all you wanted to do was close your eyes. 

By the time you opened them again, your body felt heavy and the giddiness had passed and had long since been replaced by the scratchiness of your throat. You groaned as you hoisted yourself up to the sink, turning on the tap and sticking your head underneath it. You lapped at the dripping water like a dog to a puddle. Once your thirst had been quenched, you pulled your sopping hair out of your face and slowly trudged your way to your bedroom. 

The bed was a welcomed comfort, you felt there was no need to undress or indeed slip underneath the covers. Sleep called out to you like a beacon of light to the lost.

[petersshirts]

Chasing After You (1) | tom holland

pairing: tom holland x reader

summary: uni doesn’t seem so hard, until your ex-boyfriend shows up right in front of you, turning your life in a whirlwind of emotions

warnings: lots of swearing they are Britains for gods’ sake

words: 1,5 k

A/N: so... here it is, my new series!! it’s still in the making and i don’t know yet how many there will be, but i hope you like it, please let me know what you think!

„I hate this,“ you mumbled and closed the door of your apartment with a loud thud, gaining the attention of your roommate Sky in the kitchen. „Hey boo, you okay?“ You heard your best friend yell and you just sighed, throwing off your shoes and coat to get to her.

„Just been a shitty day.“ Sky pouted and closed the fridge to give you a hug. You pulled her closer, sighing at the contact. It was good to know that you were not alone - that you could manage Uni and everything around it.

It had been only two weeks since you started your first year at Uni in Cambridge, and it had been hard. Sure, you knew that Uni was not easy, but the professors were horrible and mean, causing you a lot of stress. And you were not famous for handling stress very well. Sky pulled back to check if you cried, but you just shook your head, showing her that you were okay. That you would be okay.

„It’s all gonna be fine, Y/N. You’re gonna get used to it. But before that, I’ve been invited to a house party tonight!!“ You rolled your eyes at the excitement of your best friend, knowing how this evening would go. Sure, you loved going out but Sky always drank way too much and you always had to bring her home around 11 pm, crashing all the fun you had.

„I’m only going f you don’t drink five shots in the first two minutes!“ You reminded her and she just giggled. She was so childish but you loved her for it. With her, everything was easy and fun and you were so happy that you had decided to move into an apartment together at the start of the term.

For the next few hours, you ordered pizza and got yourself ready for the party. Sky even managed to put you into one of her dresses - when you stood in front of the mirror you didn’t even recognise yourself. Your friend had curled your hair and put some make-up on your face, turning you from a sleep-deprived student into a night owl. Without her, you would most likely lie in your bed and only come out for food and pee-breaks.

After a bottle of wine, the two of you left your apartment and walked to the address where the house party was at. It was early spring and you cursed yourself for only bringing a light jacket like Sky had told you. You look better with that; well, your whole body was freezing. You finally arrived at the apartment complex a few minutes later and Sky rang the doorbell and you got buzzed in immediately. When you arrived at the apartment on the third floor, there were people everywhere. The music was pounding and you grimaced, knowing that you would get a headache in the morning from the loud beats.

Sky grabbed your hand and pulled you through the masses of people into the kitchen. While she found a bottle of vodka, you searched for two shot glasses. You wouldn’t survive this night without more alcohol in your system. The two of you drank your shots, a disgusted look on your face.

The next two hours were spent with more alcohol and dancing on the small dance floor to the latest charts. It felt good to finally let loose and just dance with your best friend for a while. But after a while, your legs got heavy and you just mumbled a „Be right back,“ and walked to the bathroom to get some time to breathe.

When you closed the bathroom door behind you, you sighed and watched the girl in the mirror. Your makeup was slightly smudged from all the dancing but other than that, you still looked presentable. But on the inside, you were exhausted and just wanted to go home and sleep. The alcohol always made you tired but there was no way that Sky would actually leave with you right now. When it came to going out, you were polar opposites - while she could stay out until 5 in the morning, you were ready to go to bed after a few shots at midnight.

And since you had promised her to stay with her tonight, you sighed and opened the bathroom again, revealing the same scene you had just left. On your way back to the place where you had left Sky, you tried to make her head out in the crowd. But when you saw a familiar blonde quiff only a few meters above you and those blue eyes, you immediately stopped. The guy was gone but you just stood there, trying to find out if your mind was tricking you.

Suddenly, memories came flooding back and you turned around and ran out of the apartment, in desperate need of some fresh air. You made it out to the hall and slid down the wall, trying to catch your breath. You remembered that hair and those blue eyes. When he was near, his friend was never far away. Your breathing was going fast and you hid your face in your hands, all the emotions came flooding back.

„Y/N is that you??“ You looked up to look into those familiar blue eyes that you hadn’t seen for a whole year. You hadn’t seen him in such a long time and even though he wasn’t the one that caused you anxiety, he was too close for your own liking. But he had never done anything wrong to you, it had been his best friend. But with that, you wanted to stay away from these two boys as far as possible.

„Uhm, hi Harrison, long time no see.“ You mumbled out to your old friend, not sure how to talk to him. Harrison walked up to you, a big smile on his lips, completely surprised that you were here. You on the other side wished that you were somewhere else. One year ago, you tried to put your past behind you. It had worked pretty well so far, but seeing Harrison here was not helping. His best mate couldn’t be that far.

„How have you been?? I haven’t seen you since Tom and you…“ When he said those words you jumped up, your mind spinning. You were not ready to talk about your ex-boyfriend, the boy that broke your heart. The only boy that you had ever loved and just left without an explanation. You hated him and you were damned if you would see him again.

„I’m actually here to have fun and not talk about this right now. I’m sorry, I can’t…“ While you were talking, you stumbled back to the open entrance of the apartment to find Sky. You didn’t care anymore what you had promised - all you wanted was to go home, eat Ben & Jerrys and try to forget about this whole experience. But when you bumped into a broad chest and looked up to meet his chocolate brown eyes, everything came crashing down.

All the walls that you had built up over the last year to show everyone that you were completely fine, they faded to nothing when he realised who was standing in front of him. Oh hell no. He was as beautiful as you remembered - he was still athletic but not too much muscle, his unruly brow twitching. But it seemed like his complete attitude had shifted - gone was the sweet guy that you had met at school two and a half years ago and was replaced by some fuckboy you absolutely hated. Your heart wrenched when he stood there because this wasn’t love - no this was hate for what he had done to you.

And that’s why your legs started moving, back into the apartment to find Sky and get the hell out of here. You found her in the living room where she was grinding on a stranger. You pulled her arm to get her attention, tears running down your face. Sky mumbled something when you tried to gain her attention, but when she finally looked into your face to see your desperation, she jumped into gear. Without questioning what was going on, she pulled away from the guy, grabbed your hand and walked outside without looking back.

Luckily, To and Harrison were gone when you stepped out of the apartment, trying to gain your breath. Sky looked back at you to make sure that you were safe to walk home and you just nodded, showing her that you would be fine. Someday.

The two of you walked home in quiet, both of you following your own thoughts. Your brain was running wild, trying to figure out how he was in the same city as you, far from home. Clearly, he was a student here too and there was no way that you wouldn’t see him again. You started crying again, unable to control your emotions. Why was life so unfair? Why couldn’t he just stay out of your life like he had done for the last year??

Uni was tough but Tom fucking Holland just made it just three times worse.

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[johnnq]

birthday wishes

[8:16am] after everyone went home once jaehyun's birthday celebration ended, you were left with the mess to clean up. food the boys had almost completely finished off carelessly littering the counter in your kitchen to your shared apartment as well as a half empty bottle of wine; nct dream weren't big drinkers considering they'd only been legally adults for a few months now, and the only ones in 127 had a glass or two and limited themselves knowing they had practice in the morning.

"well.. that was eventful." jaehyun observes, obviously thinking out loud as he stares at the mess that they left behind.

"it really was, but im glad the boys came to see you. you've all been so busy with the new choreo for the comeback im surprised your manager said it was okay." you smile, standing next to him and giving him a little peck on the cheek.

for the next hour you clean up the apartment together, jaehyun deciding to put his most corny valentines day playlist on while you do it.

"thank you for today, really. nobody ive ever been with has made my birthday about me even just a little because it's valentines, but you? you were so selfless that you didn't even think about valentines and just on me." he pauses, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope. "which is why i waited until the boys were gone to give you this."

the envelope looked small, and you assumed for it to be a normal, run-of-the-mill valentines day card that most men give their girlfriends to try and make it seem like they didnt forget. gripping it and deciding to actually open it up.

there's hope yet. you think to yourself as you pull the contents out.

of course, it was a card, and at first you're slightly disappointed because even though you know it's mostly jae's day and he's in the spotlight, you hoped you'd get at least something for the trouble.

opening the card, reading the predictable yet quite endearing message, you giggle. it reads;

'to y/n, i just wanted to tell you that i love you so much and that you genuinely lighten my life in a way nobody else can. you're my happiness and you mean so much to me, and i never want you to forget that, or think it isn't true. with that being said, there's a little something in here too that should explain why ive been working so hard lately x'

under the message, two pieces of paper lay flat, taped down onto the page. once you actually pull the tape off and have a closer look, you realise that they're plane tickets, specifically tickets going back to new york from korea.

for a few moments you stand there in shock as you try to take in the situation.

"baby? you like it? i thought since you've been saying how much you miss your mom and dad, we could go see them! you moved here for me, so it's only fair that i make the effort to help you keep in contact with your family back home."

lunging into his arms with tears running down your face and a smile creeping up, you look up at him with adoration and gratitude.

"and there's me thinking you didn't get me anything.. thank you so much baby, seriously."

as you bury your head in the crook of his neck and enjoy the moment you're both sharing, jaehyun reaches his head down slightly to kiss the top of your head gently.

"anything for my y/n, you deserve the world."

[ghostlywritten]

When I Was Your Man VI.

Words: 7k+

Thank you for all the reviews, anonymous comments and likes. They’re greatly appreciated. 

I  II  III  IV  V

I headed downstairs after quietly getting ready, shaking Antoine awake before leaving. Right now, I wasn’t in the mood to face him so I merely told him I would wait downstairs to check out.

Rummaging through my bag I made sure our tickets and passports were there before scrolling through my phone aimlessly and looking around, watching other people; anything to get my mind off of my situation.

Slowly the other footballers trailed down with their wives and girlfriends, checking out at the front desk before settling around me with small greetings, their hangovers too present for them chat up storms with each other like they usually would.

I waved at Jennifer as she stopped next to me with a half-asleep Giroud draped over her and she tiredly smiled back without a word.

Chuckling, I wondered how it usually was the other way around with me being the one too tired to talk.

Antoine finally arrived in sweats and a simple shirt, his hair tousled and blue eyes half-closed as he searched around the crowd. Spotting me, he trudged over with his suitcase behind him.

“Why didn’t you wait in the room for me?” Antoine asked sluggishly, rubbing his eyes with the knuckles of his hands. I melted slightly at this cute sight, but quickly pulled myself together.

I shrugged, taking the keys from him. “I’m gonna check out for us,” I said without answering his question and he furrowed his eyebrows when I left.

Checking out, I took my time getting back, only fastening my pace when I saw the last person of our group arrive, which was the coach.

“Alright, ladies,” Deschamps clapped his hands together, gaining everyone’s attention, “Let’s head for our next destination.”

“Why does he call all of us ladies?” I wondered. Mbappe and Pogba, who had been closest to me, chuckled quietly, “It’s how he always calls us, even during training.”

I nodded, noticing Antoine head over from my peripheral view. “You guys want any painkillers?” I asked, holding up the two pills I had gotten from the hotel staff. I originally planned to give them to my husband but decided against it.

“Hell yeah, do you have some?” I gave them the two and they thanked me gratefully.

“Hey Ads, do you have some more of those?” Antoine asked hopefully and I shook my head, “Nope, sorry.” He deflated into a pout, but I ignored him and walked ahead.

We drove towards the airport with a shuttle bus, got ourselves checked in and settled down in the waiting area after the security check.

The entire way I barely spoke a word to my husband, too tired and quite frankly pissed at him to care if I was behaving like a bitch. He kept trying to start up a conversation - or a light-hearted argument like most of our conversations was - but I simply agreed with everything he said to stop the talk as soon as possible.

By the time we got on the plane, he was looking like a dejected puppy trailing after me so even the hungover Giroud pair noticed with raised eyebrows. I simply shook my head at them, sitting down on the seats behind them.

Antoine sighed, laying his head on my shoulder. “Did I do something I don’t remember?”

“Hm?”

“You seem angry at me,” he said quietly and I sighed. I was angry at many things about him, but it wasn’t like I could voice it out.

“Let’s just say...you are a messy sleeper when you are drunk and I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I lied and his head shot up, “I didn’t do anything to you, did I?”

'Except for falling asleep on me and making my heart race...' “No, you were just the Patricia last night instead of me.”

He sighed in relief before chuckling, “So you are just grumpy because you are sleepy again.”

“Yep,” I said, turning towards the window as the plane started moving. Antoine yawned next to me, settling back down against my shoulder, “Don’t worry, you can sleep at the hotel in a few hours.”

And with that he fell asleep, drooling over my shirt.

-

Arriving at our hotel room I was more exhausted than ever so just like our previous arrival to the other hotel we took a nap before dinner.

“We’re quite the old couple,” Antoine chuckled as we headed downstairs,” Always sleeping around. Even Gran is more fit than us.”

“Mhmm,” I hummed, eyes wandering around the hotel decor.

