#out here on the rare occurrence of talking with my mother and she goes off with

[actuallycherub]

“You can leave the church, but you can’t leave the church alone” How about y’all leave ME alone??

[the-authoress-writes]

Dangerous Games

Tom “Iceman” Kazansky x Navy Nurse Wife!reader

Synopsis: The saying goes “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes”.

Well, Mrs. Thomas Kazansky is about to learn another version of this saying; “Play dangerous games, win dangerous prizes”.

But she doesn’t exactly mind.

Warnings: Mrs. Kazansky gets a little frisky in public, but nothing explicit, some cursing, and a little bit of steaminess, but again, nothing explicit.

Author’s Note: “I don’t write reader fic”, she said.

“I really don’t”, she said.

But here we are.

And I entirely blame both @valmare and Val himself.

I wrote this as a writing exercise, actually, because @valmare and I have slightly different approaches to Tom Kazansky; she has a more dominant take on him, while mine is more romantic and soppy, but no less passionate (I think).

I wrote this just to see if I could somehow combine both traits/takes in one story.

And… hoo, boy, I like to think I was successful.

That, combined with reading one of my grandmother’s ancient Silhouette Romance novels, I thought it was about time that the turns were tabled on the men.

Let’s be the ones to snap them like twigs, and not the other way around.

Without further ado, here we are!

“So what’s on the agenda today,” she asked her husband, as he sat at the kitchen counter eating his breakfast, while she stood on the other side, finishing her cup of yogurt, before she had to head to work for the shift she was called to fill in at the last minute yesterday.

“Well,” Tom began, after swallowing, “not much, just a meeting which apparently couldn’t wait until Monday, in the afternoon—other than that, nothing else really.

And uh, Mav and the guys are coming back home tonight; like I said last week, Sli and I were going to greet them, and they’re going out for drinks at the O Club later, but I can tell them I can’t go—”

“No, you go, enjoy yourself, I know it’s been a while since you last saw Mav and the flyboys,” she smiled.

In a rare occurrence, Mav and Tom’s deployments didn’t match up, leaving him and Slider on shore, while Mav and Merlin, Wood and Wolf were at sea.

She could hear the calls Tom would make in the evenings to the Vinson, to the various officers who owed him, already rather influential at the recently-received rank of Lieutenant Commander, for updates on Mav in particular.

She’d heard the stories both from the man himself, and from Tom, how the Mitchell name hung like an albatross around the diminutive pilot’s neck, how his basic medical needs were overlooked by dint of his “traitorous” surname.

As a nurse, especially a Navy nurse, it was beyond unconscionable.

She was glad that Mav had Tom as a friend, and it touched her to see the care he extended to his whole TOPGUN class.

“Such a Mother Goose,” Mav and Slider would say, both with sadness, but the former with a soul-deep sadness.

“Are you sure, milaya?” Tom’s voice brought her back to the present, as he came around the counter to step into her personal space, his hands on her waist, infusing her whole being with the warmth that only he could give her. “Because I’m really feeling bad that I have basically a whole day off, and you have to work.

We could have a movie night with some popcorn and ice cream, and you can talk about how people like me are the craziest sons of bitches around,” he grinned, referring to how they met a little over three years ago, after a little training mishap. “I’ll gladly keep your misery company.”

She smiled, resting her hand on the chiseled plane of his bare chest, as her index finger idly played with the chain of his dog tags, “No, like I said, even last week, you go and enjoy yourself with the boys.” Her smile took on a more devilish quirk, “Besides, you can make it up to me later.”

Tom raised an eyebrow, “Oh, I can, can I?”

“I’m pretty sure you’ll manage,” she teasingly replied.

“Uh-huh,” he breathed, stepping impossibly closer, “and how exactly do you want me to make it up to you?”

“You’ll think of something.”

“How about a little down payment, then?”

He didn’t even bother waiting for her positive, always positive, response before one hand was buried in her hair, and his lips were on hers.

It was a kiss full of the easy confidence of a man who knew he was given what he took, and the passion and devotion of one who knew what a gift that was.

She could have gotten lost in her husband’s embrace and kiss for eternity, but the rude realization that she had a shift to prepare for, made her reluctantly, oh-so-reluctantly, push him away.

“As much as I’d really love to continue this, I can’t.

I have to go.”

He pouted like a child, the effect amusing to see on his already-full, kiss-swollen lips, and she gently carded her hand through his hair, soft and slightly curling without the gel, pushing it away from where it flopped onto his forehead. “I know most of this day didn’t pan out how we wanted it to, but we’ll make the best of it—we always do.”

“I know.

You’re sure it’s okay with you if I go out with the boys tonight?”

“Yes, Tom, how many times do I have to tell you?

Go have fun—but not too much fun,” she smiled.

He leaned forward, tucking his head into her neck, inhaling deeply, “You’re the only one I want to have fun with.”

“I would hope so, Thomas Vasilyevich,” she replied, lightly poking him in the side, “seeing as I’m your wife.”

“Oof,” he mock-winced, drawing back to look her in the eyes, “Russian naming me, huh?

Well, Mrs. Kazanskaya, two can play at that game,” he rejoined, leaning in to kiss her again.

However, she pushed him away, laughing, “You are a menace, Thomas Jacob Kazansky!

I have to go!”

“Worth a shot,” he laughed, letting her go.

She gathered her lunch into her bag, along with her paperwork, and shouldered the tote, before turning back to face Tom, who was leaning against the counter, long, sweatpants-clad legs crossed at the ankles, mirroring his arms, a knowing smirk on his lips. “Not going to kiss me goodbye?”

With a sigh, she asked, “If I kiss you goodbye, will you keep your hands to yourself?”

He clicked his tongue, “You drive a hard bargain, lyubimaya moya, but I’ll try.”

“Don’t try, just do,” she replied, amending one of Mav’s favorite sayings, stepping closer to peck him on the lips.

True to his word, he didn’t move an inch, but the regret on his face made her have to resist the temptation to kiss him and say to hell with her shift today. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

And here, a sudden idea struck her. “Hey, wait a minute, you said that you guys were going to the O Club, right?”

“Yes,” he replied, drawing out the syllable. “Why?”

“Because I was thinking that if I can, maybe I can meet you guys there, join you flyboys.”

Tom’s eyes lit up. “That’d be great!”

“You guys won’t mind?”

“I won’t mind,” he shook his head.

She good-naturedly rolled her eyes, “I know you won’t mind, what about the guys?”

“I’m sure the guys won’t mind, but they can take it up with me if they don’t like it.

Try to make it?”

“I will—hopefully, I’ll see you later.

And you’re sure you don’t need your other girl today?” she asked, double checking that he didn’t need his Chevelle, since her car was in the shop that week.

“No,” he shook his head, “Slider’s picking me up, you take her.

I love you, milaya.”

“I love you too.”

With that farewell, she dashed out the door, fleeing her own house like Lot, because she knew she’d never leave if she looked back at Tom.

Chaos.

That was what her shift at NMCSD was like.

Some unlucky or hapless person somewhere had probably said “It sure is quiet around here,” or some other variation of that phrase, and brought the wrath of the medical gods down upon them.

She’d had no less than ten emergencies to deal with, and at the end of her shift, she felt—no—knew—she deserved a drink.

A quick glance at her watch showed that it was just before 1800–from her experience, the carriers usually docked at 1500 or 1600, which meant they should all be at the O Club already.

Not wanting to give the charge nurse an opportunity to call her for something else, she practically ripped off her uniform, changing into the nicer spare clothes she kept in her locker just in case she had somewhere to be that wasn’t the grocery or straight home.

It was a worn, but well-fitting pair of jeans, sensible shoes, a tank top, and finally, a white buttondown with vertical blue stripes which she pilfered from Tom’s closet, that she never saw him wear.

After throwing on the shirt, leaving it unbuttoned, and tucking in her tank, she hastily walked (okay, ran) out of NMCSD, and headed to her parking spot.

God had mercy on her, as the traffic was light all the way to the O Club, the Almighty surely knowing that she’d reached her limits of bullshittery, that all she wanted after this day was a stiff drink, and her husband’s company, despite the fact that there would be others around, friends as they were to her.

It was a Saturday night, and the parking lot was full, but she managed to find a spot on the far end of the lot, a slight sheen of sweat breaking on her skin despite the AC, as she maneuvered in, not wanting to scratch her husband’s beloved car.

The flaring, insistent ache in her feet was testament to the long walk to the entrance, exposing just how many people had to be here, and true enough, once she pushed the doors open, the bar was hopping.

She moved through the crowded bar, searching for Merlin, Slider, or Tom—there’d be little hope of finding Wood or Wolf, and no hope of finding Mav, in this press of people.

She was heading through the crowd towards the bar when she smacked straight into someone.

An apology was on her lips, when the person turned, and she heard, “Hey, Mrs. Ice, how are you!”

And she looked up, up, up into the smiling face of Sam “Merlin” Wells.

“Hey, Merls, how are you, how was deployment?” she said, hugging the ludicrously tall RIO.

“Ehh, hot, as usual, but otherwise, uneventful; just running our CAPs, and buzzing the tower every now and then.”

She guffawed, “That’s Mav for you—I don’t know who’s crazier; Mav, or you, for willingly sitting in the same jet as him.”

Merlin leaned down, “Tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“Probably me, because I actually enjoy it,” he murmured.

She chuckled, “Oh, Samuel, never change.”

“Hey, what am I doing, let me get you to the guys’ table!

Come on!!”

He put his hand on her shoulder to make sure she didn’t get lost in the crowd, and led her to a table in the back. “Guys, look who I found!”

“Well, hey, if it isn’t my favorite Ice Queen!” Mav cried, leaping to his feet and pulling her into a hug.

“Hey, Mav, how are you?” she beamed, glad to see her husband’s best friend and wingman.

“Better, after seeing your pretty face,” the black-haired pilot grinned a grin which would probably make quite a few people here swoon, if its full force were turned on them.

She smacked his shoulder, though she was unable to stop her smile, “Stop it, you incorrigible flirt, you’re not my type, and even if you were, I’m very happily taken.”

“Ah, you wound me, my fair Ice Queen,” Mav dramatically clutched his chest.

“You’ll live,” she teasingly rolled her eyes.

“Mind getting your hands off my wife, so I can say hello to her, Mav?”

A glance behind Mav showed Tom standing there, a sight in his summer whites, an arch expression on his face, but those who knew him would be able to see the glowing humor in his eyes—but over all, the joy and love.

Mav moved aside, gesturing grandly at her. “All yours.”

“You bet your ass, Mitchell,” Tom nodded.

“Excuse me, I have a very nice ass, I have that on good authority,” the other pilot affrontedly stated as he walked backwards to his seat.

The voice of Charles “Chipper” Piper called, “Ugh, come on, Mav, no one wants to hear about your pasty ass.”

“You’re one to talk, Chip,” Marcus “Sundown” Williams chuckled.

Tom shook his head and stepped closer, making everything else fade into the background, his beautiful smile on his face. “You came.”

“I needed to,” she sighed, “I need a drink.

And the whole you being here is a nice bonus.”

He blushed slightly, ducking his head. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, come on, let’s get you that drink,” he replied, leading her to the table, around which sat Mav, Merlin, Slider, Wolf, Chipper, and Sundown.

“Hey guys,” she waved, taking the seat beside Tom.

They all greeted her as Tom called over one of the waitresses, ordering his usual vodka on the rocks along with her usual Old Fashioned.

When it arrived, she shocked them all by drinking more than half of it in one sitting, heavily setting the glass down on the table.

“That kind of day, huh, sweetheart?” Tom asked, his voice full of sympathy, warmth, and the slightest hint of laughter.

She turned a baleful look on him. “What do you think?”

He blinked, obviously weighing his words, the rest of the flyboys holding their breath. “I think maybe I should get you another one when you’re done with that.”

“God, I love you, Tom Kazansky,” she breathed.

The table collectively exhaled, as Tom grinned. “Aren’t I lucky?”

The night wore on, dinner eventually being ordered from the bar’s kitchen for everyone, and Merlin was the first to leave, saying that his wife was coming home late that night from taking care of a medical emergency with her mother, who lived on the other side of the States, and he wanted to be there to greet her.

The flyboys tossed peanuts teasingly at Merlin, Chipper and Mav whooping, Merlin flipping them the bird with both hands as he laughed, and said goodnight.

The remaining group continued on, and the vodkas Tom had drunk had loosened him up—he wasn’t drunk by any means, but his laughter was a bit louder, his eyes a bit brighter.

He was telling a story about one of the instructors from the TOPGUN session he’d been asked to help out with, since he wasn’t deployed this rotation.

It was a story she’d already heard, and so she allowed his words to fade slightly, just watching him as he spoke, fiddling with the straw of the second Old Fashioned Tom had ordered for her.

She smiled as he gestured animatedly, making the light glint off the gold ring on his left hand, which matched the one on hers.

Seeing it did funny things to her stomach, seeing the tangible proof that that man was hers.

Add to that the fact that Tom was in his summer whites… it was a cocktail more intoxicating than anything the bar behind her could ever offer.

She exhaled evenly, taking a sip of the water she’d switched to after her second Old Fashioned, admiring the figure he cut, an exemplar of US Naval excellence.

If you asked her later, she wouldn’t be able to tell you why she did it.

But the devilish thought of wanting to see if she could tilt him off-kilter entered her mind regardless, and she hid a smile behind the rim of her water glass.

She nonchalantly shifted her chair closer to Tom and innocently placed a hand above his knee, making him glance at her, and offer her a fleeting smile, while continuing the story.

Ever so carefully, she inched her way towards the inseam of his trousers, rubbing small circles as she went, which got her a minuscule narrowing of his eyes and a barely-there glance as he spoke.

She smiled back, stilling her hand, and he continued.

Once he had relaxed into his chair again, she began moving again, shifting her hand higher and higher, letting her fingernails catch repeatedly on the seam.

He cleared his throat and soldiered on, shifting in his seat, but the slightest tone of strain was beginning to creep into his voice now, and she mustered all the stoicism she’d learned from her husband to keep her face straight.

As her hand moved further up his inseam, she was treated to the sight of his jaw tensing, the sheen of sweat gathering at his temples, the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly, the sound of the strain in his voice, and the hitch in his breath.

She knew that if she continued this, she was playing a very dangerous game, but she couldn’t bring herself to care at that moment.

So she inched further up, letting her fingernails dig into the seam, flicking it almost audibly, which elicited a cough from her husband.

Slider whacked Tom on the back, saying, “You okay, Ice?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, “just—just swallowed the wrong way.”

At this point, she was mere inches away from being so obscenely high on his thigh that the other flyboys would probably see, but just to see what Tom’s reaction would be, she made as though she were going to go there.

Smoothly, he placed his hand atop hers, somehow managing to conceal the fact that he had plucked her hand from basically his lap, bringing it up to his lips as he finished the story, his eyes stormy as he cut his gaze to her.

Maybe, she realized, as she looked into his tempestuous eyes, maybe she had made a very, very big mistake.

After another hour, they began to wrap up, hugging and slapping each other on the back, and for the first time since she’d met Tom Kazansky, she was not looking forward to being alone with him.

When the final farewells had been spoken, Tom wrapped an arm around her shoulder, walking them towards the distinct shape of his Chevelle, visible now that they were some of the last people at the bar.

“I can drive us, if you want,” she offered, testing the waters.

“No, I’ll be the one.

Keys.”

His tone was unreadable, and she fished the keys out of her pocket, handing them to him.

He led her to the passenger’s side, but just before she reached for the handle to open the shotgun door, she found herself pressed against the back passenger door, looking up into her husband’s face.

She refused to buckle at his impassive stare, looking evenly into his eyes; depthless blue, the color of the sea at twilight, in the dim illumination afforded by the streetlamps.

His hand shifted, and her breath hitched, but he only moved his hand past her, the familiar click of the Chevelle’s door release echoing in the thick San Diego night air.

Tom pulled the door further open, inclining his head and stepping back.

She swallowed, but moved to sit in the passenger’s seat, the sound of the shutting door feeling like some sort of passage of sentence.

Moments later, he opened the driver’s side door, sliding in and shutting it, however, he didn’t start the engine.

She held her breath, waiting to see what he would do next, but he only started the car, the purr of the Chevelle doing nothing to ease her tension, serving only to ratchet it up, the familiar streets leading home passing by.

The silence in the car was almost a living entity, made worse by the fact that Tom kept his eyes firmly fixed on the road before them, and she would be lying if she said that her heart wasn’t racing.

She was beginning to see the reasoning behind her husband’s callsign, between his nonchalant attitude and his unerring patience to wait her out, wait for her to slip.

Well.

She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

…

She hoped so, at any rate.

She’d always been weak for him, honestly, and she suspected she always would be.

