#ive said this before but i had a little notebook and everything where like i had twin peaks related drawings

[carcarrot]

over the weekend started my rewatch of twin peaks and it will never not be funny to me that i first watched this show when i was in like 5th grade. maybe 6th grade. absolutely perfectly fine thing for a child to watch

[nothingbutloveforyou]

hi! firstly i love your blog so much and its so lovely to see on my dash so thank you!! now for how i met my lover:



set the scene -- january. right after winter break. im going into the sixth grade. i may not know very much, but i do know this: im a Weird Girl™. didnt have very many friends before moving, but moving to an extremely academically competitive school in the middle of the year? in MIDDLE SCHOOL? hell.



being a Weird Girl™, i really really loved english class. so to know nothing about the teachers, nothing about the students, and nothing about the material, i was very very scared, and of course, the english teacher did the whole stand up and tell us about yourself thing, where i completely blanked and to this day, have no clue what i said. i didnt make eye contact with anyone for a week, at least, and overcompensated by pouring all my effort into a project we were doing -- of course i moved right when the class was doing group projects -- and just generally keeping my head down.



little did i know that the love of my life was sitting in that same classroom. i dont remember exactly how we met (awful of me, i know) but i do remember hearing about the other Weird Girl™ who watched DIY videos and Studio C all the time. i thought maybe, maybe, theres someone like me. this is where my memory ends. (due to trauma, ive been losing a lot of my memories around this time. i hate it, but theres nothing i can do but thank my mind for trying to help.)



some time later, we were friends. and boy, we got on like a house on fire, talking about random shows we liked, books we'd read (specifically percy jackson), and all the tidbits of Stuff in the world. slowly, i fell in love. slowly, so did they, though i didnt know it.



i came out to my friends as lesbian, then as bi, then queer, then panromantic greysexual, then broke down. i had no clue what i was. (it definitely wasnt straight though.) they came out to me, the first they told, but my memory strikes again! terribly, i couldnt remember them telling me. i hated myself for that, but lovingly, they didnt. i was there when they came out to their friends, where they realized i hadnt known, which is how they found out i didnt remember. we were happy, and neither of us made a move. by now, we are in seventh grade.



on the back end of the year, we went on a field trip to a museum nearby. we were partners on that trip and sat together on the bus. we talked about how, if we were married, i would be the dad. no THEY would be the dad. no because- YES because- and we argued about this. i almost told them seven separate times on that bus. i was filled with the longing to fall asleep on their shoulder, so for the last five minutes, i pretended to. then i laughed and looked up and they were looking at me and i couldnt breathe.



i didnt tell them on that bus.



but i knew i needed to, so i wrote, trashed, wrote, trashed, wrote, and trashed a letter again and again. the morning of the last day before spring break, a week of holiday, i tore out a piece of notebook paper, breathed, wrote everything down. i dont remember much, but i remember saying that i didnt fall in love with them -- i flew. and though cheesy, it was true. i folded it up real small and tried not to let my shaking hands drop it. i gave it to them in spanish class, seventh period, and told them to wait for after class to read it. at the end of the letter, i told them i couldnt handle yeses and nos, so i assigned a song from the lightning thief musical each to a yes, a no, and a maybe. i couldnt bear to hear the harsh answer.



i shook and trembled through my eighth period, ignored my friend tapping on my shoulder and soldiered through the crowded halls to their locker. yanked my shoulder forward again and again, too nervous to pay heed to my friend, before the hand grabbed my shoulder and gently turned me around.



it wasnt my annoying friend. it was them.



i froze, and my mouth went dry. i dont know what happened, but they pressed my letter back into my hands, grinning, and i read their words written on the edges and in the margins saying they were planning to tell me at the end of the year because they were a coward (not true!!) and that theyre so glad i loved them and that they loved me too that they loved me too they LOVED me and they tapped my shoulder and i looked up and on the little whiteboard in their locker, they had written I LOVE YOU and i couldnt stop smiling.



we spilled everything and hugged hard and fierce in that school hallway, too young to know anything and too naïve to care, and i walked them to their bus, our hands intertwined and we told a friend immediately and they joked that dating or not, we would be the same.



i came over to their house and sat on their trampoline that week and talked about boundaries and what we could and couldnt do and what we wanted and didnt want, whispering so their parents didnt know. i fell asleep at their house, longing to hold them in my arms and too afraid to say so. i slept two hours that night and lay awake for all the rest.



flash forward, eighth grade. i came out as trans, tucking my hair into a hat my friend lent me and pretending it was enough. they came out as nonbinary, and we loved each other through it all. but something was changing. every day, we wrote little letters to each other and passed them back and forth during lunch, and we only shared one class, i think. we didnt talk as much, and something felt like it was fading. i didnt want anything to fade. i overcompensated, like i did that first day when i moved, and did too much. it was exhausting on my end, overbearing on theirs. i didnt want to lose something i couldnt even believe i had.



the pandemic hit. field trips were cancelled, and we were holed away at home. i could talk to them only barely, since my parents still still checked my phone all the time. then they said i couldnt talk to them anymore because they had brought up asexuality about a show. i cried, told them, coded, and we didnt talk directly. instead, i set up a group phone call we could do once a week, but they were busy every time.



they moved for high school. a christian school nearby. there wasnt anything i could do.



fall of 2021, they broke up with me over text. i know, it sounds awful, but in code, they told me about a boy they liked in middle school and how maybe they werent cut out for each other. i cried to sour, pretending it was just an average breakup, and i wished i could respond, but i couldnt.



we didnt talk for a while. we hadnt talked for a while, because my parents didnt let me, but this time, it was even worse. i went back to school, made new friends, tried to forget them. people still came up to me and asked how they were. i smiled and said we broke up. i said it was mutual. i said it was both our faults. i said we shouldve tried harder. i smiled and said, its okay.



at some point, they texted me a poem that played on my name. a poem about how they - i - was the only one to truly listen. i didnt respond.



march of 2022, they texted me about a song that reminded me of them. circling round again, by the accidentals. i listened to it over and over and over again, barely doing much else. a song about breaking up and regretting it, a song about coming back together, a song about grief, and maybe, maybe, hope. i showed my friends, laughing it off. playing up the my ex is texting me back story. i listened to the song over and over and over again.



then i told my friend to text them my burner email, an email my parents didnt know about, then i realized i didnt trust that friend to remember, so i took another friend's phone and texted them myself. the next day, they emailed me.



they told me about themselves, about us, about how they missed me, eerily mirroring the reasons why i thought we broke up and promising to do better. i did the same. we talked more, through discord and tumblr, and slowly, we allowed ourselves to love again. awkwardly, i asked what we were, what were going to be.



lovers.



if it was okay with us.

it was okay with us, and so we were. i still miss them, and i wish i could hold them, but we're happy together and i love them so much. we talk every day, all the time, and we make sure we dont make the same mistakes twice. i know first loves arent supposed to last, but we both want to try.

its a two percent chance of us making it, but we've always been weird. i'll take those chances. and if we fall apart again, i know we wont lose each other.



right now, i love them so so much and i count down the days until i can see them again. they live not five miles away but the distance stretches too long, too heavy. our parents extend shields around us that turn into walls and we both long for escape.

i long for the day we can run to each other. i love them more with every passing moment.





gods, sorry this got so long!! it started out simple and devolved from there lol, and sorry for typos, asks are still not letting me backspace or delete. <33

holy shit. thank you so so so much for taking the time to basically give us such a detailed insight into your life and your relationship with them !!! this means a lot

thank you so much for sharing this and i hope you're both doing okay <3

[sequinsmile-x]

Gentle

Well, it’s been a HELL of a 24 hours in the Hotchniss fandom, and I thought we could all do with some fluff. So, here it is in the form of a domestic Hotchniss mini-fic.

This is set in my Full House universe, which also has a follow up called Empty Nest 

Words: 2,242

TW: Pregnancy/Sickness/Labour 

It was her turn to put Ivy to bed, the little girl insisting for once that Emily did it. She didn’t complain, her daughter's requests were so rare for her that she jumped at the chance to do it. To watch her fight sleep as she read her a story, her grip on Emily’s clothing loosening as sleep finally won out. 

Emily gently closes the bedroom door behind her and goes in search of her husband. She has to stop when she gets to the bottom of the stairs, breathlessness caused by the baby in her belly still taking her by surprise even at this stage of her second pregnancy. She feels her little girl shift around and smiles. She spots the dining room light is on and walks towards it, seeing her husband sitting at the table, intently watching his screen, headphones on. 

He spots her almost immediately, and closes the laptop so quickly it makes her raise a brow at him. He takes his headphones off, and attempts to look nonchalant.  She rounds the dining room table and stands next to him, hip resting against him as he sits. 

“You know I don’t mind if you watch porn, honey. I’d just rather you didn’t watch it where our children eat breakfast.” 

Aaron flushes immediately, an outraged look flooding his face as he looks at her. “I am not watching porn, Emily.” 

She holds her hands up and can’t help the smile that blooms on her face at his irritation. “Well what are you watching then?” 

He sighs and opens the laptop, the screen displaying a YouTube video of a woman braiding a little girl's hair. 

“Ok, not what I was expecting.” She lowers herself into the chair next to him, hand pressed into her baby bump as she does so, a grateful smile aimed at him as he helps her settle. 

Aaron places his hand on her belly, smiling when he feels their daughter move around under Emily’s skin. “Ivy keeps insisting that I do her hair.” 

“Because you’re her favourite.” Emily grumbles, the irritation in her tone fake as given away by her still present smile. It irked her sometimes, that their daughter was obsessed with Aaron when she was the one who had brought her into this world, but then she’d see them together and her heart would melt. 

Ivy was always seeking Aaron out, wanting to curl up in his lap at any opportunity, or be carried by him everywhere. The way they looked at each other made Emily’s entire body sing with happiness, and it made every single thing that they had been through, together and apart, seem worth it.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t currently holding out hope that the baby she was currently pregnant with would be a mommy’s girl. It seemed only fair. 

“Ivy keeps insisting that I do her hair.” He repeats, ignoring her comment about favouritism. “And I want to make sure I do a good job.” 

He gestures towards the notebook next to the laptop, and that's when she realises he had been taking notes. 

Emily has to bite her lip to stop the pure happiness that bursts in her chest from pouring out. Not for the first time she was wondering how on earth she had gotten so lucky to marry Aaron, to have his children. She still berated herself sometimes for not noticing him sooner, for the time they had lost in the years where they both just ignored what was clearly there. 

“I love you so much.” She says, the words flowing from her so easily. “You’re such a good dad.” 

Aaron smiles at her, and dutifully ignores the fact that she absolutely has tears in her eyes, a complete slave to her hormones at this late stage of her pregnancy. “I love you too, and you’re an amazing mom.” 

She smiles at that, and a tear falls onto her face which she quickly wipes away, her frustration at her constantly wavering emotions clear. “You are so getting lucky tonight, Agent Hotchner.”

“Oh really?” 

“Yes. As soon as you help get me out of this chair.” 

______

Emily yawns as she reaches the bottom of the stairs the next morning, excited to drink the one caffeinated drink she was allowed a day, and is stopped in her tracks at the adorable sight in front of her. 

Ivy is sitting on the kitchen counter, something that would usually make her nervous, with Aaron standing behind her putting the finishing touches on her hair, two dutch braids holding their 2 year olds unruly hair into place. Emily wonders how on earth their tiny daughter managed to convince Aaron to braid her hair before 7am on a Sunday, but it didn’t overly surprise her. The little girl was quickly learning there wasn’t much she couldn’t get her father to do. 

“Daddy done?” Ivy’s sweet little voice asks, shifting on the counter like she’d been sitting there patiently for hours, when Emily knew it was likely only minutes. 

Aaron chuckles and Emily watches as he secures the final hair tie. “Almost, sweetheart. You certainly got Mommy’s patience as well as her hair, huh?” 

The look he throws over his shoulder lets her know that comment was purely for her, his first acknowledgement that she was in the room. She rolls her eyes at him and walks over, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she joins them at the counter. “Is Jack up?” 

“He’s awake but still in bed.” He explains as he finishes his task, immediately picking Ivy up and hoisting her onto his hip. “All done.” 

Emily smiles as her daughter grins. “You look so pretty, baby.” She leans forward and presses a kiss to Ivy’s cheek. “Maybe Daddy should do my hair.” 

Ivy frowns at that, her grasp on Aaron’s pyjama shirt tightening. “No, my Daddy.” 

Emily narrows her eyes at her husband when he laughs. “Well, how about Daddy makes us all breakfast?” She tickles the little girl's belly, smiling when a laugh escapes her. “And you and me go watch some cartoons?” 

Ivy seems to consider it for a second before nodding, reaching for her mother with tiny hands. Emily gladly accepts her, shooting down any protests from Aaron on whether she should be carrying her when she’s 8 months pregnant with a single raised eyebrow, and holds her daughter close. 

Emily presses a kiss to the little girl's head. “What do we think for breakfast? Pancakes?” Ivy nods enthusiastically and Emily smiles at her husband over their daughters head. “Pancakes it is.” 

Aaron rolls his eyes but is already getting the pans out by the time Emily leaves the kitchen. She walks to the living room and places Ivy down on the couch before sitting next to her, the little girl immediately cuddling into her mother’s side, her hand pressed on her belly. 

“Baby.” 

Emily looks down at her daughter and pulls her slightly closer, lamenting briefly that her bump made it close to impossible. “That’s right, sweetie. Baby.” 

Ivy frowns slightly at that, a look that makes her look exactly like Aaron, no matter what he said. She then cuddles into Emily, tiny hands grabbing at her shirt. “My Mama.” 

Emily smothers a laugh by biting her lip, and mentally makes a note that they will have to talk to their daughter about sharing, again, before the baby arrives.

_________

He looks so worried when he enters her hospital room it makes her heart ache. Aaron gently slips into the room and closes the door behind him, their hours old baby in his arms. 

“Hey, honey.” Emily rasps out, cringing at how exhausted she sounded even to herself. “You ok?” 

Aaron fixes a look at her and walks over, sitting on the edge of her hospital bed. Expertly holding their tiny daughter with one hand so he can grasp one of Emily’s in his own. “No, I am not ok. You almost died.” 

She tilts her head at him and smiles, her chapped lips sticking together. “I’m fine, Aaron.”

“You lost half your blood volume, Emily.” 

“Hey.” She reaches up with her other hand and cups his cheek, the terror in his voice briefly overriding her need to hold her baby. “I’m ok. It was scary as hell, and I can’t imagine what it must have been like to watch, but I’m ok.” She smiles as he presses a kiss to her palm. “She’s ok too, right?”

He smiles then, the first real one since he walked into the room, and looks down at the sleeping bundle in his arms. “She’s perfect.” 

“Can I hold her?” She had only held her for a fleeting second before everything went wrong, the baby snatched from her chest as quickly as she had been placed there when things started to get really hazy, really fast. 

Aaron doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.” He passes their newborn daughter into her arms, careful not to knock any of the many IVs Emily has attached to her following the emergency that had come shortly after their youngest’s birth. 

Emily smiles broadly at her newborn. “Hi sweet girl. Hi Audrey. You’re so beautiful.” She raises her up, her arms feeling weak, and presses a kiss to the baby’s head. “You look just like your sister did when she was a little baby.” 

“You mean she looks just like you.” Aaron says, reaching forward to straighten the cannula Emily had her nose that was delivering oxygen to her. “I called Jessica, she’s going to bring the kids by in the morning. I’ve held the team off too, I thought you’d appreciate some time after what happened.” 

She tears her eyes off of her baby and looks at her husband. “Thank you, I don’t really feel up to any visitors right now.” She looks back down at Audrey. “Plus I must look a state.” 

“You look beautiful.” 

Emily looks up at him with a raised brow. “You’re a liar, but you’re sweet.” She looks at Audrey. “Daddy is lying, Mommy looks terrible but you’re worth it.” 

She flicks her head back, the hair that had been in the loose bun she had put it in at the start of labour escaping into her face. She makes a frustrated noise when it immediately falls back. 

Aaron looks at her and gets off the bed in search for her hospital bag, digging through it until he finds her hairbrush. He moves back towards the bed. “Shift forward a bit.” 

Emily looks up at him questioningly and shakes her head when she realises what he’s offering to do. “Oh, Aaron no. My hair is disgusting.” 

“Em, sweetheart, we’re married. I’ve seen worse. You do remember your bachelorette party right? Or the aftermath at least.” 

She knows if she was well enough she would have blushed, memories of him sitting with her on the bathroom floor when she was throwing up, cursing the day Penelope Garcia was born. Crying as he wiped tears, and vomit, from her face whilst she asked if he was still sure he wanted to marry her. 

“Fair point.” She says, wincing as she moves forward enough for him to slip in behind her. Audrey cries out, and Emily’s attention is immediately back on her baby, soothing her with gently rocking and noises as Aaron does her hair.

“I’ll be gentle.”

“You always are unless I ask you not to be.” She quips, smiling when he grips her shoulder and mumbles something about her being ridiculous under his breath. 

She sits there and feels as he brushes it through, trying not to cringe when stringy parts of it fall in her face as she thinks about how much she really needs a shower. It feels nice when he braids it, being as gentle with her as he is with Ivy, and she thinks it might be one of the most intimate things he’s ever done for her. 

When he’s done he flicks the braid over her shoulder and pulls her back to rest against him, placing the brush on the bedside cabinet. 

“Thank you.” She says softly, leaning her temple against his. “Ivy would be jealous.” 

He laughs, wrapping his arms around her. “She can never know.” 

Emily lifts Audrey to kiss her again, marvelling in the smell of her baby’s skin. “I better be your favourite, little one. Considering I almost just died bringing you into this world.”

“Emily.”

“Too soon?”

_________

All of their daughters, including the twins when they come along, end up insisting Aaron does their hair, and over the years the styles he can do get more elaborate. 

It’s something she never shares with anyone, not even JJ and Penelope, because she knows he would be embarrassed by it, even though it was one of her favourite things about him. How much he loved their children, how absurd his huge hands looked braiding the hair of tiny little girls, so gentle in his touch that they never complained. 

Years down the line when Ivy gets married she nervously asks Aaron if he’d do her hair for the day, one final reminder of her childhood, something he hadn’t done in a long, long time. 

He’s thrilled. But insists on practising on Emily since he swears he is rusty at it now, the times when the girls would line up in the living room to get him to do their hair long gone. A fleeting memory of when they were small, and their house was full. 

Emily lets him, and playfully argues with him as he insists on trying just one more time. She tells him, having had one drink too many at her eldest daughter's wedding, that she’s always liked him doing her hair too. 

[doubleleoenergy]

iv. Lolita, Lolita Series

Hey Lolita, hey! Hey Lolita, hey! I know what the boys want, I'm not gonna play.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: bestfriendsdad!Andy Barber x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, mentions of alcohol, mentions of relationship violence, oral (female receiving), pet names, dirty talk

Words: 2240

Summary: Andy’s falling at y/n’s feet, just like all the other boys before.

Six days. It had been six agonizing days since their encounter at the club, and Andy Barber was losing his cool. The nightly, and sometimes midday, jerkoff sessions weren’t quite enough to satisfy his hunger.

Things with y/n had been the same, as if their little blowjob fest hadn’t happened. They continued to carpool to the office, continued to be friendly back at home, and y/n continued to tease him as always. She’d wear her tight and barely there clothing around the house and the office and had even started walking around in her towel after her showers. Andy didn’t mind the view, and neither did the boys, stuttering and stammering at the sight of her. But again, it wasn’t enough. 

That morning y/n greeted him with another breakfast and coffee before work, donning a black long sleeve crop top with a slit across to give him the view of just a bit of cleavage. Her light denim jeans were practically painted on her body, her perky ass bouncing with each step in her black strappy heels.

“You look good, y/n. As always.” Andy commented, taking a sip of his coffee. He thought a bit of flirting might help his case of getting closer to his little Lolita, though she didn’t seem phased by the compliment.

“Thanks Andy, we should get going. I’m shadowing you with your clients today, remember?” Her internship had been stellar, learning valuable information about the field and her future career. The only problem occasionally was Neal, who tended to linger too long at her desk and always stared down her shirt as he talked. Normally she would put the man in her place, but it offered a good source of jealousy from Andy, which she couldn’t pass up.

Their ride to the office was filled with conversation as Andy briefed her on their clients for the day, y/n taking notes in her notebook of all the critical details. Though she probably wouldn’t need the notes, she had read over the client’s files for the past two days in anticipation.

Y/N sashayed down the hall in front of Andy to his office, and he watched her ass the entire time she moved, trying not to pop a boner before the workday even started. After arriving at the office door and unlocking it, the two got comfortable for their first client of the day.

“Are you nervous?” Andy questioned, eyes focusing intently on her.

“Of course not. I’m just eager to please.” Her tone was heavy with seduction, lips curving into a huge smile when Andy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

By the time they had finished up with their clients for the day it was nine o’clock, a much later day at the office for them since y/n had started her internship. The two were both starving since lunch, stomachs growling as they headed home for the evening.

“Jacob said he and the boys are going to see a midnight movie showing after the bar, won’t be back till late.” Y/N announced, fingers typing out a quick reply to Jacob.

“Alright, are you interested in going out for some food? I think it’s way too late to start cooking something. We can go to that Mexican restaurant up the street from the house if you want.” Andy suggested, glancing over at y/n as he parked the car in the driveway.

“That’s fine, let me go change really quick and then we can go.” Y/N walked straight through the garage doors and up into her room, getting herself refreshed for dinner. Andy decided to change as well, pulling on a pair of dark denim jeans and a grey Henley long-sleeved shirt that accentuated his muscles. He was honestly hoping that y/n might consider this a date but given how she seemed to avoid any movement in their relationship, it seemed unlikely.

Andy scrolled through his email on his cell phone, leaning against the kitchen counter as she walked down the stairs. His eyes met hers before traveling down to the tight burgundy floral mini dress, the thin spaghetti straps barely holding in her braless breasts as they poked out slightly above the fabric. Andy’s eyes continued lower to the slit in the dress, staring at where the slit hit mid-thigh and ended right at her hip bone. Was she not wearing any underwear?

“Okay, I’m ready.” Y/N’s black stilettos clicked against the hardwood as she made her way towards the door, headed towards his car once again. Andy trailed behind, his eyes roaming over her backside while his cock stirred in his jeans.

The restaurant was less than a mile from the house, a quick drive for them both, which was a relief considering how hungry they both were. The waitress came up shortly after they sat, a young perky blonde who seemed to be a little extra attentive to Andy, though he didn’t pay any attention to her. He was too busy watching y/n scanning the menu, chewing her bottom lip as she figured out what to eat.

“I’ll have a Coors Light and a southwest salad, please.” Y/N’s voice was soft as she spoke to the waitress.

“I’ll have a Coors as well with the street taco trio. Thank you.” Andy handed over their menus before returning his attention back to y/n. “Did you like sitting in on the meetings today?” He asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Definitely, it’s nice to fully see the process at work. Usually I’m filing the paperwork after a meeting, but today gave me the chance to start from the initial meeting to the filing.” The waitress arrived with their drinks as she finished her sentence, taking a long swig from her beer.

“I’m glad. We make a good team, don’t you think?” Andy had to admit, she was the most impressive intern they’d had since he started there. But the question isn’t just about work, hinting at the possibility of them together.

“We’re alright.” She responded, shrugging her shoulders. Andy sighed, six days of waiting to figure out anything between them was torture, just like the mind games she was playing with him now. His thoughts are briefly interrupted by the arrival of their meal, using the break in their conversation to consider his next words carefully. It was like he was building a case as he had done hundreds of times at work, though this case was a bit higher stake for him.

“Look, in the club I know I said we couldn’t do this...do us.” Good start, Andy-boy. “But we’re both adults as you said. It’s not weird, unless we make it weird, and if we keep things private for a while so as not to hurt Jacob...why don’t we give it a try? Us, I mean.”

Y/N chewed thoughtfully on her meal, listening to his case and reflecting on his words. “I’m not a relationship girl, you know that.” The thought of being in a committed relationship with anyone terrified her, a trigger from her family trauma. What happens if Andy is kind at first, but later turns into a monster like her father? Would she really want to end up like her mom? No thank you.

“I do know that, but I also know that there’s something between us, y/n. You can’t deny that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have done what you had.” Andy retorted, taking a bite of his tacos.

“Everything I do is because I want to do it.” She declared, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest. “A relationship is different, Andy. Why tie yourself down to someone? It’s not like it ever lasts, you should know that firsthand.” She’s referring to his divorce, the thought that Andy even wanted to be committed to someone else after that was confusing.

“Maybe that’s true, or maybe we’re just waiting for the right person to change our minds.” He’s leaning on the table now, his eyes locked on hers to gauge her reactions.

Y/N’s eyebrow raises at his response, her head tilting to the side. “And you’re trying to say that I’m that right person?” Her eyes roll back into her head, straightening her body and digging back into her meal. “You’re thinking a little too highly after one hookup.”

Andy knows they’re going in circles with the conversation and so he drops it, finishing up their meals in silence and not protesting when y/n asks to split the bill. Definitely not a date.

The ride back to the house is uncomfortably silent, y/n playing Candy Crush on her phone to distract herself from any further talk about a relationship. Y/N is about to go up the stairs to her room when they arrive, but Andy stops her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back over to him.

“What are you doing?” She asks, brows furrowed as her eyes meet his blue hues. Andy tugs her closer by her waist in response to her question, lips hovering inches away.

“Think about it, we’d be good together, you can’t deny that.” And with that Andy is leaning in, pressing his lips passionately against y/n’s own. Without any hesitation y/n reciprocates the kiss, hands instinctively wrapping around his neck to pull him in closer, if that was even possible.

Their lips dance together in the perfect rhythm for a moment before Andy breaks the kiss to pepper wet kisses to the flesh on y/n’s neck. She rolls her head to one side to give him better access, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck when he nibbles on a sensitive spot. She lets him continue for a moment before pushing him gently off her, confusing laced across his face.

Y/N’s heels click against the hardwood as she starts walking down the hallway towards his bedroom door, stopping right in front of it and looking back at Andy, a cocky grin spreading across her swollen lips.

“I think it’s time you return the favor from the other night.” And with that she slips into his bedroom, Andy following quickly on her heels and shutting the door behind them. He watches, eyes blown wide, as she saunters over to the bed, sitting right on the edge of it. She leans her body back, her weight against her elbows, opening her legs to reveal her bare core, her heels firmly placed on the floor in front of the bed for balance.

“Don’t just stand there and stare, Andy. Get to work.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, practically crawling across the room, his knees hitting the soft carpet a foot away from her outstretched legs. His strong hands move from her knees up her thighs, pushing her dress up to her stomach to reveal her wet heat to him.

It was glistening like diamonds, just as beautiful as the rest of her body. He rests his hands on each of her inner thighs, pushing her legs slightly wider and locking his eyes with hers as he leans forward and licks a strip up her slit. His first taste of her is incredible, better than he could’ve imagined, and he wastes no time on diving in further, lapping at her core.

Andy’s beard tickles her pussy as he works his tongue into her, sending shivers down her spine. Her fingers instinctively grab at his hair, her grip tightening whenever he lapped at a spot that made her moan. She kept her eyes on him the entire time, loving the way he looked between her legs. She could get used to this.

Andy moved his head back, his pointer and middle finger rubbing against her wet folds before they dive in, curling deep and releasing a satisfied moan from her lips. “Your pussy is so pretty, so wet and delicious. My little Lolita.” There goes the pet name from the other night, though it was quite fitting for her.

His fingers find a good rhythm inside her, eliciting the prettiest moans from her lips. His cock is painfully hard in his jeans, though he knows right now it is all about her pleasure. He can tell her orgasm is building, moving his face back to suck at her clit while his fingers keep their pace in and out of her dripping core.

Her walls start to tighten, y/n seeing stars as she feels that familiar buildup in her stomach, tightening her grip on his hair. Andy’s eyes lock back on hers, a seductive smirk spreading across his lips.

“Let go, Lolita. Cum for me.” And just like that her orgasm rips through her, her walls tightening around his fingers as she pushes his face flush against her folds, allowing him to lap up her release.

She’s shaking by the time he pulls away, his beard covered in her slick, the sight alone giving her a sense of pride and ownership over him.

“That was incredible.” Y/N announces, adjusting her dress and standing back up, stepping towards the door of the bedroom. Andy’s jaw drops, his cock twitching as she walks away. “Where are you going? I’m hard as a rock right now.”

Y/N stops to look at him, her eyes trailing to the bulge in his jeans, shrugging her shoulders. “Guess you’ll have to jerk off to your fantasies of me as always.” And with that she opens the door and exits the bedroom, leaving Andy kneeling with frustration against the carpet.

Tagging those who may be interested. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list: @midnightf @my-divine-death @saamwilsonn @fierylibraa @fuckandfluff​ @rattlemyb0nes​ @rootcrop @goldenboysteve​  @turtoix​  @jeremyrennermakesmesmile​  @ccmarvelxx ​

[hangovercurse]

The Things We Can’t Tell Pete About v

Pete and you make amends, but after a series of break ins you end up staying at his apartment when an unexpected visitor shows up.

Colson Baker x Reader

Warnings: Drug use, cursing, heated make-out session

Word Count: 3161

| i | ii | iii | iv |

You spent the next week moping around your apartment, your phone turned off. All inspiration you’d had for writing seemed to have drained out of you, causing you to cancel writing sessions.

After not answering your phone for a few days, Pete came by your apartment, finding you deep in your depression. “I’m sorry for blowing up at you.” He said, taking a seat on the couch next to you. You shrugged, eyes not leaving the TV screen in front of you.

Your brother scoffed, grabbing the remote and turning it off, leaving you with no other option but to pay attention to him. “It’s fine Pete.” You muttered, reaching over to try and grab the plastic from him.

He frowned at you, “obviously it’s not. I shouldn’t have called you selfish and I shouldn’t have made it sound like I wanted you to get your heartbroken.” He explained calmly. He’d been through enough of these episodes himself, so he knew how to navigate the sadness that ran in your blood.

You sighed but didn’t say anything. You felt guilty that he was blaming himself for your mood. In reality, your fight with him was the last thing on your mind.

Pete continued explaining himself, “I’m just trying to protect you, you know?”

You nodded, trying to find the words to respond. “I know.” You whisper, “You’re right, though. Getting involved with your friends would be a bad idea.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “did something happen that I need to know about?”

You took a deep breath, preparing the lie in your head, “no, I just have been thinking about it. You’re right, it would just end up messy and someone would get hurt.”

You could tell he was trying to hide an “I-told-you-so” smirk. “So, there’s nothing going on between you and Colson?” he asked.

You tried to cover the fact that your breath caught in your throat. You guys were pretty obviously flirting the first night, but you didn’t expect Pete to jump to that assumption. “Colson?” You prayed your lie was convincing. “Why’d you assume I was thinking about going out with him?”

Pete raised an eyebrow at you and you let out a fake laugh, “bro, no. I was talking about Douglas.” You lied through your teeth. If music didn’t work out, maybe you could be an actress.

Your brother actually laughed at you for that, “wait, seriously? Doug?” His eyes closed and he leaned back into the couch.

“Yeah, I mean Colson’s hot and everything but that British accent really does things, you know?” You giggled, trying to ignore the sinking feeling from Colson’s name rolling off your tongue.

Pete rolled his eyes, “whatever, weirdo. Trust me, you dodged a bullet. I love Doug, but he could not handle you.” He got up from the couch. “I’m out, just wanted to come check on you. Maybe answer your phone some time?”