“...Ads, are you sure you are not mad at me about something?” Antoine questioned, gently holding me back by the elbow before I could open the door to the diner.

“I’m absolutely sure yes.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“Nope.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“No.”

“...was that-”

“For God’s sake, Antoine, everything is perfectly fine!” I exclaimed in exasperation, pushing the doors open. He flinched away and thankfully said nothing for the rest of the way to our table, as usual where the Giroud pair was dining.

“Good evening,” Jennifer greeted us, back to her usual self. Her hangover had obviously been cured since she was already nursing a new glass of wine.

“Good evening,” I greeted back, almost wishing I wasn’t obligated to sit next to my husband when he settled down next to me.

“Did you sleep well?” Giroud asked and I nodded, starting up a conversation with him and Jennifer, Antoine opting for staying quiet most of the dinner. I had a feeling the other two could tell there was some tension between us but thankfully didn’t comment on it for now.

“So, Ads. I’m determined to change your mind about our boring training,” Giroud said and I sighed, shaking my head with a smile, “We have a practice session until 2 PM tomorrow. You can sleep until whenever and join us later.”

“Or we could do other stuff like exploring the city,” I suggested, “That sounds more interesting.”

“Uhh yes, exploring cities!” Jennifer agreed, clapping her hands enthusiastically.

“Wife, be on my side,” Giroud ordered with playfully deep voice and I chuckled. “You can go explore for the rest of the day, come on!”

“Fine, I will give your training one more chance,” I said and he pumped the air in success, causing his wife to giggle.

Antoine grumbled, “How is it so easy for him to convince you but for me it’s harder than shooting a goal against Real Madrid?”

I gave him a look and he narrowed his eyes in exasperation, “What did I do now?”

“Nothing,” I said again and he sighed heavily before he turned back to his food, moodily.

“Is everything alright?” Jennifer asked, a little worried.

“All good, we’re just tired,” I reassured.

“Yeah, Ads and I are going to sleep early,” Antoine said, abruptly standing up and holding his hand out for me to take. Confused I took it and got swept off by him in no time, “See you guys tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of dinner!” Antoine called over his back as he marched out of the diner with me getting dragged along.

“You can let go of me,” I said, not wanting to get used to the warm feeling of his hand around mine. He pretended not to hear until we reached the elevator, only letting go when the doors closed.

“I know why you are mad now,” he stated and I raised an eyebrow.

“I told you I’m not mad, I’m just tired.” ‘Tired of getting hurt by you.’

“No no, I get it. You have every right to be,” he said earnestly, putting his hands on my shoulder to turn me towards him. My heart raced. Did he figure out that I knew?

“...I do?”

“Yeah, I would be mad too if someone forgot my birthday.”

“...my birthday?” I asked, wondering if I had heard right. He nodded, his eyes wide and apologetic. I thought back on what date today was. Though that actually didn’t matter, it was summer and I was pretty sure my birthday was on a winter month. December to be exact. And it was June. “Why on earth would you think it’s my birthday today?”

“I know it is and that’s why you’ve been grumpy all day,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “I promise I will make it up to you. We could go to a nice restaurant tomorrow for dinner. You like Chinese, right? We could look up some cool places for Chinese food...” His words faded away when realisation struck me. Cateline’s favourite food was Chinese. I could absolutely not stand it. And it was also her birthday today.

I pushed him away, dread filling me as I took out my phone to check the date for good measure. 18th June, yep. It was Cateline’s birthday today.

Closing my eyes, I swallowed, hoping to gulp down the burning feeling in my chest as I prayed for the elevator to get to our level faster.

“...there’s also a good Italian place, you like that too, right?” That was actually my favourite food.

Sighing, I laughed humourlessly to myself, which finally stopped his chatter. He rubbed my arm in what he probably hoped to be comforting, “What do you think, hm? It would be just us, nice and quiet, no party. I promise!”

“I’d rather not, thank you,” I declined, bitterness clear in my voice.

“Huh? Why not?” he frowned in confusion.

“Because it’s not my birthday.”

“...No?” he asked meekly.

“No,” I said, looking straight into his blue eyes to make sure he knew how pissed off I was right now. He gulped, mumbling something like ‘I was sure it was today..’ under his breath but I ignored him in favour of finally getting out of the small space as the elevator doors opened.

“...Then...how about we celebrate what an idiot I am tomorrow?” he tried some damage control as I gestured for the keys. He dropped them into my palm and I quickly put it in the lock, trying not to get reminded of how he had hugged me from behind last time.

“No, thank you.”

“An apology dinner?”

“Antoine, if I could I would sleep in another room, away from you,” I said coldly and he winced, “So what makes you think, I would want to spend time alone with you?”

“I-” I didn’t stay to listen to his answer, opting for locking myself in the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I sat down on the toilet seat, biting my lip as a wave of tears tried to push past my barrier. It might have been harsh of me right now, but I didn’t know how else to handle the pain I felt. Alas, I lashed out, feeling a sick satisfaction in hurting him when he hurt me. I sunk my teeth into my fist, not being able to stop a few droplets from falling. Sighing heavily I leaned back and looked up into the ceiling, wondering how much longer I would be able to handle this.

-

The next morning I woke up to a cold bed with the sun beaming down on my face. I had taken a shower after my small breakdown and when I had gotten out, Antoine had already been asleep, curled up on his side with his back to me. Remembering last nights happenings, I took a long breath in, blowing it out as my chest deflated with the movement.

I didn’t feel like getting up, but a knock on my door forced me to change my plans.

“Good midday!” Jennifer greeted me with her beaming smile. I looked at the clock.

“It’s 11 AM, it’s still morning.”

“For sleepy heads like you perhaps,” she retaliated.

“...Touché,” I said back, opening the door wider for her to get in. She strolled inside, setting down the two cups she had brought with her along with a small paper bag.

“I brought you coffee and some croissants since there’s not much of breakfast left,” she informed, plopping down on the seat in front of the mini desk. I smiled at her gratefully, “Thanks. Just let me get ready real quick.”

Brushing my teeth and hair, I quickly changed my clothes, applying some makeup as well. “It’s going to be warm today, right?” I asked, stepping out of the bathroom with shorts and a thin shirt on.

Jennifer nodded in approval, “Real hot. And yes, I’m talking about the weather.” I chuckled, blushing slightly. She nudged her head over to the messy bed with a smirk, “I see you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Glancing over in confusion I cocked my head to the side, “What?”

“Well, look at how messed up your sheets are! You had a wild night, didn’t you?” The heat in my cheeks intensified, “O-oh no, no. Nothing like that.”

“Suuure,” she said, nodding quickly and I scratched my head. How was I going to tell her that it had been a very cold night in bed last night without going to deep about my marriage life? “Don’t tell me about it then,” she shrugged off as she saw how uncomfortable I was and got up, “Let’s head to the stadium. You can eat on the way, right?”

“Right.”

We headed over to a bus station that would get us right to the front of the stadium. The hotel was specifically equipped with shuttles driving to and from there for the football fans. Thus, there were many tourists around as well, occasionally taking pictures when they recognised us.

“This is really weird,” Jennifer commented, smiling awkwardly at a few paps, “I mean, we are just the wives. Why would they need pictures of us.”

I shrugged, “Something to write about in their magazines, I guess.”

“I will never get used to this, that’s for sure,” Jennifer said, putting on some sunglasses as we got into the bus. I followed her suit, not wanting to read another article about my resting bitch face.

We arrived at the stadium and strolled around it seeing as the team was practicing on the open field for the press and fans.

“There’s quite the crowd,” I commented, “No way, we’re going to be able to watch them properly.”

“Anna texted me where they are,” Jennifer informed, gesturing forward, “There will be enough space for us.”

“Ah...who’s Anna?” I asked, never having heard of her before.

“She’s Mbappe’s girlfriend,” Jennifer giggled, “You really ought to learn their names at some point.”

I shrugged, following her.

“Girls, over here!” A blonde, petite woman shouted, waving us over.

“That’s Anna,” Jennifer said and started listing the other girls’ names as well. As if I would be able to remember them all. Some had kids running around them or babies in their arms and I cooed inwardly at how cute they were when we reached them.

“Hey, girls!” Jennifer greeted them all cheerfully, hugging each of them whilst I stood back, waving awkwardly. I noticed some of them give me quite the dirty looks and swallowed slightly, looking away and towards the field. My eyes searched automatically for my light-haired husband, finding him dribbling the ball by himself. I watched with furrowed eyebrows as he lost control of the ball a few times; he didn’t seem focused like he usually was, especially during games.

“Care to explain to me why Dani and Bella are glaring at you?” Jennifer whispered as she leaned against the bar next to me. I figured she meant the same two girls I had seen glaring and shrugged. “No idea. I’ve never talked to them.”

“Weird,” Jennifer remarked, smiling at them. The two smiled back before resuming their death stares at me, “Should I ask them?”

“No,” I immediately declined, “It doesn’t really matter to me.”

“Seriously? Aren’t you even the slightest bit curious?”

“I mean, their dislike can’t really be reasonable since I’ve never even exchanged a word with them,” I explained, “So why would I care?”

“Maybe that’s exactly why,” Jennifer mused and I looked at her, questioningly, “I mean that you don’t talk to anyone. It kind of makes you seem arrogant.”

“It does?”

“Yeah, I admit I thought you were snobby when I first saw you at the party,” Jennifer said with a sheepish grin as I stared at her, shocked.

“Really?”

“You weren’t talking to us and seemed a little uptight. Not exactly approachable. Can you blame me?”

I stayed quiet. I knew I was a tad bit arrogant, but never thought it was that bad. Okay, maybe I had been really arrogant before I found out about the affair, but my ego had taken quite the hit. I was more cautious about meeting new people than just plain snobby.

“Not anymore though!” Jennifer quickly reassured when I didn’t say anything, “I know you’re just an introverted nerd now. It’s all good. And the others will come around soon when they get to know you.”

“I guess...,” I said uncertainly when I heard Giroud call out our names.

“Jen! Addy!” He exclaimed, waving cheerfully when he spotted us. I noticed Antoine's head snap over and immediately follow his friend’s eyes until he found us. Waving back at Giroud, I quickly looked away, biting my lip awkwardly.

“You guys sure you are okay?” Jennifer inquired as she finally stopped blowing kisses at her husband, who was comically catching them all. I envied their relationship really. Where had Antoine and I gotten wrong to end up like this? I could safely say that we never at some point acted like these two lovebirds and that was quite a depressing thought.

“Addy?”

“Hm? Yeah, of course. We’re fine,” I answered belatedly, giving her a tight smile.

She looked at me, unsure. “Then why is Antoine looking at you like a lost puppy and ignoring his quite scary Coach yelling at him?”

I glanced up to see she was right. Coach Deschamps was slowly getting red and seemed ready to march up to his French striker. Antoine straightened up when he saw me looking, waving tentatively. I waved back, causing him to sigh in relief and finally notice his Coach’s mad rant. Apologising quickly, he picked up the ball and ran over to his assigned team not without another glance over his shoulder at me.

“...I know, it’s not my place to always ask about your relationship,” I heard Jennifer say, feeling like my ears got unclogged now that his blue eyes weren’t captivating me anymore. “But if you like to talk about it to anyone, I’m here for you.”

I smiled at her, touched by her words and yet a little mistrusting when I remembered Cateline say the almost the exact same words to me once. “Thank you, Jen.” She beamed at the nickname, hooking her arm around mine as we continued watching the practice.

-

“And? How was it?” Giroud asked as soon as training was done, jogging over to us. He gently kissed his wife before turning to me with an eager look.

I shrugged, playfully answering, “It was meh.”

“Meh?!” the dark-haired striker exclaimed, astonished and I saw Jennifer stifling her laughter. “Just meh??”

“Yeah, it was a tiny bit entertaining,” I teased, leaving a small gap between my thumb and forefinger. He looked at me peeved as the other footballers came over, greeting their girls, wives, and kids.

“Impossible,” he grumbled and I giggled to myself. My smile faded though when I saw Antoine head over, sweating and downing a whole bottle of water in his thirst.

He ran a hand through his locks and I was tempted to do so myself when he gave me a precarious glance, “Hey Ads,” he greeted softly and I nodded back in greeting. Resting his hands on the bar that was separating us, his eyes dropped to his shoes for a second, “Any plans for today?”

“Nothing much. Maybe a bit of sightseeing,” I replied, fiddling with my shirt, “I saw some cool places online. You?”

His blue eyes widened and I almost regretted my indirect rejection of letting him tag along. He looked back down sadly, shuffling with his feet. “Um, I’m just gonna relax at the pool or something with the guys. I’m pretty tired.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Jesus Christ,” I heard Giroud mumble under his breath and clapped his friend's back. “Let’s get changed, Anton. We’ll meet you back at the hotel?” he asked us and we nodded in goodbye.

Jennifer thankfully didn’t make any remark on the more than uncomfortable conversation. “Are you going to join me?” I asked her on the way to our hotel.

“I would love to but I promised Olli to spend an all-alone day today,” she said apologetically.

“That’s fine,” I said, reassuringly. I would have to go by myself then.

“You could ask some of the other girls,” she suggested but I shook my head. Walking around with a stranger around other strangers in a foreign country didn’t seem appealing to me.

“No, I’d rather not.”

She shook her head at me with a laugh, “You’d rather walk around alone that make friends?”

“Exactly,” I said with a grin.