Much too soon, they pulled into their driveway, and Tom cut the engine, leaving her in silence, literally and figuratively, as he stepped out without a word.

She briefly debated whether or not to stay in the car, but knew deep down that that was not an option, so she got out of the Chevelle, also making her way inside.

After locking up the doors and checking the rest of the house, she exhaled and looked warily up at the stairs. “‘Screw your courage to the sticking place,’ woman,” she murmured, striding determinedly up the stairs.

The lights were on in the bedroom, and she saw Tom at the dresser, keeping his submariner in its box, his face somehow still impassive.

She moved to the bed, picking up the pile of night clothes she’d laid out that morning, muttering, “I’m going to the bathroom,” and darted towards the en suite.

However, before she could make it there, a hand wrapped around her upper arm, and once again, she got the breath knocked out of her, finding her body pressed against the wall behind her by the solid mass of her husband before her, his hands on either side of her head.

“What was that about tonight, hmm, milaya?” he spoke lowly, making a shiver run down her spine.

“What was what?” she replied, affecting a light tone.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he replied, implacable.

“Oh, that,” she shrugged, caving slightly.

“Yes, that.

And just what were you thinking?”

“Ehhh—nothing much, really.” Well, she mentally admitted, that much was true.

“Uh-huh.

See, I think you were trying to get me to lose it,” he declared.

She somehow managed to muster up an innocent expression. “Uh, nope, not at all.”

“Sure.

So your hand at my inseam was just complete coincidence, was it?”

“Has to be.”

He stared her down just like he had in the O Club parking lot, attempting to keep his expression stoic, but this close, she could see his eyes—how there was only a thin ring of midnight gray, his pupils blown wide from the desire he was trying to keep down.

She inhaled sharply, her lips parting, and his gaze immediately locked onto the sight.

When he spoke next, his voice was low and trembling. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“I think I have some kind of idea,” she breathlessly murmured.

“Fuck—” he whispered brokenly before kissing her like he was at 38,000 feet and she was the oxygen he needed to breathe.

Caught in his riptide, she was helpless but to hold onto him.

Air surged back into her lungs as his kisses moved down to her neck, only to be stolen from them moments later, a cry halfway between pain and pleasure carried on her breath, when his ardor seared into the delicate skin there.

“That hand of yours—and you wearing my shirt—you drive me crazy,” he spoke into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“I think you like it, though,” she whimpered, hitching her legs around his unfairly narrow waist, as he adjusted his arms to hold her up.

“Damn it, I fucking do,” he groaned, moving them towards the bed.

They had just collapsed onto the comforter, kissing like teenagers, when he broke away to breathe, “You’re still going to pay for what you did, though, you’re not getting out of that.”

“Oh, am I, because it seems to me like your mouth is writing checks your body can’t cash… Commander,” she cocked her eyebrow.

His jaw dropped slightly, followed by a shaky inhalation. “…I shouldn’t have told you about my rank thing.”

Her smirk was halfway to a grin by now. “What are you going to do about it?”

He tilted his head. “You’re asking for it, at this point.”

“Well, then, do what you’re going to do, flyboy; that’s an order.”

A wicked smirk quirked the corner of his lips, full of promise. “Yes, Ma’am.”

NMCSD: Naval Medical Center San Diego

The USS Carl Vinson is a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier commissioned in 1982, and she is still on active duty.

I stole @valmare’s headcanon that Tom drives a Chevelle, because if it’s good enough for Mir, it’s good enough for me!

I’m so sorry Mir!

According to a production photo, Tom’s full name is Thomas Jacob Kazansky, but since I headcanon him as Russian, his patronymic is missing.

So thusly, you have Thomas Jacob Vasilyevich Kazansky.

When Mrs. Kazansky refers to Tom as Thomas Vasilyevich, that is considered a casual, informal, yet somehow in its own way, formal, method of referring to someone.

There’s cultural rules about that.

Tom calls Mrs. Kazansky “Mrs. Kazanskaya”, which follows the Russian and Slavic convention of gendered surnames.

CAPs: Combat Air Patrols

Summer whites are the white version of the khaki uniforms, and you can see them in The O Club bar scene in Top Gun ‘86.

“Screw your courage to the sticking place” is a quote from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth”.

Did I basically steal a line from Top Gun, and completely change the context of it?

Yes.

Yes, I did.

Mrs. Kazansky calls Tom simply “Commander” instead of Lieutenant Commander, because of the convention regarding “double-barreled” ranks.

Russian Glossary

Disclaimer: endearments and translations taken from Google—please don’t hesitate to correct me if I’m wrong, which, odds are, I am.

Milaya: dear, darling (there are other translations of this word, however)

Lyubimaya moya: my darling/my one and only sweetheart

Taglist

@valmare

If you’d like to join my taglist, just send me an ask!

[deke-rivers-1957]

Pacer's Flaming Heart

After another identity crisis, Pacer finds himself wandering the lands of Texas until he's bordering Kiowa territory. He finds a young woman foraging for food. Despite knowing better, he's still a young man seeing a visually beautiful woman. So naturally he slowly approaches her.

"Hi. I'm Pacer."

She gets spooked by his presence.

"Hey, relax. I ain't gonna hurt ya."

It takes her awhile to recover as she takes in Pacer's appearance.

"You are dark for a settler."

"Yeah I'm half Kiowa."

She looks surprised by this. It's not like mixed raced relationships were a common thing. Or even a rare occurrence. It's just so unheard of in this part of the world.

"What are your parents names?"

"My mother's name is Neddy."

Her eyes widen with recognition.

"Then you know Ph'sha Knay."

"Yes, I know Ph'sha."

"She is friend of my mother."

Pacer smiles thinking he has a way to make a connection with her.

"What's your name?"

"Dome-be-ah-ty."

"That's a pretty name."

She giggles and Pacer can see her cheeks reddening.

"Thank you. What brings you out of your settler village?"

"I took my horse out for a ride."

"But you are so close to Kiowa territory?"

"I know, and your tribe don't like us."

There's a growing tension as she thinks Pacer is ignorant as to why that would be.

"We don't like settlers because they force us off land meant for us."

"I see what you mean, but you're not gonna kill me or nothin', are you?"

She pauses. The once tense energy in the air starts to dissipate. She takes in Pacer's face and gives a slight smile.

"I like your face. I won't kill you."

Pacer can't help but blush. Despite the cultural differences damaging family relations, he still feels attracted to her.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"What do you want to know Man-with-cute-face?"

"You really think I'm cute?"

"Yes. You have good features."

Pacer starts to have this warm feeling in his chest. As sad as it is, this is the first time he feels like there's a mutual feeling of attraction.

"No one ever says nice things like that to me."

"And why is that?"

"Well, I'm part Kiowa, ain't I?"

"Yes, but you were born to a white man."

"I know, but some people think it's wrong for a white man to have relations with a native woman."

Pacer sits down against the tree. The warm feeling starts to grow cold as he goes back to his identity crisis.

"Have you ever felt that you could be part of a crowd and still feel so alone? Can you understand how someone who is half Kiowa could feel ostracized?"

"No. I was born and raised in Kiowa village. Even with my English I could never understand why settlers act the way they do."

"It's hard for me because I'm half and half. The Kiowa don't accept me because my mother walked away from their world, and neither do the whites because my mother is still one of THEM."

She sits down beside Pacer and takes his hand. Pacer blushes some more but doesn't move his hand away.

"What of your family?"

"They love me, and I love them, but..."

"They are not half and half like you."

"No. If things were different, if I was full Kiowa, I wouldn't have any problems, or if I was white, but I'm not."

He feels Dome-be-ah-ty squeeze his hand. Since Pacer feels like he has nothing to lose he decides to take a chance with her.

"Do you think you could accept me as I am?"

She boops Pacer on the nose.

"I think I can Sad-eyes-man."

That seems to cheer Pacer up as the cold feeling of doubt is gone.

"Can we sit here for a while?"

Dome-be-ah-ty looks at the sun and shakes her head.

"No. I must go. Sun is setting too low."

"Oh. Can I talk to you again?"

“Meet me back here in 2 moons.”

Pacer nods but then gets an idea.

“Kiss me goodbye.”

“I can do that Flaming Heart.”

Pacer pulls her close and leans in to kiss her, her lips feeling soft. She pulls away with a smirk.

“I think something else is starting to warm up isn’t it?”

He looks down and looks completely red faced. He kisses her hand.

“I’ll see you in 2 moons.”

“Yes. Farewell Pacer.”

Pacer smiles and takes one last glance at her before she goes. He sits against a tree and stares at the sunset.

Tagging: @burnthheparaphilia thank you so much for the request! Please let me know if you would like a part 2. @xanatenshi, @arrolyn1114, @atleastpleasetelephone, @eapep, and @vintagepresley.

[cinnamonest]

But yes I have thoughts about Albedo having a sort of mommy complex... Different from the others, though, not quite an Oedipal thing, but more of a hyper-attachment to a very maternal, affectionate darling. See, he never had a motherly figure. Like yes he had Rhinedottir but... She's described as cold and calloused... it even says in his story "He had always believed wholeheartedly that his teacher would make good on her threat to leave him, should he fail." So basically he was brought up to be afraid of failure most likely, and threatened with abandonment. He's never had a figure that was very motherly in the traditional sense. Like, super sweet, doting, coddling and nurturing, forgiving. So when a darling like that comes along... Soft and sweet girl... Ray of sunshine... He gets attached like glue. He knew Rhinedottir would leave him if he didn't meet expectations... So he's a perfectionist. Has always been very afraid of failure. He can't mess anything up. So it's very very rare that he does. Unfortunately, one of those extremely rare cases happens to be... All over darling. He was distracted by darlings choice of particularly tight clothing that day, accidentally put two wrong things together and whoops... Something of a chemical explosion. Gets all over your clothes, staining them. He's unusually apologetic, it's rare to hear his voice actually non-monotone, actually has a slight panic to it. You're an employee, after all, you can leave at any time, and you certainly will now... But... You... Smile...? Laugh a bit. It's ok. Don't worry about it. Which feels... So foreign. You're not mad? Not disappointed? You're not threatening to quit or leave him behind? Even though he messed up? It's a very new experience. It makes him feel strange. You tell him to be more careful, but before he can apologize, you add, you could have gotten hurt! And that line throws him off. Be more careful... for his own sake? Not yours? He's still silent when you walk off to change, but stands there in a confused daze, staring off into space, unable to understand. And then, you... Care about him? He falls asleep at his desk, slumped over. When he wakes up, there's a blanket over his shoulders, all the papers he was working on have been pushed to the side and stacked in a neat pile so he didn't smudge the ink or drool on them or anything. So strange, he doesn't remember doing that... Unless you did it? It's just the two of you in here, so that means you had to do it. But... Why? Then, a few weeks later, he gets sick. Not that it means anything, his master always taught him that sickness and injury isn't an excuse to stop working, so he's still working on his things as he's sniffling and coughing. And you fret over it. Get in that... Oddly... Maternal sort of fussing, tell him no, no, go lay down, you poor thing. You more or less force him to rest, not only that, but you bring him food for the rest of the day. Tell him not to worry, you'll take care of everything, you'll clean up the work station and get everything resolved for the day. He thinks through it logically and decides you must be worried he'll get other people sick, right? That's why. Nothing else would explain this strange course of actions you've taken. His brain can't understand why you would do all that... just because you want to. Yet, it persists when he's injured. He's used to that too. Glass breaks pretty easily, cuts his hands and fingers, but he just bandages it up and goes back to work as he was taught he's supposed to. You won't have that though. He didn't even take care of it right! It'll get infected, you say, as you force him to sit down, undo the poorly done bandages, get everything you need. Rubbing alcohol, for the infection potential. It'll hurt, you say, here, squeeze my hand. And he does - it does sting like a bitch after all. But the pain isn't really in the forefront of his mind. He's too lost in the strangeness of it all. Isn't this technically wasting time? He could easily work through the pain. He's just silent as your soft hands wrap up his fingers, you're back to that odd fussing where you say things like poor thing and it's ok and to top it off, you pull his hand up to your mouth and kiss his fingers, to make them better faster!, you say. Very strange -- scientifically speaking, the kissing should not have any actual effect, yet somehow it actually does make him feel better... must be some chemical effect he’s unaware of...? But the strangest occurrence of all occurs when he does do well. He's used to people thinking he's smart by now, people always admire him. That alone was a startling change when he first arrived in Mondstadt, he was so used to doing things right being... expected. The bare minimum. Rhinedottir would look at what he made and often just nod in acknowledgement, it was expected, but other people think it's nice... but, he tells himself, what he does isn't really impressive. People just think it is because they've never seen alchemy at work before, that's all. It's not actually good. He always tells himself to get ahold of himself whenever he feels happy with success -- he shouldn't feel happy or proud, no, it's not good enough, he has to push himself more, do better... but you can't help but notice the smile that initially crosses his face at the success, the way his eyes light up before they go dull again as he chastises himself for allowing himself to feel too proud... you're more perceptive than he thinks, you've picked up on how he pushes himself too hard for perfection. So you try to make him feel better... you say you're proud of him. You say it's good. Not just adequate, not the bare minimum... you look actually impressed... it makes him feel proud, and for once he can't get that prideful feeling to go away. It feels like a high, a buzz, it lasts the rest of the day, he keeps remembering that you said you were proud! You said it was good! It repeats over and over in his head like a record. It actually takes a time when Alice comes back to understand it. He's happy to see her again, but as he watches her go about her interactions with her daughter, it strikes him as familiar. Poor Klee never gets hurt by her bombs, but she trips and scrapes her knee, goes crying to her mother... who does something that mirrors what you did. Tells her it's ok, tells her to squeeze her hand if it hurts, she'll take care of it... she has that same baby-talk-ish fussing tone to her voice, calls her poor thing just like you did him... when Klee falls asleep on the floor, Alice just smiles and wraps her up and puts her things away, carries her to bed... and when she accidentally blows something up (again), Alice just runs fingers through her hair and tells her it's ok, she didn't mean to do it right? Just be more careful from now on, she could have gotten hurt -- the exact same thing you told him -- but... she's still proud, her bombs are made so well! He makes the connection. So this is what maternal affection and care feels like? He starts to think it would have been nice to have that, even if he was technically never a "child" in the physical sense, it would have been a nice thing to have in the early stages of his life... Or at any time. Or now. It feels nice... foreign, strange, unfamiliar, but so so nice and warm and comforting. He feels like it's ok if he messes up, if it's you. You forgive him. You always do. And if he gets hurt or sick, you'll help... It feels so nice. It's the only real comfort he's ever known. He feels safe and secure and like he doesn't have to be perfect all the time. But he doesn't like the way that extends to others. You're nice to everyone, he soon finds out. You help everyone when they get hurt. You forgive everyone when they mess up. It makes him feel some cold, twisting feeling in his gut and chest, he finds himself slamming things, clenching his teeth when he hears you talking in that same sweet voice to other people. It's really not fair, when you think about it. He never had that, but most people do, right? Most people have a mother or a mother figure in their lives they can go to, he never had that, that's what you're supposed to be. Everyone else's mother or maternal figure is theirs, not everyone's. Why does his have to be there for everyone? Why not just him? Doesn't he deserve what everyone else gets to have? It's that line of thinking that leads him to isolate you. When he initially sets off to go set up camp in the mountains, he decides you should be the one that comes to work up there, rather than the other assistants. They can stay in Mondstadt... you're too nice to them anyway. As long as you're up here, you won't be able to be nice to anyone else, and all that sweet, maternal affection can be just for him... like it should be.

[weepinglevi]

patience is a virtue

summary: college!au. all aged up. eren and reader continue with their sexual escapades. find part one here! warnings: 18+ minors dni. dirty text messages, dirty talk. dom!eren and bratty reader (i suppose?). throat fucking and semi-public sex. (no p in v tho) word count: around 3.5k A/N: i have a love/hate relationship with this eren ahaha, he's been ruling my brainrot ever since the last part so i hope you enjoy! there will be a part three eventually, so be on the lookout for that! enjoy your read and feedback is greatly appreciated! xx

you awake to your phone vibrating somewhere next to you. the hope of it only being a one-time occurrence quickly proven to be false as it just wouldn't stop. brr-brr. a second of silence. brr-brr. pause. brr-brr.

taking a mental note to never go to sleep again without turning off your phone, you roll over to your other side and try to ignore it. you could simply answer the texts, but that meant you'd have to open your eyes. and that whoever was texting you would win this weird battle you've just come up with in your head.

"if you don't pick up your goddamn phone, i'll smack you over the head with it," sasha groans from the other side of your shared dorm, words coming slurry with her tiredness.

brr-brr.