You smiled; happy you were on better terms with one of the men in your life. “I’ll try my best.” You called to him as he moved to the door. “Oh and, uh, Pete?”

He turned towards you, the sight reminding you all too much of Saturday night. “I’m sorry for being a bitch and calling you unstable and shit. I mean, you’re an asshole, but that was uncalled for.”

Pete shrugged, “I mean, I am unstable, but thanks.” He waved, leaving your house.

 A few weeks past and things were getting back to normal. You were back writing and editing tracks, Pete and you were talking again, and you felt like yourself. Part of you was glad that things ended earlier rather than later with Colson, so you hadn’t had time to get too attached. Still, the thought of what could have been made you upset from time to time.

You were on your way to the studio one morning when you got a text from your floor group chat.

Wanted to let you guys know, there’s been a series of break-ins in the area. Keep your doors locked. So far no one has been in the apartments, so if you can try to stay somewhere else until they catch him. Be careful floor 5 fam!

Your floor was almost exclusively younger millennials, so you all got along decently. Andy, the one who had sent the text, was actually a pretty good friend of yours, despite you rarely leaving your apartment.

You had an irrational fear of people breaking into your house. You couldn’t explain it, but the thought of being attacked in your own home was one of the worst things that could ever happen to you. Because of this, you decided to text Pete.

Hey, can I stay at your place for a little while. There have been break ins near my apt and I really don’t wanna be there if it happens to me.

You knew Pete was probably rolling his eyes, but you didn’t care. There was no way you were gonna stay in your apartment until you felt safe.

Sure

You have to buy groceries though

Deal

And thus began your week-long sleepover at Pete’s house.

 On day four, Pete walked into the guest room where you had set up camp, finding you scrolling through your phone on the bed. “Hey, Colson’s gonna come over tonight and we’re gonna get high on mushrooms and watch SpongeBob. Wanna join?”

The thought of seeing the blond again made your heart race, but you hid behind a fake smile, “no thanks, I’ll probably stay in here all night and get some work done. Have fun though, don’t bother me.”

“Yeah, you look like you got a lot of work to do.” He said sarcastically but left you to your own devices. “I’m ordering Pizza, I’ll get you one.”

You thanked him, trusting he knew your pizza order by heart by now. Once he left you let out a worried sigh, trying to figure out how you were going to hide the awkwardness between you and Colson from your brother. Hopefully, he would be too high to figure out anything was up.

You were also upset that you had to turn down a night of shrooms and SpongeBob, something you would’ve loved. But you figured you could skip out on one night of fun if it meant avoiding the guy that you probably could’ve fallen in love with if he hadn’t given up on your relationship before it even started.

Okay, so maybe you weren’t as over everything as you told yourself you were, but he had put you in a shitty situation. Of course, you weren’t going to be happy about it.

Three hours later you were sitting cross-legged on your bed, laptop in lap, and headphones in. You’d been listening to one of Lea’s tracks for the past hour, scribbling some general edit notes in your notebook and cleaning up some of the notes with your virtual tuner.

You vaguely heard a knock on the front door but ignored it, focused on adjusting her vocals for the bridge. Truthfully, it wasn’t the best song you’d written with her, but she liked it and she was your boss at the moment, so you did what she asked.

But when there was a knock at your door, you paused, removing one earbud, and calling, “yeah?”

You weren’t expecting to be met with those all-too-familiar blue eyes. “Hey.” Colson said, his confidence fading as you made eye contact.

“Hey.” You replied softly, feeling like his hand was wrapped around your heart and squeezing it.

He cleared his throat, stepping further into your room with a pizza box in hand. “Here’s your pizza.” He handed you the box awkwardly. You had expected him to leave the room after you thanked him, but he lingered for a moment. “You’re not skipping out on tonight because of me, right?”

You raised your eyebrow at him, confusion on your face. “No, I have a lot of work to do tonight so…” You trailed off, lowering your gaze down to the box in your hand.

He nodded, “okay, I just- you told me how much you liked doing shit like this with Pete and I wanted to make sure I wasn’t…” He paused, letting out a breath, “if you want to join, you should. Like I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have fun just because I’m here.”

You let out a dry chuckle, “don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not not hanging out with you guys tonight because of you. I’m just doing work.”

The man nodded again, scratching the back of his neck. “O-okay. I’ll just, uh.” He turned towards the door, moving to leave before turning back to you. “If you get done and feel like it, you should come watch SpongeBob with us.”

You nodded, sucking your lips into a straight line, feeling the awkward tension in the air that you desperately wanted to avoid. “I’ll think about it.” You said and with that, the blond left your room, pulling the door behind him.

You hated to admit it, but even when he was being nervous and awkward, he still managed to be fucking attractive as hell. You let out an annoyed huff, falling back against your pillows and covering your face with your hands.

You then spent the next 45 minutes trying to finish your edits, but your mind kept wandering to the boy with the sky in his eyes and an art museum on his body. Realizing you wouldn’t be getting any work done for the rest of the night, you thought about his offer.

Shrooms did sound good right now, and as much as you hated it, so did spending time with Colson, even if it was just friendly. And now that you had gotten Pete off your back about the events that had gone down weeks ago, he wouldn’t be suspecting anything anyways, especially not if he was tripping out.

Fuck it, you figured, climbing out of your bed and grabbing the box of pizza. You shuffled out of your room and into the living room where the bright colors of the TV lit up the dark house.

“Y/N! You decided to join us!” Pete cheered as you took a seat on the edge of the couch, curling your legs under you.

You giggled at your brothers very faded state. “I got bored of working so, shrooms.” You shrugged, reaching over and grabbing the bag off the coffee table. You could feel Colson’s eyes following you but you tried to play it off.

The mushroom was chewy in your mouth and tasted like dirt, so you ate it as fast as you could, focusing your attention on the tv. You leaned back into the arm of the couch, your legs falling to your side. From the corner of your eye, you could see Colson take a long swig of the bottle in his hands. It was too dark for you to read the label, but you could tell it was some form of alcohol.

Biting your lip, you considered the idea of toying with him, remembering how awkward he was earlier. Deciding he probably would be too high to care; you leaned over and grabbed the bottle from his hand. You brought the drink up to your lips, eyes locked on his and a smirk on your face. He watched as you swallowed the burning liquid, and it was then that you processed just how glazed his eyes were.

Handing him the bottle back, you giggled. Something about Colson being completely faded yet still watching your every move made you feel giddy inside. He smiled at your actions, accepting the bottle, and taking another sip of it. This time you watched him, his Adam’s apple moving with the liquid.

So, you were definitely not over him. Not even in the slightest.

You took in a breath, turning to the screen and waiting for the drugs to kick in. They were playing the episode where SpongeBob had to get a new spatula after his broke, a classic. Every so often you reached over and drank from the bottle of what you figured out was some form of whiskey, probably Jameson knowing your brother. Colson didn’t seem to mind, moving closer to you as subtly as possible so you didn’t have to reach as far. If Pete picked up on anything he didn’t say.

Around the 20-minute mark, the shrooms definitely hit. The lights from the TV got brighter, the pictures seeming to blend together in a different way. You loved this feeling, everything seemed so much funnier and every bone in your body felt 20 pounds lighter.

Your movements felt slower, your limbs turning to jelly. Colson happened to glance over to you, seeing the smile on your lips and knowing, even in his faded state, that you were high. The image reminded him of that first night, you on the same couch passing the blunt to him. Your eyes were glossy and your smile was beautiful then and now.

As the episode ended and rolled into the next, you shifted slightly, your legs starting to fall asleep. You moved to dangle them off the couch when you felt a soft hand on your ankle. You looked over to see Colson staring at the screen, but his fingers wrapped around your right foot, pulling it onto his lap. He then reached for the other one and pulled you so both of your feet were propped in his lap, your back against the arm of the couch.

You sent him a smirk, but if he saw it, he ignored it, continuing to watch the cartoon. His hand ran up and down your leg, sending shivers through your body. You tried to pay attention to what was going on on the screen, but you felt like your entire body was on fire.

You let out a little giggle at the sensations, causing him to glance at you, bringing a finger up to his lips in a shushing motion. You pouted jokingly towards him before turning back to the TV. He continued to look at you, the drugs making every feature of yours pop.

After another episode ended you heard quiet snores coming from the other side of Colson. You looked over to find Pete passed out, head hanging off the side of the couch. You laughed quietly, grabbing Colson’s attention. You motioned towards the sight, making Colson laugh silently as well. His whole face lit up as he took in his friend’s sleeping state.

You moved your feet off his lap, scooting closer to him. Your cross-faded state made you much more confident than you normally would be, and much more reckless. “Looks like it’s just you and me now.” You whispered, looking up at the man.

He smirked down at you, blinking slowly. His eyelashes were so long and pretty, you wanted to steal them. “I guess it is.” He said, voice matching yours.

God his voice was sexy.

In a moment of brilliance, or as anyone else would call it, stupidity, you climbed onto his lap, straddling his waist. He raised an eyebrow but made no effort to move you. Your hands rested on his shoulders, a drunken grin on your lips. “I was really sad when you left.” You murmured, searching his eyes.

He took his lower lip between his teeth, taking a deep breath. “I hated leaving.” He responded, leaning his head closer to you. “Took every ounce of strength I had not to go back.”

You frowned, leaning so that your noses were touching. “I wish you had.” You whispered before closing the gap between your mouths. His lips collided with yours so familiarly, so naturally. Your hands moved to the back of his neck, fingers toying with the hair there. His found your waist, pulling your body further into his.

Every inch of your body was tingling in the best way. You felt like you were flying, adrenaline coursing in your veins. When you pulled away for air you smiled up at him. “You’re really cute.” You giggled.

He grinned, “you’re cuter.” He pecked your lips as you shook your head in disagreement, “yup.”

You both knew better. You had ended things for a reason, a reason that was passed out next to you. But in his arms, you just didn’t care. You kissed him again, deeper this time. You felt like you needed to make up for the lost time.

And Colson kissed you back, missing your intoxicating lips. Your hips started moving against his, the friction in his pants making him moan quietly against your lips.

It felt good, but he knew something wasn’t right. So, he pulled away. “Y/N.” He mumbled, earning a small whine from you. “Shhh.” He shushed you, “we can’t do this, remember?”

You pouted, moving back from him. His thumb rubbed circles into your hip, a frown on his face. “We said we weren’t gonna do this because of Pete.” He whispered.

You sighed angrily, “why does Pete get to tell us what to do?” You asked.

Colson smiled softly, “he doesn’t. But we decided that it was best if we stopped seeing each other.”

“We did!” You whisper-shouted. “Obviously, that doesn’t work.” Colson chuckled at your small outburst, knowing you were right. “Doesn’t this feel right to you?” You asked, pressing your forehead to his.

He wanted to kiss you so bad, but instead he just said, “we can’t do this.”

You pushed yourself off of his lap, a frustrated expression covering your face as you stood up. “You’re both assholes.” You said, making Colson’s eyes go wide at your volume.

He stood up, hand going to cover your mouth so you wouldn’t wake up Pete. “Y/N please.” You glared at him but made no attempt to continue. “You’re right, even if we avoid each other it doesn’t work, so let’s scratch that idea.” He paused and you nodded, agreeing with him. You didn’t care what happened, you just wanted him back in your life. “Let’s be friends. Just friends. We can hang out together and have fun, but we don’t get involved with each other. That way, we won’t be tempted to do this every time we see each other.”

You hated the idea, but you knew it was better than the alternative. So, you let out a small “okay” against his palm. He smiled, removing his hand from your mouth. “I’m gonna go to bed, friend.” You said, backing away from him.

He nodded, a small smile on his face. “Wait.” He whispered, pulling you in for a short, sweet kiss. “Okay, now we’re just friends.”

You let out a small giggle and rolled your eyes, pushing him back onto the couch. “Goodnight.” You whispered, walking towards your room, and trying not to stumble. Your lips held a stupid smile that refused to go away.

[yolkyeomie]

Humanity of the Inhuman | Kim Sunwoo

summary — legends are meant for the wild fantasies of the dream world, but when one myth suddenly comes true, you find yourself tangled within its webs of reality.

word count — 7.2k words

pairing — sunwoo x female!reader (ft. x juyeon in a sense?)

genre — college au, gumiho au

disclaimer — !! light mentions of death, blood, and injury !! this is an wip of fic that I did not have the energy to complete, so it leaves off at a pretty big cliff hanger :( but if enough people enjoy it it I’ll make a part 2 or sumn lol (update: it does in fact have a part 2 now, go enjoy it!)

part I | part II | part III | part IV?

I.

“Nine tailed foxes,” the instructor stated, pointing their finger towards the pictures that were projected upon the board. There were three different depictions of the creature from other cultures posted up together, expressing how each of the cultures viewed the mythical being. Mindlessly you began to draw on the notebook set in front of you, taking in each picture and messing different aspects that you liked together.

“Known as the Kitsune in Japan, the Huli Jing in China, and the Gumiho here,” they continued, switching to the next slide that only displayed more old pictures of the fox, “they are a well known part of our folklore today that even western countries have begun to adopt their own version of this creature into their literature.”

“If it’s so popular, why are we learning about it now,” you mumbled, the lead of your pencil snapping as soon as the words had been spoken into existence. You let out a deep sigh at the inconvenience, letting an angry curse come out of your mouth as you leaned over to grab something new to write with.

Though you stopped mid turn as a black pen was placed into your vision. Curiously you glanced up to catch the smiling sight of Juyeon above you, waving around his pen and urging you to take it from his hand. “We’re learning about the Gumiho because it’s an important part of our folklore, just because it’s well known doesn’t mean you shouldn’t teach it.”

He was an acquaintance, nothing more than that, a “school friend” if that made more sense. You had met him the first day you attended the mythology class after picking up the course for fun, seeing as the only available seat in the room was by him. Having no friends who attended the class at the same time as you, he had offered to become one and you gladly took up his request in order to feel a little less only in the room full of strangers.

It was a little odd to see a class so minor like this be jam packed with students, but you did notice the recent influx of people who were interested in the mythologies of their and others cultures.

Plus, you didn’t do very well on your own and were a little more socially dependent than you’d like to admit, so Juyeon’s willingness to befriend you was greatly appreciated.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” you shrug, gratefully taking the pen out of his hands. “But still, what person doesn’t know the wild tales of the nine tailed foxes? They’re like… everywhere now. If I meet someone who didn’t even have a clue what I was talking about, I’d be surprised.”

“You never know,” Juyeon continued, urging you to take a look at the board. Being presented was the Korean version of the nine tailed fox, a few notes typed beside the art describing the details and depictions of what was generally believed about the fox demon. “Maybe one day you’ll need that information to save yourself from a Gumiho one day?”

You snorted at his words, pointing out one of the bullet points to him and quietly reading them to him. “First of all, this is a mythology class. That means everything we learn here is a myth, not real? Secondly, it clearly says that they seduce men and last time I checked, I’m not a man.”

“Well, I guess you’ve got a point there,” he nodded, laying his head in his hands as he half heartedly listened to the teacher speak. “I guess I’m the one who should be paying more attention to the lecture since I’m the man, but I don’t think a Gumiho would ever find interest in me.”

“Why?” You questioned, a teasing smile appearing on your face and you poked the pin cap into his side. “It’s said that gumihos eat human livers, do you have bad livers or something? Do you have some sort of liver disease that would make you undesirable to a fox?”

“If I say yes will you stop poking me?” He innocently asked.

“I’d know you’re lying if you said yes, you’re rather healthy despite some… odd habits you have,” you clarify, giving the boy a skeptical look before turning back towards the board. You were only acquaintances with Juyeon, but there were times you’d catch him in the hallways of the building or dorms when you were looking for Kevin doing skeptical activities. Most of the time he was just smuggling snacks that his roommate would steal out of the room but man did he look crazy while he did so.

“Hey, those aren’t odd habits, it’s me protecting what I paid for,” Juyeon argued, a pout developing on his face as he tried to explain himself, “if you don’t pay for it, you don’t get a bite of it! That’s the rules and you have to respect the rules.”

You only spared Juyeon a quick glance, your eyes full of skepticism for him. He was a nice guy, a decent person to hang around, but awkwardly catching him in the hallways like a criminal running from a crime scene was all you had to see from him to determine whether or not you wanted to hang around him often. “Y/N, seriously! I'm not some freak I promise, my roommates and I just do this often and—“

“Sure, Juyeon,” you nodded, softly patting his back in only slight comfort. “I completely understand what you mean.”

“Y/N!” He complained a little louder this time, earning some sneaking looks from the rest of your peers. The two of you weren’t the biggest troublemakers but you did have a volume problem more often than you’d like to admit. Though, that was mainly because Juyeon doesn’t understand when to keep his mouth shut. “Come on, Y/N, I know you don’t believe what I’m saying but you gotta! I can even show you what we—“

“I really don’t want to walk into that room,” you decline almost immediately, “something tells me I’ll regret it if I do.”

A small chuckle left Juyeon’s mouth at your harsh words, finally taking the response as an end to the conversation. It seemed as though the two of you had stopped just in time though, as a deep sigh left your instructor’s lips. The entire class turned their head towards him in confusion, unsure on what sort of gloom had possessed their mythology teacher.

“I think… I’ll end class early today,” he declared, turning off the board that had projected the day’s lesson. In a flash, your reference for your very own nine tailed fox disappeared in front of your eyes as the instructor continued to speak. “The rain just… throws me off the mood for today.”

Instinctively you turned your head toward the window and lo and behold, the rain was pouring down outdoors. Many students groaned at the sudden change in forecast, not having brought umbrellas to shield them from such weather since the day had called from sunny skies. “Ah… that’s gonna suck going home,” you tell yourself, noting how even you hadn’t brought an umbrella.

“Excuse me!” A student called out, drawing attention to the front of the class where they had seated themselves. “If you don’t mind me asking, are you superstitious? Usually rain is considered a good thing especially on wedding days. It’s supposed to be a good omen for the future of their marriage.”

“Superstitious?” He hummed in response, thinking to himself for a few moments before answering. “Well, in a sense? Not for the reasons you think I am though.”

“Does it have something to do with gumihos?” You couldn’t help but ask, curiosity getting the best of you as you blurted out in front of everyone. The class turned back to look at you expectantly, exchanging confused and bewildered glances with each other. Even Juyeon looked at you as though you were beginning to lose your mind. You don’t really blame them, rain didn’t really have anything to do with gumihos after all.

However, your teacher smiled at you. His eyes crinkled at their sides and his wrinkles from age becoming more prominent as his smile continuously grew larger as he thought about his answer again. “Something my grandparents used to tell me when I was younger,” he began, each student getting left on the edge of their seats as he turned back towards the rainfall, “that when it rained, it meant a gumiho had entered the premise.”

II.

“You don’t actually believe him, do you?” Juyeon asked, holding the borrowed umbrella over your heads. The boy had offered to walk you home in the disastrous, knowing you lived off campus instead of in the dorms. The dorms were a lot closer to the apartment you had rented out, so the two of you had scrambled over to his room first in order to grab an umbrella and begin the trek to your home.

He was only walking you towards the closest bus stop to the campus, not wanting to intrude on your privacy any further than he already was. Juyeon was just your acquaintance from mythology after all, he was just a little too nice to let you go out into the rain and get soaking wet.

“What, about the whole rain and gumiho thing?” You responded, remembering your teacher's statement he had ended the class with. You shrugged after a moment to yourself, “honestly, not really. I mean, come on, gumihos being related to the rain? It doesn’t even make that much sense the more you think about it.”

“I guess you’re right,” he agreed, “but don’t you think it’s a little weird how he seemed to believe it? Whole heartedly too, he ended the whole class over some superstition his grandparents told him!”

“It’s probably an old saying in his family or something,” you ultimately decide, nodding your head to yourself as you come to a conclusion. “Lots of people have things like heirlooms and stories that get passed down from generation to generation, maybe that’s what that was. Maybe his family is really big on nine tailed foxes and rain.”

He shook his head in disagreement, stopping in place and nearly causing you to get soaked by the downpour. “I don’t think so, why would they pass down a saying like that when gumihos aren’t real?”

“How do you know that they aren’t real?” You challenged him.

“Because if they were real, then we wouldn’t be learning about it in a mythology class and calling it folklore,” Juyeon stretched his arm out so that the umbrella was covering the both of you as he kept talking, “Humans are like… cockroaches. We force ourselves into the lives of other beings, I think we would have done something about gumihos by now don’t you think?”

You grinned at him as you rocked back and forth on your feet absentmindedly, nugging his shoulder soft as you teased, “wow, I know the lesson wasn’t long today but did you already forget that we were taught? Once a fox has lived for a thousand years, it becomes a gumiho and can shapeshift! How will you know your face to face with a fearsome nine tailed fox when they look exactly like any normal stranger on the street?”

You didn’t even give the boy a chance to speak as you stood in front of him, your back getting pelted with the rain droplets as you continued to jeer, “anyone could be a gumiho. I could be a gumiho, your roommate could be a gumiho, our teacher could be a gumiho, even you could be a gumiho and we’d never know a thing!”

“I think you're forgetting something,” Juyeon countered, pulling out his phone from his pocket and waving it in your face. “Humans have technology, we’ll just develop more technology to find them if we need to.”

“Gosh, you’re no fun,” you pout.

“And your bus stop is right there,” he pointed behind you, taking note of the metal structure built on the side of the road.

You struggle to decide whether or not you want to steal his umbrella as payback for being the way he was but ultimately ditched the idea. “Fine, I’ll see next week then? That is, if you don’t get eaten by a gumiho that is.” You teased.

You watched as annoyance contorted on his face, wanting to find a reason to be mad at you but unable to keep the grin off his face. “I’m not going to be eaten by a gumiho, Y/N. Did we not just have the conversation that they aren’t real?”

“Gumihos seduce men to absorb their energy!” You argued once more. “You’re a physically fit guy whose kept his livers healthy and you’ve got the looks to draw attention to you, you’re the perfect meal for a nine tailed fox to catch!”

“Go home, Y/N,” he urged, pushing you out from under his umbrella. You whined at his audacity and quickly covered your head with your hands in an attempt to shield yourself from the rain. The boy only laughed at your reaction before waving you off, giving you a small farewell as you rushed over towards the bus stop.

When you glanced back to find him again, Juyeon was gone, turned around the corner with his umbrella in tow and forcing you to sit and wait for the bus stop to come if you didn’t want to be soaked by the time you got home.

“Sheesh he could have waited until the bus actually came,” you complained, sitting back on the bench with a somewhat annoyed frown donning your face once again. Juyeon always seemed like he was in a hurry at times, whether he was sneaking around the dorms on your campus or rushing through the hallways to get to his next destination, he always had somewhere to be. There were times where he’d completely ignore your existence in and outside of your mythology class because of his need for action, too busy with his daily life to even spare you a glance.

You wondered where he so urgently needed to go at times, but ultimately knew that was none of your business. The two of you were nothing but classmates, school friends who helped each other out every so often whenever you got the chance. You had no right to dig into Juyeon’s business, so you never tried to cross the line the two of you set up for each other. You don’t really know if you wanted to cross it in the first place.

Besides, he never even said hello to whenever he was in a rush! Why bother trying to discover something where he has to completely ignore your existence to do it? That wasn’t exactly your type of information and gossip you wanted to gather and indulge in.

You sat at the bus stop for around three or four minutes, unwillingly listening to the pitter patter of the rain on the bus stop glass. Like your superstitious instructor, you weren’t very fond of the rain but not for the same reasons. The weather would always ruin plans you had been looking forward to for weeks and the days that came after it always felt humid and musty, you didn’t enjoy the aftermath of rain like other people did.

Don’t even get you started on the days where a thunderstorm would roll over the city, those were the worst days of your life.

You snap out of your daze for a moment, however, completely forgetting your hatred for the raining weather at the sound of barking floating through the air. You tried to ignore it at first, comfortably leaning against the side of the structure and scrolling across your phone to distract yourself, but you couldn’t help it. The more you tried to pretend like the sound didn’t exist the louder it seemed to become, which was a lot seeing as the downpour was a little louder than normal.

Begrudgingly, you stood up out of your seat and shoved your phone deep into your pockets. “Is the universe trying to tell me something today?” You mumbled, covering your head with your hands and stepping out into the rain. You peered across the street where the barking was coming, checking the side of the road for any oncoming cars before rushing to the other side.

The closer you got to the other sidewalk, the louder and more distinct the barking became, resembling more of a young dog than a fully grown one. The barks were more closely related to squeaky toes than anything if you had to be honest; light, annoying, and young. But there was no one else on the street beside you, and your morals were telling you to involve yourself instead of run away.

“Puppy...or puppies?” You called, not exactly having a name to call out for the animals. You don’t even know if they could hear you over the rainfall, but it was worth a shot. If they didn’t come running to you soon you were going to run right back to the bus stop for shelter and go home. You didn’t want to fall ill from standing out in the rain for too long and you didn’t want to miss your bus stop either. “Come here, boy! Or girl…? Whatever you are, come here! I’ll get you some place warm and out of the rain.”

There was no response, which was to be expected. They were animals, not humans, so they couldn’t exactly reply back even if they really wanted to. The barking was still echoing across the area but there was no sign of the animal making all the commotion, not to mention the fact that the rain was beginning to fall harder with each passing second. You might have to give up early if you didn’t want to get caught in a potential thunderstorm, it hurt your heart but you had to take care of yourself as well.

“Ah, I better hurry up before I miss the bus home… walking is going to be a pain if I do,” you mumble to yourself, turning to sprint across the street.

Though you stopped yourself from moving when you heard the sound of bells echoing against your ears, ringing loud and clear within your head as if it was right in front of you. You cautiously look around you for the source of the bells, the jingling rippling out to the rest of the world like a droplet of water falling into a lake. The bells chimed again in your head, yet this time pulling in a certain direction and urging you to continue on that way.

Glancing between the bus stop and the direction you were being pulled toward, you followed the jingling of the bells. Everything in your body was telling you that chasing after the ringing was a bad idea but nevertheless you pushed forward. The dog barking had completely gone silent and the loudest thing in the area was no longer the rain, but the bells in your ears.

You scurried across the sidewalk like a cat, trying your best to stay dry in the unfortunate weather but ultimately failing as you began to feel your clothes stick to your skin. “Ah, there’s no way I’m not going to be sick after this.” You mumbled, turning the corner to peer down an alleyway where the bell chiming was the strongest.

“I’m wet and cold and I’ve been out here for way too— oh my god!” A scream fell out your mouth as you tumbled to the ground petrified by the sight before you. Slumped up against the wall was a boy, barely clinging onto his life as he took slow ragged breaths to keep himself stable. On his arms was the familiar crimson red creeping down his forehead and splattering to the ground, creating a mixture of water and blood pooling underneath him.

Did you just find the end results of a bloody fight? In the middle of the city and close to your college’s campus no less?

“Excuse me, are you alright?” You called out to him, mentally smacking yourself for asking such a question. Clearly the boy wasn’t okay, he was bleeding out in the middle of the rain!

Despite the stupidity of the question, he slowly turned his head toward you. A majority of his face was covered by his hair being plastered against his head thanks to the rain so you couldn’t exactly see if he was looking directly at you, but the mere fact that he was responsive was enough for you.

You hurry over to him as fast as you could, though careful not to slip and fall on the slippery ground, before crouching down next to him. “Can you move at all? It’s not good to sit out here in the rain and waste away, you need to go to a hospital or something—“

“No,” he declined, forcing himself to sit up against the wall and make an attempt to stand up. The boy struggled to himself up right, leaning against the wall for support and the severity of his wounds being put on display. It didn’t look like he got into a fight, per se, more like he had been attacked by an animal. He had large gashes that covered his body and his clothes were tattered and stained with the red hue they leaked down his arm. He needed any sort of medical attention, right away or he might actually bleed out in the middle of the alleyway.

“Can you not see that you’re hurt?” You hissed, grabbing a hold of his wrist and tugging him down to your height. The boy grimaced at your toughness as you rolled up his sleeve, catching sight of an ugly yet fresh scar that needed to be addressed immediately. “You need to go to a hospital, or you’ll die out here in the rain.”

“No,” he challenged you, his face somewhat akin to an animal’s snarl as he tried to snatch his arm away from you. In that instance you heard the soft of the bells that had led you down the alleyway, much louder than they had been before and nearly drowning at the words that the boy had spoken. It sounded like… the ringing was coming directly from him. “I can’t go there, I won’t go there. They won’t be able to help anyway.”

“Are you an idiot?” You couldn’t help but ask, almost scoffing at his persistence to stay away from medically trained professionals. His lips formed into a pout, appalled by the fact that you had the audacity to call him an idiot. “I’m trying to help you man. It’s raining, you’re bleeding out, and I’ve probably missed my ride to go home. Please don't take my kindness for granted and let me help you.”

III.

You laid down in the middle of your bed, staring at your ceiling as you struggled to recall the events from the day before. It’s not like you to forget things easily or anything, in fact you had a rather decent memory when it came to remembering events that had taken place beforehand. You didn’t have a photographic memory, you just had a habit of remembering little details that have happened throughout your day.

But right now? You couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened yesterday.

Most of what you could remember was leaving your mythology early because your teacher had ended the class early. He didn’t like the rain and it had shifted his mood and everyone was grateful for the extra time off. Juyeon had generously offered to walk you to your bus stop with his umbrella so that you could get home without getting rained on and…. that’s where it ends. You can’t recall anything that happened after that. You don’t even remember ever walking into your house the more that you think about it.

“Alright, this is weird,” you declare, forcing yourself to sit up off of the bed. At least you had no classes to attend, you don’t know how you could pay attention to anything you were being taught if you had to deal with your sudden memory loss. “Why can’t I remember anything? Why does it feel like what u forgot was something really important too…?”

Just when you felt as though you were on the verge of pulling your hair out, your phone began to ring. It was a lot louder than you originally set the volume on and was practically screaming at you to pick it up instead of ignoring it like normal. Frustrated, you snatched the device from underneath the sheets and answered the call with a much more aggressive “hello?” than you had meant to start with.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Juyeon’s voice registered through the speaker.

Juyeon. Why was Juyeon calling you right now? The two of you don’t usually call each other unless it was something class related because you weren’t close enough to each other to hold conversations like that. So the mere fact that he had called you out of the blue like this was…. weird to say the least. “Of course,” you replied, giving your voice a lighter tone than when you had answered. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You called me a couple of times yesterday but I didn’t answer because I was busy,” he clarified, giving you a little peek as to what had happened the day before.

You called Juyeon first, why would you do that? You didn’t even call him once, but multiple times given the way he had worded his sentence. You’re not even close to Juyeon, why would you even dare to call him several times yesterday? If you were in trouble you should have just called Kevin like normal! “Are you saying you don’t remember?”

“Yes, actually, I don’t remember anything that happened yesterday.” Maybe you had gone to go get a drink or something before coming home and that’s why your thoughts from yesterday were blurry. But you’re not the type of person to drink that much, at least not alone you wouldn’t. “Listen, Juyeon, I’m sorry about all of this. I didn’t mean to call you, I was just… out of it or something. I don’t know I just can’t remember right now.”

“It’s fine, Y/N, don’t worry I’m just glad you’re alright. I got worried something might have happened to you but hearing you now makes me relieved.” You smiled at his words, letting his caring words for you twirl around in your head like ribbons. Juyeon was just too nice to you, honestly, but he was probably like this with everyone he knew. It made sense if he was, he was kind to almost everyone he met.

