#not him rocking his early young adult look as a middle aged man

[simvanie]

A Luxor Amata lookbook

Some of the most iconic and favorite looks of generation 2 throughout the years.

Used in all pictures: facial hair - ring - watch (Basegame)

Look 1: hair - hat (Basegame) - top - pants (GP01 Outdoor Retreat) - shoes

Look 2: hair - hat (Basegame) - jacket - pants - boots

Look 3: hair - boxer briefs (SP38)

Look 4: hair - glasses (SP30) - top - pants - shoes (Basegame)

Look 5: hair - suit - shoes (unlocked cas item from SP18 Paranormal)

Look 6: hair - glasses - top - pants - shoes

* Items with strikethrough text are no longer available.

Poses by: @helgatisha and @roselipaofficial

Thanks to all the CC creators: @veigasims @johnnysimmer @arethabee @okruee @kumikya @aharris00britney & @ayoshi @wyattssims @mossylane @sforzcc @busra-tr @simandy @joliebean @pralinesims @rustys-cc @liliili-sims4

[soontobecyborg]

Sneak peek of After Despair, Hope Again...

a long fic I may never finish. 🫣 But I wanted to at least post the opener because it hits pretty hard. The fic is 90% Harry POV but the Kim chapters are my favorites...

March 11, CC ’26- Couron

“Kitsuragi. It’s time, kid.”

Officer Fournier leans against the frame of the bedroom door as he watches Kim pack his meager belongings into a canvas backpack. The off-white paint near the door is chalky and chipped, and a bit of it rubs off on Fournier’s black uniform when he steps forward into the room. He claps a large hand on Kim’s shoulder and Kim tries not to lean into the touch. 

He fails. But thankfully Fournier doesn’t mention it. He gives Kim a sad smile and steers him gently out of the dingy room he’s shared with seven other boys for the last five years.

Every time one of the boys ages out of the foster home, Madame Moreau has someone in law enforcement present to “ensure a smooth transition” out of the house. In previous years it was an armed Coalition soldier who came to push the boys out the door. But now, there’s a new law enforcement organization in Revachol: the RCM. 

The RCM was founded by locals— Revacholians policing Revacholians. Kim is too jaded to think they’ll be ‘the good guys’ but with officers like Fournier they’re not total bastards, a rare glimmer of hope in a life that had been mostly devoid of it so far. 

Fournier is the cop who started walking the beat outside of Madame Moureau’s ‘Maison de Progres’ this year. So, naturally, he’s the one she flags down anytime she wants him to threaten or intimidate one of the boys for her. He always gives her a stern nod, takes whoever the offender-of-the-week is on a long walk to the docks, and then brings him back looking properly chastised. Madame Moreau grins viciously, imagining whatever beatdown he’d delivered to the boy in question, and makes sure to always call on him for ‘disciplinary matters’. 

But what she doesn’t know— what the boys would never dare tell her— is that when Fournier takes them to the docks, he gives them a selection of heavy rocks from the shore and lets them throw the stones as far and with as much force as they can. And if they really need it, he’ll find them a sturdy piece of lumber from somewhere and let them hit as many inanimate objects as they like until they tire. It’s much needed stress relief and the boys always come back seeming “tame” when  they’re given a few hours to let it all out. Their tension. Their fears. Their loud voices. 

They get to hit things and scream. They get to rage and rant. Fournier even lets them throw a few punches at his stomach as long as they don’t get carried away— he’s a huge man and even the biggest kids at the foster home were malnourished in early childhood and aren’t particularly intimidating to him. 

Fournier is the one who gives them a few hours to “go apeshit at the docks” when they need it most. And, as his eighteenth birthday approached, Kim found he needed to let himself loose more and more often. Fournier knows him reasonably well by now, and after five separate “trips to the docks” this year, he volunteered to be Kim’s escort today.

Not that it’s necessary to have an escort out of the house. Most boys can’t wait to leave this place. But as Kim slings his small backpack with the few items of clothing he owns over his shoulder, he feels a deep sense of unease.

It sucks here. He wants to leave. But at least this place is familiar. The people are familiar. Their cruelty is predictable and avoidable on most days since he learned how to play his bullies against each other. Out there, in whichever halfway house for “newly emancipated young adults” ends up having room for him today, he’ll be starting over. New watchers. New peers. New problems. Not to mention… a new neighborhood.

The network of foster homes for children being supported by the Coalition are all primarily in Couron, the formerly middle class area of Revachol. Before the war, this area was decent and now, in the beginnings of an economic recovery, it’s quickly becoming middle class again. However, the recently established network of homes for young adults who’ve aged out of the system are all conveniently located west of the river in the areas that were considerably less affluent before the war are a pretty much ghettos now.

Kim shucks his canvas backpack high on his shoulder. At least it’s better than being tossed out on the street at eighteen with 50 reàl and a pat on the head like he’s seen happen to so many of his former foster roommates. The Moralintern is… trying… he supposes. The isola is a giant mess that can’t be easy to clean up. He’s not a fan of their Coalition soldiers— they set his hair on end— but the Moralist International has funded every orphanage and foster home he’s ever lived in. He supposes, even in his angriest hours, that if they go to that kind of trouble for people they’ve never even met, they aren’t all that bad. 

Madame Moreau is standing in the hall, leaning on her cane, waiting to finally show him the door after five years of thinly veiled contempt.

“I gotta take a piss,” Kim says, and makes his way towards the bathroom at the end of the hall.

“Don’t you dare!” Madame Moreau shouts. “You’re not my ward anymore. Bathrooms are for paying… eh, I mean, boys entrusted to my care only.”

“Madame,” Fournier says in a low, smooth baritone, “he just wants to use the facilities before we head out.”

“He wants to trash the place! Have you seen the inside of that room? Destroyed! It’s all these little ruffians do! Destroy things! Even the things they need to live a clean and civilized life. I swear!” She slams her cane down on the floor with a loud thump. “There’s no hope for youths like these, officer. They live like animals no matter what I do!”

Fournier sidles up beside her and waves Kim to the bathroom. “Make it quick, kid.” 

Truthfully, Kim was considering giving the polished sheet of metal that serves as a bathroom mirror one more dent for good measure— a going-away gift to the hellishly overcrowded foster house. But with Fournier standing right outside, he thinks better of it. He relieves himself, washes his hands, and leaves quietly. 

Outside, Fournier guides him to a junker of a motor carriage that has been sloppily painted blue. Apparently the RCM has their own MCs now, and Kim is a little disappointed he won’t get to ride on horseback to Revachol West. He was sort of looking forward to being pressed against Fournier’s back. 

The drive over the bridge is tense and Kim cringes as the skyline of Jamrock comes into view. Where the worst damage in Couron has been repaired over the years, Jamrock still has visible scars of war: blackened bricks from old fires, tenements with missing walls, partially collapsed buildings with signs of habitation within. It’s a stark contrast to Couron and Kim’s disappointment must show on his face.

“It’s gonna be ok, Kim. You’ll get your feet under you in no time.” Someone steps out in front of the MC at a stop sign, makes eye contact with Fournier, then begins to projectile vomit on the ground. Fournier slowly maneuvers the vehicle around them and says, “We’ll try some of the nicer houses first.” 

Fournier’s voice is low and comforting. It feels like a warm balm on Kim’s skin. Not only is Fournier a good man and a good cop, but he’s devastatingly handsome with a chiseled jaw and light grey eyes. He’s exactly Kim’s type: tall, wide, deep voice and muscles to match, looks intimidating but feels safe to be around. 

The first halfway house Fournier takes him to is just over the river, and it does look a bit nicer than the surrounding neighborhood. Kim straightens his posture and walks with Fournier to the door. As they step onto the porch he can hear a lot of voices inside. A dozen at least! Kim’s heart sinks but he knocks anyway.

A gruff looking man with thin combed-over hair answers the door. He looks at Kim, then Fournier, then Kim again. He shakes his head with a frown and says, “We’re full up, son. Sorry.”

Fournier narrows his eyes. “It’s mid-month. That’s usually the best time to find a spot.”

“Mine’s the first house over the bridge so they all come here first. So I fill up first. You wanna do a walkthrough, officer? Make sure I’m not blowing smoke? Not scamming our precious Coalition patrons?”

“I wasn’t implying that. But since I’m here, I would like to see the state of affairs. Make sure everything is in order.”

The man mutters something like, “Damn cops. All the same.” But he still waves Fournier inside.

Fournier returns a minute later with a grim face. “Lotta heads in there. The house really is full. We’ll try the next one.” 

And so they drive to the next one. And the next. And the next.

There are only five Moralintern-funded “halfway houses for recently emancipated young adults” in Revachol. As they pull up to the last one— Kim’s last chance to have free housing and food for a few more months while he tries to find a job— his stomach is tied into knots so tight he’s actually shaking at his core. 

As they approach the door, Kim’s hair stands on end. All the other houses were full of noise and ruckus with so many eighteen year olds under one roof. But this one only has the sound of a muffled radio somewhere near the back and the occasional creaking footsteps heard through its open windows. It’s the most rundown of all the homes they’ve been to and probably the last choice for anyone who can find other accommodations. And yet… 

Fournier hums low in his throat. “Dunno about this place. It’s a little too…”

“Quiet.” Kim agrees with a nod. “You’re sure this is the right one?”

Fournier checks his notebook, then the numbers on the side of the house. For good measure, he cranes his neck and checks the numbers of the houses on either side and across the street to make sure they correlate. “Yeah. Number 31. This is the place.”

He knocks on the splintered door. The wood is so rotted and water damaged it barely even makes a sound. But someone inside must hear it because the sound of that muffled radio stops and then footsteps approach the front. 

When the door swings open, it reveals a thin man with sunken eyes who quickly shields his face from the setting sun. The hallway behind him is totally dark and Kim can’t see much of the house. But in his gut, he knows it can’t be good.

“Whatdya want?” the man groans. 

When he speaks, Kim catches a whiff of his breath. It smells like stale beer. A moment passes while no one says anything— Kim out of dread and Fournier out of shock for the state of this “Moralintern approved host”. 

But then the man shakes off the booze long enough to get a better look at them. When his eyes land on Kim his face transforms into a wide smile. “You’re here for the room?”

“I, uh… yeah. I got cut loose today. And…”

Fournier takes a step forward with his hand planted on Kim’s shoulder. “I’m escorting this newly emancipated young man to a designated halfway home. Is this residence part of that program?”

“Yep. Send ‘im in, occifer.”

Thankfully, Fournier does not do that. He clamps down a bit tight on Kim’s shoulder. “Before I do that, I’ll need to inspect the premises. Make sure everything is in order before I release this young man to your… care.”

Fournier takes a step towards the door but the man slams it shut. Only Fournier’s scuffed boot keeps it from closing in his face. “Something to hide, sir?”

“Nothing to hide, but I know my rights,” the man slurs. “And you ain’t ICP. You’re RCM. You can’t search any premises without proper cause ‘nless I give you permission. And I don’t.” A tense moment passes. Then the thin man opens the door wide. “Nothing to hide, sir. It ain’t the ivory tower of Advesperascit but it’s got running water and heat. Send him inside and you can be on with your day.”

Kim shoots Fournier a panicked glance. If this house is empty there has to be a very good reason. Kids who grew up in the system aren’t picky about accommodations and they wouldn’t turn down a free place to stay lightly.

Fournier is thinking the same thing. “If you won’t willingly submit your property to a search— as is your right under the Wayfarer Act— then I don’t feel comfortable sending this young man into your care. We’ll try one of the other houses.”

But the man chuckles in reply. “All the other homes are full up. You wouldn’t be here if they weren’t.” He rakes his eyes over Kim’s narrow frame and smiles again. This time there’s a hunger to it. “You need a ‘donation’? Is that what this is? Heard you RCM boys take bribes real easy.” He reaches in the pocket of his stained sweatpants and pulls out a fistful of reàl. “I’ll give you fifty for him. Take it or leave it.”

Fournier grabs Kim by the arm and pulls him back. “We’re leaving.”

As they make their way back to the street the man calls out, “Fine! Keep him for yourself! But my offer’s open when you need the cash!”

Fournier’s face is bright red and his hands grip the steering levers tightly as he drives away from the last house on the list. “I’m filing a complaint about that guy. Tomorrow morning. First thing.”

Kim slinks low on the bench behind the driver’s basket. “Think it’ll do anything?”

“I hope so.” Fournier takes a turn in the opposite direction on the way they came. “But it doesn’t solve the more immediate problem of…”

“Of where I’m gonna go now.” Kim picks at one of the seams on his backpack. He feels sick with dread but he doesn’t want to sleep on the street. Spring is still weeks away and the nights are freezing cold. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad there. It’s a roof. I’m tougher than I look. I can handle that guy if he gets…”

“Absolutely not.” Fournier parks the car and turns around in the basket to face him. “Not saying you couldn’t fight that guy off, but you shouldn’t have to. I’m not gonna put you in that situation. I just… I gotta think.” 

Fournier strips off his black RCM jacket and tosses it in the back with more force than necessary. Then he reaches under the seat to pull another jacket free. This one is bright orange with brownish-green cuffs at the collar and wrists. Kim recognizes it as an old ICM jacket, the ones communard aerostatic pilots used to wear. 

Fournier hops out of the car as he slides his arms into the orange jacket. “C’mon. Let’s clear our heads.” 

Kim follows him towards the smell of brine and rotted wood. Around the side of the building, the Greater Industrial Harbor comes into view. They’re standing on a pier next to an abandoned fishery. There was one very similar at the edges of Couron and Kim smiles, knowing exactly how Fournier plans to clear their heads.

Kim looks around and finds a hefty brick. He gives it a few tosses in the air and then heaves it towards the water with as much strength as he has in his skinny arms. “GAH!” 

The throw is not very impressive but Fournier gives him a few claps anyway. Then Kim grabs a rock. A chunk of wood. A shredded piece of an old tire. He grabs everything he can lift and hurls it into the murky waters with savage shout! Fournier does the same. He grabs chunks of concrete and metal scraps, heaves them out much farther than Kim did, and Kim gives him sarcastic applause with each throw. 

After twenty minutes there’s nothing small enough to throw and they both lean against the rotting railing, side by side.

Kim tracks Fournier’s eyes as he lifts his gaze to the clouds. His grey eyes lock onto the circling aerostatics and he lets out a barely perceptible sigh. Shaking his head at the sky, Fournier reaches into the front pocket of his jacket and pulls a pack of Tioumoutiris out.

Kim leans in when he lights it up and gives Fournier an expectant look. He returns Kim’s look with a skeptical one of his own. 

“I’m eighteen,” Kim says. “And it’s not like I haven’t smoked before.”

“These are heavy,” he warns Kim. “And way too much tar. They’re not like those flavored Astras you and the boys sneak in the alleys.”

Kim rolls his eyes and Fournier relents, passing him one of the cigarettes. He lights it for Kim who immediately takes a deep drag and—

“Ugh!” he gasps between a startled coughs. “Thats—”

Fournier chuckles. “Warned you, kid.”

Kim shakes off the initial surprise— these are way heavier than the flavored ones he’s tried before— and makes sure his next drag is shorter. This time, he doesn’t embarrass himself and the two of them stand together against the railing, smoking and watching the sky. 

More accurately, Fournier watches the sky while Kim watches him. Kim studies the man’s chiseled jawline and strong neck. His stubble of beard beginning to show at the end of the say. His tired expression and kind eyes. Kim is studying his face when he notices every few moments, Fournier narrows his eyes at the aerostatics overhead.

“You wanna shoot them down, huh?” 

Fournier startles. “What?”

Kim gestures to the Coalition forces. “I wanted to be a pilot when I was a kid. I always imagined what it’d be like to be up there. Free. I drew a picture of myself as a pilot, orange jacket and all.” He gestures to Fournier. “And then Sister Bernice told me the communards killed my parents and I should be ashamed.”

“Pretty sure those caretakers have a script they have to stick to. Telling the kids the good guys won and and the bad guys lost.” Fournier’s face crumples. “As if it was that simple.”

“I know.”  Kim takes another drag of the cigarette and tears his gaze away from Fournier. “I believed her for years though. ” He feels his cheeks heat up and changes track to ask, “Did you get a lot of kills in the revolution?”

“It wasn’t—” Fournier frowns deeply. “I tried not to think about that way. I loved flying. I loved defending… my country. Doing what I thought was right. I wasn’t up there to add notches to the hull of my bird.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Kim sputters around the cigarette in his mouth as he tries to recover. To say something smooth. Something to lighten to mood.

Fournier sighs and says, “But yeah. I got a lot of kills. It almost wasn’t fair in a one-on-one dogfight. The ICM aerostatics were superior. Plain and simple. An eight-rotor design and foldable blades beat everything they were flying back then. Hell, even with the improvements they’ve made, my old bird would still beat any of theirs in a fair fight today if…”

If any of those ICM aerostatics had survived the bombing. 

“But our biggest advantage in the air was our heart.” Fournier hangs his head, almost as if in prayer. After a moment, he looks back up. “Their pilots were just here under orders. But we were up there defending our home. Our families. Our new way of life. And in a fair flight, we came out on top every time.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Sometimes when I was up there, I could feel… something. Something I can’t really describe. Like the city itself was flying with me. The sprit of Revachol was up there with us, we used to say.”

Not that it helped them when the Coalition finally took of the gloves and used their real weapons. But Kim knows better than to say that out loud. There’s no need to point out the obvious.

They stand together in silence for a few more minutes while Kim tries to finish the awful cigarette. 

When he finally does, Fourier leans in. “So, it’s against the rules but I was thinking…” Fournier hunches over a bit and looks almost sheepish.  “Maybe you can stay at my place. It’s not much. To be honest, I’m a little embarrassed of my situation. I live in a rathole studio apartment with a foldout sofa for a bed. But you can share it with me until you find something.” He raises his head and winks. “I’m not a pervy old man, so I’ll keep my hands to myself. But you gotta promise to do the same, ok?”

“I’m not a—” Kim’s ears flare bright red. “I’m not a faggot, Fournier.”

Fournier’s face falls and his eyes are a little sad. “Sure, Kim. I uh, I didn’t mean to imply. I’m not either. But ya know, I grew up in the days of the commune. It wasn’t that big a deal to us. Not the younger generation anyway.” He claps his hand on Kim’s shoulder, like he always does when he’s trying to be authoritative yet reassuring. “I knew a few homosexuals. Fought with ‘em. They were good people. So, all I’m saying is, I’m not the kind of guy you have to worry about beating you down. You know, if you were.”