"i could also stick it up your ass, your decision," a pillow comes flying to your head, serving as enough of a warning for you to sit up in your bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"quit moaning, i'll turn it off now," you yawn, feeling around your bed for your phone, "you never hear me complaining about the shit you do in the middle of the night."

"that's because my shit is funny and not fucking annoying," she scoffs, followed by a muted thump as she is sinking back down into her pillows. sasha's way of ending the conversation.

you find your phone half-tucked underneath your pillow, the display already lighting up again. someone is desperate for attention, you think to yourself and unlock your phone with an annoyed sigh. the messages were coming from an unknown number.

thinking about your wet pussy. this is eren, btw. historia gave me your number. i told her you wouldn't mind you don't mind, do you?

in a matter of seconds, your heart is beating in your throat once more, just like this afternoon in that godforsaken computer lab. ears growing hot at his words, you could almost imagine the sound of him laughing at you again. with trembling fingers, you scroll down further.

anyway, let's do it again sometime i told you. i'll never let you forget about how you moaned my name i'm also not forgetting about how badly i want to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, so it's a win-win see ya, then

staring down at your phone, you don't know if you should answer him. and even if you would answer his texts, what the hell should you say? "fucking bastard," the words escaping your mouth before even realizing that you'd better keep quiet. the only thing that could make this situation any worse was if sasha were to wake up again.

scratch that, you think as you see eren's new messages.

how badly do you want to suck my cock? you looked really hot today, covered in my cum what, you're shy again?

there are two ways this could go: either you stand up, put on some clothes, and then go to eren's dorm to let hell rain upon him - or simply mute your phone and ignore him. deciding to go with the latter, you lie back down and save his number as "fuckhead", a small grin forming on your face. if he wants to be childish, then you can be, too.

the display still lighting up at a steady pace, you have to fight the urge to open his other messages. to physically prevent yourself from grabbing your phone again, you put your hands between your thighs and sigh. what the hell have i gotten myself into?

"so, who am i gonna have to teach some manners today?", sasha asks in the morning, "because there are only two valid reasons for sending that many texts in the middle of the night," she sits up in her bed and bends over to reach for her phone, "either someone's dead or there's a food sale."

cringing at the thought of having to read the countless other messages eren has sent throughout the night, you try to laugh at her comment, "of course, when there's food involved, you're all for it."

"girl's gotta eat," she claims, thankfully being too distracted by something on her phone to notice your strange behavior, "i'm gonna be back later than usual today, connie wants me to be his wingman again."

starting to go off on a tangent about how connie should just get a dating app already, sasha's words become more of background noise to you. you want to know what he wrote. what he has in store for you. at the same time, you curse yourself out. you're turning into a headless chicken and all of it because of eren fucking yeager?

you nod here and there, offering her a "yes" at what you believe to be fitting moments, desperately hoping she doesn't catch up on your restlessness. all the while the two of you are getting ready for the day. this goes on for a few more minutes and you have no clue what she's talking about now, so you decide to grab your phone and stand up.

"i'm gonna go for a run around campus, you want coffee?" you blurt out, interrupting her monologue. the device in your hand feels as if it's burning through your skin. slipping into your trainers, you're already halfway out the room, her perplexed "uh- yes, please," being muffled by the door closing behind you.

it's still warm outside - not as hot as yesterday, but warm enough for you to be glad to have forgotten your cardigan earlier. you let out a deep breath, trying to clear your mind. even though you told sasha you'd be out for a run, you walk at a slow pace.

some people are already wandering around campus, most of them on their way to a lecture. at this time in the morning, everyone has their heads full with their own worries so no one notices you slowly making your way off-campus.

arriving at a little park surrounded by trees, you sit down on the bench farest off. you notice your heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird when pulling the phone out of your back pocket. fuck him, you think once again while typing in your code. fuck him for making me feel this way.

12 unread messages.

didn't seem all too shy when i had my hand wrapped around your throat no need to play hard to get when i already had you if that makes sense? haven't fucked you yet doesn't mean i won't get to fuck you

all you want is to feel appalled by these messages. to screenshot them and send them to the dean. maybe even to his mother. sickened with yourself though, you already feel the familiar warmth creeping up your body, curling up in your abdomen.

i know you want it, too how fucking needy you were for me getting yourself off in public to the thought of me maybe you can tell me what exactly you were thinking of? gonna make sure to let your dreams come true, princess

pet names? you clench your fist at the thought of eren leaning over you, breathing the word princess into your ear. you have an inkling that he'd say it mockingly; spitting it out whilst gathering your hair in a ponytail, arching your back forcefully, and slamming his length into you without mercy.

no. you hate pet names. at least, you've always hated them.

i'm gonna find out if you're ignoring me right now remember, you're not the best actress. fucking suck at it, actually wouldn't want to be punished now, would we?

his last message echoed in your head. still coming to terms with the fact of what happened yesterday, now you have to deal with a whole new revelation: eren yeager being a cocky motherfucker pushing all the right buttons for you. even though you want to blast his ass for this, the mere thought of him being near you again is too sweet of an imagination.

you want to play this game, too. for whatever reason keep on riding this high, and you just know that no one could do it quite as well as eren can. somehow you can only imagine taking him on this ride with you, no one else.

so, in that manner you decide to ignore his messages. if he's desperate enough to keep on sending them in the middle of the night, you're sure it won't be long until he sends another text. and it would give him enough reason to try and punish you, whatever that might entail – you're excited to find out. fucking nervous, too. but then again, who wouldn't be?

you stand up and put your phone in your back pocket, a sense of excitement surrounding your steps as you turn left to make your way to the nearest coffee shop.

"something tells me you're ignoring me," of course, the moment eren's voice comes up behind you, you fucking flinch like a little bird that's been scared away, "mostly because i've seen you reading the messages, but what do i know?"

you turn to see him clutching his heart dramatically, "don't play with my feelings like this," he swoons, bringing one hand to his forehead. he's laughing again, all white teeth and bright smiles – you realize this is the kind of eren you rarely get to see. not the cocky bastard he normally portrays; right now, he seems to be a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, just enjoying himself. still, you want to show him that you can play just as well as he can.

crossing your arms in front of your chest, you slightly raise a brow, trying your hardest to not look as nervous as you feel. it's a lost cause though because you can already feel the tips of your ears glowing with heat again. can't things go my way for once? just once? you think and chew the inside of your cheek. you felt so sure of yourself just moments ago. how the hell can he have this sort of effect on you?

suddenly, his whole demeanor changes. before, he seemed laid-back, entertained by the game he played with you. now he leans forward, hands in the pockets of his jacket and an almost cruel smile forming on his lips, "don't try to challenge me in this. you'll lose."

you know that you should feel frightened. terrified, even. he's looking like a lion preparing to jump the antelope, a sense of alarming calmness around him that's causing the small hairs on your neck to stand up. but alas, the way he's looking at you seems to have the same effect on you his scent has.

"i told you not to ignore me," eren says and takes a few steps closer to you, "yet here you are, doing it again." the chuckle leaving his lips a stark contrast to his stern gaze, still trained on you. somehow, you feel awfully small again - still not frightened, though. you stare right back at him, tilting your head slightly as if you wanted to say "so what?"

"are you seriously that desperate to be punished?"

better now than never, you think and once again place a courtly smile on your lips, "seems like it."

for a split second, you see eren's smug look turn into a genuine smile. realizing that you're up for his game, he lets out a smooth whistle, "you do surprise me."

"if you wouldn't always be so full of yourself, i'm sure you'd have recognized this sooner," you can feel the confidence growing in yourself again. clinging on to it, you take a step toward him, "i'm full of surprises."

"oh, yeah? i bet you are," from the corner of your eye, you can see him lifting his hand. before thinking twice about it, you bat it away, "i'm not one for public displays of affection."

oh, it is on– eren's smirk turns into a full-fledged grin as he takes a grip of your wrist, "you sure about that?" lifting your hand to his face, for a short moment you think he's going to suck on your fingers again. but all he does is place a faint kiss on the back of your hand, "didn't seem like it yesterday."

"you weren't supposed to see."

"but i'm so glad i did," he leans forward, the two of you standing so close you can feel his breath on your face, "or else we wouldn't have this kind of fun right now."

still having a hold of your hand, he lifts his other to your jaw, gently tracing his thumb across your lower lip, "you looked so pretty in your skirt yesterday."

taking a leap of faith, you grab his hand, holding it in place and letting your tongue run across the tip of his thumb before biting down playfully. there's a hiss and then eren pulls away and grabs your arm, "come with me."

finally, you think and let him guide you to wherever he wants, let's have some fun, then.

on your way out of the park, you pass jean and marco. even though they stand to greet eren, he just raises his hand whilst not breaking his pace, "gotta go, have an assignment to work on."

"never seen you that determined, but go off," jean laughs.

before you know it, you're inside one of the countless maintenance sheds. pushing you against the wall, eren's movements seem to become more and more erratic by the second. pinning your arms over your head, he's looking down at you, breathing heavily. "you have no idea what you just got yourself into," licking his lips, he chuckles.

"oh, but i think i actually do," you smile innocently, fucking glad to have found your normal self again. admittedly, eren threw you off your game since yesterday – but it's just going to play into your hands now. he won't see it coming until it's hitting him straight in the face; that you're just as messed up as he seems to be.

"then prove it," he breathes against your ear, "tell me how badly you want it."

the stuffy air inside the dimly lit shed doesn't help with keeping eren's scent away from you. being so close to him, looking up into his shadowed face and right into his dilated eyes; you're like putty in his hands. you try to move forward, to touch him in some way because you just know that he'll feel so good under your skin.

"now now, princess," he moves even closer, wedging you between himself and the wall, "how about we learn some patience, first?"

you nod, but then grind up against his thigh, hissing through your teeth, "i worry i'll be a real handful." you know you could very well move your hands, too – eren seems to still be testing the waters as to how far he can go with you. but with him actually letting you grind on him; you decide to play into his hands.

your breaths grow quicker as you keep on, pace becoming erratic. all you want is to get rid of your track pants – come to think of it, what you actually want is eren under you whilst you continuously bounce on his cock. you want to hear him call you princess and immediately after call you his little whore because that's exactly what you are.

eren has a little smile on his lips and you know you should ask yourself why – because you're doing exactly what he has forbidden you to do – but you're too far gone. the heat growing, you feel your knees buckle but he's holding you up; one hand now resting on your waist for support. you're so close –

and then he pulls away from you, nearly causing you to topple over. chest heaving, you place your hands on your knees for balance, "what the fuck was – "

"patience is a virtue," interrupting you with a laugh, but his voice heavy with lust, "thought i might give you a lesson you're ought to remember."

you look up to see eren palming his erection through his pants, standing about an arm's length away from you, "but i have to admit, hearing you getting yourself off is fucking hot."

biting your teeth together, you straighten up and take a step toward him – only for him to click his tongue in disapproval, "you're gonna stay right there," tugging at his pants he raises his eyebrow, "i told you what i want, get on your knees for me."

"the fuck i will," you spit out and make a move again, grasping for his waistband. but eren is quick to take a hold of your hand and pushes you back to the wall, "come on, now, princess," he chuckles but his eyes are concentrated at you, "you want this, don't you?". he's asking for permission, the thought feeling very comforting to you. and also, very excited for what's about to come.

"of course, i do," you answer him earnestly, resting the back of your head against the wall, "or else i wouldn't be here."

"fantastic," he breathes, a little smile playing in the corners of his mouth, "then get down on your knees," placing his hands on your shoulders, weighing you down, "i won't ask again."

the change of tone in his voice has you nodding, slowly sinking onto your knees, you're bursting in anticipation. one hand finally pulling down his pants, he runs his other through your hair, then down your jaw until it comes to rest on your chin.

thumbing at your lower lip, he groans "do i have to be careful?"

you just shake your head no. then you break away from his gaze, fixing your eyes on the bobbing cock in front of you. it's tip leaking with precum already, you remember how badly you wanted to lick it away yesterday.

taking his cock at its base, you bend forward and slide your tongue around its head. the salty taste sending shudders down your spine, you make sure to lift your eyes again once you prepare to take it all down your throat. your other hand snakes up to his balls, slightly tugging them which earns you a moan from eren, and fuck, you're so wet at the sound alone, you let go of his cock and slide one hand down to your own center.

he gathers your hair in one hand, taking the base of his throbbing cock in the other, "bet this is what you thought of yesterday," he slowly but surely pulls your head in closer, "of how i fuck the words right out of you."

bucking your hips into your own hand, you can do nothing but whimper at his words. because yes, this is exactly what you imagined. he's only halfway in and you're already struggling to breathe, but not wanting him to stop you hold your breath and push down even further; trying desperately not to moan.

the tears in your eyes causing your vision to be blurry, you attempt to blink them away.

"shit – ", he's pumping into you now, rubbing the tears from your cheeks and then placing both his hands on your head, "you're doing so well – "

getting lost in his words, the fear of being caught is so far away; you finally moan around his cock. saliva soaking the hem of his shirt, you can't seem to take his whole length, no matter how hard you try. you're a fucking mess under him and the thought alone is nearly sending you over the edge.

he's trying to pull away now and you know he's close, so you snake your hand around his hip, hoping this is enough of a sign to him that if he dared to cum anywhere else than down your throat, you'd bite him.

"you really – " his voice is hoarse, "fuck – this is fucking perfect," he moans as he comes to the realization. leaning his arm against the wall behind you, he's fucking himself into your mouth, his panting and the sound of your choking filling the room.

you close your eyes to blink the tears away again, but eren pulls on your hair, "no – look at me."

with this the knot in your belly explodes, leaving you holding on to eren's hip as you ride the waves of electricity that are running through your body like lava.

"such a good little whore – " he's gone as well, holding your head in place as he's pumping his load down your throat, leaving you no other option than to swallow – which you eagerly do. you feel his legs shaking under your hands.

once again, eren hands you his shirt to clean your face. this time, you take it with a smile, noting that, "i still have your other one."

"don't worry, i'll come get it sometime when sasha's away," the two of you know exactly what this means – neither of you are planning on this to be over anytime soon.

"i'll let you know, then," you nod and stand up, hoping you don't look as well-fucked as you feel, and make your way to the door, "she's gone most of the time."

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[gojo-x-reader]

Not So Special Now

Relationship(s): F!Reader x Gojo Satoru

Warnings: canon-typical violence

Tags: fluff (at the end), reader-focused

AO3 Link: here

Words: ~4k

Request: “hello there, i love ur soulmate and marriage life hc 🥺 can you make scenario/hc/drabble whatever u prefer where his fem/gn so is also a sorcerer and gets hurt/injured on a mission? thank you!”

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” Your boyfriend, Satoru, asked you. His hands were on your biceps, giving it a worried, yet comforting squeeze.

“Yes, Satoru,” you answered, a little annoyed at how he was treating you. It’s been several years since either of you were in high school; this wasn’t your first mission.

“I can’t help but worry, you know. It’s your first ever special grade assignment.”

“Just because I’m not the same rank as you, Mr. Special Grade, doesn’t mean I’m weak. Besides, there are two others going so I’m not doing this alone.”

“I know, I know.” Satoru pressed his lips gently onto your forehead, then gazed into your eyes lovingly. In a rare instance while on the job, his blindfold was replaced with dark sunglasses. You reached up to shift them down, allowing you to gaze into his bright blue eyes. They were breathtaking no matter how many times you saw them. You moved your hands from his glasses to his shoulders, forcing him down so you could reach up to leave a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I’ll see you tonight,” you promised.

The two of you embraced one more time before you joined your other group members for the mission. You turned back and waved at him as the three of you entered the car to be driven to the location for your mission.

“Sure wish Gojo-san was coming with us,” one of them mused. “He could handle this mission single-handedly and we could just stay home.” He sighed deeply, then put in headphones and stared out the window.

“Why isn’t he taking this mission?” your other group member asked. She stared at you, eager to know.

You had just met these two today (not even knowing their names, except that they were both Grade 1 sorcerers like you) and you weren’t sure how well this mission would go. “Well,” you began, “for one, he works best alone. Second, Satoru fights best when he’s away from civilians.” 

The girl hummed, then crossed her arms in thought. The three of you awkwardly rode in silence for about five minutes, before the girl grabbed your arm suddenly. “Soooo, how long have you been dating Gojo Satoru?” She asked eagerly. There was something about her that seemed familiar, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it.

You weren’t sure why this was any business of someone you just met, but you decided to indulge her to hopefully make this awkward car ride, well, less awkward.

“Two years, almost three,” you answered. The two of you had known each other since high school, but it wasn’t until almost four years ago that you had reconnected after you moved back to Tokyo, and almost three years ago when you started dating. To this day you still had no clue why he would get a crush on you over all people. There were much prettier girls he had spent more time with, why you?

“Annnnd? A ring soon?” She gushed, gripping your arm harder.