Before you could answer, the jingling of bells echoing through your ears, distracting you from any other words that might have come out of the boy’s mouth. You glanced around the room for shunting that could have made the noise, but you don't exactly have anything that could chime like the whimsical clicking of a wind chime. “Do you hear that?” You asked him, cutting off the boy mid sentence as you stood up.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” he answered, “what am I supposed to be hearing? All I hear is you.”

In a flash all of the memories from the day before flooding back to you. The barking, the bell ringing, and the injured boy who refused to go to the hospital to treat his wounds. It all came back to you now, but why had it gone away in the first place. “I’ll… I’ll call you back, Juyeon.”

“Y/N? Y/N, what's wrong? Is something—“ you hung up before he could finish his sentence, cautiously following the ever growing sounds of the bells you had heard earlier. The closer you got to your door, the louder the chiming became, probably signifying the fact that you were going in the right direction.The last time you had followed the bells, they led you straight to the wounded boy. So if your hunch was right, it was most likely leading you straight back to him.

You carefully opened the door to your room, peering through the crack in the door frame to see what was going on. It was eerily silent and for the most the entirety of your apartment showed no signs of inhabiting a second person. “That’s odd…,” you noted, fully stepping out of your room to look around the room for the boy from yesterday. It seemed as though he hadn’t even lived in your house for an hour. “I don’t think he ever left… and I still can hear those bells so he can’t be far.”

Goosebumps ran down your spine as a cold wind blew through your living room. Something was off, you’ve never felt uneasy in your own home before. You had picked this apartment to live in because it felt comfortable and warm like home, but the only thing you were getting from it now was the feeling of being watched. As if a pair of eyes were carefully taking in your every move to determine how you’d react next.

“I know, you’re here,” you stated, rolling your eyes as you began to turn around. “You couldn’t have left in the middle of the night, you were bleeding out and collapsed as soon as you—“

You stopped mid sentence when you stopped the boy in the hallway to your bathroom, frazzled and confused by his surroundings yet still keeping a close eye on you. Now that he wasn’t soaking wet and bleeding (thanks to your amateur bandaging skills) you couldn’t help but notice how much more innocent without the dramatic effect of everything that had happened yesterday. “You really are still here, nice to see you didn’t die while I was asleep.”

“Where am I?” He demanded, not as aggressive as he was the day before but still in a rather rude tone you weren’t expecting from him. “How did I get here and… who are you?”

You slumped onto the small couch of your living room, glancing around the room for a moment before turning back to him with a cheeky smile on your face. “Heaven. You died in your sleep and now you’re in heaven. In the goddess that's going to accompany you through the afterlife.”

“Lies, you just said I didn’t die while I was sleeping,” he quickly pointed out, catching your lie as soon as it came out your mouth.

“Woah, despite all those injuries and passing out in the way here you still have a working brain, that’s good to know,” you tease him, watching as the boy rolled his eyes at your tiny jabs. “I’m Y/N but i guess you can just call me your savior really. Oh, and this is my house. You slept on the couch last night and I appreciate the fact that there is no blood on my cushions. Thanks.”

He nodded his head in understanding, though it seemed like the movements weren't actually correlating to what his mind was thinking. “Wait, you’re my… savior? No that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why not?” You questioned, “I saw you bleeding out in an alleyway yesterday and I tried to take you to hospital but you kept refusing to go, so I just… took you home. I address your wounds and everything and just hoped that when I woke up there wouldn’t be a corpse in my living room. Luckily, as we see now, there isn’t. I saved your life.”

“No!” He yelled, rolling up his tattered clothes to find messily wrapped bandages all over his body. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you were dying?” You blurted, confused to the boy’s sudden panic. “What would you rather have bled out in public for all to see?”

“Yes, actually, that would have been the better option of the two.” How ungrateful was this boy? You saved his life and all he has to say is that he wished you didn’t? Maybe you should have strayed away from your morals for a second because all that had gotten you so far was a boy with no manners. “I don’t think you realize what you’ve done.”

“I have realized what I’ve done,” you responded, “I’ve saved your life because I’m a good person. Why are we arguing about this, there are no downsides to getting your lives saved. Wait, are you embarrassed because you got attacked by some feral cat and nearly died? Not gonna lie, I’d be embarrassed about something like that too.”

“I wasn’t… attacked by a cat,” he explained, a scoff threatening to spill out of his mouth at your bizarre accusation. “I don’t think a cat could make those types of scars.”

“If it wasn’t a cat…” you began, thinking aloud as you tried to member the wounds that covered the boy’s body. The more you pictured them in your head. The more you realize those weren’t… cat scars. They still seemed as though they were animal scars but a cat didn’t make that big a gash on a person’s body. You should have known, you’ve gone to cat cafes enough to have learned the hard way. “Then what…?”

“Gumihos,” the boy replied, tearing off the bandages you had wrapped around him the night before. You winced as you watched your handwork tumble to the ground, but were more concerned over the fact that the gashes on his arm were healed almost completely overnight. “I was attacked by gumihos.”

“Nine tailed foxes?” You blurted, more for yourself than the boy. Seeing you bewilderment made a smile begin to etch across his lips, childish yet mischievous as you tried to break down what you had learned in your head. “But… those are just folklore, they aren’t real. If they were, one would have been caught by humans at this point.

“Why? Don’t you know that a gumiho can shapeshift? They live among humans as if they were any other mortal in order to get what they want in life,” the boy explained, reminding you of the words you had thrown at Juyeon for making the same excuse. “You really think that they’d let a human catch sight of their existence and get away with it?”

“Okay then answer me this,” you ask, sitting up attentive to the stranger you had brought into your home. “If gumihos are real… then why did one attack you and leave you out to die? Don’t they usually kill humans for their livers and hearts? You should have been devoured by now.”

A hearty laugh left the boy’s mouth, much stronger and louder than the small giggle from earlier. His smile couldn’t stop growing on his face as he blinked his eyes at you, the dark browns of his iris swapping out to a bold amber yellow color. His pupils slowly began to dilate into the familiar small slits of a cat’s as your own eyes widened in pure fright. The boy you had saved had now become your greatest mistake. “What makes you think I’m human?”

IV.

“Juyeon!” You hissed at the boy, urging him to come to you once you had finally caught sight of him. He was walking with a group of his friends, people who hadn’t mingled with and didn’t know whether or not you wanted to in the first place. When the boy had turned his head to you, the entirety of his friend group did as well, displaying their bright and eager smiles as they waved their hands in greeting. Awkwardly you greeted them back, unsure of what to do next as they also whispered and muttered to themselves as they let Juyeon break from their group.

Hopefully it was something nice and not anything that could hurt your feelings. They were still grinning and jeering with each other despite whatever comments they were making, so maybe it was a conversation of their approval. Or at least… you hoped it was, you couldn’t really tell the difference. You acted like you had a tough shell but in reality you were way too soft when it came to a stranger’s perspective of you.

“What’s up Y/N?” He greeted, a fond smile plastered across his face as he stood in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets. “It’s a rare sight to see you interact with me when we don’t have a class together. It must be serious.”

“Well…” you trailed off, unsure of how to explain to him. “I guess it’s serious? But nothing too serious… I need some advice really, that’s all.”

“Advise?” Juyeon questioned, intrigued by the topic you had brought him. “Wow… of all the people could have chosen, you need my advice! I can’t help but say I’m honored. But what happened to your other friend… Kevin was his name, right? He would come to walk you home after class sometimes, why aren’t you asking him?”

You grimace at the thought of the boy before quickly waving the thought away. “Kevin will just think I’m crazy and make fun of me. Plus, I think you’re probably most equipped to help me out here since we take mythology together and all.”

“Ah… still keeping this as a school oriented friendship right?” He teased, getting a small laugh to leave your mouth. “Alright, what is it? What mythological help do you need this time? I’m all ears.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure on how to word your sentences without sounding insane. The whole reason you had gone to Juyeon instead of Chanhee was because he would understand you a little better than your friend could. “Gumihos… you know how we’re learning about them currently, right? Is there something that people should know about them in order to protect themselves from one?”

Juyeon raised a brow at your question, staying silent as he thought to himself. “Gumihos? I thought you didn’t want to learn about gumihos because it was pop culture and everyone knows about them?”

“Well, what can I say!” You exclaimed, hoping to cover up your nervousness as much as possible. “I decided to take up a personal essay of sorts on those nine tailed foxes. I got intrigued a few days ago about them and I wanted to get as much information as I could about them, but we don’t go back to our mythology class until I… really can’t wait to get started.”

In reality, you actually had that gumiho boy holed up in your apartment still. In fear of the boy actually attempting to devour your liver you had locked him up in your bathroom and placed a talisman on the door so that he couldn’t escape. You had absolutely no clue on how to deal with a gumiho and you had only recently started your lesson on the fox spirits a few days ago. So needless to say, you wanted to be prepared for whatever might come next while housing him.

“That’s fair,” Juyeon agreed, taking your lie like candy and smiling brightly back at you. “I mean, the concept of nine tailed foxes are pretty cool, so I can’t blame you for looking into them a little further than everyone else.”

“So?” You asked, eagerly awaiting his answer, “Do you have any information I should know?”

“Well… there's this one thing I’ve been told before by my grandparents,” he explained, trying his best to recall past memories that had no use up until now. “Yeah, they would use old myths as stories to tell me before bed when I was a kid. They told me that no matter what fork a gumiho comes in, never let them kiss you.”

“Kiss?” You blurted out, shocked that that was the one thing he decided to share. “What’s kissing got to do with fox spirits?”

“It’s how they take your energy,” Juyeon told you, putting his pointer fingers together as if mimicking a kiss between two people. “When a gumiho kisses you, they absorb your energy. The more energy they absorb the weaker you become until you eventually die! Kinda scary, right? Not only do they feed off of human livers, but our mere life essence.”

“What type of bedtime story is that,” you mumbled, skeptically glancing over Juyeon. If that was the type of stories he was being told as a child, how was he not a little messed up in the head? If you were him, you would be absolutely terrified of everything even approaching you. Who knew when someone would randomly come up and kiss you? Your first and last kiss would be from a fox trying to steal your life away!

“I was very easy to tease as a child,” he shrugged, his smile turning sheepish as he softly scratched the back of his neck. “My grandparents loved telling me stories like that because I was an emotional little kid, ease to scare and quick to try and stuff like that.”

“That makes a little more sense,” you nodded, “no sane person would tell that as a bedtime story, it’s always got to be told to a child that’s easily scared.”

“Yeah, yeah, say what you want. If they hadn’t told them those stories of gumihos, I probably wouldn’t be taking mythology now,” Juyeon explained, glancing back toward the direction your shared class was. “And if I didn’t take mythology, you wouldn’t have any friends in that class.”

You shrug in response, he was right. If Juyeon had decided that he didn’t want to take the mythology course you probably wouldn’t have ever met him in the first place. So that was one good thing that had come out of his grandparents scaring him into the folklore of nine tailed foxes. “If you don’t mind me asking by the way,” the boy continued, switching topics while he still had your attention. “Whatever happened that day? You said you’d call me back but you never did. I can’t lie, I was a little worried for you again.”

“Ah, that,” you stall, struggling to make up a lie off the time of your head. You felt bad for lying to Juyeon more than you already were, you heard what he said! He’s worried about you and you didn’t want to put any more of load onto his back with your supernatural problems. “Well, I think I’ve got spirits in my house. I’ve been hearing weird noises sometimes and I thought you could hear it too, that’s why I asked.”

“Funny how things like this happen to a mythology student, huh? I wonder what kind of spirit has skipped their way into your house then.” Juyeon laughed, shaking his head at the ironic situation you had got yourself in, “well if you ever find yourself needing a home away from home, my dorm room is always open? We’d have to clean up a little bit before you arrive and sneak you in but anything to get away from spirits, right?”

[elles-writing]

Dragon Heart - IV.

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Warnings/triggers: -

She looked over at Bilbo, who was stirring, and decided it would be a good idea to prepare him a cup of warm tea with some honey and milk. Y/N remembered Bilbo loved this as a child.

So, her next steps took her to the hobbit's kitchen.

Before she stepped inside, Y/N noticed one - perhaps from the older ones - dwarf, who prepared a steaming cup of tea already.

The dwarf didn't seemed to trust her - of course - but his eyes little softened, because she knew Gandalf and Bilbo.

"What tea is that?" Y/N asked instead, genuiely interested.

"Charmomile, for Master Baggins." Y/N hummed and the dwarf quickly left the little hobbit kitchen. You looked around, more concentrated this time. Then, you looked over the hall, pantry, and living room, where was Bilbo, Gandalf and some of the dwarves.

Baggins', now Bilbo's house, has never been un-practical. Maybe for Y/N by it's size, but other than that, there was everything one would need for life.

When Bilbo catched her eyes, Y/N could clearly see he was uncomfortable, upset and absolutely, absolutely done with the subject.

The dwarves.

But most importantly...

Gandalf.

You shrugged, and decided to leave him his burglar-not-burglar game. Bilbo would not be patient forever, but he was mannered and clever enough to know what to do. You were sure the hobbit would feel his Took side with desire for an adventure again.

And take his chance to escape Sackville-Baginses.

As you walked around, you noticed some of the pictures. They seemed to be new - or at least you didn't remembered them.

You walked closer, and stepped on something. You looked down, and noticed it was a dagger. You've never seen the design before, but assumed it must be one of the dwarves'. You picked it up and studied it, when you overheard a voice next to you.

"Careful with this, it's been just sharpened." You turned to see a blonde, blue-eyed dwarf, with braided moustache. He seemed to have the same twinkle in his eyes as Kili.

"I can handle sharp things," Y/N said and looked back at the knife.

"It's nice. Not too light, but not as heavy either." Y/N was thinking aloud. She completely forgot the dwarf next to her, as she studied the dagger.

"You know Master Baggins," He suddenly said. Y/N turned to him.

What the-did he just-

"I do," You nodded, and placed the dagger to his hand.

What the-no, he just didn't-

"You don't look like you are related," he continued.

"That's because we aren't." You ended the topic. Instead, it was your time to ask.

"Who are you?"

"Fili, at your service m'lady," he gently took your hand and kissed the back of your hand, his eyes not leaving yours.

"Y/N, at yours...Fili," You said.

"Oh, Y/N, can I-can I talk to you, for a second?" Bilbo came and you gladly walked aside with him, while Fili send you a wink.

"Bilbo, to answer some of your questions - no, I didn't knew-"

"I'm not talking about the, the dwarves," Bilbo looked over the room with frown on his face.

"Then what is it, my little friend?" You said quietly in attempt to brighten up the situation. Bilbo was almost adorable with frowned pouty face, hands folded on his chest, patting the floor with his foot...only if you could stand straight in his house. Your back thought the size of his house was not adorable at all.

"Well, um...did Gandalf told you to bring them along?" You looked at him with scrunched face, and rolled your eyes.

"I wouldn't be coming if I knew there were dwarves involved. So, if anything, I share your unpopular opinion." And ruffled his hair. He jumped up.

"I'm not a little hobbit anymore, you don't have to do this," Bilbo said through gritted teeth, and you grinned.

"Well, you still are kind of little," You teased him futher, until a dwarf with sharp blue eyes, long, dark hair, and the biggest grumpy and pouty face you've ever seen (not even Bilbo could do that, when he was angy little hobbit).

That dwarf shot you a glare, and also to Bilbo, who was taken aside by him and Gandalf, again.

You felt sorry for Bilbo.

When he was free, you overheard him muttering something about 'surely not going', 'not going anywhere', 'wizards', and so on. You decided to go to sleep, because all of the dwarves were asleep already, and you needed to be up early.

You woken up quickly. The first thing you've heard was the snoring. You scrunched your face, and quickly packed your things. Then, you walked out of Bag End, and decided to wait for them there.

The sunrise was nice time, especially to prepare your horse for the day.

"Shh," you cooed her quietly. It was beautiful mare, tall, and very, very clever.

"It will be okay. We will find dad, and we will go away, to live far away...everything is going to be just fine," You muttered.

"You ready?" Kili stood next to you with a grin on his face. You jumped up a little.

"I am." You said, and noticed Kili's expression as he looked at your horse. You let out a laugh.

"You've never seen a horse before?" Kili walked back a little.

"Not really," he said and you noticed his blushed cheeks.

"Kili!" You both looked over to Fili, standing between two ponies, who called him.

-

"Do you think Bilbo will come?" Kili asked you.

"That hobbit won't show up," Balin said. He was on his pony next to Kili, so he thought he talked to him.

"It's no surprise. Why would Master Baggins leave his home," Thorin (as was the grumpy dwarf named) said.

"I wouldn't understimate hobbits, and especially not Master Baggins," Gandalf said as he smoked his pipe.

"I am sure he is going to come," He said.

And that's when the bet started.

-

It wasn't even five minutes after you left Shire, when you overheard Bilbo's voice in the distance.

"Waaait!"

You looked over to Gandalf, who was hiding a laugh.

"You planned this?" You quietly asked and motioned to the hobbit, who was breathing heavily.

"Well, perhaps," he said, and you scoffed a little and shook your head, as the dwarves seated Bilbo on his pony.

-

The day was beautiful. It was actually quite warm, just warm so you could put down your cloak.

As the evening was approaching, and the sun was setting into palette of gold and velvet, and the sky was getting darker, Thorin decided it was time to set up camp. After a quick argument with Gandalf, the wizard left to seek company of himself. So, there was nothing easier, than to just finding the best place to place your bedroll.

You, Fili and Kili were on first watch. You laid down on your bedroll, and watched the stars. It was cloudless night, plus the crackling sound of fire, and smell of fresh night air was relaxing.

Bilbo was just coming back from his pony, when a sound in distance made him freeze.

"W-what was that?" He pointed to the distance, while looking at Kili.

"Orcs," he said in low, deep voice. You sat up. Bilbo had a part of Took in himself, but he was not that much of a Took.

"There is going to be plenty of those," Fili said, and, obviously, Kili continued.

"They come at night, no screams, just lots of blood," He looked at Bilbo, and the shadows in his face, along with his deep and low voice made it come out horribly scary. Him and Fili started chuckling, but you sighed.

"The way you two snore would make them run for hills, so I wouldn't be that worried," You said, and noticed Bilbo to relax by the corner of your eye.

Kili looked over at you. You pulled out book from your pack. He quickly recognized it, even in the darkness of the night. It was that book you flipped through back in Bag End.

You sat comfortably down, and looked over the illustrations on the pages, and softly touched them.

"What is the book you are reading about, lassie?" Balin asked. You didn't looked up.

"It's a book with tales and stories my...father wrote down," you answered.

"He used to read them to me," you shrugged.

"Would you read some of them-ow, what was that for?!" Kili whisper-yelled at his brother, who chuckled.

"You're a child, Kee," He muttered to himself, and Kili pouted. But Fili was curious as well, which Kili didn't needed to know.

"Well...this one," You flipped a few pages futher.

"This one is called Strange thief and the stars," Y/N comfortably sat and started reading.

"There was once a man. He wasn't very known by name, but by his eyes. His eyes, deep and dark, with sparkles, reminding of stars. Nobody has ever seen eyes like this before, and people were whispering he has stars themselves in his eyes," You slid the tips of your fingers over the drawing, remembering the precision your father has made into repairing them.

"Many women tried to grab his attention, but anytime they didn't sucsceeded, the sparks in their eyes were less visible, but in his as well. And that is why men has decided to call him 'the thief of stars', or a 'strange thief of stars'. He was wandering through the lands, until he found what, as he realized, was looking for,"

"What happened next?" Bilbo asked.

"That girl didn't want to talk to him. She was very kind and caring, but not naive. One day, however, she found a dragon. Big dragon, who seemed scary, but saved her from orcs. The beast's eyes reminded her of someone, yet she didn't knew of whom." You realized everyone was quiet, listening to you, as you spoken.

"The next day, she met the man. He runned into her, in a rush, in a fear - and asked her "Did you see the dragon too?". The young maiden nodded, and helped him to get to safety, as he was very nervous and scared. Since that day, they became closer and closer. One day, when a few years passed, her father - an old, wise and kind man - said, his daughter will marry someone, who gives her something very special. The young man came the next day in their house they lived in. He said," you flipped the page.

" 'I do not have much to offer - gold, silver, or gems - but I do have this," he took out a notebook out of his coat, and offered it. The girl's father took the notebook, and opened it. It was full of drawings of flowers, animals and people - but mainly of one special maiden, when she was laughing, collecting flowers, brushing her hair, cooking, reading...When she came there, and looked throught the book, her father looked at her, and she nodded. So, he looked deeply into the young man's eyes, and said 'She chose you.' "

You finished the story, and Kili giggled at how interested his brother was.

"Now who's the child here,"

[keilemlucent]

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1   ||   chapter 2  ||  chapter 3  ||  chapter 5  ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh. 

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

------

chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean  

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

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Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them. 

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

 One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop. 

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.) 

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine. 

He paid you a visit in the early morning. 

 The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.  

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop. 

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way. 

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time. 

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured. 

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’. 

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do. 

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly. 

 Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

 You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink. 

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt. 

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor. 

 You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

 It was your only self-imposed criteria. 

 You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

 Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

 You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible. 

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent. 

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day. 

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool. 

 “Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!” It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice. 

You caught it but said nothing. 

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

 What.

What the fuck.

 Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat. 

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body. 

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong. 

 It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp. 

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup. 

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

 It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea. 

It was you. 

 The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip. 

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours. 

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

 “It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.” 

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink’s inspiration?” 

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.” 

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak. 

He didn’t.

 Keigo stared down at the drink, then you. 

Holy fuck.

This was ambient? 

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you. 

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

 “What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

 Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

 Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

 “Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

 |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it. 

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it. 

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand. 

 During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach. 

 Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing. 

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

 He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday. 

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

  Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation 

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality. 

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.  

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli. 

Quirk potential: 

 Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

 The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

 Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused. 

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it. 

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind. 

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

 You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut. 

 By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon. 

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

 [birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

 Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

 [birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this 

 You snorted. 

 [birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

 You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching. 

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early. 

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

 It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks. 

 Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting. 

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later. 

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups. 

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction. 

 Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand. 

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

 You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms. 

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you. 

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough. 

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass. 

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you. 

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz. 

You just had to keep moving. 

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh. 

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

 You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits. 

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative. 

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know. 

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

 Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics. 

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel. 

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war. 

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you. 

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training. 

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.  

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight. 

 Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window. 

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway. 

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak. 

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

 You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again. 

Something was seriously fucked up.

 Then Hawks called your name. 

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse. 

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you. 

 Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious. 

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass. 

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him. 

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass. 

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

 You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms. 

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop. 

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind. 

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

 Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

 “(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely. 

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest. 

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.  

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body. 

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression. 

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly. 

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage. 

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee. 

 With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more. 

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.  

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out. 

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds. 

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals. 

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation. 

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths. 

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat. 

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

 You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain. 

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red. 

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile. 

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg. 

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag. 

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement. 

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations. 

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

 “(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass. 

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely. 

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking. 

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort. 

 “There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid. 

 Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises. 

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg. 

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side. 

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble. 

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together. 

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did. 

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife. 

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather. 

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you. 

 “Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue. 

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

 Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

 So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk. 

 “Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg. 

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream. 

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of. 

 (Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

 “We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs. 

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends. 

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears. 

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

 The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state). 

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

 From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him. 

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay. 

You were friends, right?

 Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch. 

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil. 

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.  

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity. 

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat. 

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more. 

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot. 

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.  

[fenfyre]

Instructions for Living - Part IV

Part I    Part III

He can not remember the last time he went to bed with Jean instead of hours after him. Can not remember the last time he felt Jean fall asleep beside him. The last time they had sex unhurried and luxurious between these sheets instead of hastily groping each other between appointments and the hundreds of other things needing to be done.

Had it been months?

Shit, it might have been months.

At first glance not much is different from this morning when they said goodbye to each other.

But after some time he notices that just because the changes are not as glaringly obvious as they were in the living room, with whole chunks of their decor missing, that does not mean there are no changes. No losses to mourn. A framed picture of them is missing from the side table and Jean's phone charger is not on the bedside table anymore.

When Eren pulls back the neatly made duvet he finds no soft sleep shirt between the sheets. Only his own pyjama pants. The flannel ones Jean got him forever ago because he liked the way they felt when they cuddled. Eren barely wears them because he tends to run hot but the last nights were chilly so Jean laid them out for him without question or comment. He tends to notice these things, the ones Eren is too preoccupied with other thoughts to pay any mind to, and he takes the steps sane people take to make things more easy and comfortable.

Steps Eren could live without but did not have to in so many years he is not sure what going without them would do to him. If being apart from Jean might not just break him in the big, heart aching ways, but also in the small ones he never before paid much attention to.

Eren's hands are clammy as he changes into the pyjama pants and he is not even completely sure why. Maybe it is the way everything around him felt off since he first stepped into the apartment a while ago. Or maybe going to bed without Jean already sleeping soundly is the strangest thing he had to do today. Stranger than coming home to a too empty apartment and too many memories to handle.

The itch in his palms spreads into his fingertips as soon as he finishes changing and he has to take a moment to push away the urge to take out a notebook and jot down a few verses. This is not a feeling to cast into a song, even if that might just be the one medium flexible enough to contain them for him.

Maybe he should have talked about them to Jean more instead of pressing them between the pages of little notebooks like Jean does with his flowers.

There is a lyric somewhere in that too and Eren hates himself for it.

He grabs his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans but instead of opening the notes app the way he tends to do when he has another late night idea for a project or a song, he pulls up Jean’s contact.

While it rings he lets himself fall onto the bed, the old frame creaking under his weight. He planned to fix that months ago. But now it has to wait a while longer.

After a few ringing sounds the call goes to voicemail, which is not surprising. He did not expect Jean to actually pick up right now and if he is fully honest with himself Eren is not sure what he might have said or done if Jean actually did. Talking to him right now would be too much, too cruel. He at least hopes Jean has the relaxed night with Sasha he planned and was able to distract himself somewhat from everything going on.

Hearing the short message Jean had recorded for his voice mail already cuts too deeply.

He has to take a moment to collect himself after the beeping sound, swallowing around the thickness in his throat.

"Hey pretty", he murmurs after a moment and wants to hit himself for the word as soon as it leaves his lips. This is not the time for pet names and endearments. But calling Jean by his name would have been so much worse.

"I'm ... I found the album..." The words are halting and Eren does not know exactly where to take it from there. It is not like he wrote down a concept before pulling up Jean's number. But he knows there is something he wants to say, feels it in his chest and the itch behind his eyelids.

There is a pause as he swallows again.

"I'm gonna try", he finally forces out the promise he already gave Jean last night. This morning. "I'm gonna do my fucking best to try as hard as I can. And I don't care if you need one month or three or a year ... I'll still be trying for you. I'll still be..."

Waiting. That is the word that gets stuck in Eren's throat almost violently.

Jean waited for years. For Eren to find some kind of balance. For Eren to come around to them. For Eren to just come to bed.

Eren had a lot of his own waiting to do if he ever hoped to make it up to Jean.

"I'll be waiting." The whisper was so low he was not even sure if his phone had picked up the words. "You just come home whenever you're ready. I'll be here. And I'll do better. I promise."

There is much more he wants to say but he feels the lump in his throat thicken again and the itch behind his eyelids flares up. He hangs up before the first tears squeeze out from behind his shut eyes.

The urge to get up and move, to distract himself with any of the projects still in the work room or the garage or the basement is almost unbearable. But instead of getting up and following his decades old habit Eren presses the phone against his chest, rolls onto his side and allows the pain to crash over him.

"Can you do it?", Jean asks after he brought Eren to the door of their apartment for the last time in what would certainly be a long time. Neither of them know how low exactly.

How could Eren ever answer that question honestly? The truth is he has no idea. He has not been without Jean for so many years. How is he supposed to know if he can do anything without him?

Still he nods. If they want to save this they have to try on their own for a while. Eren has to try on his own.

"You sure?"

"I love you", Eren blurts because honestly, that is the only answer Jean needs. Even if Eren is not sure if he can do this on his own he will try. He will try anything. "So yeah. I was never this sure."

He holds Jean's searching gaze for another moment, his heart beating all the way up into his throat. If there is a person who can read him like an open book it is Jean. So why is he so afraid his boyfriend might not believe him?

Then Jean's gaze softens, the hard edges of his face smoothing like the worry plastered across his forehead. It is the one thing, Jean softening like he does because he trusts Eren, because he found hope in that moment, that makes Eren truly believe they can do this.

"Alright", he nods, seemingly more to himself than to Eren at this point. But the small smile that tugs at his lips, the softness in his eyes, those are for Eren alone. "Take care of yourself."

It is said with barely more than a breath and even though Eren can feel the distance still between them that Jean said he needed, he can not resist but to reach out and grab his boyfriend's hand. Squeezing cold fingers between his own.

"I will", he promises. "However long it takes."

And the only thing that allows him to let go of Jean's hand and turn towards the stairs is the trust, the unshaken knowledge, that however long it takes ... he will hold that hand again. Some day.

~

The End

~

Commissions | Kofi | AO3 | twitter | pillowfort

[queenmylovely]

At First Glance, Part III

Summary: Roger Taylor x fem!reader. The first day in Firenze holds some surprises. 

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: cussing, idiots

A/N: they’re finally going to Florence (which I will mainly refer to in the Italian, Firenze)!!! Roger and reader have some choice interactions in this one 👀. Thanks to Brigid, my love @illfoandillfie​, for beta reading! I hope y’all enjoy it and as always, feedback is appreciated lots 💖

Part I, Part II, Part IV, Masterlist 

(ah fuck look at this blondie, he’s so soft) 

☀️☀️☀️

Somehow, despite all the efforts of Freddie to get you to take more, you managed to fit everything you needed for the week in the biggest carry-on you could take and your shoulder bag. By packing a group of things that could be layered and reworn in many different ways, there was enough room for whatever souvenirs and clothes you wanted to bring back. You had promised Freddie anything so long as it was beautiful, Mila something to do with Michelangelo’s David, and Cheyenne a notebook with some art on the cover. Brian and Deaky already had Roger bringing them something, so they didn’t ask you, which you were lowkey glad for because you weren’t sure how you would afford everything otherwise.

The plan was for everyone to gather at the airport at 7:00am on Saturday for the flight to Rome where you would then get on a train the rest of the way to Florence, or Firenze in Italian. At 6:45, you were standing with Rosie, Carter, Mandela, and Ayesha waiting for the others to show up with a coffee already in hand.

“Look who it is, you guys decided to finally become an official part of the trip?” Mandela called out and you turned to see who else but Roger, Brian, Deaky, and Freddie. They all laughed.

“We’ve certainly bought enough cookies,” Deaky said wryly as they joined the circle the five of you had formed.

“And donated enough clothes,” Freddie added with a playful jab to your ribs.

“Hey!” you giggled. “Don’t make me laugh, it’s 7:00 in the morning.”

“Don’t remind us,” Brian groaned, his annoyance at being woken up so early evident in his errant curls and suspiciously pajama-like trousers.

“Yeah what are you all doing here anyway?” Rosie asked curiously.

“Well one of us had to take Rog,” Deaky patted Roger’s head, who immediately frowned and started fixing his hair. “But we couldn’t agree who should so we decided it was only fair if we all go.”

“Plus then we get to say goodbye to y/n and the rest of you lovely people,” Freddie said so sincerely that everyone got a little flustered.