Kim’s blush is growing so fast, it threatens to spread over his face. “Good to know.” 

Fournier gives Kim a pointedly heterosexual pat on the back. “Ok. Hopefully I don’t get in trouble over it, but given the circumstances, I’m willing to risk it. Let’s celebrate! Smash some garbage! I’ll try to find a good ‘hittin’ stick.’”

Kim laughs and they scrounge around the debris of the fishery’s old net houses. Kim quickly finds what he’s looking for: A relatively intact paddle! It’s seen some weathering but looks sturdy enough to do damage to lesser pieces of wood. 

Kim rushes to Fournier to show him the find. He’s fishing around inside an old dumpster and doesn’t see Kim behind him. Kim pulls the paddle back to playfully tap Fourier on his muscular backside. Kim promised to keep his hands to himself but he never mentioned anything about paddles! But before he makes contact, a shot rings out. 

The paddle clatters to the ground.

Kim feels a wave of weakness roll over him and looks down to where his white t-shirt is stained with a small red dot. No, a large red dot.

The red spreads quickly and Kim crumples to the ground. 

Fournier moves on instinct and throws himself over Kim’s body, shielding him from the attack! He unholsters his Armistice and takes aim in the direction of…

“Jacobs?! What the fuck!” Fournier holsters the weapon and presses his hand to Kim’s wound. The blood rushes through his fingers but he applies pressure to staunch the worst of it. “Oh my god. Hold on, Kim.”

Through Kim’s blurry vision, he can barely make out the other man as he approaches. All he can see is that he’s wearing black with white patches like Fournier. He’s another RCM officer.

“Henri? You know this kid?”

“He was my fucking social case today!” Fournier fishes around in his pockets and Kim hears the jingling of keys. “We gotta get him help!”

But the other officer goes stiff. “But I saw… I saw your MC parked on the street without you in it. I came over to investigate and that punk was coming up behind you with a weapon.” 

“I was letting him chuck shit in the harbor! He was burning off energy! Now shut the hell up and unlock the MC while I carry him. I need both hands.” 

Kim hears the sound of the remote whipping through the air towards the other officer and he feels himself been raised off the asphalt. The motion causes pain to shoot through his torso. Kim muffles a scream in Fournier’s chest as he jogs towards the MC on the street. Fournier positions Kim so that he can wrap one hand around his side and keep pressure on the wound while he walks.

“Hurry. Unlock it.” But there is no sound of the latches releasing. “Jacobs.” A pause. “Now.”

“Hey, man. Listen. Ok just… just listen.” Jacobs’ voice is a shaky whisper. “It was an accident.”

“I know and I’ll make sure Commander Pryce knows. You’ll have a hearing about the shooting but I’ll be a witness for you. It was a mistake. Now let me get him in the damn car! We gotta radio ahead for a lazareth to be—”

“Pryce won’t care if it was an accident. You heard what he said at this week’s All Hands. Zero tolerance for stray shots, he said! Zero. Him and his hardass son are gonna string me up by my balls.”

Fournier shoves past him and moves to the MC. “Jacobs. The doors. I can’t take my hand off his wound.”

“Wait! The RCM only got ‘probationary status’ from the Coalition a month ago! This’ll…” He takes a few shaky gasps. “It’s ain’t about covering my ass. It’s about the bigger good.”

“The ‘bigger’ good? Are you nuts? We have to call for help! Unlock the MC right now and get on the radio.”

Jacobs steps in close and says in a whisper, “My civilian specialization is medical so I know what I’m talking about. Much as it’s bleeding, that’s a hepatic avulsion. The bullet hit the liver in just the right spot where… the kid’s already dead.”

“No he’s not. Not yet.”

“Our lazareth is half an hour away and probably drunk at this hour. Calling it in won’t save him. Even if there’s a hospital with a functional ER and the best surgeon in Revachol on duty right this second… he’s done for. And then the headlines…” He frames his hands above his head. “They’ll say ‘RCM shoots unarmed juvie. Self-policing experiment already a failure?’ The ICP is looking for any excuse— anything!— to shut us down. The only reason they haven’t is because we’re making their lives easier but doing the grunt work.”

Kim can feel Fournier shaking as he snaps back, “If we let him die, we’re just like them. Shooting at shadows, hitting innocent citizens and getting away with it!”

“I’ve been shot at three times today!” Jacob snaps back. “Then there I am on my last patrol of the shift. I see your abandoned MC and I thought I saw my partner— my brother-in-black— being attacked. I was jumpy after a stressful as fuck day and I made a mistake! I’m not some monster! I don’t go around shooting kids for kicks! You know that!” 

“I do know it. But I also know you will be a monster if you let him die.” Fournier pauses for a moment, then says, “Look. What if we take him to a hospital and say he caught a stray bullet? Suspect unknown. I can get him to back the story. We’re both heroes, and Commander Pryce doesn’t strangle you with your own nutsack. Ok?”

“You can’t guarantee the kid will play along, Henri. Besides, the lazareth will pull the bullet outta him and see it’s a Mazov round. Pryce will order a weapons check and see my gun’s been fired. Local gangs are using way harder stuff than 9x18. It’ll splash back on the RCM and we’ll be caught lying about it.”

Jacobs continues through panicked tears. “This is what the Coalition bastards want. To turn the people against us. To turn us against each other! Revacholians fighting each other. RCM partners fighting with each other! One mistake and public opinion goes sour and then they’re the ones policing us again instead of our own! This is gonna be a scandal for all of us, not just me.” 

Jacobs’ voice is tight as a bowstring. “We can’t let things go back to the way they were. Revachol is just starting to crawl out from underneath their boot heel and the RCM is the only leverage the people have against those bastards with the bombs. They might be able to hold us all hostage with those aerostatics but they couldn’t police us. Not like we can. And we’re finally, after sixteen years, getting a chance to claw back some independence from them!”

When Fournier still doesn’t respond, Jacobs presses further. “We’ve worked so hard to get this far. To bring order and safety to our people. We’re the only thing protecting them. We’re the only organization fighting fires. We’re the only ones inspecting buildings. We’re the only ones with mobile lazareths and ambulances! This one mistake could ruin all of it. Think of all the citizens who’ll suffer at the hands of these armored monsters again if the RCM gets dissolved over this!” 

Fournier remains silent with Kim in his arms in front the locked MC.

Jacobs lowers his voice even further but Kim still hears him say, “He’s a social case, yeah? So… there’s no one gonna report him missing.”

Fournier shoulders past Jacobs. For a moment, Kim is flooded with relief. Fournier walks him towards the road but then…

“Where… where are you taking…” Kim speaks weakly.

Fournier isn’t walking towards the MC. He’s headed left. He’s headed into the dark alley on the side of the abandoned fishery. 

Kim tries to kick his legs but they’ve gone numb and cold. He shifts in Fournier’s iron grip, trying to roll free. But Fournier holds him tightly. The last bit of light in the sky disappears behind the brick walls of the alley and Fournier lays Kim down gently on a wooden pallet next to a dumpster. Then, with a sob, he removes his hand from the wound on Kim’s side and the blood flows freely again.

Tears stream down Fournier’s face and he cradles Kim’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Kim. Shit, I’m so fucking sorry. But this is bigger than you or me. It’s… we gotta… Back the Black. For the greater good. For Revachol.”

Fournier repeats his excuses over and over for several minutes— “For the greater good. For Revachol. We’re the only thing keeping the Coalition at bay. For Revachol.”— as Kim’s body grows cold.

In the distance he hears stray dogs barking and their howls grow closer as they catch the scent of his blood. Through the pain and panic, Kim remembers someone saying that packs of dogs will eat a dead body, taking everything but the skull. He whimpers as he imagines his impending fate.

When the dogs round the corner Fournier backs away slowly, still in tears. Kim’s vision is starting to blur but he can see the bright orange jacket grow smaller and smaller as Fourier leaves him to die. 

It’s like watching the sun set. 

A minute later, Kim hears the motor of the MC fire up and drive away. 

Then he’s alone with the dogs. They begin to circle him. Kim’s vision goes dark at the edges.

“God, please…” he whispers with his last breath. 

He’s too tired to say anything else. He’s too exhausted to cry. He’s too cold to shake. But as he fades, he feels the strangest sense of peace. He feels like he’s being held in his mother’s arms, warm and safe. And she calls to him…

I AM LA REVACHOLIÈRE. THOSE MEN DO NOT SPEAK FOR ME. BE STRONG. I LOVE YOU.

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

Ok, so that's the first chapter. I have chapters 1-19 & 29 finished. Chapters 20-28 are a mess and have had me stuck for months. I've not given up but... it's not going well. If I ever do get this thing posted, the tags I'm considering are:

Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Marked! Kim Kitsuragi, former Sequence Killer Kim Kitsuragi, Suicide, Major character death but you know… after death life again so…, Apocalypse Cop, the Founding Party are bastards, Harry successfully forgets Dora, La Retour, Relapse, uncensored f-slur, Cunoesse is not a monster she’s a traumatized child wtf is wrong with this fandom

[kobedivision]

“I used to waste my time dreaming of being alive, now I only waste it dreaming of you.”

Introduction

Ren Nakashima, also known as Vox in rap battles, is a rock musician famous for his dark and twisted romance songs that are a hit with teenagers and young adults. A total heartthrob, he’s adored by both women and men alike but he doesn’t pay attention to them as he only has eyes on his muse, his darling.

Ren is a young man in his quite early 20s, he’s of very tall height with a lean structure. He has ivory pale skin, on his neck and right shoulder is a tattoo of thorns. On his head sits neck-length raven black hair tied back into a messy half bun, he has a pair of crimson red eyes that seem to glow in the dark.

Ren wears a blood red, long sleeved v-neck shirt and black ripped jeans along with a black leather jacket. Multiple chains hang from the belt loops of his pants, on his hands, he wears an assortment of rings on his fingers and multiple bracelets and bands on his wrists, on his ears are helix and lobe piercings. For footwear, he wears black boots with red soles.

Name Meanings

Ren (蓮) - lotus

Nakashima (中島) - middle island

Aliases

RenRen - Kaiji

Panther - Max

Vox (Stagename)

Handsome, Sexy, Beautiful, etc.

“The Music Incubus”

“Japan’s Hottest Musician”

Biographical Info

Gender - Male

Age - 20

Birthday - June 26th

Ethnicity- Japanese

Hair Color - Raven Black

Eye Color - Crimson Red

Height - 190cm / 6’3

Weight - 70kg / 155lbs

Star Sign - Cancer

Piercings - Lobe, Helix

Markings - Tattoo of thorns on neck and right shoulder, Tattoo of a rose on his left forearm.

Family - Father (Deceased)

Mother (Deceased)

Younger Brother

Younger Sister

“Uncle” (Manager)

Voiced By - Suga/Agust D (Rapping)

Fun Facts

MC Name - Vox

Occupation - Musician

Division - Kobe

Team - Lovesick

Position - Leader

Favorite Food - Curry

Least Favorite Food - Lobster

Likes - Music, Writing songs, His guitar, His siblings, His muse.

Dislikes - His siblings getting hurt, His guitar damaged, His mother, Anyone getting too close to his darling muse.

Hypnosis Microphone

Ren’s Microphone is a black microphone on a stand, the microphone itself is red in color while the stand is black. A metal chain is wrapped around the stand and goes down to the bottom of the stand where an array of skulls and roses encircle the bottom of the stand, both the skulls and roses seem to be splattered with a red liquid that looks suspiciously like blood.

His Speaker takes the form of a giant human heart that still beats even when idle, one singular round speaker placed in the center of it. On each side are skulls that are as big as the heart, the empty eye sockets are replaced with roses and the mouths are opened to reveal large speakers inside.

His rap ability, Saccharine Lullaby, allows him to put his opponents in a deep, soothed, trance like state, rendering them powerless and open to attack.

Ren’s raps are based around how protective he is over his friends, family, and city. How much he longs to be with his darling muse and how he’ll viciously and explicitly torture and maim anyone who gets in between them.

Personality

Ren, when he is not in his stage persona, is a pretty laidback and chill guy. He’s easy to get along with and is friendly with others, it’s hard not to get along with him. Even though he likes to joke around and tease his friends, Ren tends to act more like an older brother, especially towards those younger than him, he honestly can’t help it, it’s mainly due to practically raising his younger siblings. As nice as he is, Ren does have his sarcastic and witty moments, he can dish out as much as he can take it, which is a lot by the way, it’s usually all in good fun but when push come to shove, he can and will verbally cut somebody down.

As his stage persona, ‘Vox’, his personality takes a bit of a turn. He becomes way more teasing, a bit mean, and quite sadistic. He moves with high confidence and complete swagger, he also becomes a lot more seductive, his heartthrob tendencies really shining through whenever he’s performing or interacting with fans. Overall, it’s the complete “bad boy” persona but with how well Ren acts the part, one has to ask which is personality is real and which is the mask?

Only Max and Kaiji know this but Ren is quite obsessive, once he sets his eyes on something or someone, it’s all he can talk and think about. He makes it his personal mission to learn everything about his object of interest/affection, even the parts that most would find useless and not worth leaning, Ren would find it the most remarkable thing he ever heard. While it might not seem strange at first, the more he learns, the more obsessive he gets and that’s when things get dangerous…

Background

Coming Soon.

Trivia

Ren actually suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), his alter is none other than his music alter ego, Vox but he is currently aware of his condition due to him never being diagnosed.

Ren got scouted by a talent agency when he was 17, he used to play acoustic in bars and cafes as a way to make money.

His siblings got him the guitar he’s always seen with after his first concert. He calls it Cherry and treasures it deeply.

He’s fluent in Chinese, English, Korean, Spanish, and Tagalog

He’s collaborated with many bands and idols, the most popular one being his collaboration with the band, 86.

He has many fans and fan clubs as a result of his fame but Ren hardly pays attention to them, sure he’s grateful for their support but he only has eyes for one person.

Ren is the most stable in the group…which is not saying a lot.

[momoliee]

It’s probably too early for The Meta No One Asked For That I’m Gonna Write Anyway about XQC, alas…here we go

Dr. Xie Qingcheng, 32, male, straight (so far), 180 cm with only one current family member.

Xqc is introduced as a cold, aloof and apathetic retired doctor who has no passions, cares about nothing except for his sister, and unless he’s angry, you can barely get an emotional response out of him.

Through meatbun’s character notes on how he has no favorite food, no favorite color or animal, no personal preferences outside what’s most practical and how he’s very very responsible and rules abiding and honest and sober and serious, and through he yu’s POV that continuously paints him as this heartless cold blooded person, I dare say we were…deceived by this so far shades of gray picture we had of him.

Xqc was born into a finically stable middle class family consisting of two cops for parents and a younger sister that came into the world 8 years after him. When he turned 13, and his sister was only 5 at that time, his parents were fired from their job due to a case they shouldn’t have been investigating going wrong, and they had to move to a rural area. Not long after that, he witnessed both his parents’ deaths and saw their corpses with his own eyes, the site was bloody and there’s no way it didn’t traumatize a pre-teen like him. He then was tasked with taking care of his sister, becoming a doctor despite not wanting to, owing others favors and spending all his money on smth that’s yet to be revealed instead of enjoying it. He got married, not to a woman he loves but to someone whom he thought of as “suitable and appropriate”, got cheated on and went through a divorce before losing full interest in the marriage life. He was finally able to retire (we don’t know why yet) and live a quiet, normal, boring life.

I believe xqc loved his parents, I believe he loved them so much cause in chapter 20, he mentions how he thought he wouldnt be able to live past the grief, he wouldn’t be able to go on or move forward, how the grief completely overtook him. He also mentions how he used to play with knots and handcuffs when he was a child, which shows how close he was to them. So for a child who had a good stable life with two loving parents to suddenly fall from a class to a class, suddenly lose both parents and see their corpses with his own eyes, that must’ve fucked him up big time. I’m talking “when can I fully register all of this” kind of fucked up. But he didn’t have time to fully absorb all of this, didnt have the time to sit down and cry, he had a sister, she was only 5, where will they get the money from? What were they gonna do? How was he going to continue school while caring for her? He didn’t have the time to sit down and grief, to sit down and adjust. For a child who had a normal life and didn’t have to worry much about the money like every other middle class kid, he was suddenly burdened with poverty AND loss, and duty and responsibility. Good bye to the days of playing with handcuffs and knots huh?

You ask me, why does xqc not have a favorite food? I answer you, because many many nights, he didn’t know what to feed his sister, much less himself. Cause I bet that many nights, he would have to give up his portion for Xie Xue, to make sure a kid like her is full. Cause he couldn’t afford to be picky, couldn’t afford to choose; whatever was edible will be eaten, taste and flavor be damned. He had to start working from a young age, balance school, babysitting and working all at once. The last friend he made (I think) was that Chen Man guy whose parents were friends with his parents, back when they were alive and life was good. He didn’t have time to make friends, or go out, or have a favorite color or visit the zoo and decide on a favorite animal. No, he had to study, and study hard to become more financially stable and support Xie Xue, he had to raise his baby sister and protect her, he had to work or else how will he put food on their table? Yet he never lost his soft kind heart, cause when his sister asked for a laptop, he bought her one just so that she wouldn’t feel less than any of the other children.

Xqc had to SURVIVE, he had to make do with what he had and what he didn’t have. He didn’t have time to sit down and cry or process his trauma, didn’t even have time to think of adolescent love or his youthful days or do what kids his age did. And all of that carried forward into his adult life. He pushed his emotions back so hard and had his practical, business like mind take care of everything in order to make it through the days. He started to believe that passionate emotions such as love and hate and lust and desire were all a waste of time, a distraction from his duties, smth that will rock the delicate balance he created with his everyday busy schedule. Emotions will stunt you, emotions will delay you, crying and not going to work today means no food to feed his hungry sister with. That’s when he started thinking, strong emotions are a DISEASE, they will take up your time, cloud your judgement, have you make reckless decisions that you’ll regret later. And he couldn’t afford any of that right? Strong emotions are for the weak, they put you in crutches and disable you from moving forward. Wasnt that what he told his ex wife? If he had submitted himself to his grief back then, where would his sister be? Where would he be? How could they have grown up to be healthy and successful adults?