-

I took off with a purse filled with my wallet, my phone, a map of the city and my passport that I forgot to take out.

After a bit of contemplating I took the wedding ring off as well and put it in there, having read that as a tourist you should not have anything expensive on you that would make you a target.

Taking the bus to the central station that was the heart of the city I started my sightseeing trip from there. It was quite relaxing to just calmly stroll around without any rush, listening to music and taking pictures of cool places. There was a cathedral that looked breathtakingly beautiful and I photographed every inch of it from the outside and inside. ‘Antoine would have loved taking selfies with this,’ I thought, feeling bad when I recalled his sad face. We could have enjoyed this day like the one back when we visited campus.

I blushed when I remembered that one kiss we shared. The amount of times I thought about it was actually quite embarrassing.

Shaking my head out of it, I turned a street filled to the brim with people. My eyes lightened up; a bazaar! I squealed inwardly, proceeding to mingle into the crowd. I usually didn’t like crowds but I loved bazaars over everything. It was a totally different experience than going shopping in stores, just...a lot better in my opinion.

Pursuing a few unique trinkets I admired them in the sunlight when suddenly my purse got ripped off my shoulder, causing my arm to jerk and drop the trinket. “What-?” It took me a second to realise a little boy just stole my purse and was currently running away. “Hey! Wait! My purse!” I shouted, pushing past people.

I didn’t know how long I ran after him, panicking every time I lost sight of his dirty, red shirt. No one came to help and I felt breathless way too fast. ‘I really need to work out.’

The crowd dispersed slowly, but it was too late for me to catch him. He probably disappeared through one of the thousand back alleys.

“Ok, Adeline, don’t lose your mind,” I whispered to myself as panicked tears rushed to my eyes, “You’re going to be alright. Let’s just get back the way we got here.”

Easier said than done. That damn boy took so many twists and turns to get rid of me, I had no idea how to get back to the bazaar. Reaching for the map, I cursed when I realised in the purse. Along with my wallet, my phone...”Yeah, I’m a goner,” I sighed shakily, turning around. I tried to listen for any noise, slightly scared of the few people staring at me openly. I didn’t dare approach anyone until I got most desperate, going for an elder lady.

“Can you help me?” I asked her in English and she just looked at me weirdly. Biting my lip, I continued, “Bazaar. I’m looking for the bazaar. Do you know where it is?”

She seemed to get a hunch on what I was trying to say as she started talking rapidly in Russian. Watching her hand gestures, I vaguely got the directions from her and thanked her.

I felt encouraged to ask around others after this, slowly finding my way back to the crowded street. Sighing in relief, I proceeded to ask my way to the Central Station when I saw a stand selling maps for tourists.

“Hi, can I get one of those?” I asked the seller eagerly, taking one where Yekaterinburg was written in bold letters.

“Five dollars,” he said with an accent. My smile faded.

“I don’t have money on me right now,” I said, gesturing widely, “My purse got stolen. I can come back and pay you later.”

“Five dollars,” he repeated loudly, holding his five fingers up.

“I can’t pay right now, can I come back later?” I tried again and he simply shook his head, “Five dollars.” Breathing in deeply, I was tempted to just run with the map in hand, but figured it wouldn’t do well getting arrested here. So I dropped it back on the table disappointedly and resumed my asking around.

Some were willing to help, most were not and many were just outright creepy. I mainly stuck to asking women if I could. By the time I got to the Central Station, it was already early in the evening. ‘Dinner must be ready soon,’ I thought to myself, my stomach growling since I had eaten nothing but the croissant and coffee Jennifer had gotten me this morning. I longingly stared at the food stands whilst looking for someone approachable.

Thankfully, most people could speak English around here and another tourist couple was friendly enough to help me out with an extra map they had, taking pity on my disheveled state.

Since I had no money for a bus back to the hotel, I proceeded the long way back home by foot, closely following the directions on the maps in hopes of not having to ask anyone anymore. It was pathetic how independent I was in life.

It had gotten pitch dark and I figured it was around 10 PM or something when I saw the familiar lights of the hotel. I almost dropped right there on the ground, so glad after this horrifying day and a rush of exhaustion that I had held back so far hit me in a nauseating way.

“Don’t pass out now, Adeline. Only a few more meters,” I motivated myself, the euphoria of seeing something familiar giving me a small rush of adrenaline.

I noticed a police car parked in front of the steps of the hotel when I got there and Giroud walking down. A wide, tired smile lifted the corners of my lips upon seeing him. “Hey Olli,” I called out to him and he looked over, eyes widening as if he had just seen a ghost. I dragged myself over to him when he stood stock still in his shock. “What is it? Never seen me with unruly hair before?” I chuckled weakly, patting down the strands that stood in a disarray.

“Jesus, Addy. Where the hell have you been?” he exclaimed, gaining the attention of his wife, who just came down the steps as well.

“Addy?” she asked, eyes widening similar to her husband before she rushed over, hugging me. “What on earth happened?”

“Long story,” I sighed before thinking, “No, actually not that long. It was just a long day.”

“What happened?” she asked, guiding me upstairs, “You’ve had us so worried when you didn’t come back. Antoine almost went bald from gripping his hair the whole time.”

“A boy stole my purse and I got lost running after him,” I said shortly, “It took me all day to find the way back here asking around.”

“My god,” Jennifer gasped, putting her arm around my back, “That must have been horrible.”

“I was close to panicking, I admit that.”

“Damn. Why didn’t you call?” Giroud asked with a frown and my heart warmed at their apparent worry for me.

“It was in my purse. Along with my wallet and the map I had with me,” I sighed, rubbing my eyes tiredly.

“Let’s just get you in for now. You must be absolutely drained,” Jennifer said, “You can tell us everything tomorrow. Get some sleep now.”

“And inform Antoine, please. He’s going mad,” Giroud added.

“Oh yeah?”

“He even yelled at me for letting you go alone,” Jennifer said and my jaw dropped, “I was shocked, too! Never saw him so angry, it was quite scary, to be honest.”

“Damn right it was. And I wasn’t even on the receiving end,” Giroud commented when he opened the door. I immediately noticed Antoine in front of the reception desk, rapidly talking to two police officers and the hotel-keeper even,

“I’m telling you, my wife is missing! You have to get out there with all your men and search for her!” he demanded loudly, his breathing fast and heavy as if he was close to a panic attack.

“Antoine,” Giroud called him but was ignored.

“Sir, we can only start searching for your wife when she’s been missing for 48 hours.”

“So??”

“It’s been around 9 hours now.”

“Are you freaking kidding me right now? She’s gone around in this foreign city for so long and you don’t think she’s gotten lost?! Do you know what could happen to her in 48 hours?? Or what might have already happened to her- oh god,” he cut himself off, gripping his hair with both hands.

“Antoine-!”

“I will freaking sue you all. My wife is a lawyer-to-be!”

“Antoine-!”

“Antoine,” I called out too and he finally heard, his head snapping around. I took in his wide-blown eyes that had panic attack written all over it, his flushed cheeks and erratic breathing. A second later, he crushed himself against me, tightly wrapping his arms around me. My breath got knocked out by the hit but I gladly returned the gesture, fully relaxing now that I was surrounded by him. Never had I felt so safe before.

“God, Addy,” he whispered brokenly, “Where have you been the whole time? You got me worried sick.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered back, breathing in his soothing scent. I closed my eyes, relishing in the calming effect. “My purse got stolen and I was lost.” His grip around me tightened and he buried his face into my hair.

“That must have been terrifying,” he said incoherently, “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” I chuckled, “It’s not your fault.”

“That’s right. What the hell were you thinking, going alone and worrying your husband like that, Patricia?” he asked teasingly, smiling into my neck slightly and I knew he had calmed down now. I tried pulling away but to no avail.

“Nooo,” he whined, cutting off the air in my lungs with how closely he held me.

“Antoine,” I laughed slightly, leaning my head against his.

“Like hell, I’m going to let go of you now.”

-

“Here, I got you a tea,” Antoine said, putting a cup on your night table.

“Thank you,” I yawned heartily.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not right now.”

“I could order room service.”

“Antoine!” I called, exasperated and he stopped his fussing, “I’m fine, really. Just exhausted.”

“Okay,” he sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to me.  Closing my eyes, I felt the ache on my feet subside as the weight of my body was finally off of them.

“Tell me again, what happened,” Antoine demanded and I sighed, whining inwardly when my drift to sleeping wonderland got interrupted.

“I went around town, ended up in a bazaar,” I listed, “A boy stole my purse, I chased after him, I got lost, I found my way back.”

Antoine nodded attentively, pressing his lips together. “It’s decided then.”

“What?”

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again.” I chuckled at his ridiculous announcement and rubbed my forehead. “I’m serious!”

“There’s no need for that. Nothing major happened except for my stuff being gone.”

“Nothing maj- My heartattack??” he protested, pointing at his chest. "My hair loss??" he continued, pointing at his luscious locks, "The fact that I threatened the police, which could have put me in prison???"

I rolled my eyes. ‘Don’t act like you really care.’ “Don’t act like a drama queen.” He gasped, holding onto his chest and I giggled. “Glad, my misery is such a delight for you,” he pouted and I patted his back. “It is.” He glared and I burst out in laughter that soon turned into a yawn.

His blue eyes softened. “Drink up that tea. You should get some sleep,” he suggested, handing me the cup. I nodded gratefully, taking a sip of the warm beverage. It was fresh peppermint, sweetened with honey. I hummed appreciatively. “This is really good,” I mumbled between my sips, causing my husband to smile weakly.

“The officer said they would be looking for the boy, who stole your purse,” he informed, rubbing circles on my back.

“I doubt, they will find him,” I voiced out my thoughts, “I couldn’t give them much of a description.” I sighed, “Everything was in there. Even my passport...”

“We can get a new one in no time,” Antoine reassured.

“...and my wedding ring.”

“We can- wait, what? Why did you take off your wedding ring?”

“Because ‘Tourism for dummies’ said that you should never have anything valuable in a foreign country because tourists are the most frequent targets for thievery in every country,” I said matter-of-factly.

Antoine looked at me like I was mad, “And that Gucci bag was not enough to make you a target?”

“Well, maybe. But it was the cheapest I had,” I shrugged and he rolled his eyes. “I have expensive taste.”

“Explains why our house costed nearly a million,” he grumbled.

“Oh please, you wanted that house, I didn’t even like it,” I argued and he gasped, “How can you not like it? It’s cemented beauty!”

“Meh, there are better ones,” I said with another shrug.

“You have a weird taste.”

“I chose you as my husband sooo...yep.”

Antoine gasped, but contained his dramatic nature, “I will get you back for that, but for now; go rest, you had an exhausting day.” I smiled at his caring nature, even if it might have been fake, and laid down. He shut down all the lights before crawling to bed beside me.

My eyes practically fell shut by themselves with how heavy they were and I soon succumbed into sleep, feeling a hand search for mine and hold onto it tightly. 

-

Antoine kept true to his words in the most ridiculous way. Forcing me awake early in the morning every day to tag along for practice, resulting in a grumpy me and a few creative curse words thrown at him.

I eventually got used to it and even brought my laptop along to study when his training got too boring. The rest of the time was spent with him stuck like a glue, making sure I was always around up until to the point where he followed me to the bathroom. I shut down that habit fast when he once commented on how much I must have been drinking to pee for so long, listening from the door.

The games came and passed, France making it to the last sixteen, which sent everyone into a super-excited state. Especially today, when Argentine - who almost won the last World Cup -  was the opponent. The players were tense and particularly silent throughout breakfast, immediately heading off for some last minute practice when the Coach ordered them, too.

“You should wear Antoine’s shirt,” Jennifer remarked whilst watching me getting ready.

“What’s wrong with my shirt?” I asked, looking at my simple, light green attire combined with some black pants.

“Nothing. In fact, I would like to borrow it someday,” she said, giving me her puppy eyes through the mirror. I chuckled, nodding and she cheered, dropping her back against the made bed.

“So?”

“So, I just think Antoine would feel the support more when he saw you in his jersey,” Jennifer explained, picking on her nails absently.

“You think so?” I thought back on how the other girls’ always wore their man’s jersey.

“Of course! I don’t know why either, but Olli, for example, gets some kind of kick out of it, seeing me in his shirt.”

I hummed in contemplation as I walked out of the bathroom. “I don’t have his jersey. Maybe he has a spare one in his suitcase?” I wondered, walking up to his bag. He had left all his stuff in there, not really bothering to put them up in the wardrobe as we were always on the move. Now we were back in Kazan.

Rummaging through his stuff, I giggled when Jennifer shielded her eyes, not wishing to see the infamous Spongebob pants.

“No worries, Jen. I’m sure he’s wearing it now for good luck,” I mentioned, my eyes lightened up when I pulled out his blue shirt.

“There you go,” Jennifer cheered, “Put it on.”

Complying, I quickly took off the shirt and put the jersey on. It was obviously bigger than my first choice, going down until mid-thigh. I smelled his cologne on it when I pulled it over my head, inhaling more deeply than necessary.

“It looks good on you,” my friend - as I timidly considered her to be - commented with a thumbs up and I smiled shyly, taking out my hair from under it.

“We should head down to the bus soon, the others are probably on their way too now,” I said, looking at my watch.

-

The game was intense, to say the least. I cheered when Antoine scored another goal due to a penalty, but it got deathly quiet in the France corner with us as Argentine took the lead with two goals; one shortly before and after halftime.