You didn’t get to hear the continuation of the conversation because the unusually quiet Roger came over and pulled you aside. Looking him over apprehensively, you couldn’t help but notice that for as tired as he seemed to be, he still looked good, his matching adidas black tracksuit with red piping looking way more put together than everyone else’s t-shirts and joggers.

“Ahem,” Roger cleared his throat and you realized that you had been pretty much openly staring at him. Your cheeks got hot as he continued, “You ready for that handshake?”

“Oh, yeah,” you replied casually, as if you hadn’t been thinking about it for days.

With a half-smile, Roger extended his hand. You met it with your own, matching his firm grip and feeling the warmth of his fingers on your palm and his thumb pressing lightly on the back of your hand.

“Truce,” you offered carefully.

“Truce,” Roger returned before tugging you closer to him, making you stumble before you found your footing, much closer to him. You looked up to his eyes and his now fully smiling face, feeling the heat of anger and something else more confusing warming you up from the inside out.

You decided to go with the anger, at least to the extent you feel you could in a truce, because it’s a more comfortable, safe feeling, “A second in and you’re already making me regret it.”

Roger stiffened for a second, but you hadn’t dropped your hand, and there’s what someone could almost interpret as a smirk on your face.

“As if,” Roger scoffed and then some stifled laughter to your left made you look over.

Pretty much your entire tour group plus the Queen boys were looking at the two of you, looking like absolute dickheads shaking hands for so long. You quickly dropped your hands, and just as quickly, everyone looked away.      

___

Just under five hours later, the twelve of you (the Italy Ten plus Prof Haus and her wife, Sofia) were stumbling into the hotel, tired from the early get-up and travel.

“Alright everyone, head to the desk, get checked in, relax for a bit, and meet in the hotel restaurant for lunch together at 1:30. We will eat without you!” Professor Haus warned everyone with a smile, and Sofia hit her lightly on the arm.

You had been walking with Chandice and Rosie, but told them you’d see them soon as you figured you should find Roger and get to your room. Of course, he was at the back of the group with Carter and Mandela, laughing about something you hadn’t heard.

It took a lot of effort not to fall back into old habits and snap at him. So instead you said with a slight smile, “You ready to get our room keys?”

“Oh shit, we gotta do that too, huh?” Carter realized, and before you could even reply, he and Mandela were taking off for the line. You and Roger started walking over more slowly.

“What do you think the room will be like?” Roger asked, trying for a normal conversation.

You tried the same, “I mean, probably pretty simple based on what we’re paying for, right?”

Roger cracked a smile, “Good thing all I need is somewhere to sleep and a decent bathroom.”

“Same, oh and somewhere to hang a few things,” you added.

Tapping the side of his forehead, Roger nodded, “Ah, good point.”

Things fell silent for a moment, neither of you knowing what to say next because you hadn’t had a regular conversation with each other since— well maybe ever. Thankfully, a minute later, you were at the desk, everyone else including Prof Haus and Sofia having left for their rooms.

The desk clerk smiled at the two of you and you smiled back, “Hi, we’re with the class group as well, our room is for y/l/n and Taylor.”

Typing a couple things into the computer, the clerk grabbed two separate keys, placing them onto the counter between you, “Yes, one queen bed room for y/l/n and Taylor.”

You and Roger froze. A couple seconds went by and you thought maybe you had just heard wrong.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

The clerk said the exact same thing. Another few seconds of silence.

“... we’re supposed to have two beds, we’re not a couple, is there any way we could switch to a room with two beds?” you asked hopefully.

The clerk made an apologetic face, “I’m sorry, but with your group and another conference, we are completely booked. I can recommend another hotel?”

Roger and you looked at each other and you told the clerk you’d need a minute.

“I think that we got a group discount for booking all together. So, I think another hotel would cost more money,” Roger said and you nodded.

“It is a queen bed, that’s reasonably big enough for us to both sleep in without getting in each other’s way, right? Are you okay with that?” you asked him, pushing past all of the anxiety that came with the thought of sharing a bed with Roger.

“Yeah, that’s fine. You are as well?” Roger confirmed, full of nervous energy behind his casual expression.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you answered though you were freaking out on the inside, and the two of you went back to the desk to get fully checked in and your keys.

The whole group was on the second floor, which was nice because the elevators were small so they could’ve only fit one person plus their luggage at a time.

Once in your room, you negotiated who would be on which side and set your suitcases on the dresser side by side. Not feeling in the mood to unpack, you flopped down on your side of the bed.

“I need a fucking nap.”

“That sounds good, wanna cuddle?”

Cracking your eyes open, you saw a mischievous-looking Roger laying down on his side of the bed, a big smirk on his face. You grabbed the throw pillow in the middle of the bed and tossed it at Roger, hitting him square in the face.

“Cuddle this,” you rolled your eyes. With that, you turned your back on him, set an alarm for thirty minutes, and willed yourself to fall asleep.

_

The quiet beeping of your alarm woke you up and you quickly turned it off so as not to bother Roger. When you sat up and looked over at him, you saw to your surprise that he actually was cuddling the throw pillow. Something about that made you laugh, finding it rather cute despite yourself.

With the time you had before lunch, you hung up the few things you needed to, changed into some non-plane clothes, freshened up, and got connected to the hotel wifi. In all that time, Roger did not even roll over. When 1:15 rolled around, you figured you should wake him up so he would make it to the restaurant on time.

“Roger,” you said quietly as you gently shook his shoulder. He didn’t stir, so you tried speaking a little louder, “Roger, it’s 1:15, we have to be in the restaurant in 15 minutes.”

His breathing didn’t even change.

So you resorted to near-shouting and patting his face, not too hard, and finally his eyes started to slide open. When he registered that you were standing over him, your hand still resting on his cheek, his expression formed into what seemed like happiness and he smiled. You frowned a little, not moving quite yet, wondering if you could take this seeming sleepy vulnerability as a true expression of his feelings. Roger saw the gears turning in your head and got nervous about what you were going to do or say, so he decided to retreat into a comfortable behavior.  

His sleepy smile grew into a grin and you saw a familiar glint in his eyes, “Are we about to kiss right now?”

You stepped away from him quickly, groaning with annoyance, “I’m going to lunch, goodbye.”

Then you grabbed your key and purse, walking out of the room without another glance towards him. Roger watched you, and as soon as the door closed, he dropped his head into his hands, grumbling to himself.    

___

After lunch, for which Roger had just barely made it in time, the group embarked on a walking tour of the streets of Firenze. Sofia, who was actually from the nearby town of Siena, was able to navigate while Prof Haus pointed out the details of architecture and some of the famous areas and buildings visible just walking through town.

The hotel was close to the Uffizi Gallery, so you walked towards the river first, Sofia pointing out Ponte Vecchio where a lot of little jewelry shops were over the river, which everyone thought would be a great place to go looking for souvenirs. The gallery was next, and it was good to have an idea of where you would be going for the next couple days. Then, after more walking, it was onto Piazza della Repubblica, and when the merry-go-round was spotted, nothing could stop the ten of you from getting in line immediately.

With the kids that were already in line, and your whole group, it turned out to be a pretty full ride. And, in spite of looking for another option, you ended up on a horse right next to Roger, who luckily hadn’t bothered you since before lunch.

As the ride and the music started up, you saw PK and Ayesha sharing a two-seat swan and took out your phone, snapping a picture of them real quick in case it was against the rules. You planned to send it to her after the ride because you knew she had a crush on him and this was probably a big moment.

“You want a picture?”

“What?” you looked at Roger, not comprehending what he had said.

He gestured to your phone, “Do you want a picture of you on the ride?”

“Oh, sure,” you replied. You hadn’t expected that offer at all, but carefully handed over your phone to Roger.

He leaned back to get you and the horse in frame and you felt awkward trying to figure out how to pose.

“Pull your right leg back. Ok, now hold the pole with your left hand and put your hair behind your shoulders,” Roger instructed and surprised, but grateful for the suggestions, you did as he said. “Good, now square your right shoulder and put your right hand in front of you.”

You got into position, feeling a strange heat in your stomach and on your face, but smiled. Roger snapped a couple pics, nodding as he did.

“Okay now some not smiling,” he told you and you looked confused. “You know, ‘attitude and give me face,’ look hot, you know how.”

Understanding him now, but still wholly confused as to how Roger was the one giving you advice, you did your best. After the first one that felt weird, you decided to just go for it and arched your back, stuck out your chest just a bit, slid your hand onto your thigh, and tried your very best to look hot. Roger shifted and just barely bit his lip, which you did your best not to notice, but at the same time it gave you more confidence.

Once he got a few good ones, Roger handed your phone back, clearing his throat, “There you go.”

“Thanks, do you want any?” you asked, holding your phone up.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Oh come on, don’t you want a memento from your first time on a carousel in Italy?” you said with a smile and he almost smiled. “Here, just a selfie with me.”

You flipped the camera around, holding it up to get him in the frame, “Lean over here so the camera can see you.”

Roger leaned in, having to balance himself with a hand on your horse, dangerously close to your thigh and you breathed out before breaking into a smile. He smiled too, and you took a picture. For good measure, you took a burst, and somewhere in there, Roger flipped the bird at the camera, making you laugh for real. You put down your phone, turning to Roger who was suddenly just a few inches away from you. A quick breath in to steady yourself backfired when all you got was the scent of Roger’s cologne, warm and spicy, making your head a little dizzy as your eyes refocused on his.

The laugh was still evident on his face as he looked back at you, not daring to move an inch. But you realized that when you had moved, his hand had slipped down so that the bottom half of it was pressed against your thigh. The feeling was damn near intoxicating and you could’ve let yourself get drunk on it, but then the carousel slowed down and the sounds of the carnival music and kids laughing nearby brought you back to reality.

You and Roger broke apart, getting down and off the ride quickly so you wouldn’t be noticeably behind the group.

___

That evening, you had dinner with Chandice and Rosie, walking to a nearby square and nabbing a table with a good view. On the way back, you stopped at a gelateria and walked through the streets slowly, just enjoying the atmosphere of the night.

You had decided on a pretty early night so you would have time to make sure everything was ready for tomorrow, shower, and catch up on sleep. When you got there, the room was empty so you figured Roger must still be out with Elijah and Elise because they had all tried to find a specific restaurant they had read about.

So you put on some music and went about your tasks. Humming along to It’s Too Late by Carol King as you picked out your outfit for the next day, singing to Feel Like Makin’ Love by Roberta Flack in the tiniest shower you had ever been in, and dancing along Uptown Girl by Billy Joel as you did your nightly routine, you were just climbing into bed at 10:30. You heard a bell tower ringing it’s short half hour sound not too far away and smiled to yourself. Turning off the lamp next to your side of the bed, you settled down to sleep, hoping Roger wouldn’t be too loud when he came in.

Roger got to the room around half an hour later, creeping inside when he noticed all the lights were off except the one in the bathroom through the partially open door. He opened the door to the bathroom a little more, just giving himself enough light not to bump into anything. Thankfully, he wasn’t drunk, just a little buzzed, and he was able to get to his suitcase, grab clothes, and get back to the bathroom to shower without waking you up. He took a quick shower and got ready for bed, grateful that he had packed pajama bottoms as he pulled them on over his briefs. Then he headed back into the room, lights all off now, and tiptoed over to his side of the bed.

Pulling back the covers slowly, he got in even slower, waiting before he could tell your breathing was still even before he fully relaxed. Roger could just see the outline of your profile over your shoulder lit by the moonlight shining through the window and took a moment to admire your peaceful face. He laid down on his back, one arm behind his head and closed his eyes. Then he felt movement from your side and cracked an eye open to see that you had turned over to face him, still fast asleep, and smiled softly as his eyes closed again and he started to drift to sleep.

☀️☀️☀️

series taglist: @goodoldfashionedloverbelle @youngpastafanmug  @kukkahattumursu @the-leafy-kale @bluewillowmom 

permanent taglist: @riseetothesun @drowseoftaylor @caborhapch​  @queenlover05 @johndeaconshands @stardust-galaxies @zodiacaldust  @buckyluvrs @im-an-adult-ish @sleep-i-ness​ 

[raleighcarrera]

falling

platinum | raleigh carrera x mc (cadence dorian)

a little while ago i posted about the idea of a soulmate au where the first words raleigh & cadence say to each other are tattooed on them their whole lives, and this... is that. (for @platinumweekend ❤️)

tags: @choicesarehard ; @empressazura; @emomoustache ; @natesewell ; @zigtheeortega ; @pixeljazzy ; @brycemaloliver ; @grigori-girl ; @dulceghernandez ; @bitchloveskcbaseball ; @withbeautyandrage 

~10.5k words | T

i.

the words appear in looping script on his thirteenth birthday, right on time. they curve along the inside of his bicep, innocently punctuated. what’s your name?

“you got lucky,” one of his older cousins tells him, later, when everyone in his family comes by for cake and to ooh and aah over his new tattoo, “you’ll be able to hide that with a shirt or a jacket easily.”

but raleigh sleeps shirtless every night for the next two years, even when it’s cold, so that the words are the last thing he sees with his head pillowed on his arm before he falls asleep, dreaming of the nameless, faceless person who will one day say them, wondering what their voice might sound like when they do.

ii.

she has a more difficult go of it.

being a thirteen year old girl would be miserable enough without the added pressure of the words that practically feel broadcast across her forehead, most of the time. everyone at school teases her constantly and ruthlessly: say something funny, cadence. go on. tell us a joke!

so it’s difficult not to resent the two words scrawled lazily across her collarbone and the person attached to them, especially in the mornings before school when she’s angrily rearranging her neckline and jewelry in the mirror while the bus idles outside.

very funny. she isn’t, really. she’s plenty of things -- determined and passionate and sensitive, definitely, but... no one’s ever found her particularly funny, before.

and no one seems to understand just how much the expectation of having to be funny, one day, is weighing on her, not even her parents, when she finally works up the courage to squeak out, “but how am i supposed to know what i should say?”

her mom laughs indulgently, like she’s already said something funny. her stomach sinks further.

“oh, sweetheart,” she tells her, “don’t worry, it won’t matter. you just will.”

iii.

people ask him about it. a lot.

it gets difficult to keep it a secret as things change around him, but raleigh’s careful to avoid slip-ups and paparazzi photos and he doesn’t say a word about it in interviews, even when he’s asked directly. he’s never seen without short sleeves on, at the very least, and he doesn’t even tell blair and cameron about it.

he sort of wishes he had, though, because as his life turns upside down and he adapts to a new country with a new set of rules and an industry that makes his head spin most of the time it starts to feel more and more confusing, those three words -- what’s your name?

everywhere he goes, thousands of girls blocking the street scream it at him. so how is it possible that whoever’s waiting to meet him doesn’t already know it?

and what does that mean for how the rest of his life is going to turn out? 

what if all of this -- the fame and the money and the notoriety -- is fleeting, and he’s only a few short years from being completely washed up and irrelevant? what if the day he’s meant to meet his person is so far away that he’ll be completely out of the spotlight, by then, with sunset skatepark playing reunion tours and him having spent most of his life alone?

it’s a lot of pressure, for someone who’s already working their way through such a serious adjustment, and most of the time it’s dizzying, thinking about the fact that there’s someone out there who’s supposed to be perfect for him, when everyone he meets seems determined to forget every word they know other than yes, so they can suck up to him as much as possible.

his teenage years fly by in a whirlwind of mistakes and regrets. there’s things he would’ve never dreamed would come his way, like world tours and more money than he can count and so many girls who know everything about him before they even sit down to dinner, but there’s more than that, too.

there’s all the ways the industry weakens his trust until it’s gone, all the people who try to use him for what he can do for them, all the times he stumbles until he finally learns to distance himself by cultivating a persona, by leaning into all the expectations of raleigh carrera and creating something so outlandish it doesn’t hurt as much when disaster follows him around because it’s supposed to.

he watches everything that surrounds him turn fake and plastic and puts his energy only into his music, coasting on the rest. the days are less exciting than when he first joined the band at fifteen; he’s a solo artist, now, and most of the time, he’s just trying to get through.

but chaos continues to follow him and eventually his notoriety is inescapable. his first solo album is self-titled and he somehow manages to get a trademark on the word raleigh, as if the name is now more his than anything that ever belonged to the state of north carolina, and part of him sort of expects the words stamped on his arm to change, once he hits one-hundred million followers on his social channels.

they never do, though, and when he’s alone, and the veneer he’s built up for everyone else fades away, he can’t help but to be fascinated by this person who just wants an answer to the question no one else would ever dare ask him.

iv.

college isn’t exactly the fresh start she was hoping it’d be.

she was a loser in high school and things don’t get much better for her even now that she’s with ‘her people’ at a performing arts university she can barely afford, even with two part-time jobs. 

shane is across the country at a proper state school with parties and a social life and lots of friends who aren’t her, and she’s failing her improv class, proving that she isn’t actually very funny at all. 

boys continue to not notice her and patrons in bars continue to turn away from her one-woman performance, her old acoustic guitar the only constant in a life that feels utterly, unbelievably pointless, most of the time.

it’s like she’s drifting through the days, putting her time in at college in the hopes that it’ll fortify her for what’s next -- her big break, the discovery that’ll get her out of that shitty small town she’s been trying to escape her entire life. she writes hundreds of songs about how lost she feels and hates every single one, dreaming of a time when things might be different and she doesn’t have to second-guess every single one of her decisions.

she doesn’t have much of a love life and tries not to think about that, either.

the person on the other side of those two words stuck on her collarbone is probably looking for someone self-confident, who knows who they are and is comfortable with that. they’re probably expecting to meet someone who has their life together, who, at the very least, has a plan.

they’re probably not expecting a talentless nobody screwup like her, someone who tries as hard as she can yet never seems to make anything work.

things don’t turn around after graduation, either. sure, she manages to find an apartment in a building that’s nice enough and uses the last of her savings on the deposit and trying to furnish it, but it’s only a few weeks of trying and failing to secure a regular paying gig performing before she’s back at smoothie star again, begging for her old job back.

and there’s nothing that makes her feel more like a failure than working the same shifts she had in high school. 

as she hums along to the radio on a random tuesday afternoon when the store is dead and there’s nothing to blend, she wonders what mr.-or-mrs. very funny would think if they walked in and saw her here -- twenty-three years old and flat broke, with a dead-end job and a one-bedroom apartment all she has to show for her very expensive and very useless bachelor’s degree.

that, and a notebook full of half-finished songs about relationships she could only ever dream about and an escape from the miserable small town she lives in that feels farther away with every day that passes.

she can’t imagine they’d be very impressed.

v.

raleigh’s life gets monotonous very quickly. the music takes a backseat to the scandals and for a while there’s a predictable pattern of cause trouble, clean up image, rinse and repeat.

there are girls in between the cycles to help him pass the time. some he likes well enough and some he despises, but for the most part his management gives their recommendations and he agrees and makes awkward conversation for an hour or two over brunch until it’s time to go trash something again.

things get particularly bad after one minor cruise ship hijacking incident. 

but in his defense, no one ever told him that breaking into the harbor and joy riding was a first-degree felony, worsened by the fact that he’d just so happened to crash the boat into the pier while he was trying to dock it. 

at least he’d been sober.

though a monumental fuck up like this felt sort of inevitable; everyone who knew him probably figured it was only a matter of time before he went too far. how could he not when he was always chasing the next high?

still, the image rehab tour that follows is far from what he’d call enjoyable. he has to cut off all his hair and play nice at industry parties and waste time standing around being seen at charity events he winds up just cutting checks for instead of helping out at.

on top of the miserable community service comes the pr bullshit his team so loves -- dozens of tv appearances back-to-back where he’s herded around all day like cattle, in and out of green rooms with crappy coffee and bad catering.

he has no idea that showing up to be a judge on one in a million is going to change his life. hungover and running late, he barely even makes it to the taping of the semi-finals, slinking inside the concert hall in middle-of-nowhere, usa with a headache and some choice words for whoever thought this was the best way to clean up his image.

fortunately, raleigh manages to make his way inside virtually unnoticed. his phone is buzzing angrily in his pocket -- undoubtedly his manager trying to encourage him to hair and makeup or some other absurdity -- but he ignores it in favor of ducking back behind the line near the auditorium doors, only barely catching the last few words of some catty confrontation between two contestants as he goes.

as one of the girls stomps away, he sees the other’s shoulders slump from behind. “guess i’m not making any friends,” she mutters.

it’s clearly said to no one -- not even to herself, really -- yet for some reason, he can’t stop himself from responding. “where i come from, that’s a good thing.”

the girl’s shoulders straighten, but she still doesn’t turn around. “i’m not trying to succeed at the cost of others.”

raleigh smirks, leaning back against the wall beside his guitar case. “you do realize you’re at a competition show, right?”

“of course, but...” her hair ruffles with what sounds like a huff. she’s still not facing him, staring off at where the other girl she’d been talking to had run away. “that doesn’t mean i’m not rooting for everyone here to share their music with the world.”

“what a sweet sentiment,” raleigh drawls sarcastically, almost feeling a little bad for her and her naivety. this poor girl is going to be eaten alive. “it won’t last.”

her body tenses, her shoulders tightening again. he can almost see smoke start to pour from her ears before she spins suddenly on her heel to face him. 

whatever sharp retort had been on the tip of her tongue gets swallowed with a blink as soon as their eyes meet. something like electricity crackles in the space between them, strengthening the invisible pull he’d felt when he first stopped behind her. instead, she only asks, “what’s your name?”

vi.

the man in front of her snorts. “very funny.”

a smile tugs at her lips. “very funny, that’s a weird name.” this is unlike her -- the quick comeback, the flirting. usually being face-to-face with a guy as good looking as the one talking to her now made her want to wither away and die, but something about the stranger standing before her sets her instantly at ease. “so, are you gonna tell me, or not?”

now it’s his turn to blink at her. a hand lifts to rub at his jaw. “huh. you really don’t know who i am, do you?”

cadence’s eyes narrow as she assess him. there is something vaguely familiar about that crooked grin, she’s sure of it. 

at the very least, it’s an excuse to stare at him, and she does, moving her eyes slowly over the tattoos poking out over his jacket collar, the line of stubble on his sharp jaw, the glint of mischief in his eyes.

her helpless gaping is interrupted by a sudden shrill scream. “oh. my. god! is that raleigh carrera?!”

everything clicks at once. as a wild group of girls corner him, she realizes where she’s seen that smile before -- on just about every tabloid cover known to man, plastered all over convenience stores and the internet with headlines about his latest bender. in fact, she’s pretty sure he was just in the news for something similar -- crashing a yacht or something else ridiculous like that, something that only someone as rich as raleigh carrera could have accomplished. 

then she realizes what he’d said to her, as soon as she’d turned to look him in the eyes. very funny. 

her heart stops. all she can do is stare wide-eyed at him as he dispels the girls clamoring for a selfie, snapping back to the present when he waves one large hand in front of her face. 

“sorry -- what?”

“i said, what’s your name? it only seems fair, now that you know mine, and all.”

“cadence,” she answers numbly, “i’m -- um, i’m used to your hair being longer.”

“cadence,” raleigh repeats, smiling at her, “so you do know who i am.”

“what do the magazines call you again? r&b’s time bomb? puerto rico’s hottest export? you’re kind of notorious.” she blinks at him, then admits, “i’ve heard your songs.”

“seen the tabloid covers too, eh?” the expression on his face suggests he’s almost proud of them.

this is surreal.

“didn’t you crash a yacht or something?” she asks, brain whirring into overdrive as she tries to process what’s happening. he doesn’t seem to have realized it yet, which gives her a moment to gather her thoughts, something that feels impossible when she can’t push the way he’d scoffed very funny out of her mind. 

“or something. insurance paid out a couple million in property damage, but...” raleigh trails off, brow suddenly furrowing. he stares at her silently for a beat too long, then slowly turns a dull red. “hey, what’d you say earlier, again?”

cadence wets her dry lips, trying not to panic. stay calm, she silently coaches herself. raleigh carrera is not your long-awaited soulmate and you are not doing this in line to audition for one in a million. “i said -- what’s your name? and then you said...”

oh god, this is happening. her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she fidgets with the neckline of her top, tugging it to the side so raleigh can see the two words on her collarbone. 

“very funny,” he mutters, “oh, jesus fucking christ. you can’t be serious.”

“me?” she demands, “you’re the one who --”

“next up,” calls a voice suddenly, cutting sharply through their argument, “contestant #9,276.”

her blood runs cold as she realizes that’s the number she’s wearing pinned to her shirt. she can feel herself start to sweat; how the fuck is she supposed to perform like this? she wants to throw up. why did this have to happen to her now? this was her shot -- her one fucking chance --

“hey, easy.” there’s suddenly two strong hands on either side of her shoulders, and she startles as raleigh stares at her from up close, closer than he was just a moment ago. “relax, okay? you’re gonna be fine. you’ve got this.”

“but --” she starts, then realizes her mind is racing too quickly to even articulate what she wants to say. she settles for shaking her head, eyes wide and panicked. “i can’t just -- oh my god, i’m going to throw up.”

“here,” raleigh directs, “take my guitar. prince gave it to me as a birthday present.”

prince?! she mouths hysterically to herself, as he flips the latch on his case open and pulls out the instrument. “how is this supposed to help me?”

“just trust me,” he says, giving her a gentle nudge towards the auditorium, “now go.”

she does, stumbling forward with the most expensive piece of equipment she’s ever held in her hands in her life alongside her, drawing in a deep breath as she makes her way onto the stage.

she can do this.

everything else will have to come after.

vii.

the thing is -- she’s talented. exceptionally so. 

he can tell she’s a little nervous, but maybe that’s just because he’s used to looking out for that sort of thing; he could probably recognize it more easily than the average person would. it probably has nothing to do with who they are, how he notices the nuances in her body language...

her belt is impressive. her voice is stunning, clear and uniquely melodic. his guitar looks spectacular in her hands, and cadence plays it like she’s been practicing on it her entire life. 

he tries his best to look nonchalant, feet kicked up onto the seat in front of him, but when she locks eyes with him from the stage he knows he hasn’t succeeded. raleigh’s breath catches, and he stares back at her, transfixed by the way her dainty hands cradle the neck of the guitar and strum the strings, how her lips purse around the long, emotional high note at the end of the song’s chorus.

she’s really very pretty. 

he’d probably be lying to himself if he said it doesn’t make him a little bit jealous and uncomfortable, watching how she and avery fawn over each other when she’s finished. he’s probably a much better suited match for her, clean cut and pristine as he is. 

he wonders if she’s disappointed that it’s him -- that it’s now, when she’s clearly on the cusp of something great all on her own.

it’s a lot to think about, and so he dips out of the auditorium before she finishes up, rushing outside with his heart pounding. it’s not until he’s halfway through the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket that raleigh starts to relax even an iota, and of course that’s when the stage door he’d left propped swings open wide and cadence’s sneakers hit the asphalt beside his boots.

“uh, you can’t just leave me with this thing,” she says, apropos of nothing, and as he stares at her he realizes she’s talking about his guitar, which she’s holding in one hand like it’s a dead fish. “this costs more than everything in my apartment combined, i’m sure.”

he shakes his head at her, laughing as his fingers flick ash from the cigarette he’s holding. “no way -- you should keep it. you two looked perfect together.”

she hesitates, looking down at the instrument again. he can see in her eyes that she’s torn; it’s obvious she knows the right thing to do is to refuse a generous gift from a stranger, but she wants to keep it, and already his mind is racing as he considers what else he could give her that would excite her like that -- a private flight, a tour of his penthouse, a million dollars. 

“are you sure?” cadence asks, without looking at him, and the hesitancy in her voice makes him realize how unsure she really is. she’s the one who’s wondering if he’s disappointed in her.

he licks his suddenly dry lips and drops what’s left of his cigarette to the ground, finding he doesn’t actually need the rest of it, anymore. “positive.”

viii.

they don’t actually get to spend a lot of time together, while she’s filming. she has to focus and it seems like she’s always busy, somehow -- not that she sees raleigh very often in the first place.

the days are spent rehearsing with avery and cramming in as much mentoring as possible, and when she can pull herself away from fiona’s lessons on image to get home at a reasonable hour she collapses into bed pretty much immediately, out like a light from the whirlwind of the day and hardly even aware enough to dream.

but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about him. she does, especially on the rare occasions she manages to catch a glimpse of raleigh walking around in the studio, or on one memorable evening she stays late in the auditorium to bang on the piano keys of the beautiful, enviable baby grand on set and startles to find him leaning in the doorway, watching her play.

it���s all a blur and wildly difficult to process; just when she thinks she has a grip on things she remembers the private moments she’s had with raleigh and her emotions tumble to pieces again as she lets the weight of the implications of what’s going on between them crush her completely.

one moment sticks out on her as being particularly worrisome, insofar as how it bodes for the rest of her life. 

it feels like something significant from the moment raleigh offers to help her warm up; they’ve hardly had a moment alone together in days and she still has absolutely no idea how she’s supposed to talk to him or what she should say, but for some reason the conversation flows easily and she hardly has to think about the (no doubt incredibly stupid-sounding) words coming out of her mouth.

“you’re going to kill it,” raleigh says finally, once they’ve worked through all the exercises in his arsenal, “you really don’t need my help.”

never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine someone like him would say something like that to her. “you think?”

“i know it,” he answers confidently, shrugging his shoulders like it’s that simple. “and you should, too.”

there’s a moment of silence where they just stand there staring at each other, ignoring the restless murmuring of the crowd outside that’s waiting for him to slip into his seat at the judge’s table. she’s effortlessly lost in raleigh’s eyes, so fixated on the intensity of his gaze that she doesn’t realize he’s leaning in closer until it’s too late.

“insurance policy,” he mutters, before he kisses her, hands cupping her face gently. 

for a split second, she stands frozen, shocked totally still. then, her brain reboots enough to propel her into motion, and cadence gets with the program enough to wind her arms around raleigh’s waist and pull him closer and kiss him back, until her heart’s lurched up into the throat she’d just been warming up, pounding relentlessly.

they make out until the roar of the crowd is deafening -- until it’s impossible not to acknowledge it any longer. 

of course raleigh’s a life-ruiningly good kisser. why wouldn’t he be? why should any of this be easy?

it’s only a few simple touches, but raleigh’s mouth leaves her dizzy and lightheaded when she’s supposed to be concentrating on performing, and, independently of the way she’s blinking at him in stupid shock, cadence already knows she’ll never be able to kiss anyone else ever again without thinking about him.

“i have to get out there,” she gasps between desperate presses of their lips against each other, grasping ineffectively at his clothes while his fingers tug her hair out of shape.

“be late,” he suggests, “it always works for me.” 

but she’s not him. she’s not like him -- they have nothing in common. they come from different worlds; they’re two completely opposite people.

and yet every minute with raleigh is like coming up for air after being underwater for years, like the knots of guilt and shame and awkward embarrassment she’s carried around for her entire life without understanding why she has them are slowly starting to undo themselves, unlaced by his careful fingers.

they make it out there. eventually.

before she knows it, confetti’s raining down from the ceiling and falling all over her, and she locks eyes with raleigh from across the room to find his lips pulled into a genuinely affectionate grin -- lips that she’d just kissed for the first time a fucking hour ago and, seriously, what is her life now -- his eyes bright and excited. 

things just keep getting weirder and weirder, but the way they’re beaming at each other like idiots in a room full of thousands, broadcast on national television, too, makes her think things might be pretty great, too.

ix.

it sort of takes them a long time to getting around to talking about it -- the soulmate thing.

it’s not that he doesn’t try. he does, but she’s got a lot going on, these days: a big move and a new record deal and days filled with songwriting and nights out being seen. he’s still on his image cleanup tour, while she’s at it, so his fake smile stays fixed on his face throughout another boring week of restaurant openings and charity events and talkshow appearances before he finally gets the chance to spend some time with her again.

they text here and there, but nothing pans out until the stars align and they manage to slip out of the back door of a nightclub unnoticed together after a night of dancing too close for the comfort of her publicist while avery and the others cause a commotion at the front entrance to distract the press.

she goes back to his penthouse with him. he can’t remember the last time he brought a girl back to his apartment just to talk, and especially not one who spent the better part of the evening in a sparkly minidress grinding against him. 

but here they are.