So this man taught himself practicality and duty and priorities. He stopped thinking about himself, about what he wants and what he feels, and instead started making sure that those around him are happy and content and safe and well taken care of. He no longer had desires or passions, he only had rules and regulations. If a person lost their sense of taste, would they still want chocolates and burgers? Would they still have cravings and foods they’d rather swallow medicine than eat? No. If so, how will they decide on what to eat every day? They’ll simply start following a ��perfect nutritional plan” and “balanced diet”. They’d eat what they have to eat, when they have to eat, and in the exact portion they need. To them eating would be another chore they have to do every day to keep their bodies going. Similarly, with xqc, graduating, working, marrying, taking care of his sister and auntie, these all became “tasks” and “chores” that he had to abide by and follow. They became the dietary plan for his life till he dies, the outline he shall follow, the textbook rules he will carry out, no need to think of what he “wants” or “desires”, what will make him “happy” or bring him “joy”. He no longer listened to his emotions when making decisions. Even when marrying his ex wife, he married her cause she was “a suitable match”, not for her looks or personality or anything. Feelings are life’s taste buds, and once you remove them, everything becomes tasteless and mundane, and practicality/logic takes over. He stopped knowing what it felt like to choose based on your preferences, cause he stopped having the luxury of choice ever since that night when he was 13, and he no longer was able to re-teach himself the meaning of free will and choice.

So when he yu, in chapter 20, asked him how he would’ve acted if Xie Xue had died, and he said, “I would’ve continued living as I am today till my last breath,” he wasn’t being “cold” or “heartless” or “indifferent” as he yu likes to say. He was being practical and methodical and thinking with a logical approach, rather than an emotional one, just the way he taught himself to throughout all these years. His almost 2 decades of pure survival mode and severely repressed feelings spoke in the form of autopilot. “I would do what I have to do, what I’ve always done every day of my life so far cause what choice do I have?” Is what he meant to say.

But I believe that he’s a soft hearted, kind and loving person. He never says no his sister, never says no to his auntie, helped that homeless man as best as he could, taught he yu that he was normal and that he wasn’t a monster, believed in treating his patients with words instead of medicine prescriptions, believed that the mentally ill deserve to live normally instead of being locked up. I believe that underneath all the shit he has buried, there’s a lot of passion and love that’s been kept dormant for 19 years.

In conclusion, idk where meatbun is gonna take his character but I genuinely hope he gets to heal, and start having more color and flavor in his life. Start allowing himself to live, not just survive.

[icedfae]

(—) ★ spotted!! DEXTER O’MALLEY on the cover of this week’s most recent tabloid! many say that the 29 year old looks like JOE KEERY, but i don’t really see it. while  the SINGER is known for being PERCEPTIVE my inside sources say that they have a tendency to be SELF SACRIFICING i swear, every time i think of them, i hear the song LUCK by AMERICAN AUTHORS  {he/him / cismale}

i’m sorry father, i know i let you down

basics

Name: Dexter Ignatius O’Malley Age:  Twenty-Nine DOB: October 6, 1993 Gender: Cismale  Occupation: Singer/Songwriter ( career/vc claims: blackbear, chri$tian gate$ ) Parents: Kenneth and Hillary O’Malley Siblings: Christian O’Malley (elder brother/label owner), Keira O’Malley (Actress)

i’m sorry for how i up and left this town

biography

Dexter’s father, Kenneth, was always the sort of dreamer, wanted to make a life for himself in music. He even moved out to LA as a starry eyed young adult to make it happen. The problem was, it just wasn’t in the cards for him. Eventually, he gave up on his dreams and never really spoke about it.

Kenny O’Malley eventually made his life work. He met and married a wonderful woman and eventually had three kids. While his eldest was a much more practical man, staying humble throughout his entire life, the other two were entirely different scenarios. His middle child, the only daughter, wanted nothing more than to be on the silver screen and ran away to LA just as her old man had done years before that. Dexter, however, didn’t want to rock the boat anymore than she already had. Much like his father, music was his passion and he had a knack for it. Between a pretty face and the ability to write music, Dexter managed to get himself a meeting with a record label at fifteen years old.

His father, angered by the fact that he was able to live out the dreams they both shared instead of being grateful for his son’s ambitions coming to fruition, gave him an ultimatum. Give up music or get out of his house. So Dexter packed his things and moved in with his older sister.

At first, Dexter was able to focus on his budding career and not have to deal with the feeling of rejection from his father. He wasn’t going to be a wash up like him, that should have been enough but the jealousy that Kenny had fully destroyed Dexter’s confidence. It took a top 100 hit to start to rebuild it.

Unfortunately, that also made Dexter grow a bit of an ego. It was hard to deny how much pleasure he got from being adored by fans, made him an ugly person. Luckily for him, his sister didn’t let that last longer.

The persona of ‘aspiring to be like a Greek God’ morphed from being his truth to once again an act, a performance just as he would do at any show.

Nowadays, Dexter can be found still trying to be the life of the party. After nearly fifteen years in the business, he knows how to navigate staying relevant and keeps his personal life, well, personal. Too many blown up friendships and relationships -- including his ex-fiancee, to count and Dexter slowly became tired of losing people. He just needed to remember how to shut his damn mouth sometimes.

please just listen, ‘cause i don’t ask for much

things to note

He still tries to call his family every Sunday evening. Most of the time his mother answers, his brother will speak to him but his father never wants anything to do with him. That he ‘made his choice’. It still feels like a stab every time it happens. He continues to try anyways.

100% was an asshole in his teens and early twenties. His sister knocked some sense into him and now he only acts that way if the situation calls for it. It’s easier to not be hurt if people don’t want to necessarily be around you all the time.

If someone breaks down those walls he puts up, Dexter is one of the most genuinely kind people you will even encounter. He will sacrifice himself every single time if that’s what it takes to make someone he loves happy.

Lately, he’s been focusing less on releasing his own music and producing others. He knows he had a fortunate career and wants to help someone out with theirs.

i am my own man, i make my own luck

[featheredoutrage]

Serendipity (Ch 1)

Rating: K

Sasuhina Month Day 1: Beginning of Us

Read on FF.net

“Sunagakure was nice last time I visited, I never would have thought that a city in a desert would be so pleasant. Mayor Gaara really is exceeding all expectations...” Sasuke tried not to let the boredom show on his face. Unfortunately, Satoshi Nakada was an important supplier to Uchiha Corporations, and pissing off business partners would not help Sasuke convince his father to give him more responsibility.

Sasuke hated these corporate functions, hated being forced to rub elbows with people he couldn’t care less about. Everyone was boring, irritating, or loud -- usually all three -- and often became even more so after a couple of drinks. Even worse, it was so easy to get trapped in a boring story that went on and on, leaving Sasuke unable to extricate himself without looking rude.

Lucky for him, a young man wandered over, wine glass in hand, brimming with nervous confidence. He looked fresh out of school, and was probably desperate to develop some industry connections. The rookie introduced himself to Sasuke and Nakada, who looked like someone who had just woken up from a trance. Sasuke smiled and patted the newcomer on the shoulder. “Well, I have to, uh, get some more appetizers, so I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” Having found a suitable sacrifice, Sasuke made a beeline for the back door.

Sasuke’s father expected him to represent the family company, so Sasuke couldn’t just leave like he wanted to. He had, however, discovered that he could duck away to an empty corner and wait until the function was almost over before re-emerging and pretending he had been there the entire time with no one the wiser. Empty rooms were risky -- Sasuke learned the hard way that middle-aged adults could be just as horny as teenagers -- so he wandered around outside until he found the perfect spot: a slight bend in the building surrounded by tall hedges that could hide him from view while still providing good visibility to the guests passing by. The only problem with this hiding spot was that it was already occupied.

“Get out,” Sasuke said before he could stop himself. The girl stared at him with wide pale eyes that glowed in the moonlight. She had dark hair and pale skin and wore what looked like a light purple cocktail dress, though it was hard to distinguish the color in the dim light. Sasuke forced himself to soften his tone. “I mean, can you please leave.”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “I-I was here first.”

Sasuke’s left eye twitched. “Surely a lovely lady like yourself has people looking for you. I can walk you back to the party if you want,” he said with a smile that had previously dazzled many other women into acquiescing to his demands.

“I-I could say the same to you,” the girl sniped back, her defiant words at odds with the way she nervously tapped her fingers together. “Why don’t you head back and I’ll stay here.”

Sasuke dropped all polite pretenses and scowled. If he couldn’t charm her into leaving, then he’d just have to chase her away. But before he could make a cutting comment about the girl’s looks or obvious awkwardness, they were interrupted by the sound of thunderous steps and of exuberant voices.

“That’s it Lee! Let the power of youth propel you to the finish line!” Sasuke hurriedly stepped into the alcove, squeezing himself between the girl and the wall. The girl squeaked at the sudden proximity, but Sasuke paid her no mind, more concerned about hiding himself from the new arrivals. Through the half cover of the hedges, Sasuke could see the twin forms of Might Guy and Rock Lee stampeding down the path on their hands. When they reached the birdbath, located right next to where Sasuke and the girl were hiding, the two leapt to their feet and clasped hands. “Amazing Lee. You’ve improved leagues since I last saw you.”

“It is only due to Guy-sensei’s support and dedication that I am where I am now. Guy-sensei’s coolness is a constant inspiration,” Lee exclaimed, his smile appearing to be a light source all on its own.

“Let us celebrate your achievement with another hundred laps!” The two green-suited fanatics dashed off down the path again, kicking up a trail of dust behind them.

Sasuke breathed a sigh of relief. “I can’t believe those two are still invited to these things,” he muttered.

“The mayor likes them, it would look bad if they weren’t invited. Besides, they’re very nice once you get to know them.” She was leaning awkwardly against the wall, her body angle away from him. Sasuke suddenly became painfully aware of how close they were. He could smell her lavender perfume and make out the silvery flowers stitched into her dress.

“I thought they were invited because Tsunade gets a kick out of watching them challenge people to push-up contests.”

“...Maybe that too,” she said with a smile, revealing small dimples on both sides of her mouth. She had a nice smile, Sasuke thought idly before frowning. Why had he thought that? He wanted her to leave after all.

“If you enjoy their company so much, why don’t you go join them when they come back around.”

“Alright,” she agreed, to his shock. “I’ll introduce you too. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to meet you.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” he said quickly. Watching the duo from a distance was already overwhelming, interacting with them up close might fry his green color receptors and a couple of brain cells along with it.

“Then I suppose we should just stay put then,” the girl said, and Sasuke grudgingly admitted defeat. There were worse people to be stuck behind a hedge with, he supposed. Just then, Satoshi Nakada stumbled down the path, gripping a poor waiter’s arm for support, slurring loudly about his younger days.

“Looks like this party might be starting to wrap up soon,” Sasuke commented once the old man and his hapless victim had passed.

“Nakada-san’s only started talking about his first business deal, there’s a few more hours to go I think,” the girl said. Sasuke chuckled, startling them both. He hadn’t expected that.

“He spent so much time talking about his recent Suna trip today, he might not have started drinking until later. The timeline’s probably pushed up.”

The girl inclined her head. “Maybe. But Shikamaru-kun is coming out for a smoke now.” She gestured at a faraway figure who was taking a drag on a lit cigarette. “If the event was wrapping up, his mother would have dragged him back in.”

“Nara’s more than capable of giving his mom the slip,” Sasuke argued. “This might be his second round.”

“Then what about Tsunade-sama? She’s still inside, so she hasn’t had the time to get drunk yet.”

“Everyone’s working double time to make sure we don’t get a repeat of last month’s fiasco. She might not even get trashed this time.”

And so their conversation went, with the girl raising one proposal after another for why it was still early, and Sasuke finding ways to shoot it down. It was comfortable, engaging, and even, dare he say it, fun. What a strange thought. These parties were formal, a way to make connections, an obligation that Sasuke had to go to whether he wanted to or not. At best it was satisfying to walk away with a new business partner. They were never fun.

The game was interrupted by a lone female figure walking down the path shouting “Nee-san! Stop hiding and come out. Father’s looking for you.” She was short, with brown hair and a silvery-white gown. They watched her walk past in silence. When she disappeared down the bend, the girl sighed.

“Looks like you were right, the party is wrapping up.” She moved to leave their little hiding spot, but glanced back at him, lips quirking upward in a small smile. “It was good to meet you, Uchiha-san.” She hurried down the path after her sister.

Sasuke stood there, by himself. He’d gotten his wish, the hiding spot was his. But it was darker and quieter than it was before. Sasuke stood there, annoyed that she had known who he was but he hadn’t even gotten a name. With a huff, Sasuke left the hedge too, and headed back towards the party. His father was probably looking for him.

[strawberrylemonz]

Strictly Business

Part 3

Part 4 [CURRENT]

Part 5

DT: @lynnarts @snapdragonfirefly @artistconk

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

Techno was busy today. Tommy couldn’t help but notice that the king was becoming more and more busier as the days turned to years. He couldn’t really complain, he was busy too. He was a big man, after all! Big men have big men things to do! Besides, Tommy was eight now! He had big man classes to take! He had to be the cool one and attend to his princely matters. Life was great, but it was also boring as days went by. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoyed his time in the castle. The only downside was his repetitive schedule whilst he grows older. Going into his daily lessons was starting to become boring and lonely, no matter how many instructors and guards were around him. As much as he cared for and appreciated everyone, he desperately wanted friends. More importantly, he wanted friends his age.

“Prince Theseus, you did wonderfully! That concludes today’s lesson! Be sure to go over all of the study material for testing. Have a nice afternoon.”

His instructor didn’t even wait for him to answer, packing up and leaving the room. The young prince sighed, boredom already filling him. Peeking out the room, he took note that his usual guards weren’t there. Slowly creeping out, he peered over the corner to see them conversing with each other. Peeking over to the nearest clock, he realized that his instructor had dismissed him early. Smiling to himself, he quietly slipped away. Once he was sure that he wasn’t being watched, he slipped behind a pillar. Crawling into a small hole behind it, he stood up into the secret tunnels. He had discovered the tunnels after his seventh birthday. He spent so long in them, cleaning and decorating them, that he had the entire layout of the castle memorized. It was the answer to how he managed to never miss a class so far, which impressed everyone. It was his little secret, one that he loved. Making his way down the tunnels, he swapped his princely coat for a brown cloak he left in the tunnels to work as a backup disguise. He had successfully changed into his casual shoes as he finally came across a wall. Moving a bit of stone out of the way, he peered into the cellar of the castle. After confirming that it was empty, he crawled out and returned the stone. Scrambling to the cellar doors that led outside, he carefully opened them. He suppressed a giggle as he made it outside, unseen.

“Are the carts ready to go?”

He heard people approaching, their voices growing in volume as they walked closer to his direction. Looking around, he hummed as he climbed into a cart of hay. Squeezing himself into the hay as a hiding spot, he suppressed his laughter as he felt the cart move. After a few minutes, he peeked out to see that he was out of the castle walls and in the city. Wonderful. He waited until the cart stopped at the edge of the city before getting out. Smiling to himself, he happily set off to search for adventure in the unexplored parts of the city.

--------

The water looked beautiful. Tommy happily watched the fish swim about the docs, a bundle of flowers in his hand as he studied their colors and forms. He was content with just sitting there, listening as the citizens went about their day. His smile faltered, however, when he heard yelps. Peering to the right of him, he saw some older boys follow two boys into the woods. The two boys, who appeared to be around Tommy’s age, seemed nervous. Puffing his cheeks in anger and annoyance, Tommy stood to his feet and stomped over to the group. He watched as the older preteens pushed the two boys to the ground, laughing as they teased the two. Tommy had enough of it. Putting the flowers in his knapsack, he stormed up the older boys, anger fueling him. These pricks didn’t have the right to be such jerks!

“Hey! Leave them alone!”

The older boys turned to face Tommy, who stood behind them in a confident stance. He crossed his arms in annoyance as the older boys barked out in laughter. They couldn’t see the anger that was filling the boy’s eyes, eyes hidden beneath the hood of his cloak.

“Aw, da wittle baby came to save his fwiends?”

“What are you gonna do, brat? Cry?”

Tommy was fuming! He wasn’t a baby! He was a big man! As prince, it was his job to take care of the people of the kingdom! Picking up a large stick, Tommy pointed it at the boys with confidence.

“I’ll fight you!”

And he did. Despite his size, he was able to do pretty good damage to his foes. Despite the lack of experience due to Techno just now putting him in lessons, he held his own for a good amount of time. But a stick in the hands of a child could only do so much. As he swung at the knees of another boy, he was intercepted. His stick was snatched away, causing him to momentarily lose his balance. He couldn’t help the yelp that escaped his lips as he was snatched up by the collar of his cloak.

“Aw, is the baby scared now that he’s been stopped? You really shouldn’t have done that, brat. Now, we’re gonna make you regret it.”

Tommy gave no shits. Screaming a string of curse words he picked up from the guards who were off duty, Tommy reeled back his foot. Using all his strength, he kicked the boy in the crotch with all his might. The boy cursed, doubling over in pain. Tommy used this chance to try and run to the terrified boys he was helping, but he was stopped. A friend of crotch boy pulled him into the air.

“You little shit! You’re gonna pay for that!”

The next thing Tommy knew, he was pummeling towards a sharp rock. That was the moment that Tommy realized he had been thrown to the ground. Remembering the safety lessons he was taught, he covered his head as he hit the ground, the sharp rock cutting his cheek. Anger and hurt filled him as tears filled his eyes, head swimming with many thoughts as laughter filled the air. Wiping away his tears, Tommy returned to his feet, turning to face the older boys. The laughter instantly stopped. Tommy was confused by their widened eyes, fear filling their gazes. He reached up to wipe the blood that was trailing from his cut, only to realize why they were acting weird. His hood was off.

“The prince!”

“Shit! Run, quick!”

“Fuck, the king is gonna be pissed off! Scurry!”

Fucking cowards. Huffing, Tommy frowned at his dirtied clothes, along with his bruises and scrapes. Pa was not going to like this.

“You were so cool!”

“Yeah! Thank you!”

Tommy turned to see the two boys happily yapping about how cool Tommy had looked when he stood up and fought against the older boys. He blinked a few times, a small smile finding its way to his face.

“Cool?”

“Yeah! Very cool!”

“Cool! Cool!”

“I guess it kind of was. They were cowards, though.”

“You’re bleeding! Oh no!”

The two boys began to panic as they began to realize how injured the boy really was. Much to their relief, the cut on his cheek was the only injury to break skin.

“I’m Luke, this is Bitzel. Thank you for saving us!”

“Er, I’m Tommy. It’s no problem, big man.”

“C’mon, we know someone that can help with the bleeding so it doesn’t get infected!”