You shrugged. Satoru and you had discussed marriage at some point, but both of you were busy at the moment, especially with Ryomen Sukuna being somewhat revived into the world. While Yuuji was still technically “dead” to others, Satoru had trusted you enough to tell you about how his student had pretty much been revived from the dead. On your days off, you often visited your boyfriend and helped out with Yuuji’s training regime. He was a nice kid, despite his circumstances and being thrown into the jujutsu world suddenly.

The girl let go of your arm and got out her phone, furiously typing to someone. “Oh, my little sister won’t be happy to hear about this.”

“Little sister?”

“Yeah, my sister Momo goes to Kyoto. She’s pretty close with another girl, Kasumi, who I consider almost like another younger sister. She was super excited to meet Gojo-san a week ago. She’s like a superfan of him or something. I like to indulge her sometimes. I think she even made a fan club for Gojo-san or something. Anyways, Momo, even though she’s friends with Kasumi, she often gets annoyed with her talk about Gojo-san.”

You vaguely remember Satoru mentioning a girl from Kyoto that asked him for a picture. It wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence for your boyfriend to be asked to take pictures with, from the jujutsu world or from civilians; he had devastatingly good looks, so you couldn’t blame any of the people who asked for pictures. Besides, you knew his heart belonged to you and you only, so you were fine with others recognizing his allure.

“Oh, Kasumi’s calling me,” the girl said. She answered her phone, only for a younger voice to scream over the speaker. It was loud enough that you could hear it. Your teammate held her phone away from her ear.

“What do you mean he has a girlfriend?”

“Oh, come on Kasumi. You know how handsome he is. Besides, he’s like, what, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine in December,” you confirmed.

“Way too old for you, ma’am,” the girl relayed to Kasumi.

“I don’t like him like that , Sumi-san! I j-just really admire him, okay! W-Who wouldn’t? World’s strongest jujutsu sorcerer in all.”

“Mhm. Anyway, I’ve got a mission today with the said girlfriend of Gojo Satoru. Want me to get you an autograph?” Sumi joked.

“...Could you?”

You let out a tiny laugh. This girl was funny, so you decided to humor her and leaned toward the phone. “One autograph for Kasumi?”

“M-Miwa Kasumi!” the voice on the phone squeaked out. She told you what kanji made up her name as you rummaged for a scrap piece of paper and pen from your bag. You made out the autograph, laughing a bit as you handed it to Sumi.

After you told her you signed an autograph for her, Kasumi said goodbye, hanging up the phone before Sumi could reply goodbye back. She seemed embarrassed about the ordeal.

“You were right, she seems like a good kid.”

“Kasumi is nice. She really balances out how serious my little sister Momo is,” Sumi responded.

For the rest of the car ride, you and Sumi chatted. Apparently, this was also her first Special Grade mission, as well as her first mission after graduating from Kyoto. Their other group member was also from Kyoto; he was two years Sumi’s senior. His name was Takahashi Daisuke. She didn’t know much about him since he tended to keep to himself. But she did know this wasn’t his first Special Grade mission. That relieved you substantially since you were nervous about this mission (as much as you didn’t want to admit to Satoru).

Eventually, the roads transformed from paved to just dirt. The driver turned onto a road on a hill, then began briefing the three of you on your mission. This was a Special Grade, suspected to be awakened by a Sukuna finger. This was just based on speculation, since the last Special Grade to pop up was from a Sukuna finger as well. The Special Grade had taken over an abandoned shrine, supposedly terrorizing the local village just down the hill (which had been evacuated just hours before). As the driver parked the car, the three of you exited the car. The air was crisp, with a distinct chill in the air. You could sense a particularly strong cursed energy in the premises, on par with Satoru’s cursed energy. You shuddered; this was not going to be an easy task.

The driver placed a curtain around the area, the sky darkening. It only made the situation seem even more grave. There was something in your gut telling you to run, not from being scared of the Special Grade, but because something bad was going to happen.

Sumi grabbed a wand from her belt. Her family was a pretty small sorcerer family on her mother’s side, as she had told you in the car. She and her sister have cursed techniques similar to “witches”; hers involved spells while her sister’s involved levitating a broom, among other objects.

Your cursed techniques, however, involved nature. There was a reason why you were selected specifically for this mission; the shrine was in the middle of the forest, the perfect place for you to go wild. Cities like Tokyo were incredibly constraining for you to use your cursed techniques, so you almost exclusively were assigned missions out in the country where nature was plentiful.

Neither you nor Sumi knew what Daisuke’s cursed technique was, but you assumed it was pretty strong considering he had been on missions with Special Grades before.

The mission started off fine. The three of you approached the shrine. It wasn’t particularly impressive, nothing that you would expect to house a Special Grade curse. The stone torii at the entrance was standing tall, unbothered by neither age nor the moss and vines growing on it. The shrine itself, however, was crumbling. One of the pillars holding up the roof was destroyed, so the roof was lopsided. The shimenawa knots were cut in half, the ends completely frayed. Definitely not a good sign.

After crossing the torii , you felt the Special Grade’s presence. It was overwhelming, unlike anything else you had experienced before. It possessed near-equal amounts of cursed energy as Satoru, but unlike your boyfriend, it held malicious intent within its cursed energy. To your left, Sumi was shaking. You held out a shaky hand onto her shoulder and squeezed. While you yourself didn’t feel confident about this mission now, you had a duty as the oldest member of the group here to be strong, for their sake.

The shrine began to shake, then the roof was suddenly blown off. You used your cursed technique to form a barrier of tree roots that erupted from the ground. Slabs of wood hit the roots, then bounced off. After the rain of wood subsided, you controlled the roots back into the ground in their original position.

You finally got a good look at the Special Grade curse. It was humanoid, but only in form. Its flesh was midnight blue, with eyes covering every centimeter of its body. Great, it had no blind spots. The curse had no apparent mouth, yet you were able to hear it let out an intimidating roar.

Daisuke made the first strike. He quickly pointed a handgun at the Special Grade and pulled the trigger. Out came a burst of his own cursed energy instead of a bullet. The blow just grazed the Special Grade enough for it to let out a screech of pain. Interesting, so this was his cursed energy. You wondered if it was limited to guns, or if he could apply it to a bow as well and use his cursed energy for arrows. You’d have to ask him later after this mission was completed.

It was apparent after Daisuke revealed his cursed technique that all of you were primarily distance fighters. There wasn’t much Sumi could do if her cursed technique focused on spells through her wand apparatus and Daisuke seemed to only have a gun on him. So, that meant you had to switch to a melee approach.

You weren’t the biggest fan of hand to hand combat. You weren’t very strong, preferring to assist from a distance. Recently, Satoru has been helping you learn new ways of fighting in close quarters. You decided to take the risk and make an attempt at using this still relatively new technique. You reached out your hands, summoning leaves from the trees. They surrounded your fists like boxing gloves, your cursed energy reinforcing the leaves to be almost as hard as the bark from the trees they came from.

You sprinted toward the Special Grade, preparing to land a blow. As you reared back for a punch, the Special Grade disappeared from in front of you. Then you felt a blow land on your back and you were sent through the forest until a particularly thick tree stopped your projectile body. Luckily, you reacted quickly enough to reinforce your front with cursed energy. If it wasn’t for your quick thinking, you probably would’ve been knocked out immediately.

You picked yourself up from the ground, but the world was spinning. You leaned against a tree to collect your thoughts and rest a bit. The Special Grade was insanely fast and had no blind spots. You were panicking; this was well out of your skillset. Perhaps Daisuke was right; Satoru should’ve joined in on this mission. But you knew that wasn’t possible, as he also had his own Special Grade mission to handle today.

You brought a hand up to your face and gave yourself a hard smack. This was no time to doubt yourself or panic. You had two comrades out there fighting a Special Grade curse alone. There was no doubt that the Special Grade would notice you if you tried to rejoin the fight, at least on the ground. Your best bet would be to get the high ground; there would be fewer eyes on the top half, so the chances of you being noticed would be less than if you arrived by foot.

Okay, you had an idea. Now, to get an idea of how the fight was going. You kneeled down to the ground and placed your hand onto the ground, closing your eyes. You sent a minimal, hardly detectable pulse of cursed energy toward the fight through the ground. From what nature informed you, the fight was mostly one-sided in favor of the Special Grade. Daisuke was pretty beat up, and Sumi wasn’t in good shape either.

You got up then hurriedly began climbing the nearest tree. As you climbed up, you manipulated the bark to form grooves for you to place your hands and feet on. As you reached a decent height, you created a bridge with the overlapping tree branches sturdy enough for your weight. You sprinted across the bridge, ignoring your double vision. You definitely had a concussion, but now was not the time for you to worry about that. You didn’t wanna lose your comrades on this mission. Not again.

You wiped the tears that were threatening to fall from your eyes. In your final year of Tokyo High, your two classmates were killed right before your eyes on a mission. You escaped out of pure luck, but was determined to get stronger to avenge their deaths. If you let those two die… well, then, that meant you hadn’t gotten strong enough to protect anyone else.

Once you were just out of sight range of the cursed spirit, you closed your eyes to sense the battle again. Sumi was sitting on the ground, back to a tree as she watched the fight between Daisuke and the Special Grade. She was barely conscious, and it seemed like she had lost a lot of blood. You had an idea, but in order for it to work, you needed her help.

Using thin vines, you sent a message within her sight: I am still alive. I’m going to trap the Special Grade curse with branches. Use a fire spell on it when it’s bound.

All you could hope was that she was able to read the message and had enough cursed energy to cast the spell. You began moving branches from distant trees close to the Special Grade, as fast as possible without your cursed energy being detected. Once they were close enough, you waited for the right moment.

As Daisuke finally landed a hit with his cursed energy, moving the curse to the center of the shrine remnants, you launched your attack. The branches extended as fast as you could make them move. The hit Daisuke landed had temporarily slowed the Special Grade, enough for your branches to immobilize it. As the branches gripped the curse, Sumi sent a fire spell toward it, just as planned.

The branches (and the cursed spirit) caught on fire. But something was wrong; normally, you could extract cursed energy from a curse with your cursed technique to exorcise, but that wasn’t happening. Was it resisting? You felt a tug on the branches.

Without thinking, you acted on your own. You re-equipped the leaves cursed technique, as you jumped from the trees above. As gravity brought you closer to the Special Grade, you reared back to prepare the punch you had wanted to introduce it to earlier. As your fist landed on the curse, you allowed the leaves to leave your fist, sending it into the curse’s body. The leaves caught on fire before they entered the curse, imploding it.

So, you managed to exorcise the Special grade. But, doing so took all of your cursed energy and you had no more left to cushion your fall. Luckily, you managed to adjust your fall so that you slid on your stomach parallel to the ground instead of falling headfirst. It still hurt, and you definitely broke a few ribs doing that.

You somehow had enough energy to turn yourself onto your back, looking up at the starry night sky as the curtain was released. Your first Special Grade mission. Everyone lived and you exorcised it without Satoru’s help. Ha. He would be so proud of you.

You began to fall into unconsciousness right as you felt familiar arms lift you up.

When you woke up, you were in Shoko’s infirmary. There was a thin blanket covering your bottom half. Suddenly the events came back to you.

You sat up, gasping for air. Where were Sumi and Daisuke?

“You might want to lay back down,” a familiar voice told you. “Shoko healed you, but the pain might still be there.”

You did as the voice said, laying back at the elevated position you woke up in. You look over and blinked a few times, seeing your boyfriend sitting in a chair next to your bed. He was in his work uniform, including his blindfold. You winced as you felt a pain in your chest; Satoru was right, there still was residual pain.

“I exorcised a Special Grade,” you croaked.

“I know. I’m proud of you.” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it, giving you a soft smile, showing off his tiny dimples. His smile quickly turned to a frown as he lectured, “However, what you did was risky and crazy.”

“Aren’t you the one who says that jujutsu sorcerers have to be crazy to survive?” you argued.

“Yes, but there’s a difference between crazy and throwing your life away.”

“You saw that?” you asked, much more awake than you were a few seconds ago.

“I hurried as fast as I could with my own mission to come assist you if you needed. I got there right as you pulled that stunt of yours.”

You pulled your hand from his and placed your face in both of your hands, embarrassed that he saw you launch yourself from several meters high, use up all of your cursed energy, then make a hard landing onto the ground.

“How’s the other two?” you asked, refusing to move your face from your hands.

“Alive and doing well. You’re the most beat-up out of everyone.”

You removed your hands, clasping them together in your lap. “Thank goodness…”

“There wasn’t a Sukuna finger either,” Satoru reported to you. “The villagers’ fear of the shrine must have caused it to grow to a Special Grade. Now, come on. Shoko said you could come home once you woke up.” Satoru stood up, then scooped you up from the bed. You screamed in protest, now wide awake.

“Wha--Put me down!”

“No can do, honey. Doctor’s orders. Nothing strenuous for the next week.”

“Satoru, I don’t think walking counts as strenuous!”

He smiled his signature shit-eating grin, then gave you a kiss on your forehead. No fair, he knew forehead kisses were your weakness. You melted into his arms at how tender his kiss was, now docile and less likely to argue with him.

In a flash, he teleported the two of you to his apartment, setting you on the bed in front of him. After placing you on the bed, he yanked off his blindfold and began rummaging through his dresser, looking for a set of his clothes for you to wear. He tossed the shirt and pants toward you, not even bothering to turn around while you changed. You’d been together for so long (or at least, it felt like a long time) that there wasn’t anything particularly embarrassing about changing in front of each other.

You winced while lifting your hands up to take off your shirt, so Satoru was by your side in an instant, helping you take off your shift without much pain. He even helped you out of your bra and put on his shirt.

“You don’t need me to help you with the pants, do you?” he teased.

“I think I can handle it on my own,” you replied, standing up and shuffling out of your pants. Satoru’s pants were much too long for you, so you had to roll not only the waistband but also the cuffs so that they didn’t constantly drag on the ground. Not like you minded doing that; there was just something about his clothes that was infinitely more comforting than your own, and he knew that more than anyone else.

As you adjusted the pants, Satoru left the bedroom to head toward the kitchen, no doubt to start cooking some of your favorite foods. You laid down on your shared bed, happy to be home. It was a long day (Days? How long were you even unconscious?) and you were glad to have such a caring boyfriend, even if he was being a little annoying about this.

About an hour later, Satoru came into the bedroom with a tray of food. He wouldn’t let you even touch the chopsticks, insisting on feeding you food because he didn’t want you to “strain yourself.” You thought he was just being a little too overprotective, but you allowed him to feed you anyway. The look of satisfaction on his face was just too cute for you to deny him this tiny pleasure.

After dinner, you immediately wanted to go to bed. Satoru quickly ate his portion of dinner then changed out of his work clothes into something much more comfortable to sleep in. He joined you under the covers, using his cursed energy to turn off the lights. You felt his arms gently snake their way around your waist, pressing you into his front. You sighed in contentment; he was warm, but not too warm.

After a few seconds of silence, you piped up, “Satoru?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for taking care of me. I love you.”

He placed a gentle kiss on your neck, just behind your ear. “Anything for you, my love,” he breathed onto your neck. You could feel him smiling gently. “Maybe we should just get married.”

You grumbled something, not even quite sure what you said or even what he said completely. Before sleep overtook you, you mumbled out one last final “I love you,” incredibly happy to be in your boyfriend’s arms at the moment.

[write-orflight]

Galileo: Chapter 5

**Gif Not Mine**

Prev -  Next

Pairings: SpencerXReader, enemies to friends to lovers trope

Rating: M

Words: 2.5K

Warnings: Light smut, 18+

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Y/N is an astronomer with her head constantly in the stars. But when a serial killer is threatening NASA’s top scientists, she is left in the protective custody of a man who’s gravitational pull threatens to pull her back down to earth.

A.N Unedited because i’m sleepy. There’s a fic I read when I first joined the fandom that inspired some of this chapter. i can’t remember the name but if you do, please tell me so I can credit. Comment on this chapter only or message to be on taglist please.

                             Chapter 5: Saturn 

There was a rare occurrence that happens sometimes in Space where a Planet will tilt off its axis and disrupt the order of things in the galaxy forever. Even though it hasn’t happened yet, it doesn't make it not possible. You had always thought about that phenomenon and how you never quite understood how so many scientists just blindly believed in that possibility with no proof. It wasn’t until that dance with Spencer that you believed in it. If you were the galaxy, that dance was the tilt in your axis. 

Nothing could quite be the same again. 

It seemed that Spencer himself was the disruptor. 

Since that day, everything between the two of you was different. It was simpler. It was too easy to have conversations, to laugh at each other's jokes, to spit inane useless facts at each other. But it also became too easy to melt at Spencer’s bright smile, too easy to stare at his hands as he helped you with your math sometimes, too easy to flush whenever he paid you a compliment on your work. 