“so -- how’s the city treating you?” raleigh asks, pouring them both a drink he doesn’t want from the bar cart in the corner of the room for something to do with his hands.

cadence shrugs from where she’s perched on the edge of his sofa, tugging at the hem of her dress. “good, i guess. it’s honestly all kind of overwhelming.”

“yeah,” he nods, passing her one of the glasses in his hands and taking a seat on the ottoman in front of her, close enough to see her face in perfect clarity but still maintaining a distance that he hopes is respectful. “i know what you mean. when i first came here after joining sunset skatepark everything felt so... huge.”

“totally,” cadence answers quickly, nodding in a way that’s almost aggressive. “i mean, there’s so much pressure to deliver an album right away, but i want it to be perfect, and the studio is so different from, like, writing songs in my room at home, and i... i guess i feel kind of homesick, but -- not for my hometown. i hated that place.” there’s hesitancy in her gaze when she asks, “do you know what i mean?”

“yeah,” raleigh says again stupidly, because the truth is -- he knows exactly what she means. cadence has just articulated something he could never quite put into words better than he’d even thought the sentiments to himself. “it’s like... nostalgia for something you don’t even want.”

“exactly,” she breathes emphatically, and then they’re kissing again, and she’s in his lap on the ottoman and he definitely brought her here to talk, for sure, but is it really so terrible if they get a little sidetracked on the way to their destination?

well -- they wind up making out for hours. so, there’s that.

it’s not part of the plan but it’s a hell of a side quest, memorizing the shape and feel of her with his hands while her lips pull every last bit of breath from his lungs, until he’s lightheaded and dizzy in a way no other girl has ever made him, before. it’s to the point where when he finally finds it within himself to push her away, he’s uncharacteristically nervous -- something that’s never happened to him before, not even on the night he lost his virginity.

“i really did ask you over to talk,” he says, voice hoarse.

cadence licks her lips and then beams at him, eyes sparkling. “i know.” she shuffles delicately back onto the couch, lingering in his lap for only a moment before pulling away entirely. he stuffs his hands under his thighs to stop himself from reaching out for her again. “sorry i haven’t been around more.”

“you don’t have to apologize.” raleigh shakes his head. “i should be apologizing to you, i feel like... i should be the one who’s around, to help you with all of this. or at least -- i want to be. i don’t know if i’ll be any good at it.” 

he blinks, surprised by his own honesty. he hadn’t meant to say all of that, but the words came up before he was cognizant of them and now they’re out there, and there’s no taking them back -- especially with the way she’s looking at him, all soft and sweet and happy.

“well, you don’t have to be good at it,” cadence murmurs, reaching out for his wrists and tugging his hands free so she can interlock their fingers effortlessly. they fit together like puzzle pieces. “you just have to be you.”

x.

her budding relationship with one of the biggest names in r&b doesn’t have much time to bud at all before it’s rudely plucked from the plant and stepped on.

she finds herself blinking at fiona in confusion as the words take some time to process. “you want me to do what?”

xi.

raleigh balks at his manager, shaking his head emphatically. “no,” he spits out, “absolutely not.”

xii.

“cadence, it’s not a big deal,” fiona tells her, very nearly rolling her eyes. “everyone does it. you go on a few dates, play up the relationship for some photos, social media eats it up -- boom, you’re a star.”

“i don’t know,” she answers hesitantly, mind drifting back to the photographers that have already been following her around, screaming about avery when she ducks into the car with him. things with raleigh are... new, and complicated, and do they really need to add public scrutiny into the mix as well? “i just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“it’s a great idea,” fiona sighs, shaking her head. “all our focus groups agree. the label thinks it’s best, what with your single taking so long to put out.” she opens her mouth to protest -- it’s not like she’s dragging her feet on purpose -- but barely has a second to get a word out before fiona continues, “besides, raleigh does this all the time.”

her teeth bite at her bottom lip uncertainly. “he does?”

“of course. chantal clearwater? she was a pictagram model when they met, and now she’s opening shows at paris fashion week. it’s just business.”

it’s not, though. it could never be just anything, for reasons no one else knows about except the two of them, for reasons she’ll never tell. “well... what did raleigh say about it?”

xiii.

“i said no, frank.” he’s annoyed, now, and his manager knows it, raleigh’s arms folded across his chest and his eyes set into a glare. “n. o. no.”

“and i hear you, but is it really the end of the world? she’s exactly what we’re going for, and i know you already get along --”

“which is exactly why i don’t want to do this. so pick someone else. anyone else.” he’s not going to let his label turn her into one of the girls he has to be seen with for fake photos and mutually beneficial positive press. 

for so many years, he’s watched people fake feelings and use each other -- willingly participated in the using himself, too, more times than he can count. he never cared about any of it before.

but being with cadence doesn’t feel fake, and he doesn’t ever want it to. and he knows that if he agrees to this, everything he enjoys about spending time with her will disappear in favor of the ugly, plastic decay that’s eaten away at so many of his personal and professional relationships before. organic, genuine time with her will become strolls near celebrity hotspots, angling just right to help the cameras get the perfect shot. he’ll show up to support her at shows because her publicist called him, and their time together will become some manufactured narrative meant to push their labels’ agenda, until six months down the line they don’t even recognize themselves or what might’ve been if they’d done things a different way.

“look, there isn’t anyone else. her team’s already agreed to it, and i’ve got brunch set up for sunday. all you have to do is play nice for two fucking months, raleigh. is that so impossible for you?”

yes. already he feels a deep-seated desire to go somewhere and break something, to tear through the flower beds in central park with his motorcycle and wink at the cameras when they catch up to him.

instead, he storms out of the office he’s in, and into the sunlight, tugging the hood on his jacket up and melting into the crowd on the corner so he can be as anonymous as possible when he picks up his phone and calls cadence.

“hey raleigh,” she chirps as soon as she picks up, sounding far too cheerful for someone who’s likely had an equally as miserable early morning meeting on a friday. “guessing you heard the news?”

“can’t i just call you to say hi?” he grumbles, ducking his head as he strolls through the intersection with the mob of people crowded along fifth ave, turning down the next side street so he’s alone again, with no one following, just like that. 

“well, you can,” she teases, and some of the anger he’s carrying around with him fades, dissipating into nothing and evaporating like smoke. “but you’re not.”

“no, i’m not,” he agrees with a sigh, shaking his head. “you sound surprisingly cool with it, though.”

“should i not be?” cadence laughs, but he can detect a thread of nervousness in her tone. “i already want to hang out with you. we have the same friends and work in the same industry. we’re... probably going to go on dates anyway, so... how hard can this be?”

god. she has absolutely no idea. part of him thinks it’d be cruel to burst her bubble, but he should warn her, shouldn’t he? 

she sounds so optimistic about it, though. it’s hard to feel anything but hopeful when her voice turns up like that at the end. in the back of his mind, there’s a voice that’s not his suggesting maybe this time, things will be different. 

surely he knows better than to think something as ridiculous as that, though, right? 

“well, i guess it’ll be interesting, at least,” he muses, slowing his steps by the entrance to the subway. 

he’s going to lose his signal just as soon as he heads underground, and he’s not quite ready for that, yet.

xiv.

time with raleigh flies by. 

it doesn’t feel like they’re fake-dating -- they do everything she hopes he’d want to do with her anyway, like go out to eat at fancy restaurants and take walks through the park and bounce melodies for songs off of each other, facetiming late at night from their apartments or on the days he visits her and micah in the studio. 

he’s by her side for the release of her first single, and her first music video, and through it all, raleigh plays the role of the doting partner perfectly, holding her purse on the red carpet and feeding her paella at a strategically-placed outdoor table and fetching her coffee order when she’s too busy to stop writing for even just five minutes.

in the blink of an eye, it’s time to put out her album -- just like that. 

raleigh’s perfectly charming through that process, too. he shows up on time, says all the right things, and keeps a drink in her hand all evening long, so that when she’s finally done making the rounds and can enjoy herself after the entertainment and the networking and the schmoozing she’s giggly and touchy, doing her best to steal him away from the crowd.

“what were your other relationships like?” she asks, half expecting him to brush her off, though he’s always indulged her before. they’ve never really gotten this personal. “fake or... otherwise.”

“they’ve all been fake,” he shrugs, “and i can say with confidence that you’re the best one i’ve ever had.”

“really?” cadence smiles, chin propped up on her hand as she leans over the bar. “be honest. what did you really think, when you realized it was me?”

“what?” he asks, pushing the empty rocks glass in his hands around on the bar top, “you mean this thing?” he gestures at his arm, covered in expensive, custom tom ford, and the tattoo laying innocently beneath it.

“uh huh,” she confirms, “‘cause i was totally like oh shit.”

raleigh laughs, loud and wild, the sound swallowed up by the noise of the party around them. no one nearby is paying them even an ounce of attention, and it’s fun, to be anonymous at her own party, invisible to everyone in the room except for him. “i can imagine. i wouldn’t want to be stuck with me either.”

cadence shakes her head -- that’s not what she’d meant. but before she can protest, he rolls his glass between his palms and thoughtfully continues, “i guess i was a little surprised. it felt like i’d been waiting forever to meet you, so part of me was like, fuck, we’re doing this now? and i never thought it’d be someone so...”

“boring?” she suggests, eyebrows arching when raleigh’s expression immediately twists into one of disagreement, his nose scrunching up with distaste.

“no,” he huffs, “so... good, i guess.” she stares at him as he reaches for one of the waiting tequila shots on the bar, pulling it away from the line he’d set up for the crowd he’d been with before she’d tugged him to the side to talk, leaving the drinks untouched. raleigh knocks the shot back -- no salt, no lime. he’s had twice as many drinks as she has, and she’s definitely feeling them -- she has no idea how he’s even still upright, no worse for wear other than a few slurred words here and there. “but you just are. it’s like every song i’ve ever written was about you, and i just didn’t know it yet.”

the noise of the party fades in favor of the pounding of her heart, loud like a kick drum in her ears. she bites her lip and stares at him, watching as raleigh shakes his head at himself, dazed. “you okay?” she asks quietly, leaning in a little across the bar. 

raleigh’s quiet for so long she has to wonder whether or not he actually heard her. just as she clears her throat and opens her mouth to repeat herself even louder, he nods, reaching across the bar and squeezing her hand before dragging her back over to the line of tequila shots waiting for them to enjoy.

the night is a blur after that, and there’s patches of the evening that are fuzzy in her memory the next morning, but she knows she’ll never forget the gentle kiss goodnight raleigh gives her when he helps her stumble into the car back to her apartment at dawn.

xv. 

things go really well, until they don’t. 

they have a blissful six months together with more fun than he’s ever had with anyone. slowly, he learns every single thing about cadence and returns her openness with honesty of his own -- honesty that feels strange and unfamiliar but weirdly thrilling, in a way, made easier every time one of his stories pulls a laugh or smile from her. 

it seems unnatural, having a honeymoon period that goes on for so long. in the entire time they’re dating, he doesn’t destroy a single thing -- doesn’t even want to, which is the weirdest part of it all. 

there are some moments that catch him completely off guard. more than a few times, he hardly even recognizes himself, she turns him into such a different person. 

he doesn’t hate it, though -- just the opposite, in fact. raleigh realizes he’s really starting to like the carefree, far from jaded person he is when he’s with her, though it only hits him for real when he’s watching her storm away from him on liberty island, eyes fixed on the angry sway of her hips.

he stews on it on the long ride back to his penthouse; the game had, admittedly, been starting to wear on him. but he’d gone along with it because it was supposed to benefit her -- he’d agreed to the stupid public breakup and following the rules and not seeing cadence in public for the foreseeable future because it was what she wanted, and -- frankly, it felt like a stupid fucking decision.

not that it lasts long. he starts texting her just as soon as he’s done washing electralite out of his hair and doesn’t make it more than twenty minutes when they first see each other again at the moda gala before he’s sneaking off with her, ducking under the velvet rope that demarcates the planetarium as ‘off limits’ with her hand tucked neatly in his.

“maybe this is better,” cadence muses between sips of her drink, her eyes on one of the stupid glass exhibits he couldn’t possibly care less about. “now we can just be together -- no pressure. our relationship is ours again.”

their relationship. is that what this is? they’ve spent a lot of time talking about who they are and what they like and don’t like, kissing and touching and holding hands. throughout it all, he’s done his best not to buy into the ‘soulmate’ bullshit too heavily, but over the last few months it’s been hard to deny that there’s a reason he was meant to meet her, that she’s been changing him from the inside out.

“what’s on your mind?” she asks, turning towards him with an open look of genuine curiosity on her face, like she really wants to know. 

“it’s nothing,” raleigh answers at first, reflexively, like he has so many times before. no one has ever really wanted to know. but cadence’s eyebrows arch, and she waits, patiently silent, and then the words tumble out of him. “it’s just that -- my whole life, i’ve watched other people use each other. so many people are just interested in the concept of celebrity status. so i played the game. never trusting anyone.” 

he shrugs. a hand lifts to rub his jaw, and he looks back to meet her gaze just in time to see the little smile playing at her lips, like she already knows what he’s about to say. “but it’s different, with you. you make me not want to be that person anymore. when i’m with you, it’s the only time i feel anything real.”

“raleigh,” she murmurs, her expression flickering before her face does something that cracks his chest wide open. her eyes go all shiny and sparkly and her cheeks crease with a grin, and the way she laughs is so ridiculously joyful the hand he has stuffed in his pocket curls into a fist to stop him from doing something stupid. “i feel the same way. i just... this whole thing, i know it doesn’t always -- work out, but... with you i really want it to. i’ve never felt this way before about anyone, and i think...” 

there’s a pause as her lips purse thoughtfully, and then she says the words that make it impossible for him to do anything but close the distance between them and kiss her over and over again: “i think even without this tattoo it’d be you, anytime, anywhere.”

xvi.

being raleigh carrera’s (real, confirmed, 100%-authentic) girlfriend feels almost too good to be true.

raleigh is... everything she never knew she wanted in a boyfriend, wrapped up into one tall, dark and handsome package, with a loud, goofy laugh and a deep, sexy voice that sends a shiver down her spine whenever his mouth so much as lingers near her ear for too long. 

it turns out that, despite their differing status in the industry and her initial assumptions that they came from two completely different worlds, they’re actually on the same page about pretty much everything. she finds that the pressure of the word she’d held in such high regard for so long -- soulmate -- disappears entirely where he’s concerned because being with raleigh is just fun. 

there’s motorcycle rides and boat trips and hours up late talking about everything and nothing; facetime calls with his mom and shopping trips where the stores are kept open late for them so they can shop alone, in an empty boutique, like every teen movie she’d ever watched growing up.

there’s late nights in the studio and either of their apartments where they both noodle around on their guitars and improvise half-hearted duets, content to just work in the same orbit as each other for as long as possible.

raleigh’s texting one night on the couch in her living room when she plucks out the melody to who i’ll be on her old acoustic, sitting on the floor in front of the tv.

he looks up before the first verse is over. “what’s that one? it sounds good.”

“oh -- just a song i wrote in college,” cadence hums, already downplaying it as she lifts her shoulder in a shrug. “i got stuck, never finished it. ellis made me sell the progress for some other writer to finish.”

he frowns, pushing up onto his elbow. his phone is tossed carelessly somewhere among the couch cushions. “why?”

“because i was taking too long with the odyssey,” she sighs. “it was kind of my only option. it’s weird, though -- thinking about someone singing something that was so personal to me.”

“play me what you had so far,” he says, and so she does, hesitating for only a second before strumming the chords, singing the lines she had slowly. 

when she’s done, she looks up to find that raleigh’s slid to the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees as he leans in as close as he can get with the coffee table in his way. “okay -- that was beautiful. you should finish it.”

she shakes her head, setting her guitar down. “i can’t. they already sold it. and even if i wanted to... i don’t know how it ends.”

raleigh’s legs spread in invitation and she stands to walk around to the couch, slipping into his lap and leaning back against his chest. his hands are tender as he rubs them across her shoulders, sliding up her back before one lifts to brush a lock of hair back behind her ear, his pointer finger pushing her glasses up her nose affectionately. “maybe one day you can write something else with the same theme,” he suggests, and she tries her best to smile even though it feels like a dream lost, somehow -- a ridiculous thought, given that she pretty much has everything she ever wanted, but the way she feels all the same.

“maybe,” she sighs, the kiss he drops to her forehead a bandaid on a wound that’s been doing its best to heal for what feels like her entire life.

xvii.

he’s never brought a date to the vinyls before. 

there’s been plenty of after parties he’s stumbled out of with a girl on his arm, sure, but cadence is the first person to sit by his side during the ceremony, and he’s surprised by how much he likes having her next to him.

then again, he’s self aware enough to realize he’d like being pretty much anywhere, with her.

still -- the awards are a lot less boring with her around to kiss and stroke his hair and make snide commentary about the rest of the attendees with, and when she squeezes his hand goodbye to rush backstage and get ready for her performance he misses her instantly.

what happens next makes him endlessly regretful of the fact that he’s not backstage with her.

he rushes around just as soon as he can, pushing his way through security and frantically scrambling technical assistants to find her exactly where he thought he might, between ellis knight and fiona, looking lost with her head in her hands.

she seems equal parts broken and pissed in a way that tugs at his heartstrings and makes him a little bit proud. raleigh shoves through the crowd to get to her and slips an arm around her waist. he’s only caught the tail end of the conversation they’re all having, but he knows enough to know that “you can’t bench her. that’s bull.”

ultimately, though, it doesn’t matter how much they stomp their feet. she’s under contract, their hands are tied, and he walks away seething at the unfairness of it all, this shitty industry that’s turned on her when all she ever wanted to do was make music.

she cries in the car back to her apartment to pack her things. there’s no way he’s letting her go home to iowa or idaho or indiana without him, and he barks at his team over the phone until they agree to move his appearances around so he can make that happen, his free hand clasped tightly in hers until he physically has to let her go so she can unlock her front door with trembling fingers.

cadence tosses clothes haphazardly onto the bed and he silently and precisely moves to folds each piece for her, until she gives up and sinks down onto the edge of the mattress, defeated. 

wide eyes filled with tears lock onto his, and he watches her bottom lip wobble before she says, “you really don’t have to do this. come with me, i mean. i know i messed up, and -- you have so much else going on. i don’t expect you to --”

“i’m coming,” he states firmly, setting the sweatpants in his hand down and stepping closer to her, sitting beside cadence on her bed. “what happened tonight was fucked up, cadence -- it shouldn’t have happened at all. i’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

“but --”

“but nothing,” he says, and before the words have even left his mouth she’s falling into his arms with a soft sound of gratitude, mashing her face into his chest as she sniffles.

“thank you,” cadence mumbles, sounding so unsure of herself it makes him wonder if she’s ever had anyone show up for her when it mattered most before, or if that’s yet another thing they unfortunately have in common. 

xviii.

raleigh tries his best to cheer her up, but it’s still hard, feeling like she’s let the entire world down. her fans. herself.

there’s something embarrassing about showing raleigh her apartment back home and the person she was before she met him -- all the places she felt most uncertain and where she experienced some her worst self-doubt, the room that still has the smoothie star apron hung up in the closet.

but there’s also something exciting, about being totally off the grid with him. no one knows they’re here and there’s no paparazzi waiting to snap photos of them -- especially given the fact that they don’t leave her building for the first three days she spends moping around while raleigh orders all the takeout he can get his hands on.

it sort of reminds her of when they first met, and there was nothing to do but learn about each other, though now there’s a familiarity to him she relies on, a unique raleigh-ness that feels more like home than this shitty apartment ever did.

still, she struggles, and the weight of the world doesn’t let up until zadie shows up with her fanmail and avery does his best to make her smile with a beach trip and some fancy new toys and a day in the sun with a drink in her hand.

eventually it’s just her and raleigh again, out by the fire after everyone else has gone to bed. her stomach is full of s’mores and her cheeks hurt from smiling for the first time in weeks, and it’s a shock when she realizes she feels content, even after everything that’s happened -- almost as though things will all work out for the better no matter what happens next.

“oh my god,” she gasps suddenly, cutting off what raleigh had been saying as her eyes light up and she hastens to stand. “i’ve gotta -- i need to -- oh my god.”

just like that, she knows how her song ends.

recording it is a process, but raleigh calls in some favors and gets them studio time and agrees to be featured on the song even though she knows he’s still working through a sound change that he feels unsure about.

but it means a lot to her, having him crammed in the booth at her side, singing into the same mic. they sound almost unbelievably good together, too, raleigh’s harmonies on the words that finally resolve that lost feeling she’s been harboring her entire life making something deep within her wriggle up happily, wagging its proverbial tail.

the fact that raleigh remains by her side throughout the entire fight with her label, the long nights of despair agonizing over what her next move is going to be and even the moment where they decide to break into indio, of all places, means more to her than she can ever say. she feels markedly less nervous about the entire thing every time she turns her head to the side and sees him, right there next to her -- right where he’s been this entire time -- smiling encouragingly and squeezing her hand hard in his.

though it’s not until they’re up at the top of the ferris wheel that she realizes how precious what she has really is. it’s not until he looks her dead in the eye and says, with that same soft earnestness he’s awarded her since they first met at the one in a million auditions that feel quite literally like a hundred years ago, “cadence, everything you want is on the other side of fear. and i want you to have everything you want,” that she truly understands that’s what between them is special and rare.

not because of any tattoos, or any preconceived destiny. not because of who they are and their status and the fact that people take pictures of them when they’re out in public together.

but because of this -- all these real moments of genuine connection they’ve been fortunate enough to share since fate threw them into each other’s paths.

“raleigh, i love you.” the words are said easily, not a moment’s hesitation behind them. 

just before she crosses over in the cart to kiss him until they’re both breathless, raleigh gifts her the brightest smile he has and says, “i love you, too.”

xix.

the night is a blur from the moment he first takes the stage with his old bandmates to when he finally finds himself alone with cadence in a rundown old motel a few miles out from the festival in the desert.

he can’t recall ever being so happy, so of course he doesn’t remember every agonizing detail of the evening, though he does know he doesn’t feel the need to have a single beer with cadence around, twirling barefoot in the grass and giggling when she leads him up to the room they’ve borrowed.

afterwards, when they’re sitting on the roof together in the blanket they dragged off the bed, he reflects on the wild year they’ve had with her in his arms, fingertips tracing the delicate very funny scrawled across cadence’s collarbone.

he feels... free. completely liberated. like there’s absolutely nothing and no one that can get to him, now, like he’s untouchable, like he doesn’t care about a single thing that happens after today and how perfect things have been. 

“i think i’m actually freer than i’ve ever been,” he muses, where his lips are pressed into her hair, “i can take my sound in any direction i want.”

“i’m so happy for you, raleigh,” cadence returns genuinely, tilting her head back so he can see her upside-down smile. 

his arms tighten around her. “i’m so excited for what you’re gonna be doing, too. i’m excited for us.”

“yeah,” she sighs, “who knows what’s next, right? now that ellis let me out of my deal...”

he can hear the thread of worry undercutting the words. he shakes his head, hands rubbing up and down her arms. “you can worry about that tomorrow. for tonight, just enjoy the comeback. what you did out there was amazing.”

“what we did,” she corrects, and he blinks up the stars as he realizes she’s right -- they’re a we now. he’s part of a we again, after being on his own for so long.

the phrases bounce around in his head, unfamiliar and foreign. me and my girlfriend, he thinks to himself, cadence and i. we’re going to be late. we’ll be away that weekend. we just started watching that show. we, we, we. 

“what we did was amazing,” raleigh amends, the words slow to come out but feeling right all the same. “whatever we do next will be amazing.”

“absolutely,” cadence confirms, with conviction, like it’s something she believes wholeheartedly.

and though he has no idea what to expect or what it might be, a large part of him is inclined to agree with her -- she’s been right about everything else so far.

xx.

one year later, she’s finishing a set in berlin, the last stop on a sprawling european tour that had taken she, avery, micah and raleigh across the continent for dozens of performances to sold-out crowds of thousands screaming her lyrics back to her. 

if her contract with overknight had been a dream come true, signing to wilshere records is heaven incarnate. cadence’s trip through the u.k. with her new label is proof enough, and the chance to meet new fans with new stories to share that she could connect with is one she’s taken to with enthusiasm, the experience made all the sweeter by the fact that her favorite people get to be by her side throughout it all.

berlin’s crowd is one of the best, and she fully expects to end the tour on a high note, head banging to the last few notes of ‘knockout’ before raleigh’s planned entrance for the last song of the night, so they can sing the duet that’s closed out every show they’ve had on the tour together. 

when he struts out with his guitar, waving and grinning at the crowd, she can’t stop herself from smiling stupidly at him, just like she does every time she sees him join her on stage, every time she realizes that this is their life, that this is something they do every night, now.

though her grin falters when raleigh pauses in front of his microphone and asks, “berlin, do you mind if i talk a little bit before i start the song? no? cool, because i’ve got an important question to ask.”

her eyes widen. cadence’s mouth drops open and doesn’t close throughout the entire speech raleigh gives her, even though thousands of people in the crowd are filming every moment of her gaping like an idiot, snapping close-ups of her shocked face.

the arena practically vibrates with screams when he drops to his knee, popping the box in his hand open so she can see the giant diamond ring nestled inside of it. 

“so?” raleigh asks, and cadence can just barely hear him in her in-ears with the way her heart is beating frantically up into her throat, as wild as the crowd’s raging around them and then some. “whaddya say, babe? will you marry me?”

as if the answer could ever be anything but yes. she nods, laughing as she launches herself into his arm for a kiss that’s too grand to be given on stage, though that’s hardly going to stop her -- not tonight, at least. tonight, she’s okay with the whole world watching their every move, just one more time.

“oh, i don’t know if it’s going to fit,” raleigh jokes as the ring slides easily onto her left hand, amping up the theatrics for the fans still watching them avidly, even up in the cheap seats.

cadence rolls her eyes playfully at him. “very funny,” she praises, and the grin he offers her in return is so loving -- so knowing, with the secret that only the two of them share and every weird piece of their history included in it -- that it takes everything she has to shove him away so they can perform instead of dragging him down to the floor to kiss him over and over again.

clumsily, she flubs a few notes of love who i’ll be on her guitar. from across the stage, between the bridge and the chorus, raleigh jeers, “someone hasn’t learned to play with the extra weight on their left hand, yet, i see,” and when she flips him off while belting out the last lines of the verse, his raucous laughter is all the harmony the final few bars of the song needs. 

[callmeelle22]

Blue Dream VII

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 9, 034

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Say Yes

Chapter VII: Brave; They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way. (Read below or on AO3 linked on the chapter title.)

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Brave

Broken hearts are made for two

One for me and one for you

Tell me have you heard the news

We are now in love

Fall break from school is scheduled during the last three days of the last week of October. Before she can take some time off, Iris has midterm articles to write and grade. Barry is busy testing DNA samples or whatever it is CSIs do so they don’t see each other for several days after he leaves her house the morning after Wally’s party.

On the Wednesday of Fall Break, the first day off, Iris lets herself sleep in until almost 10, and then she packs up her bag, stuffing a notebook, a couple of pens, and her laptop in, before dressing comfortably in a pair of dark leggings, and a white oversized CCU hoodie she stole from her brother. Throwing on a pair of white low-top Chuck Taylors, Iris heads out to Jitters. It’s a rainy day, and other than workers who’ve no choice, not many people are out. A storm is brewing for later in the night, the sky dark and cloudy, but for the moment, it’s just a steady rain that has Iris walking carefully to her car and driving a lot slower, thanking her lucky stars that she finds a parking spot right in front of the coffee shop.

Back in high school, especially once her dad had gotten her a used car during the beginning of senior year, Iris and Linda would come to Jitters to do homework or stare at the college boys who would come in. The coffee shop has expanded since then, buying the small antique store that had been next door and adding more seating and a bar that specializes in alcoholic coffee brews. It’s still one of Iris’s favorite places to work because now the manager is a young Black woman with wild curly hair always dyed in one bright color or another and a soft spot for mid to late 90s R & B female singers. The shop is comfortable, with couches and overstuffed chairs in mismatched browns and beiges and blues set up near the walls and windows and several tables, two- and four-tops, taking up the space in the middle. Two of the walls are exposed brick and the others are painted stark white and feature framed prints in wild colors. It’s changed since she was a child, but Iris likes to think that she’s changed with it, that as this integral part of Central City has grown and added light and color and comfort, so too has Iris.

Today, her plan is to outline at least two entire stories from interviews she’s completed over the last couple of weeks before she even thinks about leaving the coffee shop. She settles into one of her favorite spots, a soft navy armchair behind a small circular table. She sets up her laptop, her notebook with her notes, her pens, and once a waiter drops off her brown sugar latte and a chocolate muffin, she lets the sound of the rain, and the Erykah Badu playing on the speakers, get her into her work.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Iris looks up just as Barry stops beside her. She’s been at Jitters for just over three hours now, and her shoulders are cramped and she’s coffee high and hungry. The rain is still pounding down, so hard that it looks like it’s raining sideways, and Iris curses her inability to get any work done in her own home. Besides all that, she’s reeling. She’s just outlined a story of a man explaining the story of the woman he’d loved his entire life: from growing up together in a small city in North Carolina, to becoming best friends and de facto siblings when his parents died and her dad agreed to foster him; from not dating but seeming like it in high school, to falling for other people in college; from having other spouses and children to one night of passion before they found their way back to each other when she decided to leave her husband after his wife died. It was a ride from start to finish, such a roller coaster of feelings—of love and pain and joy and heartbreak—that make Iris feel a bit heavy with them, a little loopy with them.

Barry stands to the side of her, towering above her, in as simple an outfit as what she’s wearing, a pair of black joggers and a white sweatshirt. She’s startled that he's there because she figures that he should be at work, but her heart does tick up at the sight of him. That is, until she lets her eyes rake over his lean frame. He looks a little...down, like a physical manifestation of the story she’s just outlined. His hair is messier than usual and his eyes aren’t carrying their usual sparkle, in addition to the darkening bags that frame them. He’s also a little stubbly, his jaw covered in a fine layer of coarse hair, his pallor a bit ashen.

(Iris will also admit that she thinks he looks sort of, well, good, like this; but that’s neither here nor there and she feels terrible—and maybe a bit perverted—that she’s lusting after him when he’s obviously going through something.)

“Hey,” she responds softly, and she stands up to assess him further. He seems so much taller than her like this, when they’re both in sneakers. She hasn’t seen him since the morning after Wally’s party a week ago when he dropped her back off at her car after spending the night at her place. They’ve talked a bunch and FaceTimed once, but she’s missed him. She reaches up into his hair, rubbing at his scalp a little until his eyes close and he lets out a soft little moan. She keeps at it and then touches gingerly at his face, at some of the moles dotting his cheeks, at the stubble he’s grown. He reaches up to stop her, eyes still closed, and it startles her a little bit. She goes to pull her hand back, but then he holds on to her wrist to bring her hand down and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

She’s never seen him like this. He’s always so open and, maybe not happy, but never so melancholy. There is always a pep to his step, as her grandma used to say, a smile on his face that always said that he feels some sort of contentment in his life. And obviously, people are allowed to have days like this. But it does something to Iris, to see him this way. She wants to lash out at whoever has made him look like this, like he’s drowning in emotions that he can’t easily pull himself out of.