Tommy hesitated for a moment, but only a moment. Nodding to the two boys, he followed them to a small cottage on the edge of the city. He snorted in amusement as the two barged in, uninvited. Following them in, he took off his shoes and placed them besides the shoes of the boys. Taking off his cloak, he let Bitzel hang it up as Luke called out into the house.

“Deo! Your bestest buddies are here! We have someone who needs help! His name is Tommy!”

Tommy tilted his head in confusion as Deo entered the room. He had expected an adult or guardian of some sort, not an eleven year old boy. Deo took one look at Tommy, only to sigh as he faced the other two boys.

“Luke, Bit, why is Prince Theseus here?”

“He saved us!”

“Pf, your real name is Theseus?”

“That’s one of my middle names, my real name is Thomas. That doesn’t matter, I told you guys to call me Tommy!”

Before anyone knew it, Tommy got into a playful banter with the other two children his age. Just as he was about to start cursing, a hand stopped him. Peering over his shoulder, he watched as Deo flashed him a genuine smile.

“Alright Tommy, let’s get you cleaned up. Want something to eat while you're at it?”

“Uh, sure. Thanks, big man.”

Deo just snorted as he ruffled the younger boy's hair, motioning the three kiddos to follow him. Tommy felt warmth squeeze his heart as he slowly touched his hair, feeling the spot where Deo’s hand once was. Giving himself a smile, Tommy laughed as he followed the three into the dining room. He may have just found what he was looking for.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 283: I'M MARY POPPINS Y’ALL

Previously on BnHA: Everyone was all, “Tomura what do you have?” and Tomura was all,” a quirk bullet!” and they were all, “NO!!” He then threw the bullet at Aizawa, who ironically actually did have a knife, and since no one bothered to say “no!!” this time he proceeded to CHOP OFF HIS OWN LEG. Just, schwoop. Lopped it right off. Didn’t even fucking care. Anyway so then Tomura was all, “you know what who even needs quirk bullets” and somehow broke free from both Deku and Ryuukyuu to go claw off Aizawa’s face. Thankfully Todoroki “I've spent the past eight chapters puttering around waiting for the coolest moment to strike” Shouto finally decided to join the fray by impaling Tomura, and everyone was all, “ahaha, classic Shouto”, and Tomura was all, “don’t worry though I’m fine”, and it seems like he really is now, since he’s finally regenerated and all his wounds have healed again! The chapter ended with Gigantomachia stampeding towards Jakku, which is super terrible, but what else is fucking new.

Today on BnHA: The Gunga kids spend a few pages standing around letting all that trauma soak in nice and deep as Machia rampages on towards Jakku. Back in the Shigaraki Wastes, the heroes regroup, which mostly consists of the remaining conscious adults tearfully being all “you kids get out of here... save yourselves...” and the kids being all “YOU JUST SIT THERE AND CHILL, DAD” and “[EXPLETIVES]” and “I’M YOUNG AND FILLED WITH RIGHTEOUS SHOUNEN RAGE”, all of which is very entertaining to me and makes me very proud. Anyway so then Tomura’s body sort of explodes a bit, and he’s all, “what”, and then it finally sinks in that he might have popped out of the toaster early, so he tries to end the fight right there and then with another round of Decay. Except that Deku counters it by SPONTANEOUSLY LEARNING HOW TO FLY, which is probably SO CONFUSING for all the non-Gran-and-Kacchan people around, which is just one of the many things I love about it. And the other things I love about it are that it’s (1) THE MOST BADASS THING EVER, and (2) just, really fucking great. So yeah. Rage, Deku, rage.

OH NO MY BABIES

don’t tell me. I’m not sure I want to know what it is they’re looking at. how many of the pros are fucking dead now ffffmg

also that is an extremely intriguing chapter title, though. 75? as in percent?? oh my god is something finally going to go fucking right for our heroes. or at least, you know, less wrong

OOOF

dammit Momo he was supposed to go to sleep! WHAT THE HELL WAS ALL OF THAT MATH FOR, THEN. did he grow bigger, or did she just somehow miscalculate the dosage, or is he finally going to go night-night halfway to Jakku?

btw Momo I’m not actually mad at you, you’re still the only one who fucking did anything at all. if anyone tries to give you shit, just look them in the eye and ask them “okay and how many things did YOU do?”, and they’ll be like, “oh shit, none”, and you’ll be all “yeah that’s what I fucking thought” because YEAH

OH MY GOD SERO ANGST

I have never seen Sero this badly shaken before. it’s somehow so shocking?? holy shit you guys, I know I’ve been saying for ages “lolo all these kids about to be traumatized af” but somehow it’s one thing to know it’s coming, and another to finally actually see it. oh god

anyway let’s just hope all of the grown-ups aren’t actually fucking dead. but based on all of the kids’ expressions, it really feels like a lot of them might be, and that’s just... ...

and they had to see it. right? is that what this is implying?? holy shit. they watched it all happen. that’s it, the rest of this arc is cancelled, please proceed directly to the emergency therapy arc right now

TOKO!!

holy shit look at the size of that rock that fell on the medical tent. and DS pulling people out of the wreckage. it really feels like everywhere you turn this arc, the intrepid young scamps of U.A.’s first year hero class are the ones out here keeping things one step from total disaster

oh shit

excuse the hell out of me young Momo but what the hell is up with this use of the word “dead” with the implied “like everyone else” hanging there at the end?? what is up with that. that’s a very bad sentence I don’t like that at ALL

and what the actual hell is this panel of FATGUM AND TAMAKI IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CARNAGE, TWO PEOPLE WHOSE NAMES I’M QUITE SURE ARE ON THIS CONTRACT OF “PEOPLE WHO AREN’T ALLOWED TO DIE” WHICH HORIKOSHI IMPLICITLY AGREED TO THE MOMENT I STARTED READING THE MANGA. BOY WHAT

JESUS MOTHER F. CHRIST

THAT’S. THAT’S, UH

OH THANK FUCK

I mean, I already knew they survived, though. so WHY AM I STILL SO FUCKING ANXIOUS. good grief

and in before Majestic fucking dies on the next page, having saved the children with his very last act. I fucking hate you Majestic, you blue-balling child-preserving magnificent wizard bastard

HE FRISBEED THEM TO SAFETY GAH

WHY COULDN’T YOU DO THAT TO MACHIA THOUGH. BUT AT LEAST HE SAVED THE BABIES. TOO BAD HE’S FUCKING DEAD hahaha sob sob sob

is anyone still alive?? did the guys who were fighting off Snoopy Sno-Cone and RD back at the mansion at least make it out in one piece??

(ETA: from here on out all of these guys shall be referred to as Schrodinger's Heroes until further notice.)

so now Mineta is questioning whether or not their Smart Momo Plan even fucking did anything, which. same, Mineta, honestly. but it must have!! right?? ????

anyway so here’s some more panels of everyone dying do you want to see them. sure. why not

can we get back to the Tomura fight now. I’ve had just about enough of this, I’d like to see some 75% business now before this turns into the most depressing chapter of all time

BOOOOOOO

goddammit. well for now my money’s on Machia collapsing just as they make it back to Jakku. so Momo’s plan does eventually work, but the League still makes it back to Tomura thus ensuring more shenanigans can take place. goddamn, lol, just when I thought the arc was nearing its climax. feels like it just fucking respawned with a full life bar

also Toga is really looking... not great. I’m so scared for whoever she ends up fighting after this. OCHAKO MY SWEET BABY GIRL PLEASE WATCH OUT

WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE

PLEASE ARREST HIM FASTER. holy fuck if you fucking screw this up and he gets rescued I SWEAR TO GOD

oh wait is he just here to provide more backstory on Gigantomachia

GO BURNIN’, YOU GOT THIS. also, gonna be honest, at this point I really would not mind if Machia did a little less living for Tomura and a bit more dying

FINALLY!!!

FKFKF Aizawa not looking too good oh god. and Deku looks like he’s about to spontaneously develop ALL OF HIS REMAINING QUIRKS JUST LIKE THAT ON THE SPOT, FUCK YOU TOMURA

oh my god DON’T GET DISTRACTED!!

Shouto’s arrival is either about to make Endeavor more useless than ever, or suddenly a whole lot LESS useless, and right now it’s up in the air and I am excited but also scared

EXCUSES EXCUSES

BLAH BLAH BLAH. “SORRY I’M LATE, I WAS SAVING PEOPLE’S LIVES,” Shouto lies through his teeth, clearly not aware that Tomura has a built in GPS and knows full well that Shouto was actually only a few feet behind Bakugou and Deku and so that explanation doesn’t fly at all. the real truth must be something so embarrassing that he’s ashamed to admit it. did you get lost. did you run into an NPC who wouldn’t let you pass until you had completed some sort of quest

THERE YOU ARE KACCHAN, I WAS WONDERING

just as enraged as Deku! it’s almost like he just witnessed his sensei chopping off his own leg and subsequently almost being murdered or something

(ETA: actually lol I think he’s mad at Deku, for taking off earlier and leaving him behind with Gran. though there’s no law that says he can’t be mad about two things at once! anyway so do you guys think that being beaten to the punch by Deku here may perhaps frustrate this young man and contribute to his decision to return the favor at some point later on in this battle, perhaps with dire consequences? hmm.)

anyway so if you all are keeping up with the math, and I think you are, it seems like just about every one of the adult pros is either down for the count (Aizawa, Gran), or recovering (Endeavor, Ryuukyuu??), or Might As Well Not Even Be There (a certain TWO OTHER PEOPLE WHO ARE STILL IN A TIME OUT AND HAD BETTER BE THINKING GOOD AND HARD ABOUT WHAT THEY’VE DONE. OR MORE PRECISELY, DID NOT DO OR EVEN ATTEMPT TO DO). anyway so all of that means that the only ones actually ready and raring to go here in Round 2 against the newly regenerated and POSSIBLY HAS HIS DECAY QUIRK BACK Shigaraki Tomura are... drum roll...!

okay but FUCK YOU GUYS though oh my god YOU’RE EVEN RUINING THE DRUM ROLL

DID YOU NOT EVEN NOTICE HIS LEG BEFORE?!?!? holy -- can I -- can I please just slap them, I --

anyway so RockLockRock looks like he has something to say here. probably going to tell Deku to take Aizawa and run, as if Deku isn’t the fucking glue holding this entire operation together at this point now that Aizawa is KOed. can you believe these guys are so incompetent they’ve actually got me arguing in favor of the child soldiers now, what even

...fuck

shit. that face. he’s ready to die to give them all a chance. he knows he wouldn’t last two seconds against Tomura and yet he’s willing to sacrifice it all. damn it RLR... okay fine your time out is done now, but I’m still calling your parents

unfortunately, you’ll never believe it, but Deku doesn’t seem all that inclined to listen to this man telling him to bail and save his own skin sob

ngl though I am living for the Enraged Vengeance Deku we’ve been seeing in these last couple chapters. maybe now everyone will stop dismissing him as just a soft boi who always eats his vegetables and doesn’t swear, and remember that in truth he’s actually a mildly unhinged feral child with an infinite pain tolerance and a god-given talent for never listening to any life-prolonging advice that adults give him ever

oop don’t tell me he’s gonna do the Decay thing again, shit

-- uh

“eh?” lmao what the fuck. my boy's torso just opened up like a fucking door hinge and all he can say is “eh.” this fucking manga

like he’s seriously just calmly standing there trying to assess what the heck has gone wrong

you really don’t feel pain do you. “haha lol what why is my arm falling off I thought I fucking ascended”

OH MY GOD

IT’S OCTOBER THIRD. looool the fuck

Tomura. my sweet little S+ ranked death machine with an A rank in knowledge. who’s spent the past 15-20 minutes battling to the death with the number one fucking hero and all his pals. who all just HAPPENED to be there all ready and waiting to fight him the instant he woke up. Tomura. buddy. did it really only just occur to you that maybe something went wrong somewhere along the line. that maybe things were not, in fact going according to keikaku. that maybe the heroes didn’t just sit around waiting for you to finish cooking in your villain bake oven. like please forgive my impudence but TOMURA ARE YOU STUPID, is what I’m saying, I guess. but gently

(ETA: SHIGARAKI TOMURA, WHOSE ARM IS CURRENTLY DANGLING BY A THREAD: “hold up lol what day is it.”)

I really like how Deku’s just crying nonstop this entire time though. but like, you know. crying with RAGE

lol and he’s figured it out as well, and I fucking love the connection his mind made, look at this

sudden feelings of solidarity. “WE’RE NOT SO DIFFERENT, YOU AND I” lmao

AHH MIRKO

how does she still have two legs?? Horikoshi I can’t believe you forgot how many legs your own favorite character has. but anyways yes this has been your friendly reminder that Mirko saved EVERYONE and should have a battleship named after her

okay NOW he’s doing the thing

good job Tomura you finally got them!! good thing none of them can fly, or Float. RIGHT, DEKU

AHAHAHAHAHA YESSSSS

YOU LOVE TO SEE IT. AND A BLACKWHIP/FLOAT COMBO, TOO! TOMURA, YOU WERE SAYING??

(ETA: he even grabbed Kacchan too. “I can fly by myself!” YOU SHUSH MISTER.)

(ETA 2: and what I also love about this is that we know the SIXQUIRKS are seemingly in tune with Deku’s emotions, so it honestly makes perfect sense that in the heat of the moment with Tomura threatening to kill all these people that he cares about, the quirk just basically acts on his instinct to save and doesn’t stop to ask questions. we’re saving everyone, no buts. and he even activates Float at long last, acting on that same instinct. honestly Kacchan had the exact right idea the whole time, all the way back in chapter 217. “it’ll activate when he’s in trouble, right?” exactly.)

NO GRAN STOP NO ONE ASKED FOR THESE FEELS

OH MY GOD

NEVER HAVE I STANNED THIS BOY SO HARD. HOT DAMN

he’s so fucking mad. omg??! omg

okay so I’m gonna try my best to explain why I love this so much lol. all right. so the thing is, it’s actually so rare for Deku to actually take the reins like this. even though he’s the main character, even though he’s All Might’s heir, his personality is such that he genuinely doesn’t mind being in the backseat and is perfectly content to share the spotlight with others, or even relinquish it completely. BnHA has had... how many arcs so far? hold up let me check

-- okay I just checked and it’s 18. so, 18 arcs. and out of all those arcs, Deku has had a solo fight in approximately... five of them. and two of those fights were against Bakugou and Todoroki, respectively, so he was still sharing the spotlight even then. aside from that, he’s fought Muscular, Gentle, and Overhaul (oh, and Shinsou, I guess). that’s it! and it’s been almost 300 chapters! and again, he’s the main character. in a shounen manga. like seriously though, that is wild

and so seeing him here like this on the last page, ready to throw hands with Tomura, presumably while using Blackwhip as some sort of physical barrier to coat his attacks and prevent Tomura from trying any more Decay shenanigans with him? dude. I FELT THAT HYPE. it’s just a really effective way of keeping me from getting Main Character Fatigue like I might get in most other shounen series. because Deku doesn’t get the spotlight all that often in comparison, it still feels fresh to me, especially now with him actually going up against the Big Bad. just, idk what else to say except “hell yeah” lol

anyway, so I don’t even know how long it’s gonna last, and I expect that Kacchan and Shouto aren’t going to be content to just sit back and let Deku have all the glory either (Kacchan in particular is probably frothing at the mouth already), so in all likelihood it’s probably going to be more of a 3-on-1 than a 1-on-1. and it’s also very likely to end with Tomura gaining the upper hand and trying to take OFA! and so in truth this is a very fleeting moment of triumph, and the most premature of celebrations! but even so... damn. and also I just love seeing shounen kids lose their damn minds and explode with angry determination. and I especially love seeing it with Deku, because I love the reminder that beneath that sweet, unassuming nerdy exterior lies a core of fucking steel. that look in his eyes, though. TOMURA ARE YOU SCARED. you should be a little scared, lmao

anyway. so that’s the chapter! and I’m really glad we ended on this note, not just because Deku is a badass, but also because like I was saying earlier, this was about as bad a situation as the good guys have ever been in, and I felt like the manga was starting to lose that feeling of hope that still needs to be there at its core even when things are at their darkest. idk, I feel like we needed this. Tomura got a chance to catch his breath in the last chapter, and now it’s the heroes’ turn. whew

[wonderduorising]

Bakudeku Fic Recs

Wonder Duo: Rising has reached 500 followers on twitter! To celebrate, we decided to come together and create a list of Bakudeku fic recommendations. All fanfics on this list are SFW, are within the range of 300 kudos or less, and were recommended by one or more of the anthology’s contributors!

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Fic: stones at the starlight by Shousanki

Length: 2.9k

Summary: Katsuki and Izuku struggle to survive in an adult world not kind to (not-quite) childhood sweethearts as they search for the small and good things amidst petty indignities.

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Fic: to the moon and back by Rejectimate

Length: 1.4k

Summary: Training camp has nothing on Katsuki's strict sleep schedule. But Deku's embarrassing ass sure does.

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Fic: don’t misunderstand by Kokushibo

Length: 1k

Summary: three times that kacchan addresses him. one time that he does it differently.

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Fic: Twin Stars Week ficlets by Hollyandvice (series)

Length: Varies

Summary: A collection of Bakudeku ficlets for Twin Stars Week.

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Fic: CORDIPUGUS by Greatcloudninja

Length: 3.2k

Summary: Katsuki Bakugou, a slave-turned-gladiator, has one more fight to win to earn his freedom. His goal? To be able to marry his beloved Izuku Midoriya, noble son of Senator Toshinori Yagi. But first, he has to get through his toughest battle yet.

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Fic: when the saints by Flapkack

Length: 2.5k

Summary: In Bakugou Katsuki’s humble fucking opinion, parade blocks were one of the most effective forms of torture. Telling someone to walk straight forward, eyes ahead, shoulders square, rolling their feet, playing the exact same damn cadences over and over and over again was already bad enough. But then, toss in a string of other people to keep in line, bad marchers and freshmen, to make matters even worse.

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Fic: Small Town Change by CommanderSipShady

Length: 12.2k

Summary: They say nothing ever happens in this sleepy town, but that night everything changed for the better. 40 year old BakuDeku real world AU. 

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Fic: At the Mountain’s Edge by Anzul

Length: 30k (multi-chap, WIP)

Summary: Muromachi Japan, 1465. Soulmates - once nothing but a flightful fancy among the Heian nobility - have become the political currency of the century. Blessed with telepathic communication and the ability to sense each other regardless of their geographical distance once a bond has been established, they are an invaluable commodity to any warrior hoping to amass power in the wake of the Ashikaga's weakening rule.