Too easy to fall in love with him. 

You didn’t want to think about that but you couldn’t help it. At first, you wanted to chalk it up to you not knowing how to differentiate your feelings. Maybe you just thought you were in love with him because he was the first guy to be nice to you since Jonathan but as the days went on you knew that to not be the case. None of this felt like how you were with Jonathan. With Spencer, it just felt easy. Just felt right. 

It was the weekend so you had off work. Before you would always end up going into work anyway and getting some extra logs in but now you liked staying in and hanging out with Spencer. Right now the two of you were walking in the plaza near your home, fresh cups of coffee in hand. Spencer, at first, did not want to be out but after some convincing (which was just you threatening to leave without him, which he did not like) he was all for joining you out. The two of you stopped in a bookstore and you made a beeline for the astrology section. You hear Spencer scoff when you pick up a book to look through it. You raise an eyebrow at him. 

“What?” You say. 

“Astrology, really? Aren’t you a scientist?” 

“Yea, an astronomer. I love Space, so while Astrology isn’t a proven science. It’s fun to think the stars have a say in what kinda person you are.” You shrug. “When’s your birthday?” 

“October 28th.” 

“Of course you’re a Scorpio.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything to me. Astrology isn’t real.” 

“You must be real fun at parties.” You roll your eyes. 

“Well, what’s your sign?” 

“I’m a Cancer. Did you know that water signs are the most compatible? Especially Scorpios and Cancers.” 

Spencer laughs out loud at that. You turn looking him in the eye. “What’s funny?” you say. 

“That itself doesn’t tell you that astrology is bullshit?” He laughs. You narrow your eyes at him. “I mean, us, compatible? It’s funny.” 

You try. You try so very hard not to look hurt by his words, you know Spencer’s a profiler and will see right through it. And he does by the sympathetic look he gives you. 

“You’re right, maybe it is bullshit.” You say, putting the book down instantly. “Let’s go home.” 

You and Spencer don’t talk the whole walk home, in fact you don’t talk when you get there. You’re about to just retreat to your room when you feel a hand circle your wrist. 

“I’m sorry.” He says. 

“You didn’t do anything.” 

“I hurt your feelings.” He says. 

“You didn’t hurt my feelings.” You lied. “I’m just with you all the time. Sometimes I just need a minute alone. Is that okay?” 

He lets go of your wrist. “Of course, I’m sorry.” 

You nod and retreat to your room, blowing a heavy breath as you fell into your bed. Might as well take a nap. You thought as you let sleep take you over. 

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

Long, slender fingers found their way into your hair and yanked roughly. You couldn’t help the soft whimper that came behind it. You felt the lips that were sucking hard bruising marks into your neck smirk slightly. His other hand trailed your body lightly until they met their final destination at your sex. You gasp loudly when the digit rubbed soft circles around your clit. 

“Are you going to be good for me?” He asked, you nodded dumbly before moaning out loud when the first digit found its way inside you. Spencer smirked at you. “Look at you. I’ve barely touched you and you’re this wet for me. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” He asked, you nodded and gasped again as he found that spot inside you. ��Hmm, I don’t think you want it enough baby.”   

You’re shaking your head immediately. “No. Ple-please fuck me.” You stutter. “I’ll be good, I swear.” 

The smirk he gives you is almost devilish. “Alright, baby. I’ll take care of you.” He says as you feel member pressing up against your sex--

You wake up to the smell of something burning and Spencer shouting expletives from what you assumed was the kitchen. You groaned, frustratedly. Since that day your mom came to visit, you dreamed of Spencer almost constantly. Today was no different. You couldn’t escape him in your waking hours and now it seemed you couldn’t even escape him sleeping. 

You hop out of bed and run to the kitchen. The sight before is Spencer frantically waving the billowing smoke that was coming from your oven. You run to open your window and turn the oven fan on. You both look at the pan that had something that couldn’t even be described as food anymore by the degree of which it was burned. Spencer looked at you guiltily. 

“You seemed upset so I thought I’d make you dinner but I was reading and I lost track of time. I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You smile at him. “Thank you for thinking of me but I wanted chinese tonight anyway, sound good?”  You say, he nods gratefully. 

Later the two of you are sitting at your kitchen table, eating chinese out of the takeaway containers. You were talking about nothing and everything until the topic came to College. You talked about how freshman year you did the whole partying thing before quickly finding out it wasn’t your scene and keeping to yourself for the rest of your college career. Spencer told you he never went to any parties in college. 

“You never went to any parties?!” You asked, shocked.

“Well, I was 12. No one was really scrambling to invite me to frat parties.” 

“So you didn’t do any traditional college games? No beer pong? No ‘Never Have I Ever’?” You ask, Spencer shakes his head. That’s when you get a fantastic idea. You get up and look in the cabinet above your stove which is where you kept your liquor and pulled out a bottle of Jameson. Spencer sees this and immediately shakes his head. 

“No.” 

“Aww, come on. Let’s play Never Have I Ever.” You smile. “If you’ve done the thing you drink.” 

“I don’t want to play a remedial drinking game.” 

You think for a second. “How about this? You’re a profiler, right? And I like to think I’m a little observant so how about this. We’ll take turns making assumptions about the other if the person is right, the other drinks and if they’re wrong, you drink.” 

“I don’t know… it probably isn’t wise for me to be drinking. I’m supposed to be watching you.” 

“It’s not like we go anywhere that’s not here anyway.” You say. “Plus, if you're good at your job, you’ll hardly have to drink.” You throw a pouty face on for good measure. Spencer rolls his eyes. 

“Fine.” He says standing up and snatching the bottle from you, walking to the living room. You giggle at him before grabbing two glasses to follow him out. “Just so you know, it’s wrong to peer pressure people.” He says. 

“Well, what’s a college drinking game without peer pressure.” You laugh. 

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

“Who’s starting?” You say as you watch Spencer pour your glass. The two of you are settled on opposite ends of your small couch, facing each other, your knees just almost touching. 

“You can.” Spencer says. “I want to see if you're actually observant.” 

“Okay.” You say, sitting up slightly at the challenge. “You’re an only child.” You say. Spencer raises his eyebrows at you, shocked you actually got something right, but drinks anyway. 

Spencer looks at you for a second. “You have an older sibling you are not close to.” 

You drank. “Yea I’ve got an adoptive older brother. There’s nothing wrong, it’s just he was already much older when I was born and we have nothing in common, other than our parents.” You look at Spencer for a second. “I wanna say divorced parents, but only raised by one.” 

“You’re a lot more observant than I thought.” Spencer says as he drinks. “Dad left when I was 10.” He says offhandedly. 

The game goes like this for a while, both of you confirming your beliefs of each other. You find out about Spencer’s mother's illness, Spencer learning you smoke when you’re stressed. Spencer was winning though, not that you had a problem with that as you wanted to drink, hence why you suggested the game. You were giving him a little bit of a run for his money. It was now your turn and the alcohol in your system must’ve turned off your filter because you say. 

“You’re a virgin.” 

You pause for a second waiting for him to drink when you realize he’s waiting on you to. You widen your eyes in shock but take your drink anyway. “I thought Maeve died before you got to meet her fully.” 

Spencer nods. “She did.” He says, “The two don’t correlate.” He says, like it's obvious. 

You hadn’t been expecting that. “You just didn’t strike as the hit it and quit it type.” 

“And I’m not, but sometimes things are just temporary.” He says looking at you, deeply in your eyes. “You were upset today, in the shop because I said we weren’t compatible.”  

You solemnly take a drink. “Why?” He asks. 

“Hey, that’s not a part of the game.” You say. 

“Please?” He adds. 

You sigh. “I don’t know… I guess, it seemed like the idea of being with me repulsed you. And that was upsetting.” 

Spencer looks at you with the most intense look in his eye. You had never seen that look before and you were glad you hadn’t because it was so heated that it was melting you where you sat. “The idea of being with you…” He says, eyes flickering down to your lips and back to your eyes. “Doesn’t repulse me. Trust me.” 

You knew you weren’t the best at social cues sometimes but that seemed like a pretty big one. You move closer to him, so that your faces were close but someone would still have to make that final move. You realize it’s your turn, so you think, Fuck it...  

“You want to kiss me right now.” You say, looking Spencer in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just takes a slow swig from his glass, eyes never leaving yours. He sits his glass down on the table next to him before saying. 

“You want me to kiss you.” 

You sip your drink, looking him right back in the eyes. You sit your glass down next to his and Spencer's hand catches your wrist on its way back. Before you can even get a good look at him, his lips are crashing on to yours. You groan in surprise before melting into it, your hands immediately going for his hair. His massive hands almost engulf your face as he tries to pull you impossibly close to him. He groans as he licks into your mouth, both of you tasting like the Jameson you had just drunk but there was also something under it that was just pure Spencer. You push him back until you are fully seated in his lap. His hands go immediately to your waist. Feeling risky, you experimentally grind your hips, causing Spencer to groan and grip you tighter. His hands slide up your shirt slightly, you moan at that. 

“Fuck-” Spencer says as you suck bruises down his neck. “Fuck, w-we’ve gotta stop.” 

You pull back. “Why?” you ask. 

Spencer swallows, pushing you off his lap. “There’s this thing called transference. You only want me right now because I’m protecting you. You don’t like me.” He says. “We don’t like each other.” 

You realized what Spencer was trying to say. You were both drunk and there, he didn’t really want you. It was being stuck together for so long that was making him attracted to you. You were foolish to think a guy would actually want you. 

“You don’t like me.” You say. “And I read this situation wrong again. God, I’m an idiot!”  

“I didn’t say that, Y/N-” 

“No, you’re right. You only kissed me because I’m what you’ve been stuck with for weeks. You don’t like me. I can’t blame you no guy ever does.” 

“No, Y/N, I just didn’t want to take advan--” 

“I need to smoke. I’m going out.” You say, grabbing. “Alone.” 

“Y/N, that’s not safe and you know it. Let me go with you.” 

“I think we both need to be away from each other. I’ll only be out front. Please.” You plead to him. 

  Spencer doesn’t say anything so you take that as your cue to go. You pull your pack and lighter out the kitchen draw and stomp out the door. As soon as you get in front of the building, you light the first cigarette as stray tears fall down your face. You were such an idiot to think someone like Spencer would want you. Sure you were both smart but you were arrogant and spiteful. Spencer was the sweetest person ever when you got to know him. It was stupid to think there was a world the two of you would work. 

You frustratedly put your cigarette out and stand to head back inside to probably embarrass yourself some more when you feel it. 

The hard slam to the back of your head knocking you out cold. 

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

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[ourloveisforthelovely]

HP A Working Progress (one shot)

Harry Potter Marauders Era 

Request Fic from @vacantpage0910

a regulus one shot where he’s paired with this other slytherin girl in class and she’s very friendly and inviting, but he keeps his cold demeanor the whole time. (Inside he’s melting as times goes on though) regardless of his hard exterior and his seemingly annoyed stature, once they’re done being partners he seeks her company out (totally by “accident” and not precise planning or memorizing her time table 😉) and the rest is up to you. I would like a fluff ending though. Maybe she could be a Potter too?

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader 

Rating: T 

_______

“This day!”

You snapped before throwing your bookbag on the table in front of you and plopping down across from your best friend. Winter looked up curiously from the books that she was hovering over.

“Rough day?”

Winter questioned as you looked up. You made a muffled “umhm” sound before looking up. Winter smiled, hoping to ease whatever tensions that you had.

“What’s wrong?”

You glanced over your shoulder in the direction that Regulus Black had stalked off in before turning back to your friends.

“McGonagall paired me up with Regulus Black for a project.”

Winter frowned.

“I thought that you fancied him.”

You laughed. There was no “thought” to it. You were simping for Regulus Black hard. That didn’t mean that he liked you, however.

“I do but he thinks that I am the most annoying creature known to wizardkind. Like he genuinely hates me.”

Winter gave you an amused smile. She had known about your cute little crush on Regulus Black since 2nd year.  

“He doesn’t hate you. Regulus just doesn’t know how to show any emotion other than loathing. If you had a mother like him, you would be a miserable git too. Lucky your mother is so charming.”

You had to agree with that one Euphemia Potter had to be the most wonderful mother ever! Granted, she was older than most of your friend’s mothers but that didn’t matter. You contributed that her age helped with her “mothering” style.  

Walburga Black was no source of secrecy for you. After Sirius moved in over the summer, you learned all about that “charming” woman. Regulus’ sullen and moody disposition suddenly made sense.

“He sure has a funny way of showing that he doesn’t hate me.”

You grumbled, taking a sip of the water that Winter pushed across the table. Winter smiled.

“Tell me what he said to you before you explode.”

You groaned.

“Well, there I was just minding my own business being my super friendly self when McGonagall paired me with him. He didn’t say one word when he sat down. He acted like I had some kind of cooties or something. His only words to me were you better not let me fail, I don’t like your chattering, and why do you talk so much? Tell me how that is nice? If that is nice then I must be like some kind of deity for not smiting him. Look, I get that I am a chatterbox but that’s my appeal...go ask my brother. When I stop talking that’s when he knows that there is a problem.”

Winter had to agree with James Potter on that one (what a rare occurrence). You were the girl that could sit and be nice to anyone about anything. When Winter first met you, she couldn’t help but wonder how in the hell you had been sorted into Slytherin. You seemed more like a Hufflepuff yet here you were dressed in green and silver. It didn’t take Winter long to be over the moon for you. When she had a nasty letter from home or something else was bothering her in the slightest, you were the person to go to.

“You are not a chatterbox.”

“Come on, Winter. This is me that we are talking about.”

Winter rolled her eyes.

“Shut up, smart mouth. I was simply saying that you are an enjoyable person to talk to. You have a very nice refreshing outlook compared to the rest of us in this house. Yes, you're sassy but that adds to your appeal. What did you say to him?”

You scowled over at Regulus who was talking to Evan Rosier about something. Neither boy looked in your direction for a moment. It was Evan that turned to you first. You quickly turned back to Winter. The last thing that you wanted was for Evan to think that you were looking at him. That boy’s head was big enough as it was. He didn't need any help from you.

“I just muttered rude under my breath. Now I am stuck with him for the next two weeks.”

Winter smiled.

“Just go snog him and get it over with. I see how he looks at you.”

You started dying laughing at that. Winter sat looking at you with a look of contempt as you continued to laugh so hard tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Are you done?”

You shook your head as Regulus walked over. Winter smirked as you continued to laugh hysterically.

“What did you do to her, Winter?”

Regulus questioned as your laughter suddenly stopped. Your face reminded Regulus of a little strawberry as you turned to look at him before turning back to your friend. He was feeling a bit guilty about being such a dick in transfiguration. It wasn’t like you were being rude or obnoxious. Regulus simply didn’t know how to deal with people asking him questions or his opinion on something. He was the one that most people ignored and forgot was there.

“If that is what you think, Winter then that makes me an astronaut.”

“I’m not joking. Hi, Regulus. Do you need something?”

Winter continued, for the moment ignoring Regulus who was clearly trying to put everything together.

“Yeah, Y/n, we need to start working on that project.”

You scooted over to give him enough room to sit down. Winter stood to pick her books up.

“I have to get to potions. See you later, Y/n.”

You nodded before turning to face Regulus. His dark eyes were focused on the table in front of him. This was going to be an awkward project if you were going to be the one doing all of the talking.

“What days do you want to work on this?”

You questioned as Regulus looked up finally. Why was being nice so freaking difficult? Regulus wasn’t for sure why he had to be so snotty toward you. Maybe it had to do with James being your brother? It wasn’t your fault that James Potter was your brother. Just like it wasn’t his fault that Sirius was his older brother.

“Most of my afternoons are free. I have quidditch in the evenings during the week. Would you meet me in the library?”

You nodded in agreement. The inner girl in you was thrilled with the prospect of spending your afternoons with the boy that you had a crush on. If you could get him to talk things would be even better.

“That sounds fine to me.”

Regulus took a breath before turning back to face you. You reminded him of James (just a James that he didn’t want to smack.)

“About earlier...I’m sorry….I was kind of a jerk. Apparently, I’m not much of a morning person.”

Regulus was relieved when you smiled.  

She’s smiling because of me. Merlin, I made a girl smile...I can do it!”

Regulus couldn’t help the thoughts going through his mind. Other than Ambrosia Parkinson, who only liked him for his family name, no other girl looked at him like that.

“You’re in luck to have me for a partner. I can make dandy coffee.”

Regulus smirked.

“Will it take the paint off of the walls?”

You liked “this” side of Regulus. This boy seemed happy.  

“If that is what you want.”