“Bear, you okay?”

He nods, a little woefully, and he catches her eyes again. She bites at her lip as she stares back at him and, on impulse, she leans up to kiss him. It’s just a little more than a peck, something to tell him that she’s there with him; but he takes it a step further, kissing her harder, biting at her lip enough that there’s more pain than she’s expecting. She moans at him and he pulls back, breathing labored.

“I’m sorry,” he speaks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” she says. “You didn’t hurt me. Well, a little, but I didn’t hate it.”

That gets a more real smile out of him, and he thumbs at her bottom lip. “Hmm, I guess my good girl is a little bad.”

Iris rolls her eyes and gives him a look, sobering for a minute. “Bear, what’s up? You okay?”

He doesn’t answer her question. Instead, he nods at her table and asks, “you get a lot of work done?”

She eyes him, wanting to ask again. But she knows how she is when she doesn’t want to talk about something and so she lets it go. For the moment.

“Yeah. Or, at least, I’ve done most of what I set out to do.”

He nods, casts his eyes out of the glass, looking at the rain for a moment, watching it fall in heavy sheets. Normally, Iris likes the rain. It’s soothing and she enjoys how it makes the world take a moment to slow down. When she was a little girl, her grandma (her dad’s mother who grew up somewhere at the bottom of Georgia) used to say that when it was raining, and particularly when it was storming, that the Lord was doing His work and that it was the time to be still. They’d have to sit quietly, usually with the TV and the lights off, and just be. And while life doesn’t allow her to drop everything because it’s started raining, there is always a hushed feeling that comes over her when it rains, something tranquil, but also a little turbulent, a little uncontrollable, quite like the very rain she’s reveling in.

“Wanna come over?” he wonders, voice unsure.

She nods readily. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”

He goes to return her mug and plate while she packs her bag back up. He meets her at the door, opening up a large umbrella and throwing an arm over her shoulder to lead her out into the rain. She walks with him past her own car as he takes her a short black away to where his Jeep is parked. He helps her into the Jeep first, watches as she tucks her bag under the seat, and then closes the door before walking around to the other side.

They ride to his house in silence. He lives far on the south side of town, a good twenty or so minutes from downtown if they hit the highway. Instead, he takes the streets, adding another ten minutes to their drive. Iris doesn’t mind; as she said, she likes the rain, and in this big Jeep, tires sluicing easily through the flooding roads in a way her car definitely can’t, she’s enjoying the ride. He had silently connected her phone to his car’s Bluetooth, so she took it to mean that the music choices were hers. She contemplates finding something that he might like, but she figures he likely wouldn’t even be paying much attention. So she decides on one of her slower playlists, ones with songs that dip and fade, that take listeners on a journey of highs and lows, and she lets it play. The lyrics tell too much, so i guess that i should mention; that i am in no condition; to put you in this position; i might fuck this up, although with the heavy weight on Barry’s shoulders right now, she can’t tell if she’s talking to him or vice versa.

He takes them past one of the major shopping districts in the city, past the Apple store and the Michael Kors shop and the one restaurant her dad took her to when she graduated college where pasta dishes run nearer to forty dollars. These shops, and the nicer mall and a couple business buildings that rise as tall as those downtown, lead into longer stretches of road where trees interspersed with beige or cream apartments begin to take up where businesses once stood. He turns into the familiar subdivision that she remembers; it’s a little older than some, which makes sense if his parents were able to buy and pay it off before they were gone. That also means that none of the houses are the same cookie-cutter versions that tend to make up most subdivisions these days, where houses are identical save for the color and the trim and what children’s toys litter the front yard.

He presses a button on his visor and the garage opens as he maneuvers the car so that he can back up into the driveway. He stays in the driveway, though, the music cutting out—but whatever the case, you're my favorite mistake; more than happy to make you—when he turns the ignition off. She waits for him to come around with his umbrella and he half picks her up to pull her out, holding on to her as he walks her through the garage.

She’s as quiet as he is, taking in her surroundings, trying to get a better sense of who he is by what he’s got going on in his house. There isn’t much in the garage; there are a bunch of boxes neatly stacked on one wall, a couple bicycles in another corner. There is a wall full of tools and a couple tables that have science looking tools on them, like a microscope and several bunsen burners and petri dishes, though nothing looks as if they’re currently being used.

He leads her through a door that opens up into the kitchen as he presses another button to close the garage. His house is as cute on the outside as it is on the inside, although she wonders how he might feel if she were to call it cute. The kitchen is large, done in white, gray, and green, with steel appliances, gray marble countertops, and the look of a place that doesn’t get a lot of use. They both stop to toe their shoes off right outside of the kitchen where a couple other pairs of Barry’s shoes lie. His living room is pretty big: a wide space that features a real stone fireplace as the focal point and a large screen television situated above it; a huge sectional in a slate gray with a few throw pillows; and a big square wooden coffee table. It’s masculine and clean without being gaudy or too bro and Iris wonders if he did this himself because even if she never knew her, she doubts a woman who loved flowers as much as his mother would decorate her living room this way.

The dark curtains on the windows are open wide and Iris can see the backyard but the rain coming down in sheets keep her from being able to make out much besides the patio with what looks like a grill and wicker furniture. Iris remembers being told that his dad had been a doctor and his mom some sort of university researcher and the house matches that.

Barry lets her hand go to tug his sweatshirt off, revealing a plain white t-shirt that rises up over his taut belly. She doesn’t avert her eyes, giving herself permission to track how the sweatpants hang off his slim hips and how he isn’t so much sculpted as he’s hard and tight, with just the beginnings of abs. He catches her staring and he smirks at her before dropping down in the corner of the couch, one leg spread out along the seats of the chair.

“Come here,” he tells her, and she moves toward him, sitting so that her back is pressed against that hard chest and his arms are wrapped around her. She grabs a hold of his forearm with both her hands and settles her head in the crook of his elbow. She’s surrounded by his scent, lemongrass and clean cotton, and for a while, the only sounds are his breathing and the pounding of the rain. He touches her, the hand she’s not holding on to stroking up and down her thigh. Her leggings are pretty thin and she feels his touch fully; if she concentrates enough, she can feel those beloved calluses on his hands. He rubs his hand towards the juncture of her thighs and then over her hip and then back again, and like always, his touch ignites something in her, even as she’s wondering how she might be able to help him out of whatever funk he’s found himself in.

“You ready to tell me what’s up?” she wonders a while later.

“Hmm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Not yet. Tell me about your day.”

She shifts so that she can look back at him, noting the way his eyes have darkened a touch, become grayer like the sky outside, and it’s different from the bright blue-green she remembers from the day of the festival or the wicked blue-gray they always are right before he pushes hard into her.

He blinks down at her and licks his lips slowly. It’s not an explicitly sexual act, even if her body thinks it looks that way, and Iris finds herself lost in it, in whatever he’s emanating. It’s erotic in that it’s intimate, a whirlwind of whatever hurt made him seek her out at Jitters, of whatever still lies unexplored between them, of the attraction that doesn’t ever seem to dissipate.

When she pulls herself out, she tells him, “I was working on a story today. One that made me feel a little bit like how you might be right now.”

“Yeah?”

Wanting to look at him more comfortably, she uses his pause so that she can turn around fully and seat herself on his lap, straddling him. His hands automatically go to her hips, one sliding inside the waist of her leggings so that he can touch her skin.

“Tell me about this story,” he requests. She knows that he’s asking so that he can think about something other than what’s on his mind, so she does, giving a little more than she would originally, working out how she might want to tell the story in her blog.

“It was a couple,” she starts, “that grew up together, in the country. They bonded by playing together in the lake, climbing trees, and playing pranks on each other. And then they start to grow up. Their swimming becomes fraught with tension, the bathing suits showing the same skin, but more, ya know, both of them recognizing the differences, cataloging them, thinking about them, remembering them. They don’t act on it, because they’re friends, and he doesn’t actually understand what it means, that he’s 13 and he keeps dreaming about her at night, waking up with a wet bed and a pounding heart. And then his parents die and her dad, who’s a do-gooder in the community and had been his parents’ best friend, takes him in. Now they’re siblings, but of course not. Regardless, it makes it all harder and odder because she sleeps right down the hall from him, their shared bathroom always smells like her, and he understands now, that he likes her smile and the way she speaks and the curves she seems to develop out of nowhere.”

Barry squeezes at her and she pauses as he asks, “And what about her? How does she feel about him?”

“Well he doesn’t know it, but she’s there too. At first she thinks that she’s just conflating it, confusing their friendship. Because she doesn’t laugh with anyone else like she does with him and she never has as much fun with anyone else as she does him and she never feels as comfortable with anyone else as she does him. He’s her best friend. But she sees him, one night, in his room where the door hasn’t fully closed and he’s, well, he’s masturbating, touching himself, eyes closed and moaning, and for the first time outside of the books she’s read, she feels something. And she knows it’s not just because she’s seen him naked because she’s kissed boys before, she’s felt them hard under her before, but something about this feels different for her.

“But she doesn’t act on it. And he doesn’t either, because remember, he only thinks this is one-sided. They graduate. They go to the same college. But their majors are different and their friends are different. She joins a sorority; he gets into a couple of clubs. Their paths separate, even if they still laugh and talk and be when they’re home for the holidays. Then she gets a boyfriend.”

“She never had a boyfriend before this?” Barry questions.

Iris shrugs. “Sure. But it was high school and the beginning of college. They were mostly hookups that didn’t last. This guy is serious. He’s a couple years older, got his own place, and eventually she moves in with him. Heartbroken, he gets a girlfriend too, one of her friends. That doesn’t last long because she figures out that he’s a little bit in love with the main girl, and then he moves on, to someone sweet, someone who’s been not so subtly hinting that she wants to go out with him.”

Barry seems to be engrossed now. She can’t say that the dark look he was sporting is completely gone, but she can see that he’s not as deep in it, interested in the story she’s weaving.

“They go on to marry these people, even if their hearts are not fully in it. His wife has a kid first, her baby comes next. And meanwhile, they’re still friends. Her dad is still his guardian, so to speak; they are together for whatever holidays they don’t spend with their spouses’ families. They still laugh and talk and be. They still look a little too long and want a little too much.

It comes to a head one Christmas. The gods or fate or just some movement on their parts mean that they both go home to her dad’s house with their spouses and children coming in the next day. But her dad is called in to work so they order take out and watch movies in front of a fire. And they laugh and they talk...and they hug and they kiss and they…

“Be?” Barry tries, a tiny little smile on his face.

She matches it. “Yeah. And it’s beautiful, transcendent. But they’re married. To other people. With kids. So they vow to forget it, to never bring it up again. A couple of years pass. They don’t laugh as much, don’t talk as much. She’s having troubles in her marriage. He is too. He actually consults a divorce attorney because he thinks that it’s unfair to both him and his wife, to live like this. And then the wife dies in a car accident.”

“Oh damn,” he mutters.

“Right,” she agrees. “He’s wracked with grief and more than a little guilt, because he loved her but was never in love with her and she had no idea he was going to leave her.”

“What about her? The one he loves?”

“She’s there for him. She consoles him, cares for him, takes his kid when it gets too hard. Her husband doesn’t like it though. Thinks she’s doing too much, thinks that there’s another reason she’s over at his so much. Later, he learns that this wasn’t a new accusation, that even before she and her husband got married, the husband would question their closeness, would wonder what, if anything, had ever happened between them.

“Eventually she gets tired of it. Her kid is older, in their teens now, and she leaves her husband, packing her things and her kid’s too and moving back in with her dad for a while.”

“And what happens between them?” Barry wants to know.

“He and his son come over more. They hang out more, the four of them, going to dinner and to the movies and to the arcade together. And when their kids are gone, at sleepovers or game nights with their friends, they laugh again, talk again. Fall in love again.”

The ending is implied. Iris closes her eyes when she’s done, letting Barry continue to rub at her back, his fingers so so warm on her skin.

“It's a happy ending,” he says, eventually. “But getting there was a little...depressing.”

Iris chuckles softly, lightheaded again at having gone through that again. It likely didn’t make Barry feel any better, but she’ll take the win that it took his mind away from his own problems, if only for a little while.

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees. “But it reminds me that just because it’s not easy and just because it takes some time, it doesn’t mean that things aren’t worth it.”

He nods, slowly, thinking.

“What about things that are...easy? That come like breathing? That start as a simple dance and just, just keep going?”

She stares down at him and she knows that this is rhetorical. She can see the question in the depths of his eyes, feel it in his hands still kneading her flesh. It would be easy to retreat, to tell him that nothing is ever easy, even if the reality is that it is because they are, because they fall into each other so effortlessly, that she’s terrified. There are always hiccups, obstacles, and the fact that she can’t find any keeps her on edge, waiting, anticipating trouble she knows must be coming. She doesn’t want to believe it, wants to stand firm in them—stand firm in the lyrics she keeps hearing, if you decide to stay, know that there is no escape; there's no one here to save you—and she holds onto that as he asks,

“Don’t you think it’s worth it, Iris? Even if it’s this easy?”

She can’t speak, but his eyes are imploring her to answer. Pleading with her for a response. And however terrified Iris is, or however much Iris tells stories, she is not a liar. So she nods and whispers to him, “yes.”

Without waiting for her to say anything more, he kisses her. He squeezes at her waist and leans up to capture her mouth. She meets him with his same fervor and it’s different, this kiss. She knows the passion of his mouth when he’s high, the boldness when he’s teasing her. But this is new, this is fervor, warmth and agony and doubt and pleasure, all wrapped up together.

(Something also tells Iris that there is another word for this, that this is the part of the story where feelings would be laid on the table, where hearts would be splayed open and she’d say it, or he would, and the other would respond in kind, with declarations of adoration, of infatuation, yearning, of any other word that means what she can’t say yet.

But she feels it, what she’s wanting to say, what she thinks he is saying, in this kiss. It is slow and nasty, all tongue and mouth. Her eyes flutter closed at the feeling, at how he licks into her mouth and then sucks on her bottom lip, at how he licks against her tongue and then holds her face to bring her closer to him. She feels it, she feels it, she feels him…)

He stands, holding on to her, and she wraps her legs around his waist, tightening her arms around his neck as he carries her through the house. The kisses don’t stop, though they become shorter, more mouth now, and he takes her down a long hallway past several doors until he turns into one at the end of the hall. She makes a quick note of the light gray and burnt orange decor, the side tables holding books and knickknacks, the one window that spans nearly the entire wall, but she focuses most heavily on the king-sized bed on which he throws on her, the soft comforter half hanging off the bed.

Her clothes come off first, Barry pulling her sweatshirt over her head and yanking her pants over her hips. He comes out of his own clothes as she discards her underwear, and then he’s between her thighs again. But she wants something else first so she taps his shoulder to flip them and then she’s hovering above him.

She gives him a kiss, slow and sweet, and then she makes her way down his chest, kissing as she goes. She loves the feel of his skin against her lips, likes how his skin tastes as she presses tongue kisses on him. His belly clenches and unclenches under her ministrations, and by the time she’s looking back up at him from her position near his crotch, she can see the way his chest rises and falls with his heavy breathing.

She reaches for him, wrapping her fingers around his dick. It’s long like the rest of him, and thicker than she would have expected just looking at him. It’s a pretty dick, the base the same color as him, the head slightly pinker. It’s a little veiny, but the skin is smooth, and already he’s starting to leak. She lifts her eyes to find him watching her, his own gaze hooded. In her peripheral, she sees his hands grip the bed sheets and she revels in how she hasn’t even done anything and his control is starting to slip.

“Tell me what you want, Bear.”

She says the words softly, but Barry doesn’t miss the cheek that lies under it, if the slight smirk he gives her is any indication.

“Your mouth,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming about that pretty mouth wrapped around my dick.”

She shudders at the tone of his voice, at the vision of her on her knees for him. She likes it.

“I bet you have too,” he guesses.

Without a response, she licks him, holding him at the base and running her tongue up one side of him. She does it again, and then one more time, acquainting herself with the taste of him and the satiny feel of him on her tongue, and then she adjusts and covers the whole of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes out.

She hums around him and she sucks him down, taking him until he hits her throat. Then she pulls back until just the tip remains. She licks around his head and sucks him there, letting the spit pool in her mouth, letting it mix with his own wet. She opens her mouth and lets it slide out, dripping down onto him, and her own body starts to drip at his wrecked whisper, “god, baby, look at you.”

She adds her hands, palming his testicles in one and rubbing her spit down the length of him with the other. She finds a rhythm, sucking him down, inch by inch, hollowing her cheeks as she goes, and then stroking his back up. Barry keeps his hand clenched in the sheets, but he cants himself into her mouth, rocking his hips lightly. She’s getting into it, loving the way he responds to her.

“Come here,” he says, suddenly, reaching for her, and she pulls back with a soft pop.

“Barry?” she furrows her eyebrows in question.

He gives her a gentle smile and grabs at her arm; Iris moves at his request, crawling up his body.

“But you didn’t finish,” she says, pouting a little.

“I know. I want to come when I’m inside you.”

She’s mollified by that, and he settles her on his lap.

“You were so good though, baby,” he says, kissing her. “My good, good girl.”

He reaches down to touch her, slipping his fingers easily into her sex. He groans into her mouth at the feel and he pulls back to ask,

“Is this all for me? Did you get wet sucking me off, good girl?”

She nods, rocking her hips against his hand, against his sex still hard beneath her. “Can, can you…?”

He tilts his head at her, fingers still caressing inside of her. “Can I?”

She huffs out a small laugh because he’s always fucking with her. “You said you wanted to come inside of me,” she reminds him.

“I did, didn’t?” He takes his time removing his fingers, eyes on her as he does. Even with the window curtains wide open, the dark sky has the room dark

(and she doesn’t dismiss the fact that the window faces the side of someone else’s house, where they could be seen if the neighbors were so inclined to watch)

and his eyes look a little like molten lead in the faint rainy light like this. He goes to reach over to his bedside table but Iris stops him.

“I want to feel you,” she says.

He licks his lips and she doesn’t mistake the twitch of his dick she feels under her. “You sure?”

“Yes. I’m on birth control. And I trust you.”

He nods once and again, and then he takes her by her hips and slides her down his cock.

After, Iris decides that this time is the single most erotic experience of her life.

They fuck with the rain like a soundtrack behind them, like a song that swells and stretches, telling their story, but you're so brave; stone cold crazy for loving me; yeah, I'm amazed; i hope you make it out alive, a song that rises and rises, that sounds too good to be real, that might destroy you, but only in the best way.

She rides him, and he’s so full in her like this, so deep in her like this. His back is against his fabric headboard and she’s so close to him, her knees jutting into the headboard, her thighs holding around his hips, her breasts rubbing against his chest, nipples pebbling with each brush on those hard planes.

She holds on to him with her hands holding the back of his neck, softly scratching at the nape. But he’s touching her, always touching her, his hands caressing her spine, and then holding her waist, and then squeezing her hips. He guides her: keeps his favorite pace, smooth and languid; bring her up to the tip and fucks her back down; shows her how he wants her to roll her body when he’s full in her, so her clit is brushing the soft hairs on his pelvis, the sensation incredible.

He uses his mouth too: to kiss her throat, deep tongue kisses that’ll leave marks she knows she’ll have to cover up; to whisper against her mouth, “see how easy this is; see how good, baby; fuck, see how good this is; yes, yes, yes, my good girl.”

And Iris feels so caught up in it. She can’t stop looking at him, loving when the lightning slashes across the room and illuminates those eyes, the constellation of moles on his skin, his wet, pink mouth. Her body hums with pleasure, soaking her thighs and his, tightening around his dick as if it never, never wants to let him go. She voices her satisfaction, in soft sighs and heavy pleas, and his name on her tongue like a chant, or better, a song, “Bear, Bear, Barrryyy.” They’re so close, her skin sticking to his wherever they’re touching, chest to chest and ass to thigh. She feels full and whole and filled...with him and with desire and with, and with love, the thought of it making her shudder and close her eyes.

“No,” Barry whispers. “Don’t. Just let it, just let it...stay here with me. Can you do that for me? Be brave for me?”

She nods, head heavy as her body starts to reach its climax, as her body loosens at the same time that it tightens and she has to fight to hold on to him. “Yes,” she moans again, holding his gaze again.

He touches at her face, holding her cheek and staring back. “Good girl.”

She doesn’t know whose climax triggers the other. She just knows that at the same time that her body explodes, fluttering wildly around him, he comes too, so hard that she feels him throbbing against her walls, that she feels him filling her up with his cum.

He doesn’t let go of her right away. He just holds her, hands at her hip and her face, and then he kisses her, cementing what they’ve just done, cementing what Iris feels for him.

“It’s the anniversary of my mom’s death,” he says, out of the blue. “And when I went to visit my dad earlier, I found out that he’s sick, something with his heart, and I’m-I’m reeling.”

It’s been a long while since they separated and Iris climbed off of him to pad into his bathroom and warm a hand towel under warm water to clean them both. They’ve been lying in his bed, only half under the covers as they let their bodies cool. It’s quiet now, so quiet that Iris has thought he’d fallen asleep; she’d almost fallen asleep. But when he speaks, she blinks wide and then turns her head to face him.

“14 years today,” he adds. He’s looking up at the ceiling as he talks, but Iris feels the hand that’s settled at her waist tighten, the move bringing her closer to him. She understands that he just needs the contact, so she turns so that she’s all the way curled on him, one of her legs thrown across him, her arm tossed over him too, hand settled on his heart. It’s beating slow, steady, and so she strokes his bare chest, right it.

“How’d you find out?”

“I was still at school,” he tells her. “It was a Friday and some of my friends had convinced me to go to a football game, so we were there pretty late. Games could run until 11. I was 17 so I had my own car. It was an old car; we’d bought it from a guy she worked with. By this time, my dad had been gone for a couple years, and my mom was always working late at the lab, so when I got home around 10:30 that night and the lights were out, I wasn’t surprised.”

He shifts a little and continues. “I took a shower, put some leftover pizza in the microwave, and just as I was sitting down to eat, the doorbell rang. It was the police looking for her next of kin to tell them what had happened.” He sighs heavily. “I got lucky. The courts let one of my friend’s parents take me in until I graduated a few months later. I was able to get a work study job in college to pay my bills since the mortgage was already paid off.”

He says it all like he was lucky, but there is nothing lucky about losing both of your parents in that matter, even if one of them was still physically alive. Iris knows from experience that he doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want anyone to feel sorry for his story. But she can’t help the way she wants to comfort him, and so she lets herself do that, tightening herself around him, snuggling even more into his chest.

“How are you feeling about your dad?” she asks, mumbling against his skin.

“Devastated. He looked like, like, I don’t know, like he’s giving up. I don’t get to go see him too often, every couple of months, really. And he looked so different from when I saw him last: smaller, frailer. I think there might be something he’s not telling me. Like he’s been sick longer than he says he has.”

“Is he supposed to get out soon?”

“Another couple years. But I don’t know if he wants to hold on that long.”

She feels them first, the tears. She tries to hold him even tighter, tries to crawl into his skin almost, trying to stem his pain. He doesn’t cry for long, just a few sobs, and then he’s inhaling deeply and wiping at his eyes. But it must be enough because he sounds a little hollow when he says,

“And truthfully, I’m not so much sad as I am mad, that he seems to be giving up. On getting out. On me.”

She hums, not dismissively, but because she understands. “Wanna know a secret?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes, I hate my mom.”

He sort of jerks up at that. Not fully, he looks down at her, eyes widened in shock. However inappropriate it might be, she finds herself laughing a little at his expression. Then she explains.

“I know that addiction is not a moral failing. I know that she struggled right up til the end. I know both of those things as completely as I know anything else. But sometimes I wonder why my dad wasn’t enough, why me and Wally weren't enough. I wonder what she was trying to find in those pills that she couldn’t find in us, and I get so pissed that she let it take her away from us.”

She’s startled when he moves. He pulls himself from under her, letting her fall onto her back, and then he’s hovering above her, holding himself up on his elbows. He falls into the spread of her thighs, his sex nuzzling comfortably against her still warm center.

“I’ve seen some of the worst effects of addiction,” he says, “when their bodies end up on a slab of metal and it’s my job to dissect the things around them, to even sometimes help detectives dissect their lives to figure out what happened. And something I’ve learned is that it’s always, always about them. Never about the people they love.”

He searches her face, brushing a piece of hair back from her forehead. “And whatever your mom was or wasn’t thinking, you are enough. You are more than enough, Iris.” He leans down and gives her a kiss, deep and dirty, and she moans in frustration as he pulls back from her. He gives her a grin, one more reminiscent of the Barry she’s used to.

“Repeat after me,” he commands. “I, Iris West…”

“Really, Barry?”

“Yes, come on. I, Iris West…

She sighs, but says it. “I, Iris West…”

“Am more than enough.”

She licks her lips then, blinks, works to not let the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corner of her eyes escape.

“Am more than enough,” she whispers, finally.

Barry’s smile turns fond. “Good girl.”

She shakes her head because she doesn’t know what else to do besides kiss him. Which she does, deeply, reaching down to grip him in her palm. She pauses, just for a moment, to tell him “you know that you are enough too, right?” and she kisses the look of awe off of his face. It’s a long while before she stops kissing him, and then it’s only to moan into his mouth, to let him whisper his dirty somethings into her ear.

“What are your plans for tonight?”

They’ve just shared a shower. Barry is throwing on another pair of sweats and a hoodie and Iris puts her own leggings back on, sans underwear, and thumbs through Barry’s closet for another sweatshirt to put on.

(There’s no reason that she can’t put hers back on, but she’s feeling particularly sentimental and she wants to take something of Barry’s with her, something that smells like him, that feels like him.)

“None, really.” She pulls out a red sweater that reads Central City University Track & Field and throws it on over her bra. “Why? You kicking me out.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Of course not.” He glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Wanna get dinner? And then go with me to my tattoo appointment? It’s at 8 tonight.”

She smiles at that. “Sure.”

They take the highway back downtown. The rain is still beating steadily and there is still the occasional rumble of thunder, the sporadic flash of lightning. He parks a bit further in the arts district, in front of a restaurant specializing in wood-fire pizzas and craft beers. This time, she knows to wait for him to come around and open the door for her so that she can walk under his umbrella. Once he locks his jeep, he grabs her hand, and they walk the couple doors down and into the restaurant.

The place is brightly lit, in direct contrast to the dark sky and even the faint light that had been on at Barry’s place. The weather assures that it isn’t densely packed, just a couple booths of families and what looks like a couple, so they’re seated quickly and easily. They eat fast since they’ve only got an hour before his appointment. In the meantime, they both keep the conversation light. It’s been a day, for the both of them really, and Iris doesn’t think that she can cry twice in a day.

After he pays, she goes to the bathroom and he tells her he’ll wait at the door for her. She goes in and it’s as brightly lit as the rest of the place and she quickly does her business and washes her hands before heading back out to where he knows Barry is waiting in the little space between the outer door and the door to the restaurant.

She walks through the place and out of the restaurant door, likely too quickly and without really looking. She takes several steps, straightening out Barry’s sweatshirt again, and then she’s bumping into what feels like a solid wall, almost falling backward. A quick hand reaches out to catch her, the hand large, easily wrapping around her forearm.

“Shit,” she says, shaking her head to clear it as she looks up. “I’m sorr..Scott?”

He doesn’t move back right away and so she has to look up, up at the man holding on to her. Scott Evans is the literal definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He’d been her editor when she’d work at CCPN right out of college, and she’d had the biggest crush on him. Tall with dark caramel skin and a neatly trimmed beard, he’d been the one to help guide her in the ways of mass story-telling. They’d gone on one date and Iris is not actually sure why they’d never gone on another.

“Iris West.” He says her name slowly, his grin widening at the same pace. He gives her a once-over, slow and heated. “How’ve you been?”

“R-really good,” she says, stumbling a little at that grin. Even if she doesn’t actually regret never seeing him again, Iris can admit that a man this good looking makes her a little tongue-tied.

“Yeah? I’ve been catching your blog when I can. It’s some good shit, West. I can see why you left our little paper.”

“Please,” Iris rolls her eyes with a little laugh. “There’s nothing little about Picture News.”

He shrugs, humble all the way. “Still, I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Scott. I appreciate that.”

“It’s the truth.” He looks down at her, swiping at his lips with his tongue, and she suddenly realizes that they’re still too close. She steps back fully from him, glancing over Scott’s shoulders to see Barry watching them, his expression unreadable.

“Um,” she speaks, catching his attention. “I gotta go Scott.”

“Oh yeah; of course. We should get together soon. Maybe do dinner.” Scott looks back out of the window where rain steadily pours. “It’s still raining out. Can I walk you to your car?”

Her eyes don’t leave Barry’s and he tilts his head, waiting for her answer. “Scott, I’m not alone.”

He turns as if he’s just realizing that Barry is standing there. Barry is still quiet and only lifts his eyes to look at Scott when he mutters, “oh, hey man.”

Barry nods. “What’s up?” Then he looks at Iris. “You ready?”

“Yeah, I am.” Her voice is soft, cautious, and she throws one more glance at Scott. “It was good to see you.”

He graces her with that smile again. “Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

Barry takes her hand and they walk back to the truck. They’re on the road again, driving to a neighborhood near her own. For a second, she thinks he’s going to take her home, but he passes the road to her apartment and goes on to a neighborhood featuring several bars and little shops that cater to the college crowd. He pulls into the parking lot of a place called Black Gold, the lights inside near as bright as those in the pizza place.

Again, she waits until he comes around and turns as if to get out. He stops her though, holding the umbrella high, standing in front of her open legs. He does his thing, his stare like he's trying, and succeeding, to get inside her mind.

“That your ex-boyfriend?” he wonders.

She shakes her head. “Ex-boss.”

His expression doesn’t change. “All your bosses look at you like that?”

She swallows at the sudden feel of his hand on her thigh. The rain is pounding and drops fall on them, but she’s not noticing it. Instead, she’s caught in the storm that’s returned to his eyes, in the feel of his hands inching steadily toward her center.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” she says, instead of responding to him.

One corner of his mouth lifts, and the confident, bordering on cocky, Barry is looking at her now, even if that sparkle hasn’t returned quite yet.

“Nah,” he says. “Not jealous. You’re here right now. And you were with me earlier, moaning for me, coming for me.”

He slides his hand between her thighs and because she is, almost literally, always thirsty for him, wet for him, her legs spread easily. He fingers at the crotch of her leggings, and she knows that he can feel her warmth through the thin material. He thumbs at her until she gasps against him, finding her clit in a way that reminds him that he knows her body better than she knows it herself.

“He ever touch you like this?” Barry asks, voice a whisper above the rain. “Make you whimper even without getting your clothes off?”

She is whimpering, as he keeps his thumb on her clit, rubbing on her in slow circles. That’s all he’s doing: touching her with one hand, looking at her with those eyes that tell as much as they conceal, with his voice a deep rumble that rivals the thunder. He might be turned on, but he’s proving a point, naming himself as someone who, well, who owns her, even if she recognizes that no man should claim any power over her.

Heat spreads through her, a low, simmering sort of heat, but it’s enough that her folds grow slicker, start opening like the flowers of a petal waiting to be plucked. He keeps rubbing at her, staying on her clit, staring in her face, so much that she can’t hold his gaze. Because it feels better than it should, and her wet is soaking through these too thin leggings, and her breaths are coming in longer, coming in heavier.