Bakugou Katsuki is no exception. But no matter what matchmaking house his family visits, they all tell him the same thing: that at the end of his red string, there waits no one. Katsuki is destined to walk his path alone.

Now forced to become a candidate for political marriage, Katsuki must learn the traditional arts and proper courtship etiquette to attract more suitors. Izuku, the adopted protégé and matchmaking master of the Midoriya House, is hired to be his tutor. Izuku himself is not only without a soulmate, but Bondless - someone without a red string at all, but capable of seeing everyone else's.

[Or: An alternate soulmate x historical AU where everybody has soulmates except Katsuki and Izuku.]

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Fic: all the savage soul requires by Majjale

Length: 50k (multi-chap, WIP)

Summary: Bakugou seems to have exhausted his patience for words and no longer acknowledges that Midoriya exists, so Midoriya crosses his legs, stares down at his hands limned in firelight, and makes a list of things he knows.

One. His name is Midoriya Izuku.

Two. He is a Godmarked, future god of life, heir to the divine throne.

Three. The gods have been fighting Death for eons, and now he's coming for recompense with everything he’s got.

*

Fic: to measure a year by Shousanki

Length: 4.7k (multi-chap, complete)

Summary: The dance of two leaves around each other. Collection of Katsuki/Izuku drabbles, originally written between the winter of 2017 and summer of 2018.

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Fic: we run in antiparallel by Kokushibo

Length: 1.1k

Summary: there are different ways in which a boy can be saved.

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Fic: this is not a night for tragedy by Keigeyama

Length: .6k

Summary: Katsuki looks at him, forehead creasing, his expression somehow at once angry and soft—then he smiles, simpering. “Well, aren’t you just the best”.

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Fic: once more, with feeling by OneshotPrincess

Length: .8k

Summary: He’s not Yamikumo, Katsuki tells himself fiercely. He’s not Yamikumo, he thinks as he watches him play in the grass with a kite with Kouta and Eri. He’s just fucking Deku.

So why does he still make Katsuki feel this way?

*

Fic: of all kinds by Coldbones

Length: 4.3k

Summary: A story is never just a story, and a dragon can never change its scales.

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Fic: I Don’t Have Any Roses But I Have A Rabbit? by Teaandtumblr

Length: 3.3k

Summary: Midoriya has just stepped into the world of rabbit showing only to run into his childhood friend...who is apparently also into the same thing. Lucky his rabbit is so cute!

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Fic: Starshine by Blueslove

Length: 1.3k

Summary: Deku’s eyes always light up when he talks about that book.

It’s as if his being lives to praise the pages, like his lips don’t know how to form any other words. He speaks of the characters like they’re friends, the story as if he’d lived it himself, and the place like he’d seen it with his own eyes.

Katsuki can’t stand it.

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Fic: another old space odyssey by Sorethroat

Length: 2k

Summary: “Car-di-o-meg..aly,” Deku fumbles around the words. “I can’t see the moon with you.”

He stands there, Deku smiling tight like if he moves his tears will spill over, and they’re too young to laugh at the idea that the insurmountable obstacle in front of them is a heart that’s just too big.

Bakugou is an astronaut but he's forgotten why. Midoriya wants him to come home.

*

Fic: Butterfly Wishes by Sushirapper

Length: 4.2k

Summary: Deep in the middle of a forest out back of a little town in the country, there lay a wishing well.

It was not particularly pretty, nor particularly deep. It was not even that magical. But it was, at the very least, old—and all folk knew that with time came the strangest of truths, best left unbelieved or unseen altogether.

Izuku was one of these truths.

Or, Izuku can grant wishes, Katsuki is a mortal who doesn't know any better, and even the most innocent things always come with a price.

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Fic: Beyond the Veil by Seeress

Length: 11.9k (multichap, complete)

Summary: A locked door. A ghostly presence. A long forgotten name.

Katsuki goes back to his grandparent's old house and finds a presence he barely remembers, still waiting for him.

His grandmother’s stories all had the same cautionary theme: Do not stray off the path. Keep your hands to yourself. Be polite to those you meet. Be wary of undeserved generosity. Do not be deceived by masks. Remember your way home.

But Katsuki was a child of skyscrapers and 24 hour convenience stores. He walked on streets lined with man-made lights that turned on before the sun goes down the horizon and never went out until the sun rises again. He lived in a house full of noise, in a city full of living, breathing people.

He had never known true darkness; nights when even the moon sheds no light and the world is silent, but you know deep within your bones that you are not alone.

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Fic: Nowhere I’d Rather Be by Dat_heichou

Length: 1.8k

Summary: It’s 3 a.m. on the coldest sunday of the year and Izuku is too excited to feel tired. It’s release day of the newest All Might figure and he made sure he woke up early enough to buy one.

It’s freezing and dark and Izuku is sore from the rigorous training that U.A. third years go through, but he still excitedly shifts from one foot to the other. There’s nowhere he’d rather be.

“It’s cold as fuck out here,” Katsuki gripes beside him, burrowing his nose deeper into the collar of his thick, thermal lined jacket.

*

Fic: solar by Kindaopps

Length: 7k

Summary: Here he is, a god, wanting a mortal.

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Fic: Sunlight Moving by Peredhils

Length: 3.8k

Summary: The night air was cool but not as damp and depressing as it had been when leaving England. The sea breeze was refreshing and it was crisper than it smelled standing from the shore. Although the rocking of the boat made him a bit nauseous, coupled with the unease that came with being unable to see any land on the horizon, Katsuki liked it more than he thought he would. Standing at the ledge and looking up at the stars, all so bright and clear, was easing the day’s troubles.

He wasn’t alone for long.

Katsuki, a duke organizing the creation of a new university in England, meets astronomer Izuku on board a voyage overseas.

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Fic: let me hurt you, until we don’t by DeKatsu

Length: 3.3k

Summary: Deku decides that using his quirk with his hero license suspended is a smart idea. Katsuki doesn't understand why he's thrown into the holding cell as Deku's accomplice.

And then they talk about feelings.

Which isn't even the weirdest shit, considering that their cell mates end up giving them the push they need.

*

Fic: last days of war by antisora

Length: 38k (multi-chap, WIP)

Summary: When the first Kaiju climbed through the portal to their world, Izuku and Katsuki were six years old. And from the tender age of six, they knew they were going to be rangers.

All Izuku wanted, all he ever wanted, was to save the world alongside his best friend.

[sammystep]

No One Lives Forever- CH11

(AO3 link)

Stardust Crusader Wolf Pack AU

[From the beginning- CH1]

<Previous Chapter     Next Chapter>

The sky is painted bright orange and red by the time the pack arrives at the next camp site. The fall colors on the trees make the world look like it’s made of gold and rubies cemented to black cast iron trees in silhouette. The path to the camp ground is narrow but still large enough for the truck to navigate as Avdol drives carefully down the one lane trail. Kakyoin had kept in mind the need to be able to transform at will tonight and found a private campsite that promised a ‘true survival experience’ according to the reviews online.

Your attention is dragged away from the fall scenery outside as Jotaro shifts in his sleep, his head resting in your lap as he lays sideways on the bench seat of the back row. You adjust the hoodie you’d thrown over his sleeping figure and gently brush back his hair before returning your hand to rest on his arm. He’d been exhausted after the last fight and started nodding off almost as soon as you had set out. After the third time he leaned too far forward and jerked himself awake you gave in and decided to risk the embarrassment of the others teasing -or worse, Jotaro’s rejection- and offered to let him lay down. He looked confused for a moment but you patted your lap in invitation. He snuck a quick glance to the rest of the pack before shifting and laying down. You were both tense at first at first but you hesitantly ran your hand over his hair and he loosened up considerably. Soon he was fully asleep on you.

Joseph and Polnareff also seem to be sleeping, or close to it in the middle row seats, but a particularly rough bump in the road shakes the truck enough to wake everyone. Jotaro grumbles as he sits up, sweatshirt falling off and revealing the tank top and bandages on his shoulder. He looks it for a moment before handing it back to you with a gruff ‘thanks’, his voice raspy with sleep.

“It’s no problem. Feeling better?” you ask as you bundle the sweater on your lap.

“A bit. Still sore as hell.” He tries his best to stretch in the confined space. Another bump in the road almost causes him to bump his head on the roof and he slumps in his seat to avoid it happening again as the bumps and rocking get more extreme.

“Ah, that must be the camp site ahead.” Kakyoin says as he looks up from the map on his phone and points to the clearing now visible after cresting a small hill. The truck is barely still for a second before Polnareff jumps out and starts stretching. The rest of you follow his example, the cramped car ride after transforming and fighting not doing your muscles any favors. Like the site you just left this one was also empty but located much deeper in the forest. Perfect for keeping off the grid until morning.

The last campers had left some firewood under the cover of a nearby pine tree so you work to quickly clear the ashes from the fire pit. With the help of Jotaro’s lighter, a good size fire crackled happily to life just as the sun set. The rest of the pack had split up to investigate the clearing and into the woods beyond while you built the fire, but the rustling of bags draws everyone back in. Joseph makes his way over carrying as many bags of snacks as he can, “Dinner time! Looks like the choices tonight are beef jerky, chips or candy.” You all gather and take a seat on the logs laying near the fire and start passing around the bags.

While a meal of snacks wouldn’t be filling for long, for now it was enough to leave you all satisfied. Joseph is sitting with Polnareff and Avdol across from where you are seated between Jotaro and Kakyoin and sets off the first contagious yawn. You can hear his back crack as he stretches, your own eyes watering from the strength of your yawn. Polnareff laughs and slaps Joseph on the back, “Ha, looks like it’s past the old wolf’s bed time!” Joseph can’t refute this as he goes to reply and gets caught by another epic yawn.

“We should go over sleeping arrangements though. The truck is too small for all of us to sleep in and we only have a fire because the last campers left some wood.” Kakyoin says as he leans forward toward the fire and rests his head in his hand. He moves his sharp gaze around the clearing looking for any other supplies or natural resources that could be used. He heaves a sigh and drops his gaze back to the fire.

Jotaro hums in though as he looks around as well. “With all the encounters we’ve had just today I think we should take shifts on patrol. The truck can probably hold two people if we fold down some seats. The rest of us will have to spend the night transformed, for safety and for warmth.” The rest of the pack nods in agreement. “Avdol, are you ok driving the rest of the way tomorrow?”

Avdol tilts his head at the change of subject. “Yes, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good,” Jotaro leans back and stretches a bit as he explains, “you and the old man can sleep in the truck tonight, the rest of us will pair up and patrol in shifts.”

“Well wait a moment Jotaro, I can patrol too!” Joseph slaps his hands on his legs as he leans forward toward Jotaro. “I know I joke about it a lot but I’m not that old!”

Jotaro sighs as he closes his eyes and crosses his arms. “One of these days your age will catch up to you. Besides, you’ll need to be well rested to navigate for Avdol tomorrow. And you need to manage whatever is going on at the new headquarters once we get there.” He opens his eyes again and fixes Joseph with a steely gaze. Joseph scratches at his beard and looks away, not ready or willing to challenge Jotaro on this. You can’t really make out what he grumbles under his breath other than ‘not that old’.

Polnareff laughs and slaps Joseph on the back, “Ha! I’ll remember you said that next time you try and get out of trouble using that ‘frail old man’ card!” Joseph just grumbles more as everyone chuckles; you see a small smirk on his face as he turns away though.

“Fine, fine. Us old guys will sleep in the car while you young whippersnappers brave the cold out here. But don’t come knocking on my door in the middle of the night!”

Jotaro grins at his grandfather’s antics before turning his attention to the rest of the ‘youngsters’ in the pack. “I think we’ll be fine if we spend the night as wolves. The temperature shouldn’t be so cold that we can’t handle it. As for patrol and watch,” he pulls out his phone to check the time, “we’ll pair up for the night and morning shifts, that way all of us get at least a few hours of sleep.” Just the word sleep has Jotaro suppressing a yawn. “I’ll take one spot on the morning patrol, anyone else have a preference?”

You nod and speak up, “I’ll stay up for night shift, I’m not an early riser.” You blush and turn away from Jotaro as you realizes he’s seen you in action- or inaction- two mornings in a row now.

“I don’t really have a preference.” Kakyoin says from your other side, he must have interpreted your movement as looking for his answer, not just avoiding Jotaro.

“I guess that makes me the deciding vote, I’d rather stay up for the night watch than wake up early as well.”

With the patrols figured out for the night everyone starts to prepare for bed. It turns out though that you’re the only one with rough camping experience as the guys watch perplexed as you start gathering a pile of leaves to make a more comfortable spot than just the hard ground. “What, you guys never camped without gear before?” Three sets of eyes look away, embarrassed as Joseph starts cackling in the background.

“You’re going to have to show these city boys the ropes (Y/N)! I’m sure you can handle it.” Joseph says as he climbs into the cleared space in the back of the truck and shuts the door behind him.

“Wait, seriously? None of you have camped out without tents before?”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Joestar is right,” Kakyoin explains as he takes a step forward to better observe what you are doing, “is it really more complicated than just transforming to stay warm?”

“Well, that will keep you warm but it won’t make it more comfortable to sleep on the ground. Help me gather up some more leaves, we’ll make a two-person pile to use as a mattress. Then I’ll help you guys bundle up some pillows out of clothes so they don’t unravel overnight.” Jotaro raises an eyebrow but just shrugs and does as you instruct, the other two falling in line as well. Soon a pretty decent leaf pile is collected and you spread it out large enough for two adult males to fit comfortably. After showing the guys how to roll up pillows tight enough to withstand the tossing and turning that comes from sleeping on the ground you all scavenge the area for branches and sticks to keep the fire fed overnight. “Excellent! I’ll make campers out of you guys yet!”

“How is it you know all this anyway? You said you traveled a lot, but is this how you normally got from place to place?” Kakyoin asks as he drops off the last pile of sticks from his arms.

You wave off the comment, “Oh no, I usually had enough money to get a motel room or something. In a pinch I could sleep in my car for a night if I absolutely needed to. I actually learned all this camping stuff from family reunions. I have a lot of family when you start counting cousins and second cousins, and every year there is a reunion at the beginning of summer. We spend the whole weekend as wolves, hunting, racing, sleeping, occasionally fighting…” you smile and slap your hands free of dirt. “It’s really a great time, living wild for a weekend. Gets a lot of pent-up energy out, you know?”

“That sounds like a rather nice tradition.” Kakyoin gives you a kind smile, “Perhaps we should consider adopting it?” he turns his head towards Jotaro who just hums contemplatively before nodding. Another wave of contagious yawns overtakes the pack and you all decide its time to get some rest.

You all quickly shed your human forms for wolf fur, your senses sparking alive as your form shifts. Colors dim as your new sight allows for better night vision at the cost of reduced variation. You inhale deeply, expecting only the smells of woods and campfire but something slightly sour hangs in the air. Closing your eyes and lifting your nose to the wind you try and follow the trail but it’s gone as suddenly as it appeared, the wind chasing it away from you through the trees. You shake your head and snort to clear your nose. It was probably just some trash or something a previous camper forgot in the area.

Jotaro and Kakyoin get situated on the bed of leaves and Polnareff motions for you to join him at the edge of trees for your first patrol. The journey through the woods is slow going at first, both of you slightly on edge, not knowing what to expect. While you had more experience ‘living wild’ as you called it, Polnareff obviously had more experience hunting and tracking. He makes it a point to stop often to mark your trail with scratches on the trees and brushing up on other shorter bushes to leave his scent. He laughs at you a bit when he catches your curious gaze on the tree he just mauled, “What’s the matter? I thought you were used to camping out in this form?”

“Well yeah, but… I was always stuck hanging out with the pups. My dad and uncles split up patrol duty.”

“Ah, well in that case let me show you. I usually do this when I’m on a job to find someone in the city; its much easier to follow your nose back rather than loose track of a target because you were looking at a map.” He gestures to a tree ahead, “Go ahead and help out. It will probably help keep other animals away too if they smell too many predators in the area.”

“I was wondering why I didn’t hear anything moving around tonight. You think we scarred everything off?” you sniff the air again; you could tell some deer and rabbits had been through recently but only their scent remained now.

“Probably. They’d have to be pretty ill equipped to stay in an area with a bunch of wolves roaming about- or humans for that matter.” He lifts his nose and jogs ahead a few paces to a large boulder, “Here- this is where we started at. Now we just turn left and we’ll be back at camp.” You blink perplexed, you hadn’t really thought about how many turns you’d taken during your walk. Perhaps you were more tired than you thought.

The fire is burning low when you get back to the camp so you feed it some of the branches collected earlier, keeping the coals burning hot enough to reach the sleeping men and keep them a bit more comfortable. You take a seat next to Polnareff and grab one of the drink bottles from the snack pile. It’s a little tricky with your hands being larger and less dexterous than you are used to but you manage to open it and hand it to Polnareff before grabbing one for yourself. The lack of animal sounds around the campsite is still a little unnerving but you’re soon distracted when Polnareff turns to you and starts telling you about the time he had to covertly chase a target through an office building while dressed as a mailman, trying to catch the target in the act of cheating with his co-worker.

You take turns trying to one up each other with ridiculous stories, keeping an eye on the fire and the woods at the same time. You can’t help but let your attention drift every so often as Jotaro or Kakyoin move around in their sleep. Polnareff’s pointy elbow is suddenly nudging your side as he laughs at you, apparently, you’d been staring at the alpha long enough for Pol to notice. You quickly turn away even though your fur would cover any blush on your face. Standing up and moving to the woods again you initiate another patrol round, Polnareff snickering as you follow the trail left last time and refresh the scent marks.

The rest of your night on watch goes smoothly, and by the time your last patrol comes around you’re feeling a bit sleep drunk, playfully pushing Polnareff around on your walk as he teases you for being so concerned with keeping the fire warm and setting aside snacks for Jotaro and Kakyoin when they woke up. Really you were just trying to keep Polnareff from eating all the good snacks. You laugh and give a shove and he makes a show of exaggeratedly falling into a tree.

“Such violence! Just wait! I’ll tell on you to Joseph; we’ll see who’s laughing then!” the large wolfman throws a hand to his forehead like a swooning southern lady and points an accusing finger at you.

“Tell on me? What, you’re going to admit you can’t hold your own against me? He’ll just laugh and call you a spoiled pup again.” You continue slowly on the patrol path and wait for him to catch up.