Over the following week and a half, the two of you spent every free moment together. Regulus wasn’t for sure when it happened but he realized that he was falling for you hopelessly.

I need to stop...I have to stop. It wouldn’t work. My parents would never agree to this...but I don’t care. Today is the last day of the project. I have to talk to her today. If I don’t do it then I will spend the rest of my life regretting being a chicken. What if she doesn’t like me? She’s sweet to everyone...what if she is just being nice to get through this project?

Regulus thought as you put the finish touches on the project. He watched as your nose scrunched up as you looked everything over once more.

“Regulus?”

You saying his name didn’t get Regulus’ attention right away. Turning away from the paper, you turned to look at the boy beside you. Regulus’ eyes were locked on the table in front of him. Over the past few weeks, you had gotten used to Regulus’ hard exterior but had found ways to break through it leaving you with the boy that you liked the most. It didn’t happen often but when you did it felt like a small victory.

Reaching out, you snapped your fingers in front of his face. Regulus blinked a few times before quickly grabbing your hand. Whether it be the shock of him moving so fast or the fact that he was holding your hand, you sat staring at him as Regulus smirked.

Neither of you was ready to admit that there was clear chemistry going on. If Regulus kissed you in this particular moment, you wouldn’t have fought back.

Come on, kiss me….be nice...do something...please

You screamed in your head as Regulus continued to hold your hand in his.

“You think that you are clever, don't you?”  

You grinned.

“I would like to think so. Considering that we are in 5th year and I never have had to hex anyone...I think that I am doing downright nifty.”

Regulus didn’t want to but he slowly let your hand go.

“I’ve actually had a nice time working with you on this.”

He commented. That was the first compliment that he had let slip the whole time. You couldn’t help but be flattered.

Regulus, meanwhile, watched as the strawberry hue returned to your cheeks. He was going to miss seeing you blush over something that he said or when you knew that his eyes were on you.

I’m going to miss this.

As the next week began and life returned to normal, Regulus found himself missing spending every afternoon with you in the library. He had returned to his normal “life” of tagging after Evan and not trying to murder Barty Crouch Jr but it wasn’t the same. It didn’t matter how many stupid “dad” jokes that Evan came up with, none of them were funny as the silly childish ones that you could come up with a moments notice.

“Why don’t you go talk to her already?”

Regulus looked up from the breakfast that he was pretending to eat. He had been pushing food items around for the past half an hour and finally caught Evan’s attention.

“Who?”

Regulus questioned as Evan rolled his eyes.

“Potter. You’ve been acting like a heartbroken 19040’s housewife since that project ended.”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“A 1940’s housewife?”

He questioned. Evan nodded. Over the past week, he had caught Regulus looking in your direction with a sad look on his face. It didn’t take Evan long to figure out just what was bothering his best friend.

“Yeah that or a stalker. You have been watching every move that girl makes and if it makes you feel better she is doing the same thing to you in return. She has had you wrapped around her finger from the day McGonagall set that essay. You may want to write her a thankyou note.”

Regulus’ frown deepened. Had he really missed you liking him in return? Was he that clueless that he missed everything?

“She probably thinks that I’m a jerk. I wasn’t all that friendly.”

Evan closed his book then focused his attention back to Regulus.

“What does she do at 12:30 every day?

“Goes to the lake.”

Regulus commented before his mouth dropped. How did he know this? Had he been watching you this closely?

“And you aren’t watching her.”

Evan muttered as Regulus stood up.

(meanwhile)

You sat by the lake focusing on a novel that Winter had given you to read. Typically, you weren’t one for romance novels but this one was too crappy. It seemed the closest that you were ever going to get to a romance was by reading these shitty books.

Someone sitting down across from you pulled you away from the story. Looking up, your mouth nearly dropped seeing Regulus sitting across from you.

“Hi, Regulus.”

You said with a smile. This had been the first time that the two of you had spoken since the essay ended.

“Hi, Y/n.”

You quickly reached down in your bookbag and pulled out the essay.

“Guess who got the highest scores in our class?”

Regulus smirked. He didn’t doubt that the two of you would have the best scores. It always seemed like it was the two of you trying to outdo each other when it came to grades.

“I’m guessing us.”

Regulus commented. You nodded as he looked at the book on your lap.

“Why do you read those things? My mother reads them.”

You blushed.

“Well, it's the closest to a relationship that I think that I will ever get. I know that real relationships are nothing like these books but...it's nice.”

Regulus was going on pure adrenaline at that particular moment. Where this sudden surge of bravery came from was yet to be determined.

“Stand up.”

You slowly did as you were told. Regulus stood up and took his place in front of you.

“Those books can be right...you just have to find the right person. Let me guess this is some story about a princess looking for a prince charming that doesn’t know what the hell that he’s doing?”

“Something like that.”

You muttered. Something was different in Regulus’ eyes as he looked into yours. The moment that his mouth was on yours, you didn’t know how to react. When he pulled away you stood looking at him with wide eyes.

“Whoa. Can you do that again?”

Regulus shook his head.

“In a minute, I need to tell you something first. First, I’m sorry if I was a jerk to you at all over the past few weeks. You’re a really nice girl and I have really grown to like you. I just don’t know how to do all of this love stuff…”

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you smiled.

“Kissing me again would be a great place to start.”

________

@amelie-black @truly-insatiable @realgaytrash @spiderxalmighty @acciosiriusblack @quuenofblacks @fandomsxxregulus @jessyballet @knreidy1 @whymyparentscheckmyphone @hazncalsgal @bennyberry @criminalyetminimal @lucasfilms77 @exhsle @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @fandom-trash-worth-it @hankypranky @summer-novak @shaylybaby2032 @emiwrites3reads @li0nh34rt @tas898 @marichromatic @maggioli-m @stuckinsaudi1 @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @knight-of-gleefulness @untoldshortsofthefandoms @sprnaturallover @deanwherescas @shitfaceddaniel @wontlookaway @mycuddlycorner @rubyroscoe1

[gffa]

YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO BEAR WITH ME ON THE LENGTH OF THIS BECAUSE I HAVE SOME FEELINGS AND ALSO   I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL, OKAY.  THE HILL OF HOW MUCH I LOVE OBI-WAN KENOBI AND YOU HAVE PROVIDED ME WITH A CHANCE TO YELL ABOUT THIS, sorry not sorry. Obi-Wan is definitely not an emotionless robot!  It takes me all of five minutes to put together a collection just from the movies of Obi-Wan expressing emotion all over the place, from worry to frustration to happiness to gut wrenching sorrow to anger to joy to pride. You can look at any one of these gifs and see exactly what Obi-Wan is feeling and showing:

Obi-Wan doesn’t have to vomit his feelings everywhere–and the idea that, if he doesn’t, he’s expressing himself “wrong” doesn’t sit very well with me, especially as someone who may be effusive and feelings-vomity on-line, but in my personal life, I’m a lot more reserved and I don’t express myself in the same way. And that’s fine.  I’m fine!  Other people like this are fine!  Obi-Wan is fine!  He has feelings, he expresses them in the way that works for himself and he’s generally pretty fine with others being who they are as well--the only time he gets after Anakin is when he’s literally a boiling rage pot that’s about to explode. Which leads to:  Of course Obi-Wan tries to help Anakin and says nice things to him! I was rereading Obi-Wan & Anakin and noticed a whole lot of praise in just those five issues!

Praise!  Easily given and warmly meant and it’s not exactly a rare occurrence! Also in Revenge of the Sith:

That wasn’t exactly dragged out of Obi-Wan in that scene, he said it very easily and very warmly and there’s every indication that this was not rare, especially given all the other examples in canon to go with it! As for helping Anakin--he does that, too. In Age of the Republic - Obi-Wan Kenobi, when Anakin gets upset about feeling like Obi-Wan doesn’t want him around, Obi-Wan makes a point to specifically talk to him, to tell Anakin about what he was going through and help Anakin understand.  He talks about himself and his own experiences as well!

They resolve their issues (especially away from Palpatine’s influence) and understand each other better, that Obi-Wan shows warmth and honesty and kindness to Anakin and gets the same back, they were good together. Same for in Age of the Republic - Anakin Skywalker, when Anakin is struggling with the war (as they all are), Obi-Wan approaches him and has an honest conversation with him and praises Anakin (as well as, at the end of the issue, he gives full credit to Anakin’s hard work is what gave those people a real chance). Again, it’s easy to see what emotions Obi-Wan is going through here, just as much as it’s easy to see that he’s proud of Anakin and the person he’s worked so hard to become:

Obi-Wan also does this in The Clone Wars, at multiple points, like when Anakin is about to boil over because of Rush Clovis and Padme, Obi-Wan goes to talk to him (Anakin is the one who pushes him away, though, clearly regrets how he lashes out, but doesn’t call Obi-Wan back), tries to help him:

And also Attack of the Clones! Obi-Wan is RIGHT THERE, asking after Anakin, asking him about how he looks tired and if he’s sleeping:

That is the face of someone who is concerned for Anakin, who is here and listening to what Anakin has to say.  His advice about dreams passing in time (because Anakin doesn’t say he had a vision, he doesn’t say his mother was in trouble in those dreams, only that he’s dreaming about her) is actually really good advice, based on what Obi-Wan knows of the situation. It’s Anakin who changes the subject rather than explain more, by saying he’d rather dream of Padme. This scene, btw, is framed with two other important scenes: - Anakin sweating and panicking while they’re on their way to see Padme, where Obi-Wan makes a ridiculous comment (that there’s no way he actually believed) that yanks Anakin right out of his anxiety spiral and helps him calm down - Anakin starts to spiral again when Padme says he’ll always be that little boy to her, that he’s upset she didn’t seem glad to see him at all, so Obi-Wan is like, “Be mindful of your feelings, Anakin.  But she was pleased to see us.” to cheer Anakin up. As for the Council scene--Obi-Wan is absolutely on Anakin’s side there.  Being on someone’s side isn’t just blindly agreeing with them, it’s looking out for them!  It’s telling them, no, don’t make a scene here, it’s not the right time, instead of just letting them make the situation worse. Anakin was being unwilling to see why the Council was reacting this way--no, he hadn’t earned being a Master (if he was that close to going off the deep end the way he we see he actually does over the course of the next few days, he was not ready to be a Jedi Master in anything but physical skills and that’s leaving out the emotional/mental having your shit together part, which is a really important part!) and so Obi-Wan was getting him to calm the fuck down and think about this whole thing.  Like, that’s the whole point of their conversation afterwards--Anakin swears he didn’t ask Palpatine for this, but Obi-Wan says, “But it's what you wanted. Your friendship with Chancellor Palpatine seems to have paid off.” and Obi-Wan’s right about the way this looks really shady and they have to move carefully here. One of the most frustrating things about Anakin--and I say this with affection and love, because I love him so much--is that he has difficulties not being resentful of anything taking priority over personal loyalty, even when Obi-Wan is being loyal to him by looking out for him in a bigger picture sort of way.  Blindly supporting someone is just enabling them, but finding the balance between when they need praise and when they need to be told to get their shit together, that’s a real friendship. Especially when Obi-Wan so very clearly loves Anakin, like, just look at that guy!  It’s written all over his face!  The entire climax of ROTS wouldn’t have had any emotional impact if we didn’t already understand that of course Obi-Wan loved him and that we could see it in the way he interacted with Anakin.

[minimitchell]

benmitchellweek day 5 - “is that supposed to be a challenge?”  (ao3 link)

.

Ben doesn’t actually need to do any washing at the laundromat. They have a perfectly good washing machine at the house. It’s just that the one time Karen asked him to drop by the laundrette because she had something for Lexi, there was this guy sitting in one of the chairs by the machines, completely engrossed in a book.

And because Ben is a complete idiot, he purposefully went by the laundrette as often as he could to find out if that guy using it was a one off or if he goes there regularly, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to ask Karen about him.

He feels a bit like some creepy stalker but it only takes him a couple of weeks to figure out that the guy does his washing there every two weeks on a Friday afternoon, always round about the same time. 

He doesn’t know what it is about the guy, they haven’t even spoken or anything, but there is just something to him that captures Ben's attention in a way no one has done for a very long time. He thinks it’s maybe the nicely-kept stubble that decorates his cheeks or the soft looking brown hair. Or maybe it’s the absolutely captivating blue of his eyes that he got to see when their eyes met that one time he was passing by.

Whatever it is, it’s enough to make Ben regress into a teenager with a crush again, trying to get the cute guy to notice him. He must be new around here, since Albert Square is a place where everyone knows everyone and he definitely doesn’t know who this guy is. He’d like to, but he doesn’t. He hasn’t seen him around the market, or in the chippy, or even in the Vic and it only adds to this weird fascination Ben has developed.

A fascination he’s tried hard to keep hidden, especially from the mother of his child, but apparently he hasn’t been as successful as he thought he’d been.

“Ben, you can’t go there every week until he notices you. It’s dead creepy.”

“Is that supposed to be a challenge?”

Lola’s rolling her eyes at him over her cup of coffee, checking to see if their daughter is still playing idly on the swings. They’ve used the rare occurrence where they both have the afternoon off to take her to the park and it made Ben realize that he has missed spending time with both of them like this. Yeah, they live together but they rarely spend time together as just the three of them. Normally, they’re always doing something with his mum, or his dad, or Jay. And while he loves the rest of his family, it’s still nice to spend time with his mate and their daughter.

Even if all she does is tease him about his crush on laundromat guy.

“So ask him out next time.”

Ben shakes his head while taking a sip from his own coffee, giving his daughter a cheer when she screams over at them to look how high she’s getting.

“I can’t. I’ve never said a word to him before.”

“So you just sit in the same room as him and stare at him until your washing is done? That’s somehow even worse, Ben. Besides, that fact has never stopped you before, has it?”

This is different though. He doesn’t want to pick the guy up and take him home with him. He wants to get to know him, maybe go to dinner with him and listen to him talk about the book he’s currently reading. It’s a new thing for him; to be so invested in someone he doesn’t know that the physical aspect of it all doesn’t even come into play until later. It’s unnerving to say the least, because it means that he’s completely out of his element with this.

Not that he’s going to give any of that information to Lola right now. She’ll only tease him more, call him ‘in love’ probably.

He’s about to give a retort when he catches a glimpse of tall brown hair and that lean body across the square. The guy’s stepping out of his brother’s old restaurant they’ve been trying to sell for a while now, some papers in one hand while shaking his mum’s with the other.

“Shit, Lo, that’s him.”

Lola follows his gaze to laundromat guy and they’re both watching him say goodbye to Ben’s mother with a bright smile on his face, before he disappears down the street.

“Oh, he’s fit. If he ain’t gay send him my way, please.”

“For your fiancé and my brothers sake, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

They exchange a small laugh with each other, knowing it’s all in jest.

“You should ask your mom what they were doing though. Saves you from stalking that poor bloke any longer.”

-----

Turns out, laundromat guy’s name is Callum and he’s the one who bought his brother’s old space. Apparently, he’s new here and plans to open his own restaurant. He’s only a few years older than Ben and is a very nice, young man - according to his mother anyway. She also informs him that she’s invited Callum to this week’s Friday dinner. A fact, that Ben only freaks out about a little. Honestly.

The day the dinner finally rolls around he’s more than a little nervous. No one but Lola knows about his little infatuation with Callum and he desperately hopes that no one will embarrass him tonight. If everything goes well, he’s going to ask Callum out on a date later and hopefully, they’ll end up dating and Callum can cook delicious food for him for the rest of their lives. At least, that’s what Ben envisions.

Him and Lola are already settled around the laid table, while Lexi is still upstairs washing her hands and his mom is putting the finishing touches on their dinner, when the doorbell rings.

“Oh, I’ll get it. That must be Callum.”

His mom is practically running from the kitchen at the sound, almost looking like she’s the one hoping to score a date with Callum. Ben looks over at the doorway when the sound of two voices mingling gets louder, trying to ignore Lola’s teasing smile next to him, failing to not get lost in the smooth tones of Callum’s voice.

Ben feels his mouth go a little dry when they finally step into the living room, because Callum looks gorgeous. He’s wearing a crisp, white dress shirt and tight, black jeans and his hair is as nicely gelled as it normally is when they’re seeing each other at the laundrette. He’s still holding a bottle of wine in his hands and Ben is overcome with the urge to feel one of his large hands in his.

His eyes shine with recognition when he meets Ben’s gaze and he sends him a small smile; one, Ben can’t help but return.

“Callum, this is Ben and Lola. Lola’s fiancé Jay is joining us later, he’s still at work.”

“And our daughter Lexi is still upstairs but she’s going to, no doubt, bombard you with questions about your restaurant soon.”

Callum lets out a small laugh at that, although he momentarily had a weird look on his face when Ben mentioned their daughter. He really hopes that it isn’t down to Callum not liking kids; it’d definitely be a dealbreaker for Ben.