Then it got loud again when three shots for France got kicked in the space of 11 minutes!

“That’s my boyfriend right there!” Anna shouted proudly when Mbappe shot his second goal, causing us all to laugh.

The game ended with 4:3 for France, sending them straight to the quarterfinals. I clapped along, the cheers booming around us as Jennifer hugged me in her euphoria. I hesitated before hugging her back slightly, smiling.

Since we were right at the first row, the guys came over instead of heading straight for the cabins after shaking the other team’s hands respectfully. I grew a little nervous when Antoine spotted me, his eyes widening in surprise at my attire.

“Congratulations,” I said as soon as he got into hearing range. He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling in happiness and stopped in front of me, the railings the only barrier between us.

“Thanks...are you...wearing my jersey?” he asked perplexed.

“Yeah, I had nothing else to wear,” I tried to play it off with a shrug but an elbow in the ribs caused me to wince, “I mean, I thought I could support your this way?”

His smile widened if possible and he bit his lip, rubbing his neck. “It suits you. You should wear it at every game.”

“Sure,” I agreed, inwardly sighing in relief. We talked a little about the game until the guys forced him to go to the cabins with them to change.

“Alright, I will see you at the hotel?” Antoine asked and I nodded in agreement. He smiled again before taking off with the others. An arm got placed around my shoulders and I glanced to my right to be met with the face of a slyly grinning Jennifer.

“What did I tell you?” she said, wiggling her eyebrows and I chuckled. “I don’t know why, but the guys get crazy whenever their girl wears their jersey.”

“He seems happy about it,” I commented, feeling a bit shy about it.

“He doesn’t seem like it, he totally is,” Jennifer corrected, pointing at the field, “Even now he can’t take his eyes off of you.”

I looked over, catching Antoine’s eyes. He smiled, waving at me before he almost toppled over an Argentine player sitting on the field. I laughed to myself, watching as he apologised profusely and jogged away with a red face.

“That guy is whipped,” Jennifer said and I caught myself before I could nod, my smile fading slightly. ‘Yes, but not by me.’

“Come on, let’s head back to the hotel. I’m sure there will be a celebration party!”

“Dear God, no!” I groaned when she dragged from the stands.

-

The party was in full swing two hours later. I observed the guys dancing with their wives/girlfriends or getting shit-faced drunk again like my husband next to me.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look in that shirt?” Antoine slurred and my heart skipped a beat at his words. I took a glimpse at the jersey, rolling my eyes when I remembered how he had insisted that I kept it on.

“The only time you ever did was right now,” I commented, “Thanks.”

He gasped in shock, “I never told you, you are beautiful before?!” I shook my head. “You’re the most beautiful human species I’ve ever seen, woman!”

I chuckled at his choice of words, swirling my drink around. “Sure.”

“I’m serious!”

“And I believe you,” I said untruthfully.

“You’re lying,” he accused and I raised my eyebrows. How could he tell I was when he was drunk but not when he was sober?

“Alright, maybe I am.”

“Why don’t you believe me, babe?” Antoine said, grasping the edge of the bar to pull himself closer clumsily. “I really think you’re the most beautiful.”

“I think you will find Cateline more attractive than me,” I dared to say, knowing he would not remember this the next morning anyway.

“Who’s Cateline?” he asked.

I scoffed, “Please.”

“I don’t know any Cateline,” he said with a hiccup, “Is that your mom’s name?”

I laughed, “No. Jesus, you are drunker than last time and it’s only been an hour.”

“Well, I got something to celebrate! Why are you not drunk with me?” he asked, nudging the drink in my hand up to me. “Bottoms up!”

“If I get drunk, who will take care of you?” I asked him teasingly and he puffed his chest out, “I don’t need taking care of. I’m a man.”

“Says the one that has Spongebob underwear on.”

“I have Spongebob underwear? That’s so cool!” I shook my head. This guy would be the death of me if I had to spend the rest of my life with him. But that wasn’t something I had to worry about...

“Hey, what’s with the long face?” he inquired, poking my cheek.

I smiled sadly, “Nothing. I think...I’m just gonna miss you despite everything.”

“Why? I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere,” he announced, holding up his pinky, “Promise!”

Chuckling, I hooked my own against his, “You might not. But I will...” Sighing, I downed the drink in my head, deciding that I wanted to forget about all of it for once. “You know what? Let’s get smashed!” I voiced out, causing my husband to holler.

Next thing I knew I woke up in bed, stark naked.

VII.

Help me Get Coffee Support?

[spockfallsinlove]

simple harmonies

prompt from @sierra198466​: After Beyond, Spock dumps Uhura and he realizes he loves Jim. He then finds out Jim has loved him since Into Darkness. word count: 2.2k ao3 link.

Spock has never known himself to do what humans refer to as “space out”. On the contrary, he does mental exercises daily to make sure his mind remains sharp. When there is a moment that he finds his thoughts floating from the current situation, he is normally able to bring himself back to reality.

However, during the whole conversation he and Nyota have, all he can seem to truly focus on are the wind chimes that are outside the coffee house door.

His mother had them, at their house. She used to say that it was the last non-electronic object that humans had to play music for them. The wind rarely gusted enough on Vulcan to make them sing; but whenever it did, she would look out the window and have one of her mysterious smiles that Spock never quite did figure out.

Like mother, like son. It is he who is transfixed, looking out the window, unable to look away as the chimes gently bump each other in the wind.

“We should end our romantic involvement with each other,” he says as Nyota takes a breath, ready to launch into the next part of her argument with him.

She stops. Blinks at him. “What did you say?”

The wind picks up again, knocking the littlest chime into the largest. A melodically odd tone results. “We should end our romantic relationship,” he repeats.

Nyota, for the first time since he’s known her, is speechless.

“Do you think that if we flew far enough in space, we could find the end of time?” Jim asks. He’s propped against the railing, staring out into the San Francisco bay.

Spock stops his vegetable gyro’s trajectory toward his mouth (it’s from a food truck that Jim insisted on them eating at; “the best in the galaxy” were his words). He frowns at his friend. “Modern physics suggests that a concept such as the ‘end of time’ is—”

Jim waves his hand, cutting Spock off. “I don’t want the science crap, any theorized evidence. What do you think?”

“Why do you wish to find the end of time?”

Jim shrugs. His hair is being lightly brushed by the wind and there’s a melancholic smile on his face that Spock cannot understand.  “If you can find the end, maybe you can trace it back. To where you want to go.”

Spock takes a thoughtful bite of his dinner and swallows before saying, “Even the ocean has an end. Technically.”

“It does, Spock,” Jim says, looking as if he’s seeing Spock for the first time, “it sure does.”

An hour after Spock leaves Nyota at the coffee shop, he receives an angry call from Doctor McCoy. He lets his phone ring itself to voicemail. The message is about as emotional as he expected.

“Listen you crazy hobgoblin—Nyota just told us what the hell you did. Just breaking up with her like that, no explanation, then walking out? Where the hell do you get off? You better believe that I’m going to kick that green ass of yours into the sky, and make sure you don’t get on the ship for that 5-year-mission—”

Spock deletes the message.

He stops at a crosswalk. People jostle his shoulder as they walk by. As is typical in the crowded streets of San Francisco, he feels fleeting snatches of their emotions and thoughts as they touch him: grocery lists running through people’s heads, worrying about who will pick up the kids at daycare, annoyance at how hot and sticky it is for a day in December.

Spock remains standing there. Staring into space, once again. The sound of windchimes stuck in his ears.

Spock tries to forget the day Jim got injured and almost died in his arms.

Peace talks with the people indigenous to Echo IV had not gone as expected. After refusing relations with the Federation, things had become tense. Jim, trying to calm down the situation, had gotten caught in the crossfire.

Spock’s hands were uncharacteristically shaking when he tore Jim’s shirt open to apply medical attention. McCoy was on the ship, since there was no anticipated danger at this meeting. Around the corner, the security team tried to manage the situation. Any requests for beam-ups were greeted with static.

“Spock.” Jim’s hand, stained with blood, caught Spock’s. “Leave it, find a way to get to the ship, just—”

“Cease talking.” Spock applied pressure to Jim’s wound. His mind was spinning. He could feel Jim’s agony through his skin.

“Get to the ship. Just be safe,” Jim choked out as he slipped from consciousness.

Spock tried to hail the Enterprise countless times. He helplessly watched as Jim’s face grew paler. Most of the security team had died, and Spock knew that soon it’d be him and Jim left. That Jim would die, either by someone else’s weapon or from his own wounds.

And all Spock could do is watch.

By the time the ship was finally hailed, and they were finally beamed aboard, McCoy had to stick a hypo into Spock’s neck to stop his body’s shaking.

It took five crew members to pull him off the unconscious captain.

It was standing over Jim’s sickbed, with Jim patched up and well and sipping water from a straw, that he finally relaxed. Breathed. He didn’t listen to the words that Jim said. He only watched his face, alive with emotions, and his lungs, expanding with breath.

It takes the whole afternoon before Nyota finally answers her comm. Spock is walking on the Starfleet Academy campus, which is empty due to the holidays, when his pocket buzzes.

“I wish to say I’m sorry,” Spock says, in a rush, before she can hang up.

She sighs angrily on the line. “I knew you weren’t a smooth talker, Spock, but, this... this takes the fucking cake.”

“I realize that I was … too forward.”

“Too forward?” she yells. “You didn’t even give me warning! One minute we’re arguing about me spending time on Vulcan with you, the next you’re dumping me in broad daylight! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I do not know.”

“Well…” She sighs again. “It’s not like I didn’t see it coming. But the way you did it, it just—” There’s a silence. “I’m pissed at you, Spock. And I will be for a long time. Don’t call me again, okay?”

“Underst—” The comm link cuts out. He pockets the device, and stands by a large oak tree.

A cadet walks by in his uniform and shouldering a backpack. He looks surprised that someone else is on campus before giving Spock a wry, understanding smile.

“What was your mother like?”

Jim is lying on the floor of Spock’s living room apartment, wine glass clutched in his hand. He stares up at Spock innocently.

“Why are you asking such a question?” is Spock’s reply.

“Tell me about your mom, and I’ll tell you about my dad.”

“You never knew your father.”

Jim lets loose a laugh. “Low blow, Spock. I know enough, okay? Now, tell me.” He sits up, legs crossed. “Just one thing.”

Spock doesn’t think about his mother often. It threatens his control.

But it’s Jim who’s asking.

“She loved nature,” Spock says. “She always tended faithfully to a garden in the backyard, and would cry if a plant died.”

“A happy thing about her, Spock.”

“I did not know these facts had to be so specific in nature.”

Jim raises his eyebrows, stares at Spock expectantly. Spock relents. “Very well, she... “ He pauses. “I never understood her. She seemed to have many secrets.”

Jim rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “I’ll never get anything out of you, will I?”

“Perhaps give me an example of what your father was like, so that I may see what you mean.”

Jim grins. “All right. Mom said that he used to sing to her all the time. He was really good at it.”

“You did not inherit this talent,” Spock observes.

“What? I’m awesome!”

“I have heard you in our adjoining bathroom on the ship.”

Jim laughs, a full-bodied one where his head is tilted back and his golden hair catches the light of the setting sun. “You’re such a jerk, you know that?”

Spock lets a small smile tug his lips.

Jim’s laughter dies down, and he takes a sip of wine. In the silence, Spock offers, “My mother loved music. Her favorite object in the house was the wind chimes that hung just outside our kitchen window.”

There’s a sad way about Jim’s eyes when he says, “I wish I could have met her.”

Spock feels something fissure his heart. “As do I.”

On his birthday a few weeks later, Jim showed up at his apartment with a small, blue windchime. Spock stared at it for approximately 9.78 seconds before accepting the gift.

Spock finds a bench to sit on the harbor boardwalk. The sun is dipping low in the horizon, making the ocean seem to glow.

He does not want to return home, just yet.

Since the coffee shop, his mind has been restless. Unordered. Jumping between memories and realities as if he were a living television set.

He remembers the last time he was on this boardwalk. The image of Jim is in his mind, face happy and open, eyes discerning the sea in front of him. Spock has no doubt that he could take the world by storm if he wished; the galaxy included.

Jim could have anything if he set his mind to it. Could have anyone. It’s illogical; if these are the facts, then what does Jim need with an awkwardly socialized half-Vulcan?

Spock frowns at his shoes. The idea of Jim not needing him… is frightening. When Spock himself needs Jim so.

Spock’s gaze snaps to the ocean. The pieces in his mind burst together in a colorful, clarifying light.

Jim is at his apartment door when Spock returns, sitting against the door. He quickly scrambles to his feet when he sees Spock.

“Where the hell were you?” Jim asks angrily. “I’ve been calling and looking everywhere!”

“I have just been to your apartment,” Spock explains, unsteadily. “You were not there.”

“Because I’ve been waiting for you, you idiot! I’ve gotten hundreds of messages from Bones, Uhura, even Chekov has heard about it and is upset—”

“I regret worrying you,” Spock supplies, lamely, as he takes out his keys. He walks into his living room as Jim follows him through the door.

“What, you just break Uhura’s heart and then take off? And don’t even tell anyone where you were? You’ve been M.I.A all day!”

Spock places his keys on the coffee table. “I am aware.”

Jim puts both hands on his hips, glaring at him. “So, what, no explanation? You’re just gonna stand there?”

“I was attempting to find you. I need to—”

“Then why didn’t you call me? Why did I have to—”

“I am in love with you.”

Jim stares at him. His mouth remains slack, his eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

“It’s why I was attempting to find you.” Spock sits on his couch, hands on his knees to stop them from shaking. “I have come to this realization 3.57 hours ago. I regret not realizing and telling you sooner. And I regret not knowing this as I was ending my relationship with Uhura. But I assure you, I will give her an explanation.”

Jim stares at him. “You’re kidding me.”

“I assure you, I am not.”

“How can you just—sit there and deliver that news like it’s the fucking weather?”

“It is a fact. I thought it best for you to know.”

Jim puts a hand on his forehead, shaking his head. “Uhura’s gonna kill me.”

“I understand that the likelihood of you reciprocating my feelings is 5.456%,” Spock says, almost too quickly, “due to the fact that you have not shown amorous feelings for me in the past. I understand if you were to open my position to applicants, as working with me may now seem impossible. If you were to—”

“Spock.” Jim walks to the couch and stands close enough so that their knees touch. He stares down at him. “Shut up.”

Spock obeys. Jim kneels down to Spock’s eye level.

“Do you remember when I died?”

Spock goes tense. “I do not see what that has to do with—”

“Spock. Just answer the question.”

“Of course I remember. It is a stupid question.”

Jim closes his eyes in frustration. “God, you’re making this difficult.” He takes a breath and opens his eyes. “When I died, I couldn’t really get words out. And there was that… damn glass between us. So I couldn’t tell you what was really in my head.”

“Tell me what?”

Spock’s breath hitches when Jim is suddenly taking his hand, holding it between his. “I’ve loved you for years, you stupid Vulcan.”

Spock’s heart feels to have stopped. He takes time to illogically memorize the moment; the shadows casting on Jim’s face, the complete stillness in his normally animated expression. But only a moment, because Spock cannot stay still any longer and is framing Jim’s face with his hands, bringing him forward in a very human, very emotional kiss.

“Finally,” Jim breathes on Spock’s lips between kisses, moving to bracket Spock’s legs with his. They fit together flawlessly; effortlessly. As if the small moments between them were meant to lead to this.

In the distance, on the flight of the wind, Spock can hear the chimes.

[wannawrite]

Bar Goer

who?: JBJ’s Kim Donghan

genre: 🌸

type: bullet point

TW: alcohol

blog navigator.

donghan isn’t very successful at finding true love at clubs but trying doesn’t hurt anyone

inspired by kdrama ‘Tempted (The Great Tempter)

I’m so upset that jbj is going to disband so quickly 😭😭😭 it’s just a HUGE disappointment. This request went straight to the top of my priority list. They deserve to disband with dignity.

I’ll probably still take requests for them - same with W1 - bc I love them so much.

Thanks for requesting anon!!

- admin l

bc he deserves more

disclaimer: pictures used do not belong to me and credit goes to their original owners

everything that is written here is purely fictional

DO NOT READ IF TRIGGERING

~

No one has heard of a seducer greater than Kim Donghan

he had cherry lips, shielding a bitterly sweet tongue

he walked with a wicked stride, confident and narcissistic

Donghan was fresh out of school, just a 20 year old

yet, the neighbourhood gossip column stated he had wormed his way into the heart of a much older woman

she was his classmate’s mother

the reason he spent all night flattering her with sweet nothings and a couple of deep kisses?

likely because he wanted free alcohol for himself

why had he gone to that particularly expensive club only open to the guest list?

because his best friend and partner in crime, Hyunbin, had gotten free entry for both of them

troublemakers, those two

Donghan would go to that extent for free drinks

and he had the highest alcohol tolerance out of the people in his class

crazy

all the caused was chaos

Donghan would seduce anyone, anything, for whatever reason

if it was given by his other best friend, the aristocratic Kim Sanggyun

or if he felt like it was worth the chase and effort

some people nicknamed the trio TriK

Tri for three

K for Kwon and double Kim

and TriK for how deceiving they look

they trio played pranks on everyone and anyone

their other close friends, Taehyun, Kenta and Yongguk were helpless to stop them

tbh they didn’t really care as long as Taehyun did not have to wake up at 3am to bail Hyunbin out of jail

besides, it wasn’t like TriK to be so mundane and muted

they just bore too bright and wild personalities

Taehyun let out a disgruntled sigh. ‘Donghan, if I receive one more angry text for a heart broken person, I’m doing to snap your neck.’

Donghan simply shrugged, a knowing grin on his face

people liked to think Taehyun was the most responsible in the clique and often went to him for advice or to take revenge on Donghan

like Donghan ever cared about what his hyungs had to say about him

they too had given up long ago and just let him carry out his activities

it wasn’t like seducing was fatal

or was it?

‘Hyung, don’t be mad. I’m here, I bought you your favourite sushi from Tokyo! Cheer up!’ lovesick Hyunbin attempted to lift Sanggyun’s sulky mood.

he only pressed his lips into a thin line and twirled his chopsticks in his hands

‘it isn’t fair how she just moves on so quickly just two years after she signed divorce papers,’ he seethed. ‘Does she want the chairman or does she want JK group?’

it had been a long day of settling unpleasant affairs

to begin with, Sanggyun was forced to attend some gala that his mother’s company, Myeong Jeong Healthcare had organised

smile for the cameras

talk to stuck up ‘friends’ or ‘diplomatic allies’ who cared about nothing else than the Kim family’s bank account

entertain guests

To end the dessert course on the sweetest note possible, his mother announced her engagement to JK Group’s chairman

more commonly addressed as Kim Donghan’s father

Donghan too was obliged attend and witnessed the announcement

It was too soon after his father had erased any trace of him from his life

throwing out of the family home just hours after Donghan’s graduation ceremony

Donghan had disappeared shortly following the loud declaration

he was last seen driving off in a red sports car that was not registered under his name

Sanggyun had finally released all his pent-up frustration, throwing wine glasses at walls and crunching him up in his hands

his shouts shook the whole building from the carpark level

Hyunbin’s effort was useless

Sanggyun was not to be stopped

in the end, Sanggyun had to be hospitalised because of his injuries and emotional distress

obviously, he wasn’t one for bland hospital food so Hyunbin had made sure to grab his favourite

meanwhile, Donghan was out somewhere by himself, most likely equally traumatised

the next day, Donghan paid Sanggyun a visit

‘I can’t stand this,’ Sanggyun whined, referring to his hospital gown and IV drip.

which Hyunbin had been desperately tried to keep in place

uhh by preventing Sanggyun from ripping it out

perhaps he also meant that he couldn’t stand Donghan’s dad marrying his mum

‘Let’s go somewhere, do something,’ Donghan suggested.

‘whenever you say that...you mean let’s go clubbing...’ Hyunbin raised his eyebrows

his friend’s lips stretched into a smile. ‘Why not? I know of a new club that just opened.’

Hyunbin crossed his arms over his chest, pressing his lips into a thin line. ‘I think it’ll be best if we just called pizza and chicken in. Right, Sanggyun? You love that chicken place down the road.’

how the hell am I going to manage to emotionally unstable drunk boys?

‘Actually,’ Sanggyun began, tearing at his IV drip. ‘Checking out that new club sounds nice and we’ll call pizza in to cure the hangover.’

he wanted the thick liquid to burn as it slipped down his throat

Donghan felt like he just needed the adrenaline from clubs, maybe grab a drink or two but he didn’t feel like inhaling alcohol tonight

he just wanted some time away from all the chaos

hyunbin knew the night wasn’t going to end in the most spectacular fashion but that never stopped him from hopping in

‘There are too many nurses and security on duty as of now,’ Donghan hissed, teeth gritted

the quicker they left and arrived back the better

less suspicious

less problematic

less chaotic

a bundle of black nylon was shoved into his hands.

unravelling the package, his hands met with sturdy rope

‘hyung, you never come unprepared,’ he whispered in disbelief. His hyungs were always so unpredictable

Hyunbin locked the door behind him as Donghan pushed the window open

they were lucky to have gotten such a hospital ward 

imagine if the windows were sealed 

but no, Sanggyun threw a fuss about how he was allergic to some chemicals

the contractor was in to redo some windows of different wards 

Sanggyun hastily slipped into the different set of clothes and fluffed up the blanket to make it look like he was asleep 

with a thud, the rope landed on the other side of the wall

the knot reeling to keep it secure 

under the pastel hues of sunset, three boys shimmied down the wall of a hospital

the moon reached its peak by the time they set off for an adventure

~

for Kim Donghan, getting into some of the city’s most exclusive clubs was no big deal

he just had to cut the line and give the bouncer a small smile before the velvet rope was pulled back and he was ushered through the doors 

he did frequent clubs quite a bit 

but most of the time it was to meet Hyunbin or Sanggyun 

it didn’t necessarily mean he got hammered 24/7 

he just found the atmosphere one to suit his mood at given times 

strobe lights, loud music, the scent of sweat and alcohol almost seemed more welcoming than the icy draft that wafted through his ‘father’s’ house 

a/n: in the drama, a reason why Sihyun gets kicked out is as he isn’t the legitimate son of his ‘father’

from what I know 

please don’t spoil it for me 😬🙏🏼

Donghan takes on Sihyun’s role, Sanggyun as Sooji and Hyunbin as Sejoo 

but tonight, Donghan just feels like having a beer before napping on the plush seats in the VIP lounge 

there was no room for hooking up or ruining someone’s ego today 

that was his plan 

if he succeeded in getting through the insane VIP line 

usually, the VIP line would have one - the most two people - in it 

however, tonight was strangely packed 

he was Kim Donghan

if there was an event, he would have been informed of it by his contacts 

but he hadn’t even heard anything on the grapevine about tonight 

weird 

Sanggyun was beginning to get impatient, worried about how he was going to explain himself to his mother should they be caught 

‘I’ll go check out the situation up front.’ Donghan pushed and squeezed his way through until he could see the doors 

after some eavesdropping, he concluding the club was hosting someone’s birthday 

‘hey, you!’ someone yelled. ‘Don’t cut the line, dick move.’ 

Donghan wanted to roll his eyes but he controlled himself, flashing his signature grin that made even people with the most concrete hearts melt into a puddle of cement 

unfortunately, it only earned him an icy cold glare from the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen 

oh, how he wished they would be filled with adoration instead of annoyance 

the girl it’s been so long since we specified genders scoffed at him, then returned to chatting with her friends 

Donghan felt a pang of guilt - an emotion he rarely felt 

he slipped back into his spot in the queue 

thankfully, Sanggyun and Hyunbin were too engaged in a chitchat to mind him much

staff came a few minutes later to clear the customers into the club 

Donghan ignored the bar and the impressive array of drinks, mood spoiled by the earlier interaction 

for the next half an hour, he spent it wallowing on the VIP room couch, crunching on the occasional snack 

red had spread across Sanggyun’s face like a sunburn as he sipped his brew

Hyunbin was more concerned about keeping his friends sober than drinking 

but we all know this boy can drink 

‘this is no fun,’ Sanggyun started to whine. ‘We came to forget about being sad but we’re just crying in the club.’ 

‘it’s better than sobbing in the hospital,’ he added quietly 

• Hyunbin nudged Donghan in the ribs. ‘Come on, our little seducer, who do you fancy tonight?’ 

Donghan stared off into space, propping his face in his hands, his mind not even pondering about it. 

carelessly, he replied, ‘I’ll talk to whoever walks through the doors next.’ 

that person would mostly be someone he was already acquainted with 

you had to be extraordinary to access the VIP lounge 

TriK was no exception 

His friends snickered. ‘Done deal.’ 

Donghan did NOT expect the next person to be you 

he regretted his words

such an impetuous comment, what a grave mistake 

Sanggyun threw his hands into a clap, pouting lips tugged into a smirk

‘there’s your target, Romeo.’

swearing, Donghan took a sip of Hyunbin’s beer

he observed as you approached the private bar and perched on one of the barstools, chatting up the mixologist like he was your best friend 

nerves began to settle into his stomach like never before 

whatever  

I’ve done this more than a billion times, what could be so different about this one? 

Donghan moved to the twin barstool before anyone else could take his place 

he winked at the bartender, cueing his usual drink 

seeing it was the insolent young man you had previously encountered, you edged further away from him 

‘waiting for someone?’ 

you turned at the sound of his deep voice, meeting his sultry smirk and dark eyes 

sucking back a snarky reply, you only uttered a finite ‘yes’. 

‘shall I accompany you?’ 

such a try hard 

you refrained from rolling your eyes, instead, you sent a killer smile his way

‘no need. I don’t associate myself with people like you,’ you bit back 

ouch,,, that has got to sting 

panicked, Donghan sampled his drink, brain clogs reeling to come up with an answer 

he feigned nonchalance, shrugging his shoulders which shifted his shirt to show off a pair of defined collarbones 

‘excuse me.’ you began to slip out of your seat. ‘I came here with a purpose and with friends, so...I’m not wasting any more time with you.’

arrows shot into Donghan’s heart and smashed it into smithereens 

the feeling he had was completely foreign, they felt like cupid’s arrows 

he was baffled by the new wave of emotions 

hmm cupid had spoken, there would be another chance won’t there be?

~

‘who cares?’ your best friend yelled after hearing your story. ‘He’s so hot! There won’t be any strings attached anyway. That’s why we came anyway, isn’t it?’ 

you cringed, pulling a face at her reaction 

he was kind of hot though...

‘you HAVE to grab him before others do! I see he’s caused quite a stir.’ 

her words were true, quite a number of people swarmed that guy and his bunch of friends as they emerged from the VIP lounge 

I’ll see if he makes a move first 

your glass slams down on the table, making your way to the dance floor 

across the club, Donghan spots your figure immediately

he keeps his eyes trained on you as you sway to the music, moving your hips to the beat 

to your surprise, Donghan simply flittered off into the crowd without even making eye contact 

oh 

disappointment flooded you for some odd reason 

an hour ago, you were disgusted by his presence and even shooed him off 

now, you wanted his attention...desperately 

blame the hormones 

still, this sort of behaviour was so unlike yours

@ spiked alcohol 

don’t spike anyone’s alcohol, that shit ain’t cool and it’s so gross and uncalled for 

you retired to a quieter corner of the bar, feet aching from the killer heels 

you felt someone’s arm lean against the bar counter, trapping you in your seat 

‘where’s your friend?’ the same voice asked. 

‘hmm, not here right now,’ you whispered, voice low. ‘But you are.’ 

Donghan chose to ignore your latter comment, playing hard to get. 

‘having a fun night?’ he made sure his eyes met yours for at least 10 seconds before breaking away for 11 seconds 

you paused, deliberating on your answer. 

yes or yes but in italics

doing something crazy for once wouldn’t hurt you 

‘no,’ you replied, tone huskier than before. ‘not without you.’ 

damn sweetie wyd

before you knew it, Donghan’s lips were inches away from yours, beckoning you to close the gap 

ask before you kiss anybody 

your lips captured his and his hands trailed down the curves of your waist, finding their seating on your hips 

I’m reading my bible 8 times after this brb 

he tasted like sour lemon and spicy vodka, tampered with a hint of cherry cola 

his lips were plump and experience, puckered at a certain angle, tilted to a certain degree 

it was electrifying, terrifying almost 

unintentionally, you pressed closer to him, only craving more 

and causing a whirlwind of pretty butterflies to flutter in his stomach 

idk shit abt kissing too i’ve only kissed my dog 

Donghan finally pulled away to catch a breath, his hands left your form and rested on the seat of the barstool instead 

*denies second kiss* • he was toying with you, making you crave more, driving you insane with his teasing 

‘tell me your name,’ you demanded, cheeks heating up 

he chuckled in response, deep and growly yet playful 

‘It’s Donghan.’ 

Donghan moved to the other side of the bar, possibly only to get water but you followed him - not with just your eyes

he kept you company, offering small tipsy talk but refused any of your further advances 

from time to time, he made a flirtatious remark or played with your hair, maybe dropped a compliment or two

you forced yourself to respond neutrally to them 

eventually, his friends caught up with him

one was flushed pink and the other was supporting him 

they needed him to leave 

‘when will I see you again,’ you blurted out. ‘I want to.’ 

Donghan only smiled, giving your hand a light squeeze 

it was unclear if his gestures were out of assurance or a farewell  

you had to see him 

some unexplainable attraction willed you to 

you would hanker after him if you had to 

‘you want to know more, you’ll have to cave into the chase, sweetheart.’ 

how sweet 

you didn’t understand why people got themselves dead drunk at clubs when they could do this instead

[bosstoaster]

A veterinarian AU

0) Veterinarian AU?  More like Veteran-arian AU.  As in, Old Dogs Senior Sanctuary AU

I) Shiro needs a dog

That much is true.  Pidge knows that from the bottom of her heart.  She’s seen how he is with Baebae, who still goes nuts whenever he comes over for dinner, even when pushing 14.  More importantly, she sees how Shiro gets when Baebae runs and greets him.  

When Shiro starts looking tired and too distant, Pidge calls Mom and has her text him with an invitation that evening.  He has more trouble saying no when it’s Colleen asking, and Pidge isn’t above using it.  It means he gets a good meal in him, and he’ll join Mom on the couch for a glass of wine and bad TV shows while Pidge plays games on her DS.  Baebae curls up between them both, content to have someone petting him at all times.

Then Mom will start, just before it goes to dark, and announce that she’s forgotten to take Baebae on his walk today, what a shame.  Shiro always, always perks and immediately offers to do it for her, too quick to be purely polite.  Mom puts on a show of telling him he doesn’t have to, but gives him the harness and smiles as he sets off with Baebae at a jog.

When he comes back, usually about half an hour later, his eyes are brighter and his smile is wider.  When Baebae leans against his side, panting, Shiro beams.

A dog is exactly what Shiro needs.  

(read more below)

Coincidence of coincidence, Pidge just happens to work at an animal shelter.

But just saying ‘you need a pet, specifically a dog, because it helps with your PTSD’ isn’t Pidge’s style, and it’s more likely to get Shiro to back off and stop accepting Mom’s invitations.  She needs to be sneakier.

So Pidge does the unimaginable.

She uses her cell phone as an actual phone.

“Pidge?” Shiro asks, when he picks up.  His surprise is understandable.  Pidge has never called him.  Texts him, sure.  All the time.  But not calls.  “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong-wrong,” she answers, sitting down on a bench in the waiting room and kicking her legs.  “I had car trouble this morning, so it’s in the shop.  Mom drove me in to volunteering, but she can’t pick me up.  Are you busy?”

“Of course not,” Shiro replies immediately.  “Let me grab my keys.  Text me the address?”

Pidge beams, both because she appreciates the ‘favor’ and because her clever plot is working.  “’Course.  Thanks so much, Shiro.”

“No problem at all.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

When Shiro pulls up, Pidge is waiting for him outside.   He steps over, wearing a jacket and gloves despite the fact that it’s nearly 60 degrees.

Pidge grins.

“Thanks again.  And, hey, while we’re here, want to meet the dogs?”

Shiro opens his mouth.

Hesitates.

“I could say hi.”

II) But Shiro isn’t as predictable as Pidge plans

Rather than let himself be drowned in puppies or run around out back, Shiro stops dead in front of one dog in particular.

She’s a much older dog, some odd mix of breeds that no one has ever been able to pin down.  Most people guess there’s husky in her, maybe some chocolate lab.  From her size, Pidge thinks there might be newfoundland in her.

The dog is huge, all black, fluffy as hell, and about twelve years old.  She’s set in her ways like a grandma, and still surprisingly active for her age.

“Hello,” Shiro murmurs, in that soft voice he uses just for dogs.  He holds out his arms, and the dog totters over, then collapses expectantly into his lab.  She gazes up at him, tail giving one single thump, as if asking where her attention is, thank you very much.

Shiro immediately scratches under her huge floppy ears, his eyes practically sparkling.

He’s in love.  Pidge could already tell.

“What’s her name?” He asked, breathless under the weight of the dog.

Behind him, Hunk laughs and pulls off his lab coat.  “We just call her Black.  Not our most original name.”

Shiro shakes his head, looking as if the name ‘Black’ for a big black dog is a revelation.  “Her name is perfect,” he declares, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  He’s rewarded with another one of those tail thumps.

When Pidge had started this whole plot, she’d been thinking a puppy for Shiro.  Or, if he didn’t want to deal with that, maybe a dog that was only a couple of years old.  One with years left to go, because if she’s going to get Shiro tangled up in a dog, she doesn’t want it to end so soon.  Shiro has enough bad days without losing a pet.

Her own fault for not leading him better.

Even so, Pidge isn’t going to say that aloud now.  Not when Shiro looks the happiest she’s seen him in months.  

“Want me to get her file?”  The question is half to Shiro, and half to Hunk.  He’s the vet on duty, so he’d be better at walking Shiro through the ins and outs of owning an older dog.

Hunk’s brows rose.  “Yeah, that’s a good idea.  If nothing else, I’ll be able to answer more questions you have about her, Shiro.”

Nodding, Shiro continues to card his fingers through the thick fur.  Pidge is pretty sure he didn’t hear the question at all.

This might end badly but-

Well, Pidge can’t be sorry when it makes Shiro look like that.

In fact, she pauses to snag a picture and text it to her brother with a devil smiley face emoji.

Then she goes to get the file.

III) Shiro goes further than Pidge was expecting

“Fostering?” Keith asks, brows up.  “You just got one dog.  You want more?”

Shiro grins from the couch from under his mountain of a dog.  “Sure.  It’s not like I don’t take in strays anyway.”  He nods to Keith and Pidge both, looking very pleased at himself for the joke.

Rolling his eyes, Keith picks up one of Black’s new chew toys and squeaks it.  She bounds over at force, with far more energy than a dog that age should have.  The force of her jumping off his lap makes Shiro groan, which was probably Keith’s plan.  He still obligingly throws it for Black, who lobs off into the kitchen after it.  Her nails scratch and slide the whole way on the tile flooring.  “I’m serious, Shiro.”

“I am too,” he replied, shrugging.  “It’s not like I don’t have the space, right?  And I’m doing something in between PT.  It’s nice.”

Shiro really does have the space for more than one dog.  The little ranch home is more than big enough for just him, and Keith has been renting out a guest room for months now.  Neither of them seems ready to give up the arrangement, and Pidge has learned to stop asking.

Most importantly, it has a huge lawn.  Shiro used to joke he’d make a garden and grow his own food.  Pidge had immediately asked if he planned on freezing everything and heating it up in the microwave.

“Black’s pretty good with other dogs,” Pidge offers, shrugging.  “And Shiro’s capable of keeping up with at least a couple.  It won’t happen for a while anyway.  Background checks and all that always take forever to come back in.��

Shiro nods agreeably.  “So if it turns out to not work, or if I think I have enough work with one dog, I can back out.  But, really, it’s fine.”  Black comes back and drops the top in Shiro’s lap, tail thumping.  He picks it up in the prosthetic arm, probably because it’s covered in drool, and throws it.  Then she barrels off again.

Slowly, Keith leans back in the couch.  “I mean, alright,” he allows.  As if he’d put up a real fight in the first place.  As if he hadn’t laid down on the floor so Black could flop over him as soon as Shiro had brought her home.  His eyes roam over Shiro’s face, head tilted.  “So why?”

“Why what?”

“I mean, you usually have a reason when you sign up for something like this.  What brought it on?”

Pidge snickers and sips from her soda.  “Because he found out how long it takes for older dogs to get adopted.”

Cheeks pink, Shiro shrugged.  “It’s a good thing to do.  It keeps Black socialized, and the dog gets more individual care and attention.  Focusing on older dogs just helps free up kennel space for dogs who get adopted quicker anyway.”

Glancing at Pidge, Keith smirks, and she grins back.

Shiro has a cause again.  It’ll be good for him.  

Black comes back, toy even more drool-slick than before, and Shiro takes it with a smile.

It’ll be good for both of them.

IV) It’s Hunk who takes it even further

“Everything seems to be going well,” he comments, leaning in the doorway to the backyard.  As he watches, Shiro tries to jog, while a small pack of dogs follows behind him enthusiastically.  “No noise complaints?”

Keith shakes his head, not looking away from the parade of veteran and dog.  “No.  We’re pretty far out from the nearest neighbors, actually.  It’s worked out.”

It’s on the tip of Pidge’s tongue to ask about money and how they keep it up, but she keeps it to herself.  Shiro has never struggled, and he seems uncomfortable when anyone comments.  She knows better, now.  “At this point, Shiro could just open his own adoption agency,” she drawls instead.

“Actually, you’re not wrong,” Hunk says.

Pidge pauses, brows furrowed.  “Sorry, what?”

“Ever hear of senior dog sanctuaries?”

Pidge hasn’t, but Keith pauses.  “Like that one facebook group?”

Smiling, Hunk nods.  “Yeah, probably.  There’s a couple who are pretty well known now.  They taken in older dogs, fostering and just a place to stay until, well.  They stay comfortable.  And older dogs don’t tend to fight as much, so they’re much easier to let wander around and hang out together.”

“Doesn’t that take- you have to make it a business.  Or a non-profit, or whatever it takes.”  Pidge blinks rapidly, thinking about it.  “It’d need people to work on it and infrastructure.”

Hunk nods.  “I mean- it’s a thought, not anything serious.  That’s why I’m telling you, not Shiro.  I don’t want him to feel obligated.”

“I mean, website stuff isn’t a problem,” Pidge said.  “I could do that.  And I’ve been volunteering at the SCPA for years now.  I know a thing or two about how to take care of dogs.”

Keith tilts his head, thinking about it.  “It’s not the worst idea,” he agrees.  “We’d need more than just Shiro and me to take care of it.”

“I have a friend who lives near here,” Hunk says.  “Lance.  He used to work at the SCPA too.  He’s been complaining to me about the commute to get back to town.”

“It sucks,” Keith agrees, vehement.

Hunk nods.  “If you guys make this work, he’d be happy to help out.  Me too.  On call vet, and an on call vet to be.”  He nudges Pidge fondly.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Pidge mutters, but it’s fond.  Hunk has been saying she should go to veterinary school for years now.  She’s considering it.  After all, she doesn’t need a degree in computer science to prove she can program better than most professionals.  She has a portfolio for that.

“It’s just an idea,” Hunk repeats.  “But Shiro seems happy.”

He does.

Pidge glances at Keith.  Keith looks back, brows up.

“We’ll run it by him,” Keith says.

V) Lance turns out to be more than just help with the dogs.  He covers what Pidge can’t - an engaging social media presence.

“How many hits?” Shiro asks, choking on his water.

“Half a million since this weekend,” Lance replies, grinning widely.  He’s smug about it, but he’s earned it.  Half a million views on a video in less than a week is no small feat.  “I’m telling you, it’s easy.  The internet isn’t just for cats, you know.”

Pidge glances up from her laptop.  “Hits on the website have skyrocketed too.  We’ve been getting donations all week.  Mostly small stuff - the average is like ten bucks.  But it adds up fast.”

“Huh,” Shiro murmurs, eyes wide.  He leans back in his chair, and immediately Black sticks her head in his lap, demanding attention.  He provides it mildly.  “I never really thought…”

“A combat veteran running a charity all about fostering and caring for older dogs?” Keith says, chin resting on his palm.  “Are you kidding me?  I’m surprised every local paper with an interest section hasn’t already asked for an interview.”

Lance perks, eyes brightening.  “Good point.  We should call them.  Get Hunk here for photos, too.”

Blinking slowly, Shiro opens his mouth, shuts it, then tries again.  “If it keeps getting results like this?  Whatever you want, Lance.”

“Awesome.”  Lance beams.  “I like those words.  Those are very good words.  Can I get that in writing?”

“Don’t push it.”

But Shiro is smiling, and it’s the easy, carefree smile he’s worn since they started this.

Shiro needed a dog.

Now all of them help care for what’s approaching a dozen.

It isn’t what Pidge had been planning, but sometimes reality outperforms her expectations.

Occasionally.

[silverfootstepswrites]

title With Me summary I’m sorry I’m not more like you pairing itasaku, tobisaku, hot messes

Part i | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi (here) | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

Sakura ran her tongue along the backs of her teeth. She stared over the railing, cheek in her hand. She glanced down at her watch.

“Do you want me to tell him to hurry up?” asked Tenten. Sakura flapped her hand at her.

“Don’t bother. He looks like he’s having fun,” she replied.

The wet smash of Sai’s bat filled the room. In the pauses, as he swung, she could hear his laughter. Sakura looked down at her watch again. Let out a sigh. Watched the second hand pass the diamonds under each number.

On second thought=

“Sai lo,” she called out. He didn’t stop. Sakura leaned further over the railing. 

“Little brother!” Sakura called out again. Sai swung his bat up again, but then he lifted his head. Blood flecked his face. His entire shirt was drenched dark red. His hair was wet too. 

“I’m heading back. Can you clean up on your own here?” she questioned. Sai looked down at the tarp-covered floor. Underneath, it was covered with a thick layer of clear vinyl. The edges were sealed with waterproof tape. Even the puddles of blood that had gathered in the folds shouldn’t have touched the concrete underneath. Sai ran a red hand through his hair. He smiled, eyes crinkling.

“Yeah, Boss. I’ve got it,” he replied. 

He held out his hand. One of the underlings came forward with a hammer. Sakura disappeared back over the railing. The thud that followed made Tenten flinch. Rubbing the back of her neck, she followed Sakura to the door. 

“All this time, I thought that was his real name,” she remarked. Sakura looked back at her, smiling.

“No. I call him Sai for Sai Lo, like little brother. It’s cute, isn’t it?” explained Sakura. She looked at Tenten for a second longer as she pulled a cigarette out of the pack. 

“Why? You want to be called little sister too?” she asked. Sakura offered the pack to Tenten. Tenten made a face as she took one and lit it. She stuck it in her mouth, still making that mild look of disgust. Sakura laughed as she leaned in to light her own. Tenten met her eyes, and Sakura could see how hard she was trying not to laugh too. 

Sakura walked ahead, hands in the pockets of her coat. Smoke trailing after her like a long tail.

“You’re really not sick of me yet? I don’t plan on dying anytime soon, you know.”

“Not at all, Boss.”

The first day of August, Sakura woke with her sheets soaked with sweat. Her eyes snapped open. 

She fumbled on her nightstand for the remote for the air conditioner. Lowered the temperature several degrees. And then laid on her back, arms spread. Fingers touching the edges of the mattress. As the air conditioner pumped out the cold air, Sakura waited for the sweat to dry. For her breathing to even out again. 

The clock said that it was almost 6 am. She had gone to bed less than two hours ago. She knew that something in her dreams had woken her. Not the heat or the too-soft bed. But the harder she tried to remember, the more the details slipped away. Like trying to grab water with her bare hands. 

It was really only at times like these that she glanced over. Glared at the empty pillow like it was to blame for all of this. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand. Out of the few people that she wouldn’t mind talking to, none would be awake at the moment. 

Almost as a joke, she found Itachi’s number. Sent him a message. Dozed off again with her phone tucked under her cheek. She opened her eyes again when it lit up half an hour later. 

Well, if you’re awake anyway, would you like to have breakfast? he asked. 

Sakura squinted down at the phone. Almost laughed.

Have you lost your mind?

A little. Only when it comes to you, though.

Reading the message, Sakura tossed her phone aside. Clicking her tongue against her teeth, she glared up at the ceiling. 

She shouldn’t have messaged him.

When Sakura got out of bed, it was to pour herself a drink. And then another. She tossed back the first, but then let the second one sit. Whiskey warming in her hand. Sat on the foot of the bed, glaring out the window. 

Her phone lit up again. 

Then, would you be more open to having a drink later?

Sakura stared at the message. Face blank. And then her eyes drifted to the dresser. To the single vase of cool water roses. Light purple, almost grey petals spiraling together. For some odd reason, the florist hadn’t trimmed the thorns. 

Blue Note. 4.

She tossed the phone aside. It surprised her when the screen lit up again. 

Sorry, my little brother has a special presentation at school today. Are you free a little later tonight?

Sakura scoffed. She ran a hot bath. Sipping on the whiskey as her toes turned into prunes. 

Sai found her in Akihabara that afternoon. He walked into the tapas bar, already looking irritated. 

“Who comes to Tokyo to eat tapas?” he grumbled, taking a seat at the bar next to her. Sakura only raised her eyebrows. She pointed at her wine. He shook his head. 

“You seem like you’re in a crappy mood. Anything happen?” Sai asked. She looked at him. Unsmiling. He sighed. Put his elbow up on the bar as he watched her order for them. When the waiter was gone, he flicked idly at a speck of dust on the bar.

“You know, Boss...” he drawled. Sakura turned her head towards him. “If you wanted a drinking buddy. You could have just asked.”

Sakura ignored him. Sai motioned for the bartender.

“Get us two more of whatever she’s having,” Sai said, pointing at Sakura’s glass. 

But an hour into their meal, just when Sai was going to suggest heading to the club soon, Sakura’s phone vibrated on top of the bar. In fact, the entire screen lit up. And the calls and texts she had ignored dragged down the screen like a list to hell. But the one call buzzed bright at the top. And it wasn’t one she wanted to ignore. She sighed. 

“Wei,” she answered right there. She had bought out all the other seats in the place. There was no one around to eavesdrop.

“So... you remember Sam Ma, Boss?” Tenten said. Sakura could hear the wind crackling past on the other end of the line.

“Yeah. Dirty Sam. Good source of clean H,” recalled Sakura. He was an old face, from way back when she was still pouring drinks at the karaoke bar. Sai’s eyebrows rose. He already had his phone out. 

“Well, when I sent some of the boys to collect this month’s payment from him, he said he was working for Fai Tsai now,” snapped Tenten. Sakura heard tires screech in the background. A car horn blared. And then Tenten screamed at someone to fuck their mother. 

“Diu. That’s a shame. Dirty Sam was kind of handsome,” Sakura remarked, looking down at her nails. She would have to get them done again.

“Was?” repeated Tenten.

“Was. Dirty Sam made a deal with me. Personally. So I’ll handle this. Personally,” Sakura declared. And then she hung up. 

“One ticket back home, Boss?” asked Sai, scrolling through the flight times.

“Two. Charlie can stop in to check on things while we’re gone,” replied Sakura. Her phone rang again.

“And get me a window seat,” she added. And then she strode out of the bar, barking into the receiver: “Diu lei lo mo. Can’t you do anything right? Why is it that Tenten had to call me to let me know about this? Are all your fingers broken? You couldn’t even text me?” 

That night, mist clogging up the stars, Sakura’s plane landed. Zabuza and Tenten picked them up in the usual black car. Tenten glanced over the sheer white blouse and high-heeled sandals. While fitting for the tropical weather, it wasn’t as practical for night’s scheduled activities.

“Do you need time to go change, Boss?” asked Tenten.

“No,” Sakura retorted, arms folded across her chest. 

They found Dirty Sam at his usual hangout. A dingy little yum cha place. He was shoveling soup dumplings into his mouth when Sakura walked in. Broth dripped from his lips. Plastic chopsticks clicking against the sides of his bowl. The sounds of Sakura’s heels clicking against the tile made him freeze mid-slurp. He lifted his head. Eyes darting to the exits until they settled on her. 

Sakura slid into the empty seat across from him. She put her elbow up on the plastic table, cheek in her palm.

“Do you want to talk or do I have to make a scene?” she queried. 

Letting out a nervous laugh, Dirty Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “...Mei, it’s been a while. Have you eaten?” He pointed at the bamboo steamer sitting between them. There were still some dumplings left. Sakura’s glare shot straight through him.

“Sam.”

He lowered his finger and his eyes. 

“He offered me a huge deal with ridiculous profits. Just to move my stuff through Korea. And I needed the cash bad...” Sam mumbled.

“Who did?” Sakura demanded. 

“Fai Tsai,” answered Sam. He eyed the steamer with longing. Clicking her tongue, Sakura shoved the food closer to him. He gobbled another one down while she grimaced. Only her eyes moved as she watched him chew. 

“In person?” she queried.

“Huh?”

“Fai Tsai came up to you in person and said this?” Sakura demanded, leaning in on her forearms. Sam leaned back. Eyes wide.

“Uh... I mean, no. Nah, it was some guy,” admitted Sam. Sakura smashed her open palm against the table. The crowded restaurant went silent. 

“Ong lan gau, are you serious?” she swore at him, shaking her head.

“But the dude looked like 24K. He had the right tattoos and everything! The Red Arrow tattoo. Right there,” Sam went on, pointing at his forearm. 

“You dumb fuck. Any country peasant could go to a tattoo parlor and get that done,” Sakura snapped. 

“And he knew shit that only real 24K would know. I’m serious, Mei,” Sam insisted. 

“So you almost got yourself killed over some random guy who isn’t even real 24K. Ong lan gau,” Sakura berated him again. Sighing, she sat up straight again. Clicking her tongue against her teeth, she fixed her glare on Dirty Sam. As she got to her feet, Sam grabbed her hand. Held it between his sweaty palms.

“Look, Jing-Mei, we’ve known each other for a long time. You know that I’m stupid. I made a mistake. I’m sorry,” Sam groveled. That was his thing. It wasn’t his hygiene that had earned him that title. It was that smile. How he managed to wriggle out of any situation with that greasy grin. 

“Oh, Sam. You really haven’t changed,” Sakura sighed. Gave a smile in return. She could see the hope twinkling in his eyes. Then her hand moved lightning fast. She gripped the front of his shirt.

“But neither have I. Let’s go,” Sakura then ordered. Sai stepped out from the shadows to grab hold of Sam. They dragged him to the car. People averted their gazes as Sakura walked past.

Sakura showed up in the karaoke bar a few hours later. Pushing past the guards, she stomped upstairs. Hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. She pushed the door open with her foot. Tobirama’s men looked up, and so did he. Sakura nodded as she walked past. 

She headed straight for the tiny bathroom. There was only a sink and a toilet, but it was good enough for her. She peeled her wet jacket off. 

“So, I’ve got bad news,” Sakura called out as she twisted the tap. She waited for the water to heat up before she began washing her hands and arms. The water ran red before it swirled down the drain. She looked in the mirror. Saw Tobirama twist around to look at her over the sofa. Their eyes met in the reflection.

“Dirty Sam is dead,” Sakura informed him. Tobirama’s forehead wrinkled. He got up. 

“The Suns? The cops?” he demanded. 

Sakura leaned over to wash her shoulders too. Straightened, arms dripping.

“No. It was me,” she told him. She tried to wash her arms again. Looked down at her stained shirt. Gave a long sigh. 

“I give up. Should have just drowned him in the harbor,” she grumbled. When she looked up, Tobirama was staring at her.

“Little rat tried to cross me to work under Fai Tsai instead,” Sakura explained, voice lowering. He took a few steps closer, stopping in the doorway. He pressed his forearm to the doorframe. His eyes were hard, and so was his answering sigh.

“That brings us down to three suppliers, Jing-Mei,” he hissed out between his teeth. He ran both his hands through his hair, rings glinting. Sakura glowered as she whipped around to look directly at him.

“I’m not the one that killed York Ng,” Sakura responded. She leaned her hip against the edge of the sink. Water dripped down her chest, arms, off the points of her elbows, onto the faded tile. His gaze flickered down, following the drips. And then focused back on her face.

“And to be honest, your brother would have killed him anyway. I did him a favor by offing him first,” she added, fingers tapping against the sink. She lifted on her tiptoes to peek over his shoulder. His men were playing cards, feet up on the tables. One of them met her eyes and nodded. 

“Did you at least clean up after yourself?” asked Tobirama. He kicked at the discarded jacket on the floor. Sakura gestured at her wet shirt. It was still stained with red. Her entire right sleeve dyed crimson. Even her shorts were flecked, like a bad tie-dye.

“Ah. I took that off Sam. Not like he needs it anymore,” she explained. Making a face, Tobirama kicked it to the side. 

“I appreciate you not walking through the bar looking like that,” Tobirama replied, pointing at her bloody shirt. Sakura smirked at that. She folded her arms across her chest. 

“I aim to please.”

Tobirama shed his button up shirt and tossed it to her. She pulled her arms through the sleeves. Wrinkled her nose.

“Ugh, this smells like menthols,” complained Sakura, sniffing at the shirt.

“Fuck you,” chuckled Tobirama. 

“Anyway, what are you going to do to Kabuto? He’s been starting a lot of shit lately,” Tobirama then asked. 

Sakura folded the sleeves. Pushed them up her forearms. 

“Nothing... yet. Although, since he’s been pissing me off, maybe I’ll send a message,” mused Sakura. They didn’t have much else to discuss. Sakura took the other stairs down to the back door. Shoved it open with one careless kick.   

She turned when she heard someone stamping down the stairs after her. 

“When are you going to finally kill Kabuto, Sakura?” 

Sakura let the door slam shut in her face. Turned. Tobirama leaned against the wall. Eyelashes lowered. Almost smiling. 

Her eyes flickered up. The door at the top of the stairs was closed. The single bulb dangling from the ceiling buzzed.

“Are you crazy? Your brother would never allow it,” Sakura answered. Tobirama shook his head.

“Kabuto is a nuisance at best, and a detriment to the 24K at worst. As much as you hate Mad Dog, you have to admit that at least he knew how to run his shit,” Tobirama pointed out. Sakura sighed.

“Did you hit your head somewhere, Tobirama?” she snapped. Tobirama’s eyes narrowed. He took a menacing step toward her. Sakura held her ground. Glaring up at him.

“Kabuto gives us someone to hate. Do you really think we would get along this way without a common enemy?” she went on.

He shrugged one shoulder.

“It would work out somehow. My brother would find someone else to take his place,” replied Tobirama. 

Sakura ran her tongue along the backs of her teeth, twisting her mouth. 

“You really are a dumbass. Without Fai Tsai, we’d be at each other’s throats, Tobirama,” Sakura scoffed. Tobirama took another step, his forearm hitting the wall beside her head. He loomed over her. Then he lowered his head, smirking.

“Are you trying to turn me on?” he murmured. 

Sakura’s eyes turned cold. She shoved him in the chest. 

“You know I hate that shit. Sweet talk,” she sighed. She turned her head away. Still, Tobirama didn’t take a step back. His left hand found her neck, smoothing up the back of it. She avoided looking into his eyes. 

“Then I’ll just tell you what I want, Jing-Mei,” he tried again. He pushed her into the corner. The concrete cold against her back. Wet shirt sticking to her body. His fingers tangled into her hair. 

“I want to fuck you. Hard and dirty.”

His whisper was low and hot in her ear. 

“I want to make you scream as you come all over my cock. Is that what you want to hear?”

“You have an awful personality,” Sakura accused. Tobirama smiled as he lifted his head again. 

“So?”

Sakura clicked her tongue. She shoved past him. 

“You know where to go,” she stated. And then she walked out, door slamming shut behind her. 

She didn’t return to her apartment in North Point until almost dawn. Tobirama was waiting, burning a cigarette on the balcony. He glanced over his shoulder at her when he heard the door slam. He took his time stubbing the cigarette out. 

Her mouth was still filled with the taste of wine when he kissed her. Buttons popping off, scattering across the floor. His rough hands dragging down her back as he pulled her down and down. Into the liquid night. Where there were no sweet words or lingering gazes. Just the heat and weight of his body moving over hers. 

Part i | Part ii | Part iii | Part iv | Part v | Part vi | Part vii | Part viii | Part ix | Part x | Part xi | Part xii | Part xiii | Part xiv | Part xv | Part xvi (here) | Part xvii | Part xviii | Part xix | Part xx | Part xxi | Part xxii | Part xxiii | Part xxiv | Part xxv | Part xxvi | Part xxvii | Part xxviii | Part xxix | Part xxx | Part xxxi | Part xxxii | Part xxxiii | Part xxxiv | Part xxxv | Part xxxvi | Part xxxvii| Part xxxviii | Part xxxix | Part XL (it ends here)

[brian-wellson]

To Better Years Ahead

Set yesterday evening, before today’s Courier was released. In keeping with Winter Veil tradition, I wanted to give something with a bit of emotional heft, missed with the sophomoric. And so – I’d love it if you would sit back, queue up   Mozart’s Piano Quartet No. 1, G min, K478, and enjoy the story! ))

Happy Holidays, friends! ))

I.

The meal would be elegant – lavish, even. More often than not, the past year had seen Quai and Wellson, Justine and Juniper huddled around campfires shivering, barely warm (or dry) enough to taste their food, let alone enjoy it. She had mentioned it to him in Dalaran, and he forgot about it. By the time she had dragged him out of bed, he realized she was serious. Only when the two had entered the kitchen and found Elunara wrist-deep in a goose did he realize that she had not been exaggerating –

The three of them cooked for hours. Bubbling pots, simmering reductions, roasting meats. Go set the table for four, she had told him, smirking, because you’re the only one who knows how. This was her production and she knew it.

As he set the dining table with the porcelain and silver Elunara had nicked from the Estate before their departure, Henry Rollins entered. His white hair was slicked back and he stood, straight and proud. He was dressed as formal as Wellson had ever seen him, right down to the polished black shoes and white gloves. He held a silver tray. Several crystal mugs of eggnog and cinnamon sticks sat atop it. Each of them took a mug, stirring the eggnog; everyone except for Juniper, that is – she was no fun. The drink was strong. Someone had been generous with the Badlands bourbon, though no one complained. The quartet continued to chat at the hearth, admiring the tree, words flowing freer over the hours.

II.

At five bells, Henry had told everyone dinner was about to be served. Everyone retreated to their spaces to change. Wellson knew he wouldn’t be seeing the outfit Quai had gifted him with – not yet, anyhow. He knew he would love her in anything, least of all the outfit he had bought for her. He had the feeling the majority of the group was in the same situation. He left the room to give Quai some privacy. After flipping through a copy of the Courier for a bit, entered the dining room:

“…gods bless…” he gasped.

Juniper looked up at him from behind smoky lids. She smacked her bright red lips. She tousled her loose, wavy hair. “What?”

“You clean up well, is all,” he said.

“She does,” agreed Quai. She planted a kiss on his cheek. Her own hair had been pulled back in a messy bun held in place by two decorative teak chopsticks – a stocking stuffer from Justine. Wellson pulled out a chair for her and she sat. He shook his head, a bemused look on his face. He took his seat. They chatted – none of them had really seen each other in formalwear except for the previous Winter Veil dinner – or any kind of clothing outside of a uniform, for that matter. Juniper’s face was subtle shade of pink the entire time.

Promptly at six bells, Justine opened the door to her room – “Happy Winter Veil,” she said. She took the last available place setting, eyes lingering on Juniper. She sat next to the young woman, directly across from Quai. They gave each other a knowing, humored glance.

Justine was an angelic vision, clad in a white, crêpe Georgette poncho, the opposite of Juniper’s sheer, black statement gown she had purchased for herself in Dalaran. She’s beautiful, thought Justine, and, according the note Juniper had left her, this outfit was just the beginning.

“Mister Rollins,” she called. “Please inform Mrs. Rollins that we are all here.” She pat Juniper’s thigh.

“Un’erstood, Miss Justine,” he said, stepping into the kitchen.

III.

Clutching the rosary beads he had been gifted earlier in the day, Wellson led them in a prayer to Elune (and – yes! – even Greatfather Winter), head dipped and elbows on the table. Quai listened, fingers interlaced. The soft texture of the opera gloves Wellson had bought her for Winter Veil foreign; foreign – though lovely. Not functional, but at least it’s all black, she thought, a sly smile on her face. Not at all like The Outfit…

Once Wellson had finished the blessing, Elunara served the first course while Henry poured the wine, a clean and pale muscadet. The appetizers, prawns brazed with citrus, had been tossed with herbs in a rustic ceramic bowl. Easy laughs and broad smiles spread from one person to the next and the next.

Oh, and Henry may have snuck a pinch of the wine at some point.

IV.

While their servers cleared the table of soup bowls and spoons, Justine raised her water glass. “You know,” she said, “I am no good with toasts, so…” – she nodded toward Elunara, who set a covered platter on the table and removed the lid – “…I thought a crêpe might be better.” She smirked at her pun. Quai sputtered.

Henry followed close behind his wife. He set four plates, each one holding a small portion of green beans almandine and several purple fingerling potatoes, before every person in the group. The rich scent of beef blanketed the table.

“What is that?” asked Juniper. She stared at the platter. “That’s… that’s the thickest crêpe I’ve ever seen… And who likes… what are those? Why are my potatoes purple!?”

“Do you trust me?” replied Justine.

“I just like to know what I’m eating.”

“Don’t we all…” muttered Wellson. Quai poked his arm. He cleared his throat.

“Just taste it,” Justine said, eyes sparkling. “I guarantee it will be the most delicious, delicate thing you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

Elunara carved a generous portion of the odd-looking crêpe for Juniper and set it on the plate next to her green beans. Skeptically – and as the rest of the group watched – Juniper took up her knife and fork. She cut into it. Red juices ran out and pooled beneath the potatoes. Juniper took the small piece she had cut and placed it on her tongue. Her eyes widened, and she appeared to be on the verge of tears. Justine grinned.

“It’s so… juicy…” stammered Juniper.

“So I’ve been told,” she said. Quai and Wellson chuckled. Justine kicked both of them.

Henry leaned in to pour Juniper a glass of petit Syrah. “She’s worked on tha’ for two days, yeah.” He twisted the bottle, and caught a drop of the wine with his soft white serving towel. “Workin’ out propor’ions an’ timings. It’s all for you,” he said.

Juniper chewed – the firm, medium-rare beef a stark contrast to the silky foie gras and flaky layers of pastry surrounding it. Elunara set a larger portion on Justine’s plate. Justine thanked her. She cut into the beef Wellington. She set it on her tongue and closed her eyes, savoring the textures and flavors. The table fell silent. Everyone had lost themselves in the main course.

With their plates clean, Elunara removed the carving platter. Henry cleared the flat- and silverware. With a brass crumber, he swept the dregs onto a tiny, porcelain plate.

Afterward, Elunara turned the finger bowls over. She filled them with lavender-scented hot water. Juniper did not say anything – she clearly appeared to be out of her element – but copied their motions, dipping her fingers in the water, drying them with warm towels. Once Henry took the damp towels, each part of the group too a moment to compose themselves. Juniper fixed her make-up. Justine dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her linen napkin. Quai took Wellson’s hand; he kissed her ring finger.

Not bad for a bunch of murder hobos, thought Juniper. She plucked a Jordan almond from the small bowl in the center of the table, and popped it in her mouth.

V.

Soon, they were presented with dessert. Henry’s silver tray bore four white ramekins; Elunara slid each one before the diner. Crème frâiche, a sturdy and thick cream, peeked over the lips of the dishes. They had been dusted with chocolate shavings. Coffee wafted across the table.

“Jus,” said Wellson, “This is too much… You really shouldn’t have.”

She shrugged. “What else am I going to do? I’ve been socking my money away for ages; I should use it while I can, right? I mean, we’re in the city, and –”

“He is right, though,” said Quai, dipping her dessert spoon into the tiramisu. “This is…” She found herself at a loss for words.

Justine pulled Henry aside. They spoke quietly, a conversation which ended with her curt nod and his concerned look. A few minutes passed. He and Elunara returned with cognac glasses in hand. One glass was presented to Justine; it held half as much of the liquor as their own. Wellson waited until the servers had left the room:

“Jus…” he whispered. “Three years.” Quai squeezed his hand, bading him quiet. Juniper studied her fingers.

“Think of it as a Winter Veil communion, boss,” said Justine. She picked up the glass and let it warm in her hand. “I’ve had wine in church. This little bit? It’s not going to kill me.”

Wellson frowned, an expression which dissolved into something else entirely – “You really are a rare bird,” he deadpanned. The table went silent. Only the crackle of the fire could be heard. After several seconds, everyone started to laugh, tears and all.

“Get out!” said Quai. She punched his shoulder. “A ‘rare bird’? Really!?”

“That was pretty bad,” agreed Juniper. She sounded quite tipsy. “Bad even for you, Kestrel… er… what the hell should I call you now, anyway? When we’re not killing badguys, I mean.” She dug her spoon into the crème and licked it clean.

Wellson swirled his cognac snifter, the tawny liquor radiating warm, sepia-tinged light. He watched while Elunara passed out tiny ash cups and Henry followed close behind with Ferlassian cigars. He took a sip from the snifter. Quai lit cigar and passed her lighter to Juniper. Once all four had lit theirs, Justine had invited their servers to sit at the table. It was only then that he replied:

“Who I am is Doctor Brian Wellson, Lord of House Au’llon,” he replied. He rolled the smooth smoke around in his mouth. A smile crept across Elunara’s lips; she pulled her water glass toward her. Wellson exhaled. He cleared his throat: “Juniper, you can call me whatever you wish, but know this – your fellowship? You humble me with it…” – he looked from the young woman’s flushed face, to the wizened grin of his best friend, and finally, to the woman he loved – “…all of you do.” He raised his glass: “To better days ahead.”

They clinked glasses, and took a drink – to the better days ahead.

(( Mentioned: @justinegrotius, @quai-mason, @juniper-rose-blower; Relevant: [ @blackbay-wra ]: @killerkyara, @alastar-wyatt ))