“No, I’ll just tell him how you were making googly eyes at his grandson all night. You will never have another moments rest!” his triumphant smirk is infuriating even in his wolf form so you shove him off the path again and race back to camp, laughing as he playfully shoves you off course as he passes you.

Back at camp your eyes immediately go to the sleeping wolves and you have to admit maybe Polnareff has a point about you making ‘googly eyes’ at Jotaro; he and Kakyoin are tangled up in what would be a puppy pile if they were younger. You’re very tempted for a moment to not worry about waking them up for their patrol shift and just join the pile yourself, but your rational mind overcomes your instincts and you carefully wake them. Kakyoin wakes up quickly and makes his way to the remaining snacks near the fire. Jotaro however looks half asleep still so you keep him seated for a few moments longer on the leaf pile as you check the wounds on his shoulder hadn’t opened up or gotten too dirty in his sleep. You help him brush some crumbled leaves from his fur and you both make your way to the fire and sitting logs.

You grab a few packs of jerky and some drinks to help Jotaro wake up and you can’t help the startled yelp as he grabs your hand and pulls you down to sit next to him. You’re almost uncomfortably close, your side brushing against his any time either of you inhales. Jotaro doesn’t seem to notice how tense you are, he still looks half asleep as he mechanically eats the snacks you offered him while staring into the fire. You ignore Polnareff’s snickering and Kakyoin’s knowing looks from across the fire pit and hand over a drink to the alpha at your side. His arm brushes against yours as he takes it and you shiver as the contact marks you with his scent, even if it was accidental it is a highly intimate thing, usually reserved for very close pack mates.

“Did anything interesting happen while we were asleep? Anything we should know about?” Kakyoin tries to draw in Polnareff’s attention before he can start teasing you or Jotaro.

Polnareff is hyper focused on the opportunity to tease you though, “Non, non. In fact, you are witnessing the most interesting thing to happen all night,” he gestures to you both. Jotaro must be more awake as he looks back over his shoulder in confusion before he realizes what Pol is implying. You hear him mutter something as he shifts away from you, but only by a few inches so you were no longer joined at the hip.

“Seriously Polnareff?” he yelps and fumbles with a water bottle you throw at him. “But really, it has been pretty uneventful. We must have scared off everything around here.”

Jotaro tenses next to you and you look at him with a questioning tilt of your head. “You haven’t seen any animals around? Not even on perimeter patrol?”

“Uh, no. we just assumed we scared them all away.” Polnareff scratches his head, also confused by Jotaro’s concern. “Isn’t it natural to flee a place is a group of hunters moves in?”

“Maybe at first, but at least the animals in the trees should have come back by now…” Jotaro rubs his eyes and lowers his head with a huff, “Whatever, I’m probably over thinking it.” You glance around the camp site again, the peaceful quiet now more ominous as shadows cast from the fire dance behind trees and bushes.

“Oh, thanks a lot Jotaro. Giving me the creeps right before I go to bed.” Polnareff’s fur is standing on end making him appear comically fluffy. “I’m blaming you if I get no rest tonight. And after (Y/N) and I did such a good job on our watch.” He huffs as he attempts to smooth down his fur again.

The red wolf next to him just chuckles and shakes his head, “Well no one said you have to go to sleep. You’re free to stay up and keep an eye on camp if you want.” Kakyoin stands up and stretches as Polnareff mumbles to himself about needing his beauty sleep and shuffles over to the leaf bed.

You and Jotaro rise from your seats and you give another skeptical glance around at the trees before grabbing hold of Jotaro’s arm as he starts to walk away. This may be becoming a habit for you, grabbing onto his hand for reassurance. He faces you and tilts his head an you search for words as you make eye contact with him. “I…um… just…” you glance away and refocus on his face when he gives your hand a squeeze “Be careful?”

He nods and his stoic features soften slightly as he smiles, “We will, don’t worry. Go get some rest.” His hand lest go of yours and trails up your arm and around to your back to nudge you in the right direction. Too tired to put up any resistance, you follow his order. You’re asleep almost as soon as you lay down next to Polnareff in the leaf pile.

Kakyoin waits patiently at the entrance to the patrol path you and Polnareff created as Jotaro checks around camp. Avdol and the old man still asleep in the truck, the coals of the fire still hot enough that the heat reaches your sleeping spot, and there should be enough wood to keep it that way till morning. He’s satisfied with the state of things and casts one last critical glance to the shadows beyond the tree line before joining Kakyoin on the path. The silence of the forest is unnerving but easy to ignore, Polnareff was probably right about the animals keeping a wide berth around a group of predators.

His concentration is pulled from the surrounding woods by Kakyoin. “(Y/N) seems to be really fitting in well with the pack.” The red wolf faces ahead with a straight face, but there is a glint in his eyes as he glances back to Jotaro to gauge his reaction. “I don’t think I’ve seen you warm up to anybody as fast as you have to her. It’s a bit shocking you decided to trust her so soon if I’m honest.” He tries to keep his face neutral, but Jotaro can see the beginnings of a smug smirk.

“You saying I shouldn’t trust her?” Jotaro throws the statement back at him, years of experience turning Kakyoin’s teasing comments on their head coming into practice.

“Ha, no, not at all. She more than proved herself today.” He pauses, a more serious look on his face as he continues, “But even you have to admit, you’ve been acting very strange since you met her.”

“It’s… complicated. I don’t really want to talk about it.” Jotaro shakes his head and continues moving on.

Kakyoin stops in his tracks, “You know I wouldn’t push you unless I was worried about you. This may be your last chance for a while to get it out in the open. No audience, just us and the trees.” Kakyoin gestures to the woods and waits as Jotaro stops and contemplates his options.

He heaves a sigh before continuing to walk and Kakyoin grins knowing he’s won. “It’s complicated because I don’t really understand what’s going on myself. I know I don’t really know her yet, but at the same time I don’t care about that at all.” Jotaro ruffles his hair in frustration and embarrassment. “The old man thinks its my instincts trying to tell me she’s my mate, or potential mate at least. Logically, I know I should take it slow and get to know her first like a normal person, but…”

“But we’re not normal people Jotaro.” Kakyoin nods sagely, the internal issues clearer to him now. “But she’s not a normal person either. From what I can see, she’s just as eager to get closer to you too.” He can see Jotaro’s shoulders slump in relief as they keep walking the path. “You do have options here, but you need to figure out what you want first. And you don’t have to take Joseph’s words to heart. We’re not going to have the same thoughts on pack bonds and mates as the full wolf members of the pack do.”

“True.” Jotaro sighs again, “Maybe it’s just my human half making me over think this. Gramps and the others don’t seem to have a problem just following their instincts wherever they lead to.”

“Well, that doesn’t always work out perfectly either. That’s what my father did all his life and you know I only call home for mother’s sake these days.”

“I don’t think that’s a trait limited to wolves in that regard.” There is more of a growl in his voice than Jotaro intended. He clears his throat and continues, “Some fathers are just like that.” The rest of the walk back to camp is silent and Jotaro makes himself busy tending the fire when they arrive.

Kakyoin is equally subdued and takes a seat on the log next to Jotaro after raiding the drink selection. He hands over a bottle of beer and Jotaro quirks his head in question. Kakyoin just shrugs and pops the cap off his own, they each take a long swig and stare into the fire.

After a while its time to walk the perimeter path again, the red and black wolves moving quietly to the edge of the camp. Jotaro can’t help but sneak one more glance to where you and Polnareff are sleeping before giving the whole area one last critical look. He joins Kakyoin at the entrance but is stopped by Kakyoin’s outstretched arm before he can continue on the path. The red wolf has his nose tilted to the air so Jotaro follows suit. A slightly sour smell, like a mixture of garbage and deer musk assaults his nose before a breeze makes him loose the scent. Kakyoin must have lost it too based on the way he opens his eyes and searches the woods around. Nothing seems out of place, all the trees around silent and still. The animals have still not reappeared and the silence makes each footstep loud and clear as a bell. Another strong breeze makes the trees creak and groan, leaves shifting and rattling on the ground.

The soured smell is back again as they reach a landmark tree indicating they need to turn left soon, but as they pass it by, they are met with unfamiliar woods in front of them. The trees groan in the wind again, but Jotaro notices no leaves shift from their spots on the ground. They both freeze and turn in place, Kakyoin barely catches movement from his right where the landmark tree is, the roots undulating and creeping like snakes before quickly resettling.

“Jojo, the trees…”

“Yeah, I saw it. Not just the trees though, look at the branches on that bush.” The shrub in question was undoubtedly larger than it was a few seconds ago, its branches and twigs looked like they were caught in the wind but were using the movement to disguise how they grew and stretched themselves towards the wolves.

Jotaro’s fur stands straight up, there was no telling how far off the path they’ve been led. Were they even in range of the camp to hear if anything was also going wrong there? They’d have to rely on the scent trail to get back before… The sour smell from earlier is suddenly overpowering as a few trees about fifty feet away move on their own to make way for a giant creature lumbering towards them. Its beady eyes are focused on them and it grins, revealing jagged teeth as it lifts its arm. The plants around them writhe and tangle themselves at the leshin’s command.

Kakyoin growls loudly as he cuts away reaching branches with his claws. Jotaro focuses on the creature before them, looking for any obvious weaknesses. Its body is gigantic, probably twelve feet tall even though it was hunched over and dragged its knuckles like a great ape while it walked. Rough textured skin peeked out between ragged pelts and tufts of mossy hair on its body, probably the most vulnerable targets at a glance. On its head it wore a deer skull like a helmet, the antlers scraping branches above it with each bob of its head.

It’s distracted with pushing a tree out of its way to make room for its body and Jotaro uses the moment to rush forward, Kakyoin following right behind him. They quickly close the distance and lunge at the beast leaving deep gouges in the creature’s skin. No blood rises to the surface of the cuts though, in fact, the leshin makes almost no note of the injuries. They repeat their attack, but the rough patches only splinter like tree bark as they make contact. It retaliates and swings a fist at them but it’s too slow to connect.

They quickly fall back out of range to regroup. Jotaro growls lowly with his hackles raised, “Its skin is too thick to break through.” The leshin raises its arms again and they cut away the creeping branches.

“We can out run it though. Get back to camp and get everyone out of here.” Kakyoin pants as he slashes at vines threatening to anchor them to the ground. Jotaro nods and turns towards the woods, Kakyoin leading the way back to camp. The creature catches onto their plan though and with a chilling wail the trees in front of them weave into a solid wall before their eyes.

Roots spring up from underground and snare their legs too quickly to cut away. The creeping vines quickly climb up past their hips and tangle their claws when they come close enough. Their struggle is fruitless and the leshin lumbers closer to them making up for its speed handicap by totally immobilizing its prey. It reaches for Kakyoin and its massive hand is large enough to completely wrap around his torso as it plucks him from the ground.

Jotaro’s eyes widen and redoubles his efforts to get free as Kakyoin is lifted towards the creature’s mouth. He glances around desperately looking for something that can aid him before it’s too late. The trees and roots are still undulating wildly, rocks and dead branches pushed out of the way for the living plants. Living plants. Of course, it was only able to control living things! He’s finally able to free one of his arms and grabs a rock laying near his feet. It flies free of his grasp and shatters the nose of the dear skull on the leshin’s head sending shards of bone into the creature’s forehead and eyes.

The leshin howls in pain using its free hand to brush away the shards and lowers Kakyoin towards the ground. Kakyoin had been scratching and clawing at the gigantic hand still squeezing him but uses the opportunity to grab onto a large rock as he’s swung low to the ground. The creature recovers and swings Kakyoin back up towards its mouth. The rock Kakyoin is holding slams into its face as he swings his arms with all his strength and the creature wails in pain again.

Keeping hold of the large rock, Kakyoin quickly shoves it into the mouth of the screaming leshin, sinking his arms up to the elbow to lodge the rock in its throat. He’s barely able to withdraw before the leshin snaps its jaws shut. Its wails and cries now reduced to gurgling choking as its eyes begin to bulge and look franticly around the woods. Panic is starting to set in as it’s unable to draw in air, its grip on Kakyoin finally releasing and control over the plants waning. The drop to the floor is jarring and Kakyoin scrambles to regain his footing, one arm braced across his stomach where the leshin’s grip had tightened painfully.

Jotaro is finally free of the vines and roots that kept him bound in place and sprints over to where Kakyoin is hunched over, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him away from the creature as it fumbles and thrashes. Its gnarled hands grasp at its throat, clawing and scraping away at its own bark-like skin. It rises to its full height and stumbles backwards, beady eyes rolling in their sockets and tongue hanging from its gaping mouth. One of its arms flails wildly before making contact with its mouth, pushing fingers into its own throat to try and dislodge the rock but only pushing it deeper. The lack of air finally makes it loses consciousness and it falls back into the trees with a crash.

Kakyoin stands, panting as they watch the leshin twitch in its death throws, both he and Jotaro winded but thankfully just bruised from the encounter. The woods around them are again still and silent, trees and roots creaking and groaning in protest to their new locations but no longer moving on their own. They keep their eyes locked onto the creature as they catch their breath but as soon as they recover, they turn back to the path. The markings on the trees can’t be trusted to lead them so they rely on smell as they run through the woods back to camp.

They burst past the line of trees into camp and take stock of the scene. The fire is burning low, but everything else seems to be just as they left it. Jotaro motions to the truck and Kakyoin nods and makes his way over to wake Joseph and Avdol. From where he’s standing, he can see you and Polnareff are still sleeping, your face pushed into the white wolf’s back for warmth and Polnareff has wrapped himself around one of the makeshift pillows. Jotaro shakes you awake first; you grumble and reluctantly roll over to look at him. “We’re leaving early.”

A kick of adrenalin feels like ice shooting through your veins, fully alert and stiffly sitting up to look around the camp for danger. Nothing seems out of place so you turn your attention to Jotaro. He’s panting slightly but seems fine other than some random leaves and twigs stuck in his fur. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” you ask as you stand up from the leaf bed and keep a careful eye on the woods.

Polnareff is grumbling as he’s woken up too but Jotaro turns to you and answers, “We encountered a creature, I’m not even sure what it was.” Another spike of adrenalin rushes you, “We took it down but I don’t want to take any chances that it had friends out here. I’ll explain more in the car when we’re out of here.” You and Polnareff nod and help him to quickly pack up camp.

Joseph and Avdol make their way out of the truck just as you finish smothering the fire, Kakyoin behind them and once again in his human form. Jotaro drops his transformation as Joseph approaches him and claps his hand to Jotaro’s shoulder as he looks him over for new injuries. A few new scrapes have appeared on his skin but you were correct earlier when you didn’t see any serious ones. He huffs as he completes his visual check and pulls Jotaro into a tight hug. “We’re really having some shitty luck lately, aren’t we son?” he pulls away with a grin as Jotaro mumbles out his trademark ‘good grief’, but you see the small smirk on his face too. “Kakyoin told us the… thing… out there is dead?”

“Yeah, but I’d rather we get out of here as soon as possible. We don’t know if it was the only one here.” Avdol nods at the order and gets to work arranging the seats and loading gear into the truck. You and Polnareff are the last to drop your transformations and the chilly morning air causes you to shiver. It’s still a few hours till dawn, but soon you are all ready and seated in the warm truck, Joseph is acting as navigator as Avdol drives carefully out of the woods, the last leg of your journey to New York City now underway.

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Author’s Note:

I just keep falling further and further behind, don’t I? I try to write for at least an hour a day on my lunch break, but between this chapter being SOOO long and my lunches being shorter lately... well better late than never! 

[l8rhader]

Post (well, sometime before the time jump to the airport before their wedding  which I would argue still hasn’t happened even though it WAS SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE 6 MONTHS AGO BUT LET'S JUST IGNORE THAT PART LOLOLOL so let’s call this October in the timeline of-) come out of the things unsaid  my Adult Reddie, quarantine, Tik Tok AU.

Addition based on this video!!

Eddie sat curled in the corner of the couch, a glass of wine curled between his fingers. He stared at the phone in his other hand as though it offended 6 lines of his lineage. Well, no, like it had offended 6 of his closest friends. He kept trying to type out witty responses, but after looking at the profile attached to the laundry list of degrading comments, it was clear that the user was... young. Very young. Like, younger than the T&C's young but, come to think of it, he wasn't sure they'd mentioned an age. But after an hour of comment after comment on his videos, the latest series being him teaching Richie how to play piano (despite how rusty his skill set had been) and Richie teaching him how to play guitar (even if most of those videos were cut short because Eddie couldn't keep his hands to himself). Most people thought it was cute.

Except 69LonnyTheLiger420.

By the time Richie came out of the bedroom, he was in the worst mood. "What it do, baby boo?" he said, dropping into the couch beside him and wrapping his arm around Eddie’s back. No response. Dejected, Richie leaned in closer and tried again. "What's the hap, cap?" He nudged Eddie’s cheek with his nose, finally startling him into reality with a high pitched hum. "I said, What's the tea, sweet pea?" Eddie crinkled his nose and shook his head, dismissing yet another nickname. "Do you not love me anymore?" he laughed, knowing that clearly wasn't the case, but something was definitely off. "Eds, what's up?" His eyes searched Eddie's for a moment before the notification noise for Tik Tok went off. Richie snatched the phone and opened it, frowning at Eddie’s notifications.

"Give it back. It's nothing. It's-"

Eyes wide, Richie fought down the decades old urge to flee. Instead, he hissed out, "Christ, babe. Does this happen a lot?"

Eddie shrugged. He supposed it happened fairly often. They were gay and happy and unapologetic and rubbing their new love in the face of millions of followers. It made sense, to an extent. This particular batch was just a lot.

Shaking his head, Richie tugged Eddie up by the hand. "No more phone,” he said, guiding him up the hallway toward their bedroom.  Eddie made an exaggerated reach for it and Richie, instead leaned over, sweeping him into a fireman’s carry.  “No more phone.”  He shoved the device down into his pocket before slapping Eddie’s ass and eliciting a yelp in response.

“Put me down, jackass.  I’m a grown man.  I can wa-”

“Grown is an exaggerated term, toots,” he joked, navigating the hall with ease, despite his fiance kicking his feet and pounding his fists, calling him all sorts of creative names that thirteen year old never could have come up with.  He tossed Eddie down on the bed and pounced on him.  “I don’t know if you remember, but we literally bullied a space oddity to death.  I think we are uniquely qualified for a response to this little shithead.”