The dinner goes extremely well, despite the awkwardness from earlier. Callum is great with Lexi; answering every single one of her questions with ease and patience and Lola had to nudge him quite a bit to not overdo the heart eyes when looking at Callum interacting with his daughter. He’s charming and funny and honestly has a great vision for his future restaurant.

Ben is nothing short of enamored with him.

Somehow, they find themselves in the kitchen together. Ben did some washing up so that his mum could sit back and relax a little and Callum joined him when he came in to get another beer. It’s almost sickenly domestic and once they were done with it, they stayed in here to continue chatting in peace, away from the loud chatter that’s filling up the living room, especially with Jay having joined them now.

It’s nice; they’ve figured out that they have quite a lot in common and Ben is almost certain that Callum is flirting with him from time to time. One thing in particular they’ve learned is that they’re both gay.

“Oh, I assumed because of Lexi that you’re straight. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a long story, but I’m definitely into guys.”

“Good to know.”

They’re just swaying back and forth in his kitchen, matching dopey smiles on their faces, and Ben is pretty sure that Callum’s going to say yes to that date after all. It makes him giddy with excitement; warmth and hope blooming in his chest at the prospect of it. He’s about to ask Callum, when the door opens and Jay walks in, straight to the fridge and completely unaware of the obvious, romantic tension filling the kitchen. Callum doesn’t seem that bothered though, not really paying Jay any more attention right now.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to come say hi when I saw you at the laundrette. I don’t know why I didn’t, but maybe next time we could go grab a coffee while we’re waiting?”

Ben is ready to say yes to Callum’s suggestion when Jay turns around and gives them a confused look, interrupting their moment.

“What are you going to the laundrette for? You have a perfectly fine washing machine right here.”

Jay doesn’t stick around for the fallout; only shaking his head and exiting the kitchen again, leaving Ben behind to drown in embarrassment. When he opens his eyes again - and when had he closed them anyway - Callum is looking at him with barely concealed amusement and Ben would really like the ground to swallow him up right now, please and thank you.

“Okay so I might’ve gone there a few times just to see you. I’d love to go for that coffee though, if you still want to.”

When Callum steps forward into his space, he settles both of his hands on Ben’s neck, using them to pull him the rest of the way into his own body. Ben thinks it’s heavenly how great they fit together until Callum seals their lips together in a soft kiss and then he knows what’s really heaven - the feeling of Callum’s lips on his own and his skin under Ben’s fingertips. 

It’s only a short kiss but it leaves Ben with an explosion of butterflies in his stomach, spreading all the way throughout his body.

“I still want to.”

Ben can’t wait for it. He’ll ask about Callum cooking him dinner later.

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 21

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking.  This chapter does contain some non-con elements.

Beta:  @ilikaicalie​

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

He’s clearly lost his mind, they all have.

You stare at this man who insists he’s your husband, two women, one on either side of him. He must be insane but no one is reacting to these wild tales. You examine him cautiously, trying to determine if this is indeed reality.

They’ve explained this again and again over the last few weeks, carefully laid out the details of who and what you are.

“To be completely honest,” you begin, looking at Sam. “I’m not sure what part is more difficult to accept. That I am a queen or that I’m a shape-shifting wolf. You will have to forgive my disbelief.”

“I understand.” Sam nods agreeably. He’s always quick to assure you, he wants you to feel comfortable.  

He cares about you a great deal, that much is clear. The way he looks at you alone is enough to know there’s a long history, many twists and turns in your relationship that you wish you could remember. There are moments like this that you can practically feel his love for you, it’s radiating off him. He’d move heaven and earth to heal your fractured mind.

This man is a king, he should spend his time attending to the many needs of his people, but instead, he remains by your bedside for hours each morning and night.

There a rush, a heat that spreads quickly from your head to your toes making your body tingle and you fall back onto the pillow as it overtakes you. This happens several times an hour, increasing in both frequency and intensity. Ellen has explained that it’s a natural part of the transition and that it’s only going to become more intense as time goes by.

“Are you alright?” Sam’s immediate concern only serves to stoke the guilt you feel every time your thoughts wander to his brother. Dean. You wish Dean would come back to visit you. You want to smell him, look at him….get up close and….no. You don’t let yourself think about that.

This man gripping your hand for dear life is your husband and an impressive specimen of a man at that. What sort of woman are you that you’re unsatisfied with a life most people could scarcely dream of.

“I’m fine. It comes and goes.” You force a weak smile as sweat beads at your hairline. Ellen dips a cloth into the water basin, rings it out and begins to carefully pat along your forehead, then your down your neck and chest.  “When can I meet my daughter?”

Your husband’s jaw tightens, his eyes ticking to the side. Martha, the midwife looks displeased, adjusting her stance. You know you shouldn’t continue to push the issue, but you simply can’t contain yourself. It’s a desire that increases with each passing day.

“We’ve talked and we’ve decided you should wait,” Sam explains softly.

“Why?” You look at each of them, unable to hide the sting of betrayal. They have these little meetings where they decide what’s best for you without asking for any of your input. “I want to see my child.”

“And you will,” Sam reaches out, taking your hand again. There’s a low tingle the moment his skin touches yours. A whiz that feels almost like a spark from a dying fire burning your skin. “We think you should wait until you display more control-”

“I have control now!” you hiss, feeling the anger bubbling to the surface. This is exactly what he’s referring to. It’s getting worse. The rage comes on quickly, a deluge of emotion you can’t stop from overtaking you.

“No,” Martha shakes her head, “you don’t have control. But you will, you just need time.”

“Please,” you change your approach, begging Sam. He wants to give you everything and anything you want and you’re not ashamed to use it against him. His face softens, brows coming together.

“We don’t know what kind of reaction the child will elicit,” Ellen speaks up, her tone makes it clear. This is not up for debate. “She could soothe you, or she could trigger a more violent response.”

“I would never hurt my baby.” You want to strangle her.

“I know, but you are not always yourself. Not right now.” Sam tries to explain. He’s gutted as you yank your arm away from him.  

“I still have milk,” you grab at your own breasts. “That must mean something! She needs me! We need each other. She’s four months old and doesn’t even have a name. Let me be a mother to her.”

“I’m sorry.” Martha nods with a finality that sets you off.

“I want to see my child! Damn you!” The rage erupts as you lunge forward, arms outstretched to grab at her. You want to tear her limb from limb. Eviscerate her on the floor next to your bed. Sam catches you, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders, effectively pinning you in place as Martha retreats out of the room. “Let me go!” You scream at the top of your lungs, struggling against him. “I hate you for this. I hate you! Let me go!”

You snarl and growl and wrestle against your husband, trying to kick and bite and scratch your way from his hold but he’s stronger than you are, at least right now. Ellen disappears once she’s sure Sam has you under control. Then it’s just the two of you as you fight in vain.

When he’s not here you’re tied to the bed. These outbursts are becoming a more regular occurrence and he’s not around to restrain you most of the time. Sam visits as often as he can, allowing you time to be free from your bonds.  

By the time your rage passes you’re laying under the weight of him, breathing heavy as tears sting the corners of your eyes. You shake with anger, sweating and vibrating as your body purges the surge of fury and you finally give up and fall limp against the bedding.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” you whimper with eyes closed tight in a weak attempt to keep the humiliation from swallowing you whole. You’re a queen but you behave like a spoiled child. There’s less and less self-control as the days go by. Sam was right, you are slowly becoming a monster.

“No,” he confirms, lifting his weight off you, but careful to hold you in place, belly down on the mattress. “Are you in control?”

“I’m sorry,” you cry, burying your head. “I can't think when I’m like that. Ellen was right. There is no controlling it.”

“I know,” he whispers, nuzzling his mouth at the shell of your ear. “It’s alright. Don’t cry, my love. This is torture, but it will pass.”

His nose brushes up and down the edge of your ear, hot breath lingering longer than it should. He wants you, you can feel the lust coming off him. The more outraged you become the more the scent of desire wafts out of his very bones.

“I hope you’re right.” You roll onto your back and Sam helps you, hovering above you with a hand on your belly. His pupils are blown wide, betraying his hunger for you. “I’m so sorry I don’t remember you. You’ve been more patient than any man should be.”

“It’s nothing. I would do anything for you,” he picks at the wet hair plastered along the side of your face. “But this will get worse before it gets better. I want you to be ready, prepared for the days ahead.”

He could fuck you if he wanted, take you by force. He’s your husband and king, not to mention a wolf. He could take anything he wants from you here and now. And yet he doesn’t. You’re always surprised by that. While you don’t have specific memories of other powerful men, you do know that men of his stature rarely suppress their own appetites. He is a good man.

“Will you be with me?” you ask.

“As much as I’m able.” He nods as the hand on your stomach fists into the material of your dress. “The rage will consume you, it’s a bloodlust that will take over and for a time you’ll become feral. There’s no way around it. But you’re strong, I know you well. You’ll come out on the other side.”

“You have more faith in me than I have in myself.”

“I’ll have faith for both of us then.” He smiles softly, looking thoughtfully over your face, it seems as if he wants to say something but he remains silent.

“You say I'll become feral.” Your cheeks blush hot fire. “How is it possible you’ll want to see me like that? Like a wild animal.”

“You forget I am a wild animal as well.” He searches your face, his eyes glancing at your heaving bosom for a split second but you catch him. The truth is that being close to him like this makes your heart speed up too. It leaves a neediness between your legs that aches long after he’s gone.

“I feel a strange sensitivity when you touch me,” you confess, watching his eyes go dark.

“You are an Omega and you’re meant to be mine.” His voice is low, eye roaming over your face. “My touch will elicit certain...sensations.”

“Because you’re an Alpha,” you finish and he nods in confirmation.

For a moment you lose yourself in the fantasy of what Dean’s touch would feel like. The weight of him between your legs, the scent of his skin and the feeling of his teeth sinking into your neck.

“Where did you go just now?” Sam asks. He’s looking at you like he knows, knows all about your adulterous fantasies. “What were you thinking of?”

“You.” You lie, breathing in his scent and allowing yourself to focus solely on your husband. The more you breathe in his scent, the easier that becomes. You wonder if you’ve always been this much of a wanton woman before, or if it’s the bite that brought it out of you. “May I make a confession?” you whisper.

“Of course,” he murmurs, settling in as his hip presses against your thigh.

“Would you think me a whore if I told you I dream about you touching me?” It’s partially true, you do think of him, but you leave out the part about his brother. “I imagine what it would feel like.”

“Of course not,” he licks his lips, eyes fixed and focused on yours with a burning intensity. “You are my wife. I could never think of you that way.”

“Yes, but to me you’re a stranger and yet I find myself wondering about the feel of your hands on my skin.” He ruts his hips forward, unable to control himself. “What sort of proper woman would entertain such thoughts?”

“It’s perfectly natural.” His eyes drop to watch your mouth. “You’ll go through a heat soon and my rut will come not long after.”

“Ellen explained both to me.” You bite your lip, thinking back to the conversation. “You’ll knot me?”

He swallows hand, grunting in response. “Yes.”

“And you’ll claim me?”

“Yes,” he answers. His large hand spreads out wide over your stomach, sliding upward until his fingers are fanned out under your breasts, pressing lightly over your ribcage.

“And we did all this before?” You blink as a drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face. “When I was human?”

“Yes,” he nods slowly. “You were so beautiful that first time. You’re always magnificent, but it was a moment I’ll never forget.”

“Would you like to touch me now?” You’re nothing more than instincts at this point.

“Do you want me to?” He’s shaking with restraint, his hand trembling against your ribs.

“Very much,” you stare into his eyes and spread your thighs as wide as possible, the overwhelming lust overtaking any sense of propriety. “If you want me, you can have me.”

Sam stares at you as his hand disappears under the hem of your nightdress. He doesn’t respond, instead strokes the rough pads of his fingers up your inner thigh, wandering closer and closer to your sex.

The tips of his fingers ghost over your cunt, hardly a touch but it’s enough to bring your hips off the bed in search of more. He was right. Your body is responding to his, excitement sputtering to life inside you in the form of sexual desperation.

“Please,” you whisper, feeling sweat sliding down your temple.

“Shhh,” he hushes, his mouth nipping at your jaw as his thumb finds your clit. He rubs up and down over your bud, at the same time sinking two fingers into your pussy, sinking into wet and slick up to his knuckles. The fingers inside you feel good, but it’s the attention to your swollen nub that controls every inch of your body. He works you with an expert touch, he must know your body well because each pass of his finger manages to combine perfect timing and pressure as your orgasm builds.

The world fades away. There’s no anger or sadness, only the two of you in this moment.

“Sam,” you pant, eyes locked on each other.

“Alpha,” he corrects you. “Call me Alpha, Omega.”

“Alpha,” you breathe, the title ending in a moan as his fingers twist deeper, thumb moving faster, sliding easily again and again.

A few more strokes and you cum around his knuckles, shoving your cunt toward his hand to try and take him deeper. Pleasure spills out in every direction, back arching, toes curling as the wash of satisfaction consumes you.

And yet you want more, it doesn’t feel like enough. Blinking up at him you reach for his trousers, but he pulls your hand away. Wet fingers curling around your wrist to keep you from getting to his massive erection straining through his pants

“You don’t want me?” you hiss.

“I do,” he nods. “But it’s not time. You need to complete the change first.”

“Why?” you protest, struggling against him once again.

“Because we’re going to do this the right way.” He kisses your forehead, a simple distraction as you feel him wrap the restraint around your wrist.

“Please, don’t tie me up,” you plead, yanking at the rope. “I’ll be good, I promise!”

“Don’t struggle.” He’s always crestfallen when he has to leave. He hates this part as much as you do. “You’ll hurt yourself. Just try to be patient. I’ll come back in the morning.”

“You always leave me.” You go limp, looking away from him, knowing full well it breaks his heart to do this. He’d stay with you day and night if other responsibilities didn’t call him from your bedside.

“I am sorry.” He brushes a finger at your hairline and then he’s gone.

-

“Hello?”

A timid voice wakes you from your dreams. You blink awake, the early morning sunlight streaming through the window.

“Y/N?” The voice calls again.

There’s someone at the chamber door.

“Yes,” you call out. “I'm here.”

You can hear her heartbeat before you see her. The thump, thump, thump echoing in your ears.

A woman slips inside, looking around. Her eyes bulge at the sight of you, apparently horrified at your appearance.

“My God,” she clutches her hands over her chest. “They have you tied up.”

While you have no memory of her, she does feel familiar and apparently doesn’t understand why you’ve been tied up. You’re not stupid, you’re aware that they have you tucked away like a dirty secret in the far tower of the castle.

Your senses are stronger this morning. You can practically feel the warmth coming off her skin and smell the milk and eggs on her breath from her breakfast.

And her heart, that wonderful, arousing sound beating faster and faster.

This could be your chance.

“Will you help me?” You look from her to the rope secured to the heavy bed frame. “I’m a prisoner.”

“I knew something was amiss, my lady. Forgive me for not finding you sooner.” She rushes to the bed, working at the ropes. “Once I discovered where you were kept, I had to sneak past the guards.”

“You’re here now,” you mutter, staring at her neck. You swear you can see the blood rushing under the surface of her skin. And that thump, thump, thump is loud enough that you’re surprised she can’t hear it too. “Please hurry!”

“I’m trying!” She finally manages to untie one arm and moves on to the next. “I was so worried about you, my lady.”

“You know me well?”

She stops what she’s doing to stare at you.

“I’m sorry,” you try to look apologetic while fixating at the pulse point at her neck. “I seem to have some holes in my memory.”

She looks as if she’s about to cry and takes your hand between hers. “I’m Golda. I came with you to Lebanon when you married the king. We’ve known each other our whole lives.”

“God bless you,” you grip her wrist, pulling her even closer. “My husband is keeping me here. He refuses to let me see my child.”

“I’d heard the rumors, but I never imagined this.” Golda throws herself at you, hugging you tight. The flowery smell of her skin wafts upward, filling your senses and you yank your other arm free from the rope, holding her close in return. “I thought perhaps he had killed you.”

“I’m alive,” you murmur into her hair, rubbing your nose over her neck. You arms squeeze around her, tighter and tighter.

“Please stop,” she squeaks and you realize how hard you're embracing her. She pulls back, gulping at the sight of your face. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“Nothing,” you feel the sudden urge to sink your teeth into her shoulder.

“Please let me go,” she tries to pull away but you have a grip on your arm. “You’re hurting me.

-

“She calmed down after I left?” Ellen walks beside Sam as they make their way toward your room.

“For the most part,” he looks forward, afraid that if she sees his face she’ll know about his little tryst with his hand up your skirt. He couldn’t help himself. He desired you before the change but now that you’re an Omega his self-restraint is failing. “She begs me not to tie her up. I can hardly stand it.”

“It’s for her own good,” Ellen assures him. “You remember what Dean was like when he got free? A holy terror. We can’t have her running the countryside, killing farmers and gutting townspeople.”

“I know.” Sam bristles at the thought of you nothing more than a savage animal. “When she pleads to see the child I-”

He stops, Ellen slows beside him, both of them looking at the open door to your bedchambers.

“Did the midwife check on her this morning?” he asks, afraid of the answer.

“No, I spoke with Martha this morning. She’s planning to come this afternoon.”

They both hesitate, Sam takes a breath before pulling the door open.

“Oh my God!” he yelps.

You’re in the middle of the bed on your hands and knees, bent over a dead Golda who’s chest has been cracked open. You look up, eyes burning orange. Your mouth and body are covered in her blood and what’s left of her raw heart is in your hands as you take another bite, staring at Sam in pure mania. You flash a smile, looking proudly from the body to him, and pulling the heart into your chest as if he might try to take it from you.

“What have you done…” he whispers, eyes fluttering closed.

“Alpha,” you grin, kneeing you way around Golda’s body and toward him. You tip your head from side to side, appraising him before extending your arm and offering him Golda’s half-eaten heart.

[shaymelons]

here’s a kigo moodboard that goes with this lil read

Life was perfect for a girl like Kim Possible.

It was the summer before senior year and she was fully in the mode. She was named co-captain of the cheer squad along with Bonnie which meant that besides her family, most of her time was either spent with her girls or with her boys.

She saw Ron and Wade (whenever he decided to come out of his station) almost every other day. They’ve been able to grab a bite to eat, undisturbed, since for some reason crime wasn’t as demanding as usual.

The three took note of it but decided to take full advantage of enjoying their time together while they could. It was a once-in-a-while scene for them to just exist as normal teenagers.

Kim was thankful she got that chance. Things were going to change once she got back home. 

It was late. But coming home around midnight wasn’t a rare occurrence for an eighteen-year-old enjoying the summer nights with her friends. She was grateful her parents understood.

Once she stepped onto her front porch though, she suddenly became very aware of her surroundings. Something shifted in the air and Kim noticed it quickly. She realized that she wasn’t alone.

When she turned around the last thing she expected was to see Shego on the cobblestone path that led towards the front of the house. Kim was every bit ready to fly at her but she remained in place. Something was wrong.

Shego wasn’t even in her usual black and green slim suit. She was in civilian clothing, dirty and torn. Her hair and face didn’t look any better. Kim could almost count all of the cuts and bruises she saw from where she was standing.

She swallowed hard.

“... Shego?”

The girl on the pathway exhaled shakily.

“Kimmie…”

Shego attempted at a staggered step forward before falling over and lying very still on the ground. Instinctively Kim ran to her, calling out her name but she was unresponsive. Carefully, she pulled her up and carried her inside.

*** 

“What the fuck, Kim?”

Ron has been repeating the same sentence over and over again in different volumes. He nearly yelled it, he muttered it under his breath, asked it like a question, and said it like a statement. 

There she was in all her glory: the almighty evil Shego unconscious in Kim’s white fluffy bedsheets. Mrs. Possible helped clean and dress Shego’s wounds since Kim was still a little apprehensive and shaken up.

It was the middle of the day and Shego was still asleep since collapsing outside the house last night. Kim called Ron first thing in the morning and he had to come see it for his own eyes.

His face was buried in his hands. He mumbled his repeating sentence again and turned to Kim in disbelief.

“So she didn’t say anything to you?” he asked.

She glanced at him. “I told you, I think she was trying to but she passed out before she could. She was barely able to get my name out before falling over,” she answered.

“Okay well how about we call the police or something?” Ron suggested.

Kim shook her head. “I talked to my parents about it and we all agreed. This is bigger than the police.”

Ron glared at her, unblinking. “What is?”

She let out a breath. “Come on, I know you feel it too. Something isn’t right about this. Think about it, what happened to her suit? Who hurt her and why and how come she came here instead of… I don’t know.” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “We need to ask Shego a lot of questions when she wakes up, obviously. But... something’s going on and we have to get to the bottom of it.”

Her best friend huffed. “No we don’t! Besides, what if this is a trap? What if she wakes up right now and kills us both!?”

“I’m not going to kill you, Stoppable.”

Ron and Kim froze and surrendered their attention to Shego as she slowly sat up in bed, trying not to groan as she did so.

Kim shot a look at Ron, silently telling him to remain calm. His frigid stance alone was a dead giveaway of his growing panic.

Kim turned to Shego. “What the hell were you doing here last night?” she asked. “Yeah,” Ron added, “what do you want from us?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” she grunted, “I was just trying to warn you.” She pulled off Kim’s bedsheets and swung her legs over the bed. “I don’t know what Drakken is planning, but he’s got everyone involved. I guess that was the wrong time to tell him I was calling it quits.”

“Q-quits?” Ron repeated. He laughed nervously. “You’re telling me you want to go straight?”

“Say what you want, Stoppable,” Shego replied, “I’ve done it all. I tried the hero gig. And when I was sick of it, I switched sides. Now I don’t want either of them.”

“A normal life,” Kim said, “Is that what you want?” 

Shego regarded her with an intense look that appeared whenever they stood against each other. Ron recognized it all too well. A million options ran through his head, ready to move if the girls decided to throw down right here and now.

“I just want to be left alone. I want to be done with it—with everything. Forget this life and live a new one,” Shego responded. 

Kim looked over the bruises on her face. It was a miracle Shego didn’t have a black eye, but still she winced every time she moved. Kim helped her mother wrap Shego’s hands and fingers in band-aids and bandages. Her knuckles were near purple. 

“I take it Drakken didn’t like that idea,” Kim said. “Is that how you got hurt? Did he do this to you?”

Shego scoffed and avoided Kim’s eyes. “That doesn’t matter.”

For a moment there was nothing but silence and a thick tension in the room that you had to chop with an axe if you wanted to cut it. Slowly Kim took in a breath, then let it out. 

“Fine. We’ll believe you for now. But if I find out this is all a ruse, I--”

“Believe all you want about this being a fucking trap!” Shego cut in, her eyes lethal. “I don’t care… I shouldn’t have come here anyways. I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.”

“Why… did you come here?” Ron asked.

He expected Shego to look aside and ignore him. Maybe even shoot him with a glowing, green blow from a quick swipe from her hand. He thought she would growl her response at him and threaten him afterwards. But she faced him directly, and said her answer.

“... I had nowhere else to go.”

Ron and Kim exchanged glances. Without a word they came to a mutual decision, though still mindful of who it was they were dealing with.

“Then you’re staying here until you get better,” Kim said sternly. Ron agreed and lifted a scolding finger. “And don’t even try to argue against it because you’re in no shape to be putting up any sort of fight.”

Both of them were curious to see how Shego would respond. 

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she gave them a slight nod, pulled her legs back into Kim’s sheets, and pulled the covers over her as she laid back down in the bed.

~ update

you can find the rest here:

Down Time (Kigo)

[miss-choco-chips]

Home

Four times Tim just wanted to go home, and one time he’s actually there.

(  @animemangasoul I think you’ll like this one)

(I was listening to Home by Machine Gun Kelly X Ambassadors & Bebe Rexha while I wrote this. Might have cried a little. I regret nothing)

----.----

His mom is holding his hand, a rare occurrence. Were he in a more… stable state, he’d squeeze the moment for all it’s worth.

But the coldness of fear had his heart in a ice-like grip, and the scenery around them did little to appease him. Nothing, not even the warmth of being held, could keep him from shaking.

-I want to go home -he whispers in his mother’s ear when she picks him up in her arms. Safe against her body, he thinks he can feel his heart melting a bit around the edges where panic had frozen him over.

Mom tightened her hold, eyes leaving the crying kid and his dead parents for the first time in a long time. He feels how one of her hands drops its place under his leg to pat his back, more comforting than he ever thought she capable of.

-Yes, we are leaving now. Jack? Bring the car over, we’ll wait here.

She doesn’t lower him until they are back at the manor. Then, his parents retire to their rooms, both to rest and prepare for their trip to the Bahamas the following morning. 

Tim shivers all night long, yearning for the warmth he was too distracted to appreciate a few hours ago, back at the circus.

This wasn't what he meant, when he asked to go home. He just wanted to feel safe.

----.----

This… wasn’t what he expected. To being caught, that is. Specially by his hero.

Jason (Robin, call him Robin, don’t you dare slip up, he can’t know you know!) is looking down at him, hands on his hips. He’s doing his best to look stern, but the short shorts, pixie boots and unconscious thug at his back ruin the effect of his glare.

Tim, camera held tightly as it’s been for the last couple of minute since the man came out of the shadows to try and steal it from him, distractedly thinks Batman should get on that, teach Robin his famous loom. He’s feeling starstruck, more than fearful.

-It’s too late for a squirt like you to be out. Streets are dangerous, no’ne told you? Specially ‘is parts o’the city -the young vigilante drawled, accent thicker than Tim recalled from back at the gala when their parents introduced them in passing. Not that Jason would remember.

-I… I’m not a squirt, I’m ten -he finally blurts out, wishing he could smack himself the second the words leave his mouth.

-Children should be on bed at this time.

He does his best to calm his erratic heart, and canalizes all the sass on his pint sized body to arch an eyebrow- Hypocrite much?

Robin growls, but Tim can tell he’s doing his best to hide a smile.

-I can leave you here, you know.

He knows Jason is bluffing, looking for a reaction, but the mere idea still makes his barely calming heart kick into overdrive again. The scare of a few minutes ago was too fresh on his mind. He already knows he won’t be going out again soon, not until he could plan a new route to photograph his idols while traveling only by rooftop, to best avoid the scum of the city.

-No, wait… please -he moves forward, hand taking a handful of cape, as if that could stop the vigilante if he actually was planning to leave.

Jason took the chance to wrap him on it like a little blanket, picking him up in his arms like a baby.

-Don’t worry, shortstack. I’m taking you home so I can be sure y’er actually following your bedtime.

Feeling a little braver in his hero’s arms, he fired back- Don’t have any.

-Whatever, you lil liar.

-It’s true. You can ask my parents… that’s it, if you’re willing to go into my house for a chat. Masks are in bad taste though, you’ll have to take yours off.

Truthfully, both his parents are away on business. Not that he needed to know about the bluff.

This time, he didn’t bother to hide his amusement, letting his barking laughter come out.

-You little shit. I’m not giving you my secret that easy.

Tim just shrugs, painting his most innocent smile. It’s difficult to keep it in place when Jason asks for directions, and then drops him at his bedroom’s window.

The giddiness of meeting his hero can’t quench his disappointment when he watches Jason’s back as he leaves. 

A little, childish part of himself had believed, hoped (with all the innocence his heart had left), that when Jason said ‘take you home’, he was talking about his own. 

----.----

He’s training as hard as possible. His body, shaped by the multiple teachers he hired through the years, hurts in a way he never thought possible, and has been like that ever since he first went to the training mats to face Bruce.

He knows the pain is necessary, what he learns there could be the difference between life or death (his eyes never fail to go to Jason’s suit, his altar, where he, as his whorshipper, would always go ask for strength and courage), but it's hard to remember his purpose for being there when he goes to bed each night with aching limbs.

Still, he endures.

This last week has been both harder than any other, and the best he’s ever had. The first, because a full on out gang war had forced him, Dick and Bruce to work overtime, going out every night for twice their usual hours (thank god for spring break). The second, because to save time and strength, he’d been allowed to stay the night at the manor with them.

He can’t believe how nice it is to have breakfast with someone. Sure, they have it at like three pm, but still. The pained body was so, so worth this.

When they caught their last perps, all tied up and pretty for the GCPD, Tim was simultaneously absolutely beat and the happiest he’s been.

Batman puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes, saying ‘let’s go home, Robin’, and he thinks for a moment he’s dreaming again.

He actually sleeps a bit, on the Batmobile trip. Beyond tired, feels his body being raised and then lowered again in a soft surface, something warm over his chest, and then lights out again.

When he wakes up the next morning, he’s at Drake Manor. The breakfast table is empty, the hallways colder than he remembered, and he wishes last night had actually been a dream. It would hurt less, if it had been all in his imagination; instead, he has to live with the knowledge of being so close, yet so far.

Not for the first time, he wishes ‘home’ were a different place.

----.----

He sighs, dropping his suitcase uncaringly. Anything important is on his phone anyway, who gives a fuck. Certainly not an overworked seventeen year old kid who’s just getting back after a long day. 

The place was clean, spacious and with a modern decoration style he kinda likes. The mechanic fishes certainly give it a nice touch, and the underground nerd cave he built for himself is the cherry on top- bottom, whatever.

It’s a nice house. A place he made for himself, to come back to. With scanners that automatically alert him if some sneaky ninja plants a bug, or a snoopy family member was sniffing around for his toys. He knows everything that happens here, in this little kingdom he built from scratch.

Of course, there are some itty bitty problems with it. Not the layout itself, that one was a dream came true, and no security issue either: all of Ra’s thwarted attempts at having his people breaking in confirmed how tight it was.

But, for some reason, the thermostat didn’t seem to work. It was always way too cold. 

The soundproof walls were good at keeping his secrets under wraps, but they also made it seem so unnaturally quiet, it gave him the creeps.

No table in sight. Not that he needed one, he shrugs. Lunch he eats outside, at the office. Dinner is a quick thing, a sandwich while he gets ready for patrol or some other snack while he types away at his computer. Breakfast… he doesn’t know why, but he never feels right when eating it, so he skips it more often than not.

Sighing again, he falls face first into his absurdly pricey couch. Blindly patting the coffee table until he finds the blanket he always keeps there, he thinks about taking a lil nap. He didn’t sleep last night (or the one before that), so it feels like he’s earned this break.

Decision made, Tim takes his phone out of the secret pocket in his coat and selects the app that makes background noise. He always sleeps better with it.

Yeah. This is a nice, comfortable place.

Too bad it’s not home.

-I just want to go home -he whispers to himself before letting unconsciousness claim him. 

If asked, he’d said the break in his voice was a yawn and not a sob.

----.----

When he wakes up, it’s to noise all around him. That alone puts him on guard so fast he would have pulled a muscle, if he were anyone else. As a Bat-trained vigilante though, he just tensed before opening his eyes to analyze his surroundings.

This… wasn’t his place, where he distinctly remembers falling asleep, face down on his couch. 

This was Titans Tower. Was he losing track of time? Had he been on a fight and got hit on the head? 

-Hey, you’re awake -Kon’s head poked out of the kitchen area, smiling as he floated all the way to where Tim was lying, on the living room’s couch.

The sight of his friend was enough to loosen his muscles. Still unsure but immediately comfortable he sat up straight and looked around. He could hear Bart and Cassie bickering on the background, probably the kitchen, Greta’s laughter coming to him from the same place, and those were Anita’s shoes and Cissie’s backpack near the elevator.

The first two and Kon, he could get. They were all Titans. But the three girls? They were retired, so what…

-Hey, boy wonder, let your brain take a break. I can hear you thinking from here and it’s giving me a headache -the super joked, landing by Tim’s side and poking his forehead lightly.

-That’s because you never think, you aren’t used to it -he fires back automatically. Then, a slow blink-  What are the girls doing here? What am I doing here? Last thing I remember I was… at the Perch. Sleeping.

-Yeah, and what a deep sleep that was. Been pulling all nighters, haven’t you? -his best friend shook his head, beyond giving Tim a disappointed look. They knew each other way too much to be surprised by their respective bad habits- you didn’t even flinch when I wrapped you up in TTK and flew you here. And about the girls, I told Cassie and Bart I was gonna pick you up, and they decided to make a thing out of this and went to bring them here, just to hang out. Like back in the days, you know?

The mention of their Young Justice times never failed to give Tim a heartache, but this time it just made him feel warm. 

He tried to look stern, but the smile he could feel growing on his lips against his will probably ruined it.

-But why did you? Bring me here, I mean.

Kon tilted his head, visibly confused.

-What do you mean? I heard you. You said you wanted to go home.

Something deep and frozen inside him abruptly melted, like it was hit by a flamethrower. The intensity brought tears to his eyes, body shaking uncontrollably as he bent over himself, hands clutching the opposite arm tightly, as if trying to hold himself in one piece.

Kon’s arms were around him in an instant, worried shouts piercing his ears as he plastered the smaller vigilante to his chest, unthinkingly helping him keep his broken pieces together. The warmth from his best friend’s body served as a welder, and Tim could finally breathe without the fear of breaking apart.

-Tim? Fuck, what’s wrong? Are you okay?! Here, dude, I got you.

-Kon? What is i- fuck, what did you do? Hey, Tim