“Tell me he hasn’t, Iris,” he says, commands, and Iris throws her head back, legs widening at their own volition, hips canting against his hand. “Tell me.”

“No,” she moans, eyes fluttering closed. “He never even touched me at all.”

“Tell me it’s just me,” he adds and she’s too far gone to note the pleading in his voice. “Tell me no one has ever touched you like this.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Just you, Barry, shit, just you.”

“Good,” he groans. “Good, good girl.”

Even if touch is the word he’s using, Iris understands that it’s more. She understands that they’re both wrapped up in uncertainty, never too sure of where they lie in others’ affections, never too sure of where they lie in life at all. She understands that he’s asking her if she feels it too, if she’s there with him, if this too easy, this too natural, feeling is a first for her too.

He’s asking if she’s brave enough to tell him the truth, if she undertands is meaning-understands that I'm no walk in the park; all these scars on my heart; it’s so dark here-even as she’s wondering the same, as she’s feeling the same, wondering if the churning feelings of abandonment make her unworthy somehow. Wondering if he’ll come to see that unworthiness.

Barry leans forward, just a touch away from her mouth, eyes blazing.

“There’s only you too, Iris,” he says, unprompted. “I swear I’ve just been waiting for you.”

He closes the distance to kiss her and that’s enough to take her over. It’s not a powerful orgasm, not like usual, but it does make her shut her eyes tight, make her limbs seize up as she rocks her hips through it. She breathes out, and she can’t stop the little laugh that comes out.

“You really are a dick,” she muses, opening her eyes slowly.

“A polite one, though,” he says, as he stands straighter and holds his hand out to help her down from the car. He holds the umbrella high over her. “See how I’m making sure you don’t get wet.”

“You didn't think of that earlier.”

His grin is devastating but it doesn’t hide the plethora of emotions in his eyes: the simmering lust, the faint traces of insecurity, the grief that’s been hovering all day...the love she doesn’t think he wants to hide anymore.

She hikes up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek, and then she walks beside him into the parlor, words flashing in her head like a sign, but if you’re a warrior, there’s nothing to fear; nothing to fear.

And later that night, as she cuddles up next to Barry is his large comfortable bed, she listens to his soft breathing, the sound a melody to the rain still pattering against his windows. She listens and she stares at him, taking in his features, softer than they were before, the stress of today easing away with every second he’s lost to sleep. A flash of lightning lights the room, and it catches her eyes again, the new tattoo, the purple ink bright on his skin, covering the space from a lily on his shoulder to just over his heart. It goes dark again, his room blanketed once more, but in her mind’s eyes, she can still see the vibrant ink on his skin, the pretty drooping petals of an iris.

Cause you're so brave

Stone cold crazy for loving me

Yeah, I'm amazed

I hope you make it out alive

[mxpseudonym]

Just Good Business IV

Pairing: Tommy x Reader

Reader Gender Expression: She/Her pronouns, “wife”

Summary: After Tommy has to put down his horse, you want him to lean on you for once.

Length: 2080 words (allegedly)

Warnings: animal death, cursing, and as usual, underlying tones of forced/arranged marriage

A/N: It’s my bday so I decided to post this part today! I hope you like it, it’s been a journey. I’m going 

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part V

--

You weren't what your mother would call nurturing or sentimental. 

Not that you didn't know how to love or take care. You'd just rather live life as freely as you could and not be tied down by attachments to those who don't love you as much as you love them or worrying about keeping a house. Your mother said it wasn't becoming, and men would be turned away. You wished she would have warned you instead. That when there was the right person, one you'd do just about anything for, you can be the thing you never thought you could be, just for them. 

It had been the better part of a year, and you were still learning that marriage was simple in definition, but by no means easy. Tommy only made that more accurate. He was driven and focused at work, which made you better at your job as well. You were making a name for yourself as a partnership, and things were as thrilling as ever at home. Tommy talked to you and let you in little by little. It wasn't something you asked for, but it did make you do the same. Even after knowing each other for a mere year and a half, you knew each other reasonably well. Which was why you were pacing in your bedroom, arms wrapped around yourself to stop you from biting your nails. You had asked Tommy not to leave earlier,  but he wouldn't listen to you or anyone. 

"Tom, please," you pleaded, placing yourself between him and the door. 

"Y/n,"

"Just let them do it. Let the stable hand take care of it, okay?" You asked. You thought you had him for a moment, but his eyes lowered, and he stepped around you.

"She's my horse, y/n. My horse that got sick, my horse to see through 'til the end." 

It had been hours, longer than was necessary. But it was in Tommy's nature as Romani man to go deep into the land on your property when he was upset. He'd done it before. Johnny Dogs was the one who told you that there wasn't anything to worry about, even if Tommy spent the night out there. It didn't take a professional to know that Tommy could only bottle so much up before he erupted, though. You were on a secret mission to get him to come to you instead sometimes. 

The echo of the door slamming knocked you out of your head and nearly sent you running to the foyer. It only took a few moments for him to be at your bedroom door. 

Tommy came in with just his socks, the muddy boots in hand were placed by the door. He looked you over but said nothing as he went to the restroom, closing the door behind him. You sighed and hung your head. So it wouldn't be straightforward. It didn't take long for him to wash up. You were just finishing putting on your own pajamas when he finally sat on the edge of the bed.

"How did the meeting with the Commissioner go?" Tommy asked. You walked up to him, ignoring his means of changing the subject by silently wrapping your arms around him tightly.

"I'm sorry, Tom. I'm so sorry you had to do it," you told him in his ear. He tightened the hug and buried his face in your neck. "Whatever you need."

"I need," Tommy began, pulling out of the embrace after a few long moments, "I need to know how your meeting went." 

Your comforting eyes met his desperate ones. This was how he was, and there was how you had to take him. You made your way across the room to where your notebook sat on the side table. 

"Of course. It went well, and I took notes for you this time."

It was 3:30 in the morning when you were sharply woken up by Tommy's yell and shooting straight up in bed.

"Fuck," you swore and placed a hand over your thumping chest. You turned on your lamp to see Tommy wide-eyed and sweating. 

"It's fine," his voice was hoarse as he ran a hand through his hair. He put a shaking hand on your leg to stop your fretting. You stroked his cheek anyway. 

"It's not fine, love, and that's okay," you assured. "I'm going to run a bath." 

"No," he gasped, still coming down from his terrifying high. "It's late." 

"It'll be good, promise. Let's just try, alright?" 

The steam of the bath filled the room, and swirled around the curls of cigarette smoke. The French lullaby you sang bounced off the white tile walls, pausing only momentarily when you took your cigarette in your mouth. You continued, reaching your hand forward to place it between Tommy's lips. He took over smoothly like it was what he was meant to do, and stroked the legs you had wrapped around him in gratitude. Asking for a bathtub you could swim in really came in handy, you thought with Tommy's back pressed against your chest in hot water. When you finished the tune, your arms wrapped around Tommy's shoulders, and you buried your face in his neck. 

"What do you dream about?" You asked. There were nights when his mumbling or twisting and turning woke you, but it was all brushed away with "the war." This wasn't the first time you'd asked, but it was the first time you had an advantage. If stopping Tommy from driving out into the darkness meant pulling him into the bath and wrapping your limbs around him to keep him there, you'd happily oblige. 

"I hear the shovels coming for me. They're loud, and they keep me up at night. When I sleep, I'm digging. I hear the shovels, the men, I see the darkness. There's nothing, no end or beginning. I'm somewhere between being alive and dead, but I don't know if I'll wake up again," he said it like he said everything. Straight to the point and methodical. "Today with Thunder, putting an end to her like that, just put my mind in a bad way."

"Is it the same dream every time?" You asked. It was. Which was a shame. Tommy, one of the most capable people you knew, was to live out his life as a terrifying metaphor. 

"Always will be," he concluded. 

"Always and never, they're liars more often than not," you told him. "And you belong to me now, so if you can talk to yourself in those dark tunnels of your mind, remind yourself that if you open your eyes, you'll have someone waiting for you." 

"Gonna fight my demons for me, are you?" Tommy chuckled. You couldn't help but join.

"Of course, if I get the chance." You kissed his cheek, and Tommy sunk even deeper into your embrace. 

"I don't know why I can't shake it. Seeing horses die stays with me." 

"You don't know?" You peered down at him. "It's because you're one of them."

"How can you tell?" 

"You're gallant like a horse, even who you don't want the medals. You've shown me how strong you are without using your hands. You're as much fire as you are ice, which is beautiful, like a horse."

You slid your hand over Tommy's chest to rest over the tattoo there. Under your palm, his heart thumped away.

"Your heart beats like a horse, a wild stallion who's made himself race. But a stallion that only races himself doesn't know when or how to stop. He will run so hard and so fast for so long that his heart will burst if he isn't careful."

"I don't know how you can see things in me like you do, y/n. I just know you're making everything better." Tommy clasped your hand and pressed his lips against your wrist.

You kissed his shoulders and any part of him you could reach for the short remainder of the soak. You were more than willing to stay up with Tommy, but your body was so tired it made you sick. With Tommy's head on your chest, however, you slept fully to the next morning. Your eyes fluttered open as you registered the light stroking sensation on your cheek. 

"Good morning," Tommy greeted you. Your groggy voice delivered an identical, albeit near unintelligible reply. Part of you wanted to tell him to sleep more, but you could feel Tommy hesitate. You allowed your eyes to flutter open to reveal Tommy resting on his elbow next to you. He looked down at you, clearly lost in thought behind those blue eyes. 

"I love you."

You could feel your eyebrows crease. Was this a dream? The words hung in the air, impending and waiting for you to reply with something just as sweet.

"What?" You asked, no room for elegance. 

"Fuck 'good business.' I don't care about any of that. I love you."

"Oh," you eventually stammered. "Why would you say that?" 

You tried to find the words, but in your sleepy haze, you chose the first words that came to mind. Tommy leaned forward, disappointment evident in his eyes, and kissed your forehead. 

"It's alright. I just want you to know," Tommy said, then climbed out of bed. You heard him head out of the door, which shook you awake enough to get up. 

"Thomas Shelby!" You yelled from the top of the stairs, just as he'd reached the foyer. He turned in his dressing gown and raised an eyebrow at you, only in your pajamas. "What the hell? Thomas, I," 

"It's alright, y/n. You don't have to say anything." 

"Would you stop? You know I hate it when you interrupt me," you scolded him. Tommy mumbled an apology then waited for you to continue.

"Listen, you surprised me. I just woke up for christ's sake. I didn't ask why you said it because I don't feel the same. I just wonder if you'd say that if we weren't married." 

"What do you mean?" He asked with his own brow creasing. 

"I don't cook or clean. I'm not sweet or easy to swallow. Believe me, I do enjoy myself quite a bit. But sometimes I wonder, if you hadn't been made to marry me, would you have found on your own that," you sighed, "I'm not someone you'd want to be with." 

You looked to your bare feet and took a breath. Being this emotional so early in the morning was not your speed. After a moment, you heard a soft chuckle growing in volume to become a full laugh. Tommy stood in the foyer, shoulders shaking and cheeks flushing. He made his way up to you on the landing and pressed the back of his hand against your cheeks then forehead. 

"Are you ill, Mrs?" Tommy asked, making you roll your eyes. 

"Tom, please." 

"You're talking nonsense, y/n. Polly told me to find a wife, but I'm the one who suggested it be you, alright? Your reputation proceeds you, love. Stepping into negotiations for your brother and conducting impressive business. That night we met only confirmed it. Every day since that dinner, you have kept me on my toes, and I love it. I love you."

You felt your cheeks warm, and you let out a laugh. 

"I fucking knew you liked me."

"Unbelievable." Tommy rolled his eyes, but let you throw your arms around his neck and plant a proper kiss on his lips.

"I love you too, how's that?"

"If you're just saying that to appease me, you don't have to." 

"When is it that I go around saying things I don't mean?" You asked firmly then kissed him again. 

"Good, then I have something to ask." Tommy lowered himself on one knee, anchoring himself by holding your waist. "Will you, with no deals or debts on the table, marry me and be my wife?" 

It occurred to you that you hadn't gotten a marriage proposal at all, especially not one from the heart. Who said Tommy couldn't be romantic? "I don't know how my husband is going to feel about that. I've heard he's quite in love with me," you said, hands running through his hair. Tommy smirked but nodded in approval. "Yes, I will marry you. But only if you'll marry me too."

"I'll have to ask my wife," Tommy said, standing and wrapping you in his arms. You reached up and kissed him once more. 

"She approves." 

..

Tommy Tag List: @soleil-dor;  @amysteryspot​

JGB Series Tag List: @biba3434 ; l0tsofpennies

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part I

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

A deafening blast jolted me out of my slumber. I snapped upright.

As a member of law enforcement, I was painfully familiar with the sound of a gunshot, and that was exactly what I’d just heard.

I strained my ears with bated breath, trying to hear over my own thundering heartbeat.

Loud, frantic footsteps raced down creaky, wooden stairs. Then a terrified scream filled the halls of my childhood home.

I tore away the sheets and rushed to where the scream seemed to have come from. When I reached the parlour was when I stumbled upon the scene. There, right at the foot of my mother’s memorial, was my godmother’s cold, lifeless corpse. Kneeling beside her was her granddaughter, Paya, weeping into her open palms in shock.

Only a minute or two had passed since I’d awoken at the sound of gunfire. “Wait here,” I ordered, then made a break for the front entrance, the nearest and most instinctual escape route.

But when I threw the doors open, there wasn’t a soul to be found.

I returned to the parlour with my tail between my legs. Then my toe hit something heavy and metallic that clacked underfoot. When I looked down and saw what it was, I froze. With caution, I ever so slowly stepped away from the weapon.

“Great...” I muttered, seeing as now it would have my toe prints on it. But the longer I looked at it, I realized I’d seen this revolver somewhere before.

Then it hit me. It hit me like a two-ton train car.

I quickly made sure Paya’s head was turned. Then with terribly trembling hands, I did what I had to do and carefully tucked it away in my nightgown.

I’d feared the precinct wouldn’t allow me to participate in the investigation seeing as I’d been on the scene at the time of the crime. However, it seemed they trusted me enough to even appoint me as the lead investigator. Granted, I had done a lot to earn their trust over the past three years, but this was unheard of.

Nevertheless, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The next morning, at seven o’clock sharp, I returned to the scene of the crime equipped with all the necessary tools of my trade.

I looked out the window of the cramped police buggy at our destination in utter astoundment. There were already droves of officers there, awaiting the arrival of me and my partner. The sight of the place I’d once called home being chained off and hidden from the public like this was jarring, to say the least. Of all the strange crime scenes I’d seen, this was the strangest. I never could’ve imagined I’d be returning here, not to eat Auntie Impa’s delicious pork buns or to hear Auntie Purah talk about her latest technological endeavours, but for work. How could I have?

“Zelda! Good—good morning!” greeted a rather skittish Paya when she opened the door for us.

“Good morning, Paya.”

She nearly lost her smile when she noticed Constable Fyori standing beside me. “Please, come in.” She stepped aside, and he and I entered into the low-ceilinged yet stately vestibule, removing our shoes and leaving them by the door. “Can I get either of you anything? Some tea, maybe?”

My assistant opened his mouth, but I raised a hand, silencing him. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. We have important business to take care of.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Silly me,” she chortled. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

The first order of business was to examine the body. In most cases, a specialist would be needed to perform an autopsy, but unlike most inspectors, I had the forensic knowhow to take care of it myself. One might have said this was a side effect of my hobbies and my avid interest in all things related to science that I’d harboured since grade school. However, a full autopsy complete with the weighing of the body and the removal of the organs would come later. For now, it would suffice to determine two simple things: the time of death and the cause of death.

But before I could even get close to the body, I was stopped by my assistant, who grabbed me gently by the arm.

“You don’t have to do this,” he uttered in his typical, mousy tone. “I can call for someone else to come and take care of it for you.”

The look of real and profound concern seated deep in his aquamarine eyes pulled at my heartstrings. It had been a year, roughly, since he’d first begun working under me. He was always so worried for me, and I always felt terrible because of it. I unhooked his hand from my arm, putting on a warm smile. “I’ll be okay, Link.”

He looked at me as if to ask, “Are you sure?”

“Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry,” I insisted. “Thank you, though.” This finally got him to return my smile, albeit only briefly.

I already had a decent estimate of the time of death. The period we were looking at was between half ten at night, when the last person awake (which had just so happened to be me) had gone to bed, and three in the morning, when the gunshot had given me that rude awakening. Really I should have examined the body as soon as I’d discovered it. In most other cases I worked on, I even wished I’d been the first on the scene, before the stiff had yet to even go stiff. Of course, the one time I happened to be one of the first to discover a murder, it had to be like this.

And yet, until I knew who was responsible for this atrocity, grieving could wait.

Right off the bat, I could tell that this had been a homicide. This may have seemed obvious to someone like Paya, but as a detective, I’d had to forcefully train myself to assume nothing and question everything. Based on the characteristics of the hole running straight through her neck, however, I determined that the gun had been shot from too far a distance for it to have been suicidal. Auntie Impa’s arms simply weren’t long enough.

But for a death caused by hemorrhage from a severed jugular vein, there was a shockingly small amount of blood. The rush-woven mat beneath her was nearly spotless, and I knew from experience how difficult it was to get stains out of these mats. Even when I checked underneath the mat, there was still nothing. No blood, and no bullet.

With a final nod, I stood up and signalled the other officers to take the body away.

“Now, let’s see here...” I said to myself, scanning the area immediately surrounding the corpse before approaching my mother’s altar. But when I laid eyes on the damage it had sustained, I stumbled back.

Though she hadn’t been a follower of the same faith held by the Sheikahs, my mother’s memory had been enshrined here because, like myself, they’d been like a second family to her.

With all due caution, I picked up what remained of her photograph. The glass was shattered, and a bullet had completely erased her face.

If this wasn’t a sign of the Yiga organization, I didn’t have a clue what was. Who else would’ve borne such ill will toward Hilda Hyrule, the town’s beloved last mayor who’d been dead ever since the tragic “accident” at City Hall eighteen years prior? That massacre had been what had ushered in their age of power, and with no one left to stand in their way, they’d been terrorizing the city ever since.

Before I’d even had the chance to begin my analysis, I heard Paya’s timid footsteps shuffling up to me. “Zelda?” she whispered, obnoxiously tapping her finger on my shoulder. “Excuse me...”

I turned my head and forced a grin. “What is it?”

“Umh, I didn’t know he’d be accompanying you today.” I didn’t even have to follow her gaze to know who she was eyeing.

I suppressed a sigh. “Constable Fyori is my partner,” I reminded her politely. “I take him with me on all of my investigations.”

“Yes, I know, but...” Now her gaze was nervously flitting back and forth between me and Link. “I-I wasn’t prepared to see him again after so long. What if—what if he says something to me?”

“He won’t,” I huffed. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” she fretted. “I’ll get out of your hair.” I gave her a nod of the head in thanks, and she kindly stepped back and out of my space. But even after that, I could still feel her intense stare from across the room. I let out the sigh I’d been holding in. Sure, Paya was irritating, and I was going on maybe four or five hours of sleep at most, but there was no excuse for me to be irrational, especially since it would get me nowhere in my line of thinking. What I wouldn’t have done for a nice, hot cup of chamomile at that moment.

Based on the extreme angle of the bullet’s trajectory, one could tell at a glance where the shooter had to have been positioned. They’d have been standing above the altar with very little space between the two—definitely not enough for an entire person. Therefore the bullet that had taken the victim’s life had to have been a different one. This was backed up by the absence of any blood around the hole or anywhere else on the shrine. So why had I only heard one gunshot that night? And where in the world was the bullet responsible for Auntie Impa’s death if not on the scene of the crime?

After photographing the hole and scribbling my thoughts and observations down in my notebook, I began the procedure of extracting the bullet from the altar. This was a delicate task, one that I admittedly had a hard time trusting anyone else in the force with. Once I’d succeeded in retrieving the bullet, I determined it was of the same calibre as the one that had passed through the victim’s throat, meaning it was likely that it had been fired from the same gun. Unfortunately, all these facts corresponded with the weapon I’d found on the scene mere hours ago, two chambers of which were empty. There may have been no prints left on the trigger, but even so, I simply didn’t have it in me to run a striation comparison.

Standing up straight and taking a quick, deep breath, I turned to my assistant, who seemed to be investigating the mantelpiece. “Right, then, Fyori.” He turned his head as I approached him. “Anything to report?”

“No, madam,” he replied solemnly, avoiding my gaze and peering straight ahead over the top of my head.

“Is that so...?” I tapped the end of my pen against my chin habitually. “We seem to have a dreadfully diligent killer on our hands.” I gave the room another once-over from where I stood beside him. “You’ve been thorough in your search as always, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“And you found nothing? Not even a fingerprint?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then let’s move on,” I sighed, turning toward the doorway leading out into one of the building’s many corridors. He followed, just a few paces behind me. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to check since we got here.”

“That’s strange...” muttered Auntie Purah as she jumped through the footage captured by the front entrance’s security camera. “Symin, did I miss something?”

The Sheikah estate’s security supervisor shook his head. “Not that I could see.”

“Let me check it again.”

But even when she rewound and skipped through it a second time, the only person to appear was still myself on my initial search for the killer. Link gave me a furtive glance. I smiled at him in reassurance.

“Perhaps the other cameras caught something,” I suggested. “It would make sense that the culprit wouldn’t want to simply waltz right in through the front door.”

Auntie Purah looked to Symin. “Well, there are three other cameras, but two of them are so far removed from the scene that I doubt they’d be of much help.”

“And the third?” I asked, reaching for my notebook and something to write with.

“That would be the courtyard camera.”

“Ah, perfect!” The courtyard was located at the very centre of the property and served as an intersection between the four main hallways. “That one’s bound to have caught something. Let’s see.”

But this, too, would turn out fruitless. Throughout the night, there wasn’t even the shadow of a clue as to the killer’s movements.

“This...” I gaped. “This is impossible.” I knew for a fact that this particular model of camera was designed for the very purpose of protecting its footage from being altered or obstructed. Could the killer have made themselves invisible somehow?

“I don’t believe it.” Auntie Purah shook her head creakily. “Our company takes great pride in the reliability of our security cameras!”

Enraged, the tiny, old lady tried to stand up from her seat. Then a loud crack resounded throughout the cramped surveillance office. She screamed.

“Miss Purah, please calm down,” urged the kindly Symin, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she seethed, adjusting her glasses. “Thank you.” I didn’t know the man as well as I did the rest of the family as he had become a part of it a few years after I’d left the nest. However, it seemed like he would make a fine successor to Auntie Impa’s role of keeping her elder sister’s enduring impulsivity in check.

“There’s no reason to worry, Auntie. This is no fault of yours or your company’s,” I said, hoping to ease her pain a little. She’d suffered a terrible loss, and it was taking a great toll on her. It was difficult to watch such a brilliant mind come undone because of something like this. But after hearing my words, she looked up at me with a wrinkly smile. “My partner and I will just have to do an even more thorough inspection of the property tomorrow.”

The ride back to the precinct wasn’t a pleasant one. By the end of the day, my own mind had deteriorated into a swirling whirlpool of confusion, resentment, and woe. The investigation so far had borne so little results, it was hard to imagine that tomorrow’s search would be that much more successful. Of course there was still so much more that needed to be looked into, but right now, I just couldn’t see this turning out well. I still hadn’t solved the mystery behind my mother’s death in eighteen long years. Why, in this case, would I prove to be any less of a failure?

I curled my fists against my legs, trying my hardest to forget about the empty feeling in my stomach. Despite this, I knew I didn’t have the energy to do much more rational thinking today, if any at all.

Then my colleague broke the silence. “She was important to you, wasn’t she?” he asked, but such a personal question was strangely out of character for him.

“Yes.” I smiled sorrowfully into my lap. “I never really thought of her as a mother figure,” I admitted, “but she did put a lot of time and effort into raising me, in my actual mother’s stead.”

“She must’ve been a wonderful person.”

This made me laugh, to both his and my surprise. “Well, she would often scold me and Paya with the strictest attitude you can imagine, but I suppose she always had our best interests at heart.”

The longer I thought about Auntie Impa, the more I mulled over who could possibly have wanted her dead. She had already been getting on in age. Had the perpetrator’s need to kill her really been that dire? The only time people ever went that far was when their victim’s life would’ve put them in danger somehow if they’d have allowed them to go on living. But then again, there was the Yiga organization. They went around committing murders a couple times every week for seemingly no reason other than to flaunt their power. Perhaps Auntie Impa really had been just another one of their prey. Even so, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was more to it than that.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

The constable cocked his head, but kept his eyes on the road.

But then I stopped myself. There was still no proof of the Yiga’s involvement, so there was no point in bringing it up now. “Well, all of it is quite strange, frankly,” I amended. “The lack of blood, the missing bullet...”

“Could the killer have moved the body from somewhere else, perhaps?” he tentatively suggested.

“Very good, Link. That’s exactly what I’ve been theorizing.” The tips of his ears flushed, and he seemed to shrink back into his seat a little. “Oh, but then...wouldn’t that make it more likely for the cameras to have caught something?”

“That is true,” he concurred. “And there’s still been no sign of the murder weapon?”

I swallowed hard. “No...” My eyes flickered down toward my briefcase. “None.”

[latetaektalk]

love of my life | myg

“yoongi was always there for you, was always by your side, was always your rock to lean onto. he was the love of your life, but at one point, you had to come to accept reality and realise that some things come to an end.”

genre: established-relationship!au, heavy angst, fluff that hurts, grieving, pain, a lot of crying

pairing: yoongi x reader

word count: 6.989

warnings: mentions of character death, character death, reader isnt doing well in this, funeral, mention of sick characters, swearing, i dont know what else to tag this so please tell me if there is anything missing!!

playlist: dancing with your ghost - sasha sloan, now that you’re gone - lewis ross, hindenburg lover - anson seabra, just asking - aquilo

a/n: uh, this is a different from what i usually write and ive been trying to figure out how to execute this for months. i dont know how else to write this and im really not sure about the way i executed it, but i dont think i can improve this really? ive been sitting on this for months so i really just need to get it out at this point lol also yoongi and reader call each other toulouse and berlioz from the film aristocats!

The words danced in front of your eyes, bled together and even when you shook your head, you couldn’t decipher them. It was like they were taunting you, playing hide and seek with you and after another second, you gave up trying to read them altogether.

You let the notebook fall shut and land on the counter of the sink. With your hands, you held onto the edge of it. You looked at yourself in the mirror.

A pair of unfamiliar eyes stared back at you and you were about to turn your head to them and give them a smile, a smile that was meant to tell them that it was okay and to not cry anymore, but then you realised you were looking at yourself.

The fluorescent lights of this big bathroom brought out the harsh edges and lines of your face and made you look like a shell of a person. Your eyes were dark, empty and your skin looked grey, ashy almost.

You looked lifeless.

Your throat tightened painfully into a knot and you quickly averted your gaze, settling to stare into the sink instead. A shaky breath slipped past your lips and you could feel a shudder run down your spine. Your knuckles turned white, so white that they almost tore through your skin as you gripped tighter around the edge of the counter.

“Toulouse.”

You would have recognised his voice even if you had been deaf, would have recognised his voice even if the sky came crashing down on you and the world was screaming at you.

Your eyes locked with Yoongi’s in the mirror and almost immediately the corners of your lips started to turn up. There was just something so comforting about simply looking at him, something so calming.

“Berlioz,” you breathed out, blinking at him.

Yoongi was leaned against the wall next to the door of the bathroom and your gaze travelled down his form, admiring the perfectly tailored black suit he was donning. There was something so effortless about him, something so calming, something so familiar. His usual watch was strapped around his wrist and you wanted to tell him just how good he looked, but the words wouldn’t form on your tongue.

Yoongi didn’t seem to care even a little bit that he was standing in a women’s bathroom and that he would definitely get into trouble if he were to be caught. Instead of being warry, he looked as relaxed as ever.

“You okay?”

If you were completely honest, you didn’t remember or notice Yoongi walking in, but you were to blame for it. Your mind was just clouded, so clouded that you barely registered your surroundings anymore.

“Yeah, no, I’m okay,” you mumbled and watched Yoongi tilt his head at you and eye you through narrow slits.

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asked and folded his arms in front of his chest like he was questioning you, a deep knit forming between his brows.

“Yeah, of course,” you said a little too fast. It sounded rehearsed and Yoongi noticed, eyes softening at the sight of the tight smile etched onto your lips. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

There was a moment of silence, a moment where Yoongi and you just stared into each other’s eyes and deep down you knew exactly what he was telling you, but you refused to acknowledge it, refused to admit the truth.

“Okay,” Yoongi breathed, nodding before pushing off the wall and walking over to you. When he stopped next to you, you watched him flip open the notebook, finger tracing the first page like he had never seen it before.

“To: Min Yoongi aka Berlioz,” Yoongi whispered, reading out the first line of the page before moving on to the next line. “From: Y/L/N Y/N aka Toulouse,” he read the last line, “Happy Birthday!”

You stared at the letters in front of you, stared at the words you had written down in the notebook many moons ago before you gave Yoongi this notebook as a birthday present and slowly the smile melted off your face.

“Not really accurate anymore, is it?” Yoongi chuckled before flipping open the next page to be only met with your handwriting again.

“You said I could have it,” you mumbled and Yoongi’s smirk grew at your words before he closed the notebook and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. You wanted to protest for a second, tell him you were going to wrinkle his beautiful black suit, but the words died in your throat.

It was just too nice, too comforting to say something and you needed this, needed this hug. And Yoongi knew it before you did.

You essentially melted in Yoongi’s arms and wrapped your own around him, holding him close to you because you never wanted this hug to end, never wanted to pull away from Yoongi, never wanted to let him go.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Yoongi whispered into your ear and you could feel his breath ghost through your hair. Your arms tightened around him at his words and your eyes fell shut as you rested your head against his chest.

“You’re gonna get through this all,” Yoongi continued and his lips skimmed the crown of your head lightly, “I know you can do this, Toulouse.”

“It just hurts, Berlioz,” you whispered quietly, voice breaking when you finally admitted the truth, when you finally admitted to yourself and to him that you weren’t okay. “It hurts so incredibly much.”

At this point, you just wanted to forget, forget the last couple of days, forget everything that had happened. Deep down, however, you knew that it was the wrong thing to do, that you actually needed to move on, but right now that felt impossible.

Right now you felt like your world was burning up, falling apart, crumbling in front of your feet. You wanted to do something, stop it all, but you were beaten and lying on the dirty floor.

Yoongi hummed and placed his chin on top of your head, rocking you back and forth.

“But you know what to do when it hurts, right?” Yoongi asked, his voice resembling a quiet whisper more than anything else. It was so quiet, so quiet like it was barely there.

Your lips formed a harsh thin line before you swallowed and buried your face deeper into Yoongi’s neck because, of course, you knew, but you didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about it for even a second.

“I know,” you said softly, recalling the words Yoongi had said when you had first admitted to him that you were starting to fall apart, that you were starting to crumble underneath all of the pressure, that you were starting to lose yourself in all of the pain.

“You can do it,” Yoongi said and his arms tightened around you like he wanted to give you some strength. “I know right now it seems almost impossible, but trust me, you can do this.”

Tears started building up behind your eyes and you had to bite down on your tongue to stop them from spilling, but you knew it wasn’t going to work out for long.

The pain was just too much, eating you alive, gutting you inside out, leaving you empty and in pain. You didn’t feel human anymore, barely felt anything anymore except for the numbing pain and you knew that a part of you had died, had died the last few days.

“You’re so incredibly strong and amazing and great,” Yoongi mumbled into your ear, words cutting so deep into you that you teared up again and you felt brought down to your knees. “And there’s nothing you can’t do and this is no different.”

“Every day is a new start, an opportunity to get back up on your feet and fight through it all,” Yoongi continued, words slipping off his tongue with ease like he had prepared these words before. “And I know it’s hard and that nothing seems fair right now, but — and it sucks to admit it — that is just life.

“But don’t let life beat you up, don’t let life tear you down, don’t let life reduce you to nothing, don’t let life stop you and hold you back.”

The tears spilled down your cheeks, running down the same path other tears had run down before. You could taste the salt on the tip of your tongue, could taste the pain and hurt on the tip of your tongue and you wanted to throw up.

“Because you’re incredible, Toulouse.”

The walls you had built up, the facade of being okay fell apart right in front of you. It all crumbled into dust, but Yoongi didn’t judge you for it. Instead, he let you cry out your eyes and kept providing you with the strength you were missing.

Yoongi and you hugged each other for seemingly forever and it was only because Yoongi’s phone went off that you two pulled apart. It stopped after just a second—almost like it wasn’t there at all.

When Yoongi checked his phone, you knew, knew he had to step out and call back. He always had to, without fail.

“Always so busy,” you mumbled with a hint of a smile playing on your lips.

You weren’t mad, by now you were used to it, used to work constantly calling him, used to him needing to call back even if it was two in the morning.

“When you’re as smart as me, people are just always demanding for your attention,” Yoongi laughed with a smile and you rolled your eyes at his words.

“Yeah, you’re so smart,” you snorted and Yoongi grinned at you.

“A genius you might even say,” Yoongi continued before winking at you. You almost bursted out into laughter and it felt so good to talk about something else for once. Only Yoogi could ever make you feel this way, make you feel this way when you were on the brink of falling apart, make you feel this way in mere seconds, make you feel genuinely happy.

“Self-proclaimed genius.”

Now, it was Yoongi’s turn to roll his eyes at you, but both of you had grins pulling on the corners of your lips.

“Please, I’m a genius and you know it.”

“God, you’re so arrogant,” you sighed and Yoongi laughed at your words before sighing and letting silence settle between him and you.

Yoongi and you looked at each other and even though neither of you were speaking, both of you said so much to each other in the silence. You knew what he was thinking and he knew what you were thinking.

“I’m so-”

“It’s fine, Berlioz,” you cut in before Yoongi could apologise and placed your hand on his chest, giving it a light pat. “Do your thing. Call back.”

Yoongi looked at you for a moment before he let his lips split into a smile.

“Thank you,” Yoongi said softly, hand wrapping around your wrist before he brought your hand up to his lips and pressed the softest and lightest kiss on your knuckles. “You’re the best.”

And for the first time, you genuinely smiled and it was all because of Yoongi, all because he was smiling at you too.

“Toulouse.”

“Berlioz.”

Yoongi gave your hand one last squeeze before he turned on his heel and walked out to call back work. You turned to your notebook again, fingers tracing the edge of the hardcover.

When you heard the door behind you click open, you whipped your head around. You were about to ask Yoongi if he forgot something, but then your eyes locked with Miyeon’s. Almost immediately you looked away and turned to the sink like you were busy with it.

You could hear Miyeon step inside the bathroom and you begged for her to just go into one of the many stalls, begged for her to walk past you without talking to you, but you should have known now that things never worked out the way you wanted them to.

“Y/N,” Miyeon started and you hated the way she said your name, hated the fact that she was talking to you at all. You were praying that Yoongi was going to come back in, was going to come in again even though this was the women's restroom and just rescue you, save you from Miyeon, but, of course, that was wishful thinking.

You screwed your eyes shut for a second, letting your head hang as you drew in a much-needed breath. Slowly you peeled your eyes open and met Miyeon’s gaze in the mirror.

Her face was contorted into what could only be described as pity and you wanted nothing more than to turn on your heel and storm out, but you couldn’t, couldn’t because you were too tired and exhausted to.

“I’m sorry,” Miyeon said and your eyes began to travel down her form in an attempt to distract yourself a little. Like you, she was wearing a simple black dress that ended just above her knees. The sleeves were a little long on her and you knew she had bought it in a hurry, just like you had with your dress.

Her words echoed on the walls of the big bathroom and you could feel them haunt you as they bounced around and filled the air.

“I��m so incredibly sorry,” Miyeon kept going and tore her gaze away from you. Her fingers started to fiddle with each other in front of her stomach and she shuffled on her feet as your silence continued on.

You knew you should interrupt her and tell her that it was fine, that you appreciated her words and whatnot, but you didn’t, didn’t appreciate them and at this point, you didn’t give a fuck about formalities.

“I can’t imagine- can’t imagine how hard this must be for you right now,” Miyeon mumbled and her words were obviously chosen very carefully. “Your dad-”

Before Miyeon could finish her sentence, the door to the bathroom flew open again and both of you whipped your head around to see who it was. For a whole second, you thought it was Yoongi, but then you were disappointed a second time today.

The woman who had just entered looked flustered, almost embarrassed when her eyes landed on Miyeon and you, clearly realising that she had interrupted something.

Miyeon stared at her with big eyes and at that moment, you grabbed your notebook and pressed it close to your body. When Miyeon looked at you to say something, you shook your head and spoke your first words and only words to her today.

“I’ll see you outside,” you mumbled and your voice was barely above a whisper. If it had been just a little louder in this bathroom or if your words hadn’t echoed on the walls, Miyeon wouldn’t have heard you.

You hoped you wouldn’t, wouldn’t have to see her again.

You pushed past Miyeon and the woman caught up rather quickly that you just wanted to get out, jumping out of your way like she was scared you would yell at her if she didn’t move fast enough. The door felt heavy as you heaved it open and it took you seemingly everything to get it to simply budge.

“Y/N,” Miyeon started again, but instead of turning your head around or responding, you let the door behind you fall shut and tell Miyeon exactly what you were thinking.

You stepped into the big empty lobby and your eyes scanned every corner, swallowing heavily as chills ran down your spine. There was just something so uncomfortable, alarming, heavy about this room, about the number of flowers that decorated it and centred around those two big doors.

Frantically you searched for Yoongi and seemingly out of thin air, your eyes locked with Yoongi’s across the room. Unlike the time when your eyes had met with Miyeon’s, you felt relief wash through you and your heart quicken in your chest in the best way possible.

The corners of your lips turned up slightly and you started moving towards Yoongi. Your grip around your notebook tightened as you walked towards him.

Yoongi waited for you, standing in front of those grossly decorated doors . Only a few metres separated you from him when the two big doors got pushed open and you came to a screeching halt.

“Y/N!” your mother called out when she saw you and Yoongi stepped away when she started making her way to you. Without sparing Yoongi much of a glance, your mother walked towards you.

You knew she hadn’t done it on purpose and that the last couple days had obviously been rough on her as well if the circles underneath her eyes were anything to go by, but it still bothered you and certain words danced on the tip of your tongue.

When you were about to notify your mother of Yoongi’s presence, he shook his head at you and gave you a look you knew just how to interpret.

“I was looking for you, darling,” your mother whispered when she reached you and combed through your hair, fingers tucking your curls back into place. “Where were you?”

You were too busy communicating silently with Yoongi to answer your mother and when she couldn’t take your silence any longer, she turned her head around and sighed before looking back at you.

“Honey,” your mother started again and Yoongi nodded towards your mother, telling you to focus on her instead of him. Your eyes flickered to her and she was already staring up at you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Yoongi shove his hands into his pockets and you knew he was going to wait, wait silently until your mother and you had finished up talking.

“Where have you been?”

“I- I was just in the bathroom,” you shrugged and your mother frowned a little. It was then that you noticed just how much deeper her lines had gotten and you knew your father’s diagnosis was to blame.

“Okay, but please tell someone the next time before you just walk away. You scared me,” your mother mumbled and you simply nodded. The words of your mother barely registered in your mind and she knew they didn’t, but she didn’t say anything,

Your mother looked down at your hands and pried the notebook out of your grasp before you could protest. You were on the edge of snapping at her, telling her not to take it from you when she continued.

“Why is it wet?” your mother said, looking at her hand before using the sleeve of her black dress to swipe across your notebook. You quickly took it out of her hand and dried it yourself on your own black dress.

“I put it next to the sink,” you said and held onto it tighter this time, not wanting your mother to take it out of your hand one more time.

“Oh, okay,” your mother breathed and there was this uncomfortable silence hanging between you two. You watched as your mother’s eyes wandered all over your face, but they never locked with your eyes. It was like she didn’t know how to interact with you anymore and you didn’t blame her.

Your mother timidly took a hold of your hand like she was scared you would swat her hand away, lacing her fingers with yours before she tugged on it.

“Come,” your mother started and her voice was barely above a whisper. “We have to get back inside.”

Your gaze landed on Yoongi and when he nodded, you budged and followed your mother. Yoongi smiled at you, assuring you with that simple smile it was going to be fine.

Your mother led you to the two big doors and Yoongi silently followed you two. Again, your mother just walked past him and unlike you, he didn’t mind. He just fell into step with you and stayed by your side as your mother opened the door.

So far you hadn’t walked inside yet and when you saw the room that was hidden by those two big doors, your heart sank into your stomach. A second later, it started to beat out of your chest and you stopped dead in your tracks after barely crossing the doorway. The doors behind you pushed you forward a little when they closed behind you, but you didn’t care, eyes roaming the big room.

There were so many people, so many people you recognised and also didn’t recognise and they were all staring at you, focusing on you. Even though everybody was wearing black clothes like you, you felt like you stuck out like a sore thumb.

A painful knot lodged itself into your throat and you could feel your breath labouring. Your eyes shot from one side of the other room to the other and you struggled to find a focus point.

Your world started to crumble in front of you again, started to go up in flames and you were certain that the pain would rip you apart, crush your heart into dust.

Your mother looked at you through tears and you wanted to yank your hand out of her grasp and bolt and never look back, but you felt too weak to even do that. When you shuffled back, your shoes hit the door and your heart quickened immediately.

Anxiety bubbled up in your stomach and you felt like you couldn’t breathe, felt like there was somebody suffocating you, felt like you were going to faint any second, but before everything could spiral into something much worse, Yoongi intervened.

“Toulouse,” he whispered into your ear, his hand landing on the small of your back. “Breathe.”

You did as he said, took a deep breath and after a few seconds, you started to feel okay, started to feel somewhat fine again. Your mother’s hand tightened around yours during it all and you squeezed back when you felt like you were capable to.

Yoongi smiled next to you before giving you a light push, prompting you to start walking away. Your mother immediately led you to the front, past all of the people.

You knew about half of them and half of that half you would even call your own friends, but right now you were so focused on breathing and surviving this that you walked past them without sparing them a single glance, just like your mother hadn’t spared Yoongi a single one.

It didn’t take you long to realise that your mother was aiming for the front and it was then that you saw the gap in the first bench, obviously reserved for you.

“Come,” your mother whispered before sitting down, hand tightening around yours like she was afraid you were going to bolt.

You sat down on the wooden bench and Yoongi filled up the space next to you, finishing up the bench of people. When you sat down, you didn’t let go off your mother’s hand and instead held it tighter, feeling like you were getting lost again.

Your notebook landed in your lap and finally, you let your fingers slip into Yoongi’s. He wrapped his hand around yours, but his fingers felt cold around yours. Usually, you would have pulled away, but this time you didn’t care.

If you had looked down the line, looked down the bench, you would have recognised each and every face, would have realised that they all had come to pay their respects.

You knew you shouldn’t, but it was hard to resist the temptation. It wasn’t like you had given it. Instead, you had just slipped into it and done it, just turned your head around to study the room.

The room was split in the middle by an aisle and on each side, there were rows of benches, almost all of them were filled with people, people dressed in black on this bittersweet day. The sun poured in from the windows, but instead of giving everybody a warm glow, it casted dark shadows and painful contrasts.

Your eyes wandered to the front and it was then that you first saw it, actually saw it. You had heard people talk about it, debate which one was the right one, but you had always been too exhausted, too exhausted to chime in.

Upon seeing it, you knew it was the wrong one.

The casket was black, a rich black with sharp corners and there was just something so scary about it, something so uncomfortable and wrong. It didn’t do him justice, didn’t represent who he really was to the core.

You tore your gaze away, not wanting to spare the abomination that was the choice of this casket any longer any attention and instead your eyes landed on the picture next to it. When you saw it, your heart cracked into dust and the air was knocked out of your lungs.

You almost doubled over at its sight, unable to look at it longer than for a second.

You couldn’t get it out of your head even though you had ripped your gaze away. Tears blurred your vision, but the picture was very much imprinted in your mind. After all, you had taken it when you had attempted to get into photography a long time ago.

He was smiling and looking to the side. The sun had just begun to set and given him this angelic glow. His eyes had reflected perfectly in the light, but your photo barely captured the light and love and hope that had always sparkled in his eyes.

You didn’t remember what you had done on that day anymore, but you remembered how you had felt, how he had made you feel on that day and every other day you had the pleasure of spending time with him.

Bliss and Love.

Without fail, he had always made you feel the happiest and most loved person alive and words couldn’t even begin to capture how thankful you were.

And so it hurt so much more to see his picture up there. It hurt so much more to know that he was in this casket that was supposed to hold what was once him for the rest of eternity. It hurt so much more to realise that he wasn’t going to be with you anymore.

It hurt so much more to come to the conclusion that it was in vain to hold onto the pieces of him.

You had to let go.

“Honey,” your mother whispered into your ear, shaking you a little to rip you out of your thoughts. You snapped your head around and stared at her with big eyes. “It’s your turn.”

When your mother nodded to the front, you realised that you had missed it, missed all of the other people speaking, missed half of the service already.

You let go of your mother’s and Yoongi’s hand and swiped across your cheeks, catching the tears that had almost spilled. You held onto your notebook that was burning through your dress and into your legs, leaving scars on your skin and it hurt so much, but you couldn’t let go of it, couldn’t even if you wanted to.

Your mother gave you a nod when you turned to her and when you looked at Yoongi, he smiled at you and mouthed a single word.

Toulouse.

You wanted to return it, say your part, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it quite yet.

With shaky legs and buckling knees, you stood up and made your way to the front with your notebook clutched close to your chest like it was a shield.

When you reached the front and put down your notebook on the podium and looked into the audience for the first time, you thought you were going to collapse. Your heart had stopped beating all together after it had pounded so quickly and with such force that it couldn’t catch up with itself anymore.

Your eyes scanned the audience and you swallowed heavily. Maybe it was because you hadn’t slept properly in days or maybe it was because tears were brimming your eyes again, but all of the faces started to blur together.

The second your gaze met Yoongi’s, however, you were brought back to reality. You noticed the eerie silence and you knew everybody was waiting for you to say something.

Somehow you managed to flip your notebook open, fingers tracing the edge of the first page as you read the words you had written down before giving this notebook to Yoongi as a gift.

It was stupid because you knew the words by heart, but you needed to read them just once more before starting, needed to read them to yourself like a mantra before you would start speaking.

When your eyes flickered to Yoongi for a second, he knew. He knew what you were looking at and he gave you a smile. Only you two could recognise the importance of those lines.

To: Min Yoongi aka Berlioz. From: Y/L/N Y/N aka Toulouse. Happy Birthday!

With a shaky breath, you turned to the page you had bookmarked a few hours ago when you had written all of this down in the middle of the night after forcing yourself to.

Unlike the last time when you had looked at the words, they weren’t dancing in front of your eyes anymore, weren’t bleeding together anymore, weren’t playing hide and seek with you anymore. You could read them, decipher them now.

With another heavy and shaky breath, you opened your mouth and looked up from your notebook.

“I’m going to be honest I don’t know how to do this, how to eulogise.”

Yoongi and you locked eyes.

“Usually, I would have asked him how to because he was the smart one out of us two. God, he was so smart. Truly the smartest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”

Tears threatened to build up in your eyes and a lump started to grow in your throat, but you swallowed it all down.

“Around him I always felt a little dumb, but I think everybody did.”

A quiet laugh travelled through the rows and people nodded, but you kept your gaze on Yoongi, not wanting to look away for even a second.

“He was always, without fail, the smartest person in the room. Somehow, he always knew everything about anything, always knew what to say. He always knew best, knew better than anybody else.”

It was then that you realised that you didn’t need to read the words. You already knew them because they came from your heart.

You kept staring at Yoongi through tears, but even then you could see him clearly. You noticed the angelic glow around him, noticed how the sun complimented his beauty and his beauty only.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that Yoongi was still the most beautiful person amongst this crowd of people, wasn’t fair that he was the only one with an angelic glow around him, wasn’t fair that only his beauty was highlighted by the sun.

It wasn’t fair how ethereal and surreal Yoongi was.

“He was truly a genius.”

Yoongi smiled at your words, but at the same time, you could see the tears build up in his eyes.

“I always liked to say that he was only a self-proclaimed genius, but I think everybody knows that he was definitely not. So please, don’t tell him I called him a genius. He’d totally get a kick out of it.”

Another quiet laugh.

“And because I don’t know how to do this, don’t know how to properly eulogise and I cannot ask him, I’m going to ask for everybody's forgiveness because this will not be good. We all know he would do a much better job at this than I am- I ever could. We all know he would find the right words because he always did, always knew what to say.

“I promise everybody here that this will be awful, the worst eulogy- attempt of a eulogy, attempt of doing him justice anyone of you will ever hear because admittedly I am not quite ready.”

Your voice cracked as you struggled to form the next words, as you struggled to bring yourself to say them. And it took you an eternity to force yourself to continue.

“Not quite ready to say goodbye.”

Yoongi swallowed and the tears started to almost spill, run down his cheeks.

You knew that Yoongi was probably only crying because it pained him to see you on the verge of tears, pained him to see you say goodbye to him, pained him to see you have such a hard time letting go of the last pieces of him, pained him to see you come to the realisation that he wasn’t real, that he was all in your imagination, that he wasn’t here anymore, that he had left earth almost a week ago. Nevertheless, you liked to think that your words brought him to tears, liked to think that you could touch him with your words in a way he usually only managed to touch you.

“But I am going to try, try to say goodbye, say goodbye to him because I know that was what he’d want me to do. I know he wouldn’t want me to hurt, hold onto the pieces of him. I know he would want me to move on.

“So, I will try, will say goodbye to him with this.”

Yoongi started to choke up and so did you, but you fought through it, hands gripping the edge of the podium as you desperately tried to keep it together.

Your eyes continued to bore into Yoongi’s as you fought the hardest fight in your life.

“25 years or 300 months or 9125 days or 219000 hours or 788400000 seconds or simply put, all my life. I’ve known you all my life, spent practically every second of my life with you and, God, I loved every second of it. If I could, I’d wish for more, more time for you, for us. I’d wish for a lifetime for you, with you, a lifetime together so I can love you longer.

“I want to spend every second of the rest of my life listening to you play the piano until you’ve perfected the sonata you’ve been working on for ages, spend every second watching you attempt to make breakfast for us without burning down our kitchen in the morning, spend every second laughing with you until our stomachs hurt and tears brim our eyes and our laughter dies in the silence of the night as we grow tired, spend every second sighing as you go to answer the next work call, spend every second binging ‘Aristocats’ with you until we can both recite every line."

A shaky breath slipped past your lips and Yoongi let the smile fade away and be replaced by a thin line as he tried to swallow the tears and silence the sobs threatening to tear through his throat.

Your voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but you didn’t care. It didn’t matter because only he was supposed to hear.

This was for him and for him only.

“I want to spend every second of the rest of my life loving you.”

Yoongi screwed his eyes shut and you could see him try his hardest not to cry, not to break.

“Because every second I’ve had the honour and pleasure of spending with you, you’ve made me feel just that, made me feel so incredibly loved, loved so deeply that I never knew what to do, loved so unconditionally that I could never thank you enough for it.

“And I want to love you, love you until I can only remember how to love you, love you until my numbered days come to an end, love you so much that I outgrow, outlive my own capacity to love you.”

You paused, biting on your tongue as you swallowed the thick lump that had lodged itself into your throat. It hurt, hurt you so much to do this, but you knew you had to, knew that this was the right thing to do.

“Because you’re incredible.”

Yoongi peeled his eyes open to look right at you and you felt gutted, beaten as you looked into his beautiful eyes.

You let out a breath, sniffling a little before continuing.

“Because you’ve taught me how to open up, how to share, how to empathise, how to be patient, how to listen, how to speak up, how to live.

“But most importantly you taught me how to love.”

A strand fell into your face and you tucked it away, eyes digging further into Yoongi’s.

“And at the same time, you taught me how to dance with tears in my eyes, how to smile with pain ripping through me, how to speak with sobs tearing through my throat, how to live when my world is falling apart, how to buy a notebook and fill it with my own pain, how to be there for my dad through his battle with cancer.

“And I want to promise you my life, want to promise you every little piece of me, but you already have it all. It’s all yours already.”

Even with tears blurring your vision, you could see Yoongi clearly in front of you, could see the pieces of him you were holding onto.

“So, instead I’m going to promise you that every day I will get back up on my feet and fight through it all.

“I’m going to promise you that I will remember all of the lessons you’ve taught me, remember all of the things you muttered quietly in the middle of the night when I couldn’t fall asleep again, remember the words you whispered into my ear when the pain was threatening to rip me apart and consume me whole.”

You licked your lips, voice breaking as the tears continued to roll down your cheeks and stain the pages in front of you. But you didn’t care.

“You can do it. I know right now it seems almost impossible, but trust me, you can do this.”

Yoongi’s teeth sank into his tongue as you recited his words.

“You’re so incredibly strong and amazing and great. And there’s nothing you can’t do and this is no different.

“Every day is a new start, an opportunity to get back up on your feet and fight through it all. And I know it’s hard and that nothing seems fair right now, but—and it sucks to admit it—that is just life.”

The corners of Yoongi’s lips turned up into the tiniest smile as you continued to speak, not needing a single second to think about what to say.

“But don’t let life beat you up, don’t let life tear you down, don’t let life reduce you to nothing, don’t let life stop you and hold you back.”

Your hands tightened around the edge of the podium and you knew if you didn’t hold onto it, you would collapse, your knees would just buckle underneath you.

“Because you’re incredible.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line as you finished reciting Yoongi’s words. He looked at you with this smile on his lips, this bittersweet smile, and you could only mirror it, mirror it because with every word, with every sentence you could feel yourself let go more and more.

There was silence for a few seconds as you caught your breath and pulled yourself together. And if you had looked away for once, if you had taken your eyes off of Yoongi for just a second, you would have realised that everybody else was sobbing already, that you were keeping it together the best.

“You once told me that the average person can remember 10000 faces and recall 5000 of those and if I were ever to fall down the stairs and get amnesia like every girl does in the soap operas we loved to watch and laugh at,” another quiet laugh rippled through the rows, “I will promise you that I will still remember your face. And if my 5000 faces become only one face, it will be your face.”

Yoongi was sobbing alongside the others and you could feel yourself weaken, could feel yourself start to break apart more and more, turn into a weeping mess.

“Yoongi, Berlioz, you might not have been my first kiss or even my first love, but, trust me, you made all of the people before you irrelevant because no one compares to you. You were the only love that truly mattered, you were my one true love, the love of my life.”

Yoongi and you looked at each other and with quivering lips, Yoongi mouthed a single word.

Toulouse.

You smiled.

Berlioz.

Yoongi’s lips split into a bittersweet and painful grin at your response and you remembered it, imprinted it into your mind before you spoke up again,

“I love you, Berlioz.”

You blinked a few times before you closed your eyes. A deep breath filled your lungs as you prepared yourself for it. You whispered the last words and you knew he heard them nevertheless, you just knew,

“Thank you for everything, Yoongi, Berlioz, my genius.”

When you peeled your eyes open again, Yoongi was gone, but that was fine, fine because you got to say your goodbye to him.

You sat down with your notebook close to your heart and this time you didn’t leave space for Yoongi. And when you raised your head, you looked at the picture and saw him.

The love of your life.

→  links don’t work, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts/feedback! i’d love to hear it!

[sugako]

confessions

pairing: pretimeskip!daichi x tinytitty!reader

synopsis: reader is trying to confess to daichi but gets discouraged when she sees his ‘type’ is not who she is on the club room poster

warnings: angst, fluff, body insecurities (specifically insecurities about having a smaller chest), insecurities about finding love

a/n: this one is a little long..i keep seeing the post about the karasuno’s boys ‘types’ in the club room from forever ago and ive been thinking about this

You were trembling as you stepped up to the club room. The year was nearly over and you were about to graduate. Part of you, well actually most of you, believed it was stupid to do this now. The light pink envelope fluttered in your fingertips like a leaf in the fall breeze. It all felt so corny and stupid.

It wasn’t his fault, Sugawara had encouraged you. In all your years of being in the same class, you weren’t exactly close, but you had formed a bond over schoolwork. He noticed right away when you and Daichi had been paired up for a project. The way both you and Daichi had blushed when he asked you to call him by his first name was enough for him. 

From there he had facilitated what he had considered dates, always slipping away early so it was just you and Daichi. Still, nothing ever came of it. You were too unaware of your feelings for so long that you never tried to be anything more than friends. Some deeper part of you knew, but you were busy with school and extracurriculars and you knew that Daichi was busy with the same. Besides, in your opinion, he had never really shown that he was interested. 

Sure, you texted about nothing and everything. He brought you hot tea some mornings before an exam and you accidentally cooked too much of his favorite ramen more than once and asked for him to come over and finish it with you. Just friends and nothing more. 

But you couldn’t deny the way your heart raced when his fingers brushed yours or when you locked eyes for a little too long. 

So now you were fidgeting in the club room alone because Sugawara had encouraged you and let you in. He was waiting now just outside the door, only making you more nervous. To steady your breathing you looked at the things around you. That’s when you saw it. In the back corner a poster with the upperclassmen preferences in women. 

At first, you giggled and gagged at a couple of them, but your eyes traveled to his name. You knew you shouldn’t have read it. You knew you shouldn’t even be here. This was wrong and stupid and he didn’t like you. You looked down at your own chest.

I’m not what he wants… 

Your brain was buzzing with shame and pain so loud you didn’t even hear the door open and close. 

“Y/N? Suga said you wanted to see me.” 

You jumped and stuffed the envelope in a side pocket of your backpack. Blinking back tears that threatened to spill over, you turned around. Your chest tightened at the sight of him. He was handsome as always and looked so concerned now. 

“Oh, it was nothing, I just… uh, have you seen, uh, I lost a notebook. I think I left it in the classroom though I just remembered.” The lie slipped off your tongue unevenly. 

“You can use my notes if you need.”

“No, no!” You answered a little too fast, already pushing past him. “I’m just gonna go check the room.”

“See ya.” It almost sounded like he was asking a question the way he said it. 

“Yeah, bye!” You chirped, already crashing through the door. 

You nearly crashed into Suga on your way out.

“How’d it--” 

“I didn’t.” You answered not meeting his eyes and walking past him. 

“Wait, y/n--” 

You were already gone, half jogging home while tears spilled over your eyes. 

“I’m being so dramatic.” You spoke aloud to yourself as soon as you were safely away from the school. “I shouldn’t get so upset over something so stupid.” You sniffled, wiping the tears away. It really was nothing, but as soon as you read that you couldn’t help from every insecurity you had creeping up into your head.

Small chest.

He doesn’t like you. 

No one will ever like you. 

No one will love you. 

You hated how you tumbled like that from one little thing. While you were aware of how ridiculous it was, it didn’t stop you from tumbling into your own personal pit of despair. 

You reached back to grab the envelope to throw it out in a garbage bin on the street. When you felt nothing, you panicked and ripped your bag off. There was nothing in either side pocket. In a fit, you went through all the pockets of your bag even though you knew what had happened. You looked behind you down the road. There was no sign of a pink envelope. 

Taking a heaving breath, you began to trudge back to the school. 

Hopefully, no one has picked it up. 

“Y/N, you…” Daichi peeked his head out the door right after you left, “She’s gone.”

Suga looked up from where he had been watching you walk off. 

“Oh, yeah. What’d she say.”

“She lost a notebook, but this letter dropped out of her bag.” He held it up. 

Suga smirked. 

“It has your name on it, turn it over.” 

Daichi flipped the envelope and a bright red flush filled his cheeks. 

“You should open it.” Suga walked past him into the room. 

“She… she didn’t give it to me, she just dropped it.” 

“It’s addressed to you.” He said without looking up. 

“That’s… I mean, yeah, but I don’t think I…” 

“Do you have feelings for her?” Suga couldn’t stand to listen to his clueless friend babble on like this. 

Daichi was silent until Suga finally looked at him. 

“I care about her.”

Suga sighed and jabbed him in the side. 

“Listen, it’s pretty obvious that you like her so you should just read that letter to see how she feels!” 

“Agh!” Daichi recoiled from the jab, clutching his side. “I do, I really like her, but she…” 

“But she what?! She wrote you a pink letter that she was too nervous to give to you and ran away, what’s confusing about this?” 

Daichi rolled his eyes and sat on the floor, clutching the letter tightly. He admired how you had written his name for just too long before carefully peeling at the close of the envelope. 

A small cream-colored piece of stationery flitted into his hand. Your handwriting he had silently admired from afar for so long filled the page with pretty words and memories. You had explained yourself in full. His heart ached toward the end of the short letter where you wrote about how you were unsure of how he felt, but assumed he didn’t share the feelings. 

His eyes grew glossy as he reread it over and over again. He hadn’t even noticed Suga had left the room.

“Daichi?” Now your soft voice made him jump. 

His heart broke when he saw the redness around your eyes and wet streaks on your cheeks. You looked so full of fear and regret. 

“Y/N, I…” He stood and walked to where you were frozen in the doorway. 

“You can pretend you didn’t read that. Or we can stop being friends if it makes you uncomfortable. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to drop it!” You started up, wiping away the tears that were spilling over once more. 

“Wait, I…why didn’t you give this to me earlier?” 

“Well, you… I know you don’t like me, so I just felt dumb and I don’t know. It was a bad idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

“I like you, why would you think I don’t?” 

He said it so confidently and calmly it surprised himself. You barely processed it, still caught up in your own head. 

“I just, I mean, I saw…” You glanced over toward the poster and looked away ashamed. “Wait, you like me?” You perked up and looked at him again as he was glancing over his shoulder. A deep blush and a look of shame and embarrassment filled his features as he looked back to you finally meeting your eyes. 

He pulled you close, arms wrapping around your shoulders. Slowly, you brought your arms around his waist. 

“It was just a silly thing where we wrote our types a while ago, but you… you’re still my type because I like you. I don’t really care about stuff like that.”

You stayed like that for a long moment, with your face trapped against his chest. 

“Sorry, I ran away like that. That was a little dramatic.” You giggled. “Also…” you cut yourself off by laughing too hard. Worried you were crying he held you back to look at your face, his features softening when he realized you were just wheezing. “Suga likes older women?!” 

He broke out in a deep laugh, the pressure of the situation dissipating. 

“I’m not trying to judge him, I was just surprised!” You carried on. 

“Us too!” He gasped through laughs. 

After a few moments, you had both settled down and settled back into each other’s arms. 

“We should probably go on a real date now, huh. Can’t keep making Suga force us to go out and then leave us.” 

You tried to hide your face in his jacket, smiling widely. 

“That sounds nice.”