With his hands on either side of Richie’s neck and his bony knees dug in just above his hips, he dumped Richie on to his side.  “I think that it’s a little kid and it’s not worth, I don’t know, screaming at him in the middle of a Chinese restaurant.”

Feigning offense, Richie whimpered “That was ONE time, and,” he pushed his glasses back up onto his nose, adding “AND that’s something I only reserve for fans when I’m under emotional duress.  This wretched little crotch goblin is clearly not a fan of either of ours so an emotional outburst is far above them.”

Eddie closed his eyes and shook his head, pulling Richie in for a kiss.  “I love you, but just let it go.  It’s not worth it.”

“You’re upset, babe,” he said, landing on the one nickname that Eddie never fought him on because he was too busy fighting off the butterflies swarming in his belly when he said it to actually argue.  “That means it’s worth it to me.”  The corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile seeing Eddie’s resolve falter.  “You’re worth it all.”

The next morning, the video Eddie posted didn’t feature him at all.  Instead, it was five of 69LonnyTheLiger420′s least creative jabs, mainly mentioning their ages and their sexuality, floating around Richie’s head as he sat at the keyboard in the room that belonged to Eddie months and months of quarantine prior.  “You’re prob’ly just a kid in middle school and I don’t wanna fight a kid in middle school,” he crooned, accompanying himself with easy chords.  “Instead of fighting kids in middle school,” he leaned into the camera like he had a secret, then smiled.  “I’m gonna fuck your mom!  I’m gonna fuck your mom.  I’m gonna fuck your mom.”  He bopped back and forth, looking slightly reminiscent of a character from Peanuts.  “Don’t be such a saddie ‘cuz you got a new Daddy,” he added with a cheeky wink, “I’ll help you find a suit to prom.”  He dragged his middle finger up the keys dramatically in a fairly effective glissando.  “But, fuck with me and I will fuck your mom.”  He raised his eyebrows and gave a little half-hearted salute. 

Eddie swung the door open, then leaned against the doorframe looking at his fiance.  “Please don’t go the Burnham route.  I’m already sick of the people who compare you to Mulaney.”

“Why?  They’re good guys.  I don’t min-”

With a pointed stare, Eddie folded his arms.  “But you’re Richie Tozier.  You’re funny on your own.  You don’t need anyone else’s schtick.”  

Richie batted his eyes and smiled through pursed lips.  “You think I’m funny?” he cooed.  He may have played it up for Eddie’s consumption, but it still made him flutter when he actually admitted it.

Sticking his hand out and grabbing his phone to edit the video, “Come on, they put the final season of Schitt’s Creek up early so I am down for a rewatch,” he called from the hallway.  “At least I didn’t make you propose to yourself.  I love Patrick and all, but-”

”I proposed to you!  Twice!” he said, still blushing as he stood from the tiny collapsible piano bench.  “And does that mean you think you’re Patrick in this equation?  Because, baby,” he said, finally bounding into the living room, “apart from my eyebrow game, the kinship to the drinking of all wines, your startlingly similar boring fashion and comparative petite-ness,” Richie wagged his finger then swiped the remote from under the TV, “you are judgy, neurotic and,” he added quickly, “simply the best.”  He plopped down next to Eddie and wrapped him in his arms, kissing his neck.  “You are 100% the David here.”

They settled in for their binge watching.  Eddie’s phone dinged a few times, notifying them that the Losers were on the case, now.  Bill and Mike responded with a video of their own using the Pas de Deux from Us sporting matching unimpressed looks as they both tossed rocks from their garden idly in time with the music with the caption “Sticks and stones...”  It was basically nonthreatening, if maybe a little ominous, unless anyone seeing the video knew the Losers and their history with bullies, which they surely doubted.  A duet from Bev and Ben, flatly responding Beep Beep came next.  Finally, Stan’s response was of himself and Patty on the couch.  She was looking at her phone confused, Richie’s song audible in the background, finishing the loop and restarting.  “I think at this point the Mom jokes should be retired, Rich.  Eddie’s going to start getting jealous if all these little assholes start calling you Daddy, too,” he said, smirking at the screen as Patty chastised him from off-camera.  

Richie smiled, watching the responses over Eddie’s shoulder between episodes.  Even though momentary clips of the Losers were nice- it was better than nothing- Eddie really fucking missed them.  At least he knew that they’d always have his back.

[stargazetheseries]

OPEN CASTING CALL FOR STARGAZE: “THE PILOT” EPISODE & TRAILER VISIT: https://stargazetheseries.com/casting-call/ FOR DETAILS OR READ BELOW: A Borken Creative Production Sept 27, 2021 STARGAZE is a queer campy sci-fi adventure short-form adventure series intended for OTT. Executive Producers: Jill Golick, Carrie Cutforth Director: Regan Latimer Writer: Carrie Cutforth Union: ACTRA TORONTO (NEW MEDIA) Shoot: The pilot will begin shooting for 5 to 6 days between October 25-Nov 17th, 2021 Location: Toronto STORYLINE: A disparate group of rookie oddballs join an elite squad commissioned to save the Queerverse (from itself) only to discover the STARGAZE program is a sham make-work initiative to keep the crew from rocking the boat by sending them out on a fool’s quest (led by two elder queer chaperones who despise each other). Think: A 2SLGBTQIA+ The Facts Of Life meets The Breakfast Club in space! *BIPOC STRONGLY ENCOURAGED TO APPLY **MUST BE 18+ TO SUBMIT EVEN IF CHARACTER IS LISTED AS YOUNGER THE STARTGAZE RECRUITS: SAF RON (she/her): Character is 20, cisgender woman, lesbian, open to all ethnicities; some physical comedy required. LEAD. Mad as hell and not going to take it anymore, Saf joins STARGAZE with high expectations. If the adults won’t save the day, she will… and finally get the credit she deserves! But can this lone wolf learn to connect with others, stop being a control freak, relax her unreasonably high expectations of others (and herself), and step into the leadership role for which she is destined? First, she’ll have to stop seeing anyone getting in her way as a mustache-twirling villain, learn to see her crewmates’ value, accept help, and open herself up vulnerably. Gets apoplectic when mad; Has a knack for creating very convoluted protest chants that no one can follow. WHIT SPRINKLES (he/him): Character is 19, cisgender man, gay, open to all ethnicities. Must be able to walk elegantly in high heels. LEAD. A social media influencer famous for his snarky and bitter ’reads,’ charismatic Whit has developed a parasocial relationship with his stans. Living life performing in the spotlight from a very young age, Whit has no idea who he really is, what his real interests are, or his beliefs outside of what his analytics tell him: “My fans are gonna love this!” Only joining STARGAZE under pressure from his stans, his inability to forge true intimate connections is exacerbated by his relationship with his mother/manager Mumsy Sprinkles, a talentless hack/narcissistic stage mother living her dreams through her kid. If Whit was a meme he would be: ‘Bitch, I dun give a fuck!’ But he does, indeed, give a fuck. ESSA T. HATCH (they/them): Character is 18, non-binary or agender, asexual, demiromantic, neurodivergent, open to all ethnicities. LEAD. Adorkable Essa is an introvert who doesn’t really ‘get’ people. The explorer among the crew with an engineering mind and a love of mapping places and spaces, they know every nook and cranny of the ship and are usually the first to forge ahead (i.e. wander off) on every expedition. Essa mostly wants to be left alone to their own devices because they actually prefer their own company (neurotypicals can be so exhausting!). This normally wouldn’t be such a problem except Essa was pressured to join STARGAZE to make friends and widen their social net out of parental concern (‘We won’t be around forever, Essa!’). Loves to knit, make Venn diagrams of relationships; speaks in emojis when emotionally drained. LEW D’SHUS (he/him): Character is 21, transgender man or transmasculine, pansexual, open to all ethnicities. LEAD. When babelicious Lew looks at you with his rapt attention and dreamy eyes, you feel like the only person in the ‘verse until his short attention span snaps away and he forgets you’re there. “Good vibes, only!” Lew will gladly give you your Tarot card reading, but not before taking the negative cards out first. With his strict ‘the universe is love, we are love,’ mantra, Lew never wants anyone to feel bad even when they are deadass wrong! His philosophy of

appeasement can cause conflict amongst the crew and his inability to take sides in crucial moments will often put them in danger. No, we cannot just hug everything out, Lew! CHRYSTRAH SNU (she/her): Character is 17 (must be 18+ to apply), cis-gender woman, identifies as ‘queer’ but just figuring it all out. LEAD. Chrystrah is a fresh-off-the-belt queer who has arrived with big expectations: ‘I’m here, I’m queer! Direct me to my spot on the rainbow carpet!’ The trauma of her homophobic upbringing has left Chrystrah without any real sense of self; her identity loosely held together like a fragile cracked egg. Any criticism, no matter how gentle, feels like an attack, causing Chrystrah to act abrasive, territorial, and defensive. She is always overcompensating in big bombastic ways because she feels so inadequate for not knowing the right words, behaviours, and codes. She is jealous of Saf (some might say obsessed) who does seem to get it all right. Fiercely loyal, Chrystrah is the first to run headlong into danger to save someone. She has a steep learning curve ahead. THE ELDER QUEER CHAPERONES: BAE TORGA (she/her): Character is late 30’s-early 40’s, cisgender woman, bisexual, bipolar, open to all ethnicities. PRINCIPAL. A war hero (or war criminal depending on who you ask), Bae sees STARGAZE as an opportunity to redeem herself in the eyes of former mentor and friend Oracle Cain. She is someone who struggles with self-loathing and self-doubt even though she’s spent her adulthood righting her past wrongs and reining in her bipolar disorder, which contributed to her past rash and reckless mistakes. Possessing a tough, gruff demeanor, Bae is outwardly sardonic but really a bleeding heart who holds back out of fear that any demonstration of affection and empathy will be seen as a commitment. ORACLE CAIN (she/her): Character is middle-aged or older, transgender woman, ambulatory wheelchair user or wheelchair user, open to all ethnicities. *Note, as this is sci-fi, younger than middle age may apply. PRINCIPAL. A founding figure of the Queerverse, Oracle has done her service, done her duty, and now she’s done. She wants a peaceful existence to guard her limited energy and manage her physical pain. Instead, she’s pulled out of retirement to command a ship full of bickering youths. She also has to contend with spoiled brat and former colleague Bae reminding her of the past that Oracle is trying hard to forget. But duty is duty and it’s not like complaining ever got her anywhere. Talking to Oracle can feel like playing a chess game where the aloof commander is always five steps ahead: you never quite know where you stand with her. ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS ELP WHIPP (they/them or xe/xem): Character is middle-aged or older, gender-fluid, open to all ethnicities. Leader of the coalition of non-profit planets (each with its own conflicting Gay Agenda) that rule the Queerverse, Elp Whipp is a career bureaucrat/bean-counter who often gets caught in the trappings of their own political web — meaning much of nothing ever gets accomplished and progress is never made. Elp will appear throughout the series in that ‘Dean of the school’ role, occasionally showing up to demand overdue reports, warn the crew that their funding is at risk, and generally throw a wrench in the works. CARDIGAN JACK (she/her): Character is 30s, cis-woman, lesbian, open to all ethnicities. Cardigan Jack is a ‘pussy-hat’ wearing neo-liberalist feminist with a pirate vibe. She is the ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ of TERFs, and Saf Ron’s nemesis. TO SUBMIT: Borken Creative is committed to diverse and inclusive casting. For every role, please submit qualified performers without regard to disability, race, age, colour, sexual orientation or gender identity, or any other basis prohibited by law, unless otherwise specifically indicated, subject to legitimate casting directives. DEADLINE: Oct 8, 2021 EMAIL: casting@stargazetheseries.com. SUBJECT LINE: Character(s) Role, Performer’s First and Last Name, pronouns. BODY OF EMAIL: Please provide contact info including phone number.

Please confirm you are 18 or over in the body of email if applying for a Stargaze recruit character. Submit headshot and resume as attachments to casting@stargazetheseries.com. Resume should be in a scannable text file format (such as .doc, .pdf, .txt). First round selects will be invited to submit either a video clip audition or zoom audition invite. Only successful candidates will be contacted.

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[brokutosan]

Title. Burnt Out

Pairing. Suna Rintaro x Fem!Reader

Summary. In which she’s intoxicated and she thinks her relationship is going down in flames. Inspired by the song Can’t Love You Anymore by IU and Oh Hyuk.

Warnings. Manga spoilers, angst.

Y/N started dating her long-term boyfriend Suna Rintaro in highschool. He was popular because he played volleyball, and their team just so happened to be pretty good at the sport. Suna had many admirers, mostly girls who wanted his attention, but he remained unbothered by them. (Miya Atsumu, on the other hand, could have done without excessively showing off).

The only thing that set her apart from many others was the fact that Suna just so happened to be her childhood friend. She was the one Suna was most comfortable with to be himself, and she was the one he knew would understand his personality and his quirks. So by the time they were second years in highschool, Suna had asked her out.

It was heart racing at first, Y/N admits. Suna was young but he was still as monotoned as ever, but he would occasionally go for some romantic gestures. Albeit these said romantic gestures were things that were supposed to be normal in a relationship, like holding hands in public, letting her borrow his volleyball jacket, and things of those nature. Still, if it came from Suna, you should know he’s being sincere.

Throughout the years of their relationship, Y/N could count the amount of times Suna’s been overtly affectionate to her with one hand, but it’s not something that bothered her. She knew her boyfriend best, and she knew that he loved in silence (almost all to himself, actually). So even if all her friends gushed about the cute things their significant others had done for them, Y/N was never jealous.

But, when she’s in her mid-20s and all her friends are getting married and her parents are pushing her to get married herself, Y/N finally has to stop and reevaluate her relationship.

Now 24 years old and having been in a relationship with the man for almost ten years, Y/N can’t complain about anything Suna did wrong. Sure he was a little detached, but he put just enough effort into the relationship for it not to be infuriating. He remembers anniversaries and birthdays, he brings her some small trinkets he picks up from traveling with his volleyball team, and he doesn’t give Y/N any reason to think he’s being unloyal.

On the other hand, Y/N can’t completely say she’s happy. Sure, his small but appreciated gestures were something she gushed over in highschool, but now she’s a working adult. She doesn’t get butterflies or jittery from the little things anymore (probably because she’s grown used to them over the last few years) and she can’t help but wish there was something more.

Perhaps she’s being a tad bit dramatic, but all these thoughts come rushing through her head when she receives another wedding invitation, this time from her best friend and her own highschool sweetheart, over a bottle of wine. She always thought that Mika, her dear friend, and her now soon-to-be husband as the perfect couple. They argued from time to time because Daishou has a “shitty personality” but the good outweighs the bad, which is apparently enough for Mika to decide to marry the guy.

A certain note on the back of the wedding invitation is the catalyst of all these bad thoughts pouring down on her, “So when are you and Suna-kun gonna settle down?” The problem is, she’s not so sure she wants to settle down with him.

She met Suna at an early age and entered a relationship with him when she was pretty young. Because it was familiar and somewhat comfortable, Y/N never saw the need to look for another option. This decision comes back to bite her in the ass now, because if her only experience in love is with Suna Rintaro, then did she really experience it?

They never went on a traditional dinner date, never snuck out the window in the middle of the night to be with each other, never cheered loudly for him during his volleyball games, never had a real argument because Suna always says there’s no point in them, never received flowers and chocolates, and, well, you get it. Perhaps it’s a little selfish for her to want to experience normalcy in her relationship, but could anyone really blame her?

It’s like she’s dating a rock, Atsumu once told her after a nasty argument with her boyfriend. It’s a petty thing said when Atsumu wasn’t thinking straight, but those words come echoing back to her when she really starts thinking about their relationship. If she truly is dating a rock, Y/N doesn’t want to marry a rock too.

She wants warmth and comfort. She wants someone who won’t hold back during arguments and actually talk about his feelings with her. She wants someone who would still surprise her even ten years into their relationship. She just wants someone to love.

Without thinking about it thoroughly (or maybe it’s the wine in her system), Y/N picks up her phone and dials a familiar number.

“Hello?” Suna picks up after the fifth ring.

Y/N doesn’t know how to respond. A part of her doesn’t realize why she called, and another part of her was sure he wasn’t going to pick up. But he did, and Y/N always believed that there’s no better time than the present.

“Hey.” She finally responds. There’s quiet shufflings in the background, and Y/N can pick up the voices of some of his current teammates in EJP Raijin. She hears him mumbling he’ll be back and a door closing behind him.

“Where are you?” His voice is as calm as ever. Quiet, monotoned, emotionless.

“I’m at home. You?” Y/N finds herself folding her legs up to her body, a habit she picked up on whenever she got nervous. Oh, and she’s biting her nails, something she hasn’t done since graduating highschool.

“Out celebrating with my teammates.” Y/N didn’t even know there was something to celebrate for, until she remembers that today was a big game against one of their team rivals. Suddenly she feels bad, as if she’s dampening the mood he got going on.

“Oh. Well come home soon.” Y/N decides to retreat. “Okay.” Her eyes land on the wedding invitation strewn out on the kitchen table, and the picture of Mika and Daishou smiling at each other like they’re the only ones in the world. There’s no better time than now.

“Actually-” “By the way-”

“Nevermind.” Y/N was thrown off when they both spoke up after a few seconds of silence. She suddenly doesn’t remember what she wants to say.

“Just tell me.” There’s another long pause, and Y/N is beginning to think Suna’s growing impatient on the other line. He does have a celebration to get back to.

But she made it this far. If she doesn’t say it now, she’s scared she might not get another chance. She’s scared she might actually have to marry a rock. (The alcohol’s doing something to her train of thoughts).

“I don’t think we’re in love anymore.” The words left her mouth before she could process it. Another pause. Suna seems to be deep in thought, and Y/N is holding a bated breath waiting for an answer. Her heart is beating faster, her hands are clammy, and she’s still biting on her nails. Finally, the silence is broken.

“So what do you want to do?” Good question. What does she want to do? Well,

“I guess breaking up is next, right?”

“I’ll pack my bags while you’re at work tomorrow.” Beep. The call ends without Y/N even getting another word in. But it’s better that way.

She’s tired. When her and Suna first went out, it was like a match striking. They were the perfect pair. Suna, the quiet one, and Y/N, the one who always understood his silence. But over time those flames go out, and that’s just what happened to them. They got burnt out.

A/N. As you may or may not know, this is simply a re-upload because I decided to move blogs. Either way, thank you for reading my first story! Read the second part here. - chuu

[honeymoonjin]

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod shyly. "That obvious?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So, what brings you to Venice?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook gasps. “Uptown girl!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

"You're back, uptown girl!"

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

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

You blink up at him. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

You don't waver. "I am."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's empty.

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

"Y/n?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow thickly, nodding. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your response comes immediately. “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head. “Just go slow.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Taehyung, I- I have to go."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your lip trembles, but you remain silent.

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were in love with him.

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

"Ow, shit, sorry!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rain sets in not too long after.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you doing, Y/n?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Taehyung swallows hard, still not looking at you.

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

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

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

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

"A month and a half, maybe two."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[strvngcrs]

『 adam brody. forty. cis male. he/him. 』 oh heavens, is that DANIEL ABRAMS from FAIR LANE i see roaming around mapleview? minnie may’s always calling them -BROODING & -EVASIVE. i happen to think they’re not that bad! they’re a pretty cool HORROR AUTHOR and every time i’ve seen them, they’ve always been +DEBONAIR & +ELOQUENT. i hope i see them around again! 

classically rolls in ridiculously late bc i forgot i had to work last night & then proceeded to sleep in today wooo !!  good afternoon ghouls, it’s ya girl maia, finally here to deliver the definition of hot mess with good intentions.

GENERAL

FULL NAME.    daniel elijah abrams.

NICKNAMES.    dan, danny.

AGE & BIRTHDATE.    40 years old ; may 4, 1980.

GENDER & PRONOUNS.    cis male ; he/him.

ORIENTATION.    heterosexual.

MARITAL STATUS.    estranged.

RELIGION.    jewish ( non-practicing ).

OCCUPATION.    horror author.

INSPIRATION.     bill denbrough ( it ), donnie darko ( donnie darko ), lucas scott ( one tree hill ), stephen king.

PHYSICAL

HAIR COLOUR.    black.

EYE COLOUR.    dark brown.

BUILD.    athletic.

MARKS.     freckles scarcely spread across his entire body.

TATTOOS.    none.

PIERCINGS.    none.

HEIGHT.    5'11".

FACECLAIM.    adam brody.

PERSONALITY

ZODIAC.    taurus.

ALIGNMENT.    chaotic neutral.

HOGWARTS.    ravenclaw.

LABEL.    the arcane.

POSITIVE TRAITS.    cheeky, debonair, driven, eloquent, resilient, solicitous.

NEGATIVE TRAITS.    brooding, evasive, inquisitive, sarcastic, stoic, stubborn.

HOBBIES.    smokes like a chimney while writing until he forgets what day of the week it is, dabbles in hunting & fishing (thanks @ his dad), labels all crime / thriller genres as ‘predictable’ but continues to watch them, obsesses over & relentlessly criticizes his own work, drinks heavily & passionately plays moonlight sonata or fur elise as if he’s betoven’s disciple.

BACKGROUND

PLACE OF BIRTH.    california.

CURRENT RESIDENCE.    mapleview, north carolina.

NATIONALITY.    american.

ETHNICITY.    ashkenazi jewish.

PARENTS.   judith miller & mr abrams.

SIBLINGS.    mia miller.

BIRTH ORDER.    eldest.

CHILDREN.    penelope abrams.

EDUCATION.     university of california, los angeles; bachelor of arts in english.

LANGUAGES.    english, some spanish & french.

HISTORY

EARLY LIFE.    born to THE judith miller and some newspaper editor, daniel was raised by the latter and notoriously abandoned by the former. well, not completely abandoned - there’s an old shoebox containing a few letters as proof - but that was the only source of communication in their otherwise absent relationship. while little danny boy didn’t fully understand why he couldn’t see his mother, he sought out an alternative solution by watching her movies. his father wasn’t aware, at first, and dan created this extravagant fantasy of the person he thought she was based on the roles she played. however, once papa abrams found out his son was watching these movies (which were probably not fit for children in the first place lmao oop), he begrudgingly revealed the bitter truth. being forced to come to terms with the fact that his own mother willingly abandoned him with his father, daniel didn’t fully understand what it meant; he couldn’t properly process why. the hurt of absent mother was expressed more out of anger, feeling as though there must have been something wrong with him. there were fewer and fewer letters sent to judith until he gave up altogether and thus, dan’s out of control behavior was born.

TEENAGE FEVER.    SUICIDE MENTION TW.  he struggled in school. his emotions betrayed him. instead of relishing a happy childhood, daniel found himself pushing everyone away, getting into fights, sneaking out late at night to run around the city streets with his friends and get into all sorts of trouble with them. he couldn’t count on his hands how many times the police picked him up and brought him to his dad’s doorstep. it only got worse once one of his best friends was found dead, written off as a suicide, though it didn’t add up in dan’s eyes and seemed so much more sinister. the young man was nearly deemed to be a lost cause, until he discovered his passion for writing. 

                                  language arts or literature was the last thing anyone would ever think to group with daniel abrams. but his english teacher noticed how well he could articulate his thoughts and feelings on paper, and submitted one of his pieces to a writing contest, which earned dan the win and a cash prize. bewildered by a talent he hadn’t even realized was in him, daniel embraced it. he started writing in a journal ( which he kept safely tucked away beneath the mattress of his bed ), documenting every feeling and thought as a way to express his emotions in a more productive manner. this talent earned him a full ride scholarship to ucla with a major in literature and plans of diving into some sort or creative writing career or perhaps becoming an english teacher, to follow in the footsteps of his high school teacher who he came to idolize.

                                  mere days into his freshman year, however, his high school sweetheart showed up in the middle of the night at his dorm with a positive pregnancy test. it was then the chaotic world as he knew it turned a new leaf, revealing a silver lining in the form of their daughter, penelope, who daniel hadn’t a clue, just yet, would save him. and so a shotgun wedding was quickly planned around the pair, both families either completely supportive or in utter disbelief. it was quick, it was cheap(ish), and it was stressful as all heck. but they were young, and in love, and were looking forward to starting a family together, despite it being a little earlier than initially planned.

“ADULT”HOOD.    fast forward five years, and they’re signing divorce papers. fortunately, it wasn’t messy. the two had simply grown apart as they matured in their respective ways, and remaining together was only causing a rift to develop between the two. the last thing they wanted, for the sake of their daughter, was built up resentment to tear the little family apart. his wife, who daniel initially thought to be the love of his life, blossomed into an absolute goddess; she was ambitious and knew exactly what she wanted. daniel, on the other hand, was still somewhat caught up in his ‘bad boy’ habits of drinking excessively and his career was still pretty up in the air. the two just didn’t compliment each others’ lifestyles anymore.

                                   daniel moved out but remained in california, settling for a bachelor’s apartment where he was able to have penelope every weekend. during this time, he finally cracked down and worked on finishing a novel he’d started years prior. within a year, he found a publisher who took interest in his grotesque works, and by the time daniel was twenty seven, his first bestseller hit the shelves, changing his life for the better with the ability to provide for his daughter without stress of landing another odd job ever again.

                                   as his fame increased, so did his desire to slink back into the shadows away from the limelight. at first, he enjoyed the wholesome book signings by day and grungy celebratory benders by night. but it grew old pretty fast and he certainly didn’t want to end up as another washed up shmuck. so, on a whim, daniel decided to move out of california completely, removing himself from the toxic lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to and shacking up on a beautiful piece of land in the rocky mountains of north carolina. the serenity and scenery certainly aided in his inspiration, as well as his unacknowledged lowkey addictions slowly being rehabilitated from his bloodstream.

OLD YELLER.    now, in his utmost prime at forty years old, he’s written numerous cult classics, a few of which have successful movie adaptations. he was lucky enough to land himself in a second marriage, though.... that one is now deteriorating as well because he literally doesn’t know how to maintain a healthy relationship. he received full custody of his daughter when she was sixteen, under the unfortunate circumstance of her mother’s untimely death. although they’d been separated for nearly twenty years, daniel was still very much affected by the loss, more so empathetically for penelope. he’s still hooked on the drink, though he’s definitely calmed down quite a bit from when he was a young buck. basically a messy, depressy old soul who uses sarcasm to deflect his true feelings.

CONNECTIONS

ESTRANGED WIFE.    first marriage was a bust, and the second is turning out to be no better. they haven’t hit rock bottom just yet, in his opinion (which would be finalizing a divorce lmao), and he’s unsure if they should work things out or not but also really.......doesn’t wanna go through the process of another divorce. plus he likes her and deep down adores their bickering. the reason(s) why things started falling apart between them can be discussed of course. lowkey debating on whippin this up as a big official wc but.... if anybody already here would like to snag it, i would 100% mclove it.

COLLABORATORS.    literally anyone he’s worked with over the years, whether they be fellow authors, publishers/publicists, journalists, screenplay writers, etc. yeehooo the possibilities are endless !!

FOLLOWERS.    anyone hooked on his books, whether devout fans from his early beginnings or people who newly discovered his fictional writings.

FORMER CLASSMATES.    could be from high school or university, but he was in california for the better part of his life aka not a mapleview native. former friends to foes & anything in between. dan’s that one kid who spiked the punch bowl at all the dances and years later probably snuck in party favors to snort off the bathroom sink during their high school reunion lmao whew !!

ANYTHING.    literally anything. i’m my groggy state of mind on my lack of creativity rn so please, i’m beggin. if daniel can enrich your characters’ lives in any way, shape, or form, hit me up and we’ll hatch a plan.

[angst-king]

Stuck in this static void pt 1

(TW: anorexic behavior, bullying, selfharm, mention of vomiting. suicide attempt) (quirkless mental hospital AU) “GET LOST FREAK!” “FUCKING NERD!” “LOSER!” All of these words were things that Izuku had become number to, or so he thought. It still hurt him to be called these things, still he felt as if those words were true. He was a loser, he was alone, he had no friends. He was a freak, he had myostatin deficiency which is where the gene Myostatin is lacking and it means he grew muscles at an early age. It wasn’t as extreme as it was for some yet, those muscles made him look bigger, scared people away. His muscles didn’t seem to fit his body or it didn’t to some people. That was before he started his new weight loss. Izuku thought he was too big, too ugly or fat which made no sense to some who knew of this disorder because. When you have a myostatin deficiency, you don’t have much body fat to begin with. That didn’t stop Izuku from bringing a water bottle with ipecac that he would drink after eating lunch, dinner or breakfast. After Katsuki and his friends had decided to be done tormenting Izuku. 

The green haired male sunk against the wall he’d been cornered in. Then the thoughts in his mind came in like overwhelming static rising at a louder volume than Bakugou’s yelling. ‘Die already you idiot, this wouldn’t be happening if you just died!’ ‘HONESTLY YOUR MOM WOULDN’T CARE IF YOU PUKE YOUR GUTS OUT, YOU’RE JUST A HUGE BURDEN!’ Picking himself up he quietly grabbed his bag and headed to the bathroom taking his water bottle with him. It was after lunch and he hadn’t gotten a chance to ‘fix himself’ this time was different though. As he walked to the bathroom he started chugging down the water knowing what the result would be. He could feel the liquids slide down to his stomach and he could already feel knots forming. He’d made it just in time as saliva pools into his mouth. He gets into a stall, locks the door and gets down on his knees surrendering his bodily consumptions to the porcelain throne. 

Hunched over, white knuckle grip on the base, his body shook as it forced up its stomach contents. At first it was just liquids then came his lunch and the rest of his breakfast. Though his body didn’t stop heaving and gagging, that wasn’t enough for Izuku even if he’d been in there for ten minutes already. It wasn’t enough, he needed more of a punishment, and the voice was starting to over take his limbs. ‘DO IT! DIE ALREADY!’ quickly gasping for breath Izuku went through his bookbag again, searching deep until he found his hidden compartment.

 Pulling out his pocket knife, taking off his uniform top he started cutting and carving. Slicing up his arms that used to have lots of meat to them before this whole hell started. The middle schooler went from his arms to his chest, then his thighs then covering up with his pants he cut up his waist. But as he started to press the blade he could hear static. Which became so loud that his vision blurred, and made him feel weak. Numb! Not weak, he couldn’t feel anything but the swirling in his head as static dulled his mind into nothingness. He could feel himself floating even if his body was falling onto his back and his vision was darkening to the point of seeing black.

Izuku had woken up in the hospital, but he didn’t know where he was for a second until his vision settled. He could smell the cleaning supplies of the cold hospital ICU room he was in, his feeling returned and he felt so sore and weak and sick. Dizziness made him rub his temples and groan which woke up the green haired lady who sleeps in the small chair next to his hospital bed. Her chair was opposite of the IV pole holding fluid bags that were injecting their contents into her son by the needles in his arm. Izuku noticed the IV lines in him, and that his body was bandaged up in certain places. He looked over to his mom tiredly who’d stirred and sat up. Her eyes opened to see her son’s dull sickly ones. “I-Izuku?” His hoarse voice replied back with a small tired smile. “Hi mom,” Izuku was quickly pulled into a strong embrace that had him gasping but it was a warm one that he’d needed. 

“You scared me Izuku, what were you doing at school? what caused you to do this Izuku?”  Izuku huffed and thought about how he should reply, should he tell her about the bullying or would she even believe him? Especially since it involved Kaachan. But then Inko gently held his hand and looked at him pleading as tears made Izuku melted. “Please Izuku, I need you to tell me, you need help.” “Mom, I’m too big, I’m fat, I need to lose weight.” Inko shook her head with a soft sniffle. “Izuku you’re not fat, you’re sick. You have Myostatin deficiency, you hardly had any fat on you to begin with.-” 

“I felt fat, I felt big, but I didn’t feel strong. I scare people away and attract those willing enough to tell me the truth...I’m fat mom. I’m a fat ugly loser don’t you get it mom. I wouldn’t live any longer, and I don’t if I can’t take the constant reminder from Kaachan and his friends-” That was his mistake, mentioning Kaachan, Inko’s expression changed to a raised brow. “Kaachan and his friends? Izuku has Katsuki been bullying you?” Izuku began to shake but he hadn’t noticed, what if Kaachan wanted revenge after this? What would he do? Remind him that he’s still a weak, fat, screw up who deserves to die!? Izuku couldn’t even do one thing right, he couldn’t even kill himself properly for crying out loud! His own set of tears started raining down his flushed pale cheeks. “Izuku!” Inko called out but her son was lost in the static that enclosed him and stuck him in the dark with his fears.

It was as if he couldn’t breath, he clutched his chest trying to take in breaths. His spit was cold as ice just like the rest of his body that trembled. Inko tried again and again until she grabbed him by the shoulders and held him. That seemed to do something, the static void began to echo a sound that slowly brought him from the dark, hearing his mother’s soft voice whispering sweetness to him. Gently rocking him back and forth eased him to some degree. “M-mom?” “Shhh honey please just relax.”

 It took awhile for him to calm down enough; it even brought the doctor in who looked happy seeing Izuku awake. “Ah hello young man, nice to see you’re awake. Ah Mrs Midoriya I need to talk to you privately please if that’s okay?” At first Inko wanted to stay with her son. “Doctor I’m sure that isn’t necessary” Then Izuku said “Mom, it's fine, go talk with him, maybe I can leave soon.” The doctor frowned at Izuku’s ideology but it did convince Inko to talk privately with the doctor. “Alright Izu, I’ll be back.” The two adults went out to the hall, closing the door Inko looked up to the man. 

“So doctor what is it?” “Mrs Midoriya, your son isn’t stable, he needs both medical and mental treatment. I’m 99.9% sure your son has an eating disorder, which mixed with his Myostatin deficiency, that’s a deadly combination that could kill him if he doesn’t get help.” Inko felt as if the man before her was being blunt but she knew the doctor was truthful. “S-so what do you suggest?” She was hesitant to ask nervous of his answer but, she wanted to help her son. “I think he needed to go to a mental hospital.” “wh-what, why can’t he just go to like a-a counselor or something?!” She asked anxiously “Because a standard counselor can’t observe him and watch him, help him with medication and stabilize him like a mental hospital staff can. Mrs Midoriya I understand that it can be scary to have Izuku so far away from you when he’s only 14, and he’s the only one you have but. Please think of your son’s mental state right now. He won't be around much longer if there isn’t proper professional intervention and treatment. I know you want what’s best for him don’t you right?” Inko took this information in and nodded, sighing she nodded. “Alright then what do we have to do?” The doctor and her discuss their plan for admitting Izuku to a psychiatric hospital, making phone calls and lists of what they will need and who they will need to talk to. It had been a while but now Inko knew she had to talk to one last person today….Izuku. Walking back to her son’s hospital room she sees him playing with the blanket that lays across his lap. “Hey Izuku!” His dark sunken eyes peer up at her. “Oh h-hi mom, how did the talk with the doctor go?” His eyes went back down away from his mother’s gaze. “Can I go home?” Inko sat next to him in her chair and sighed. “U-Um Izuku about that, y-you may not be coming home for a while honey.” Izuku raised a confused brow, he adjusted how he sat and looked at her again. 

“what do you mean mom?” “Well Izuku, you’re a danger to yourself and a regular counselor won't be able to do the things that you need to be better so. You’re going to be going to a Mental health hospital-” “no.” Furrowing her brows Inko questioned back “No? Izuku I know that you’re struggling to see this but please, you’re not healthy like this honey.” “No, you’re just going to abandon me. You’re ashamed over me aren’t you?” Inko felt so hurt that her son would think that but, she had to try and put herself in his shoes mentally. He wasn’t thinking clearly, yet he was, he was having valid concerns for someone with his mental state of being.

 “N-no sweetie I’m not ashamed of you, I’m not abandoning you. I-I..” She reaches to gently hold his cold slender hands “I just want you to get better, I want my Izuku back, the one who would run around and play outside, who would laugh and giggle who wouldn’t sleep the day away and vomit his food back up. I will do whatever it takes to help you Izuku and I know that you can’t see that you’re sick but please...If not for yourself, do it for me, please.” Her voice broke as she tried to hold off from sobbing and breaking down. She just wanted to see Izuku smiling, running around playing, not giving up and wanting to die. Izuku looked away and grumbled out “will you write me letters, visit me, or call me?” “If it's possible I will Izuku I promise.” “......I really don’t even have a choice in this do I?” Inko looked away nodding quietly “when will i go?” “In four days you’ll be discharged from this hospital, and will be taken to the mental hospital.” “Alright then” He says, turning away from the petite green haired women, laying on his side, he pulls the blanket over his face. Inko huffed and gently carded her fingers through Izuku’s hair that started to shed in some places due to the lack of nutrition.

“I-I’m so sorry Izuku” Her soft voice shook as she continued her soothing tactile method from her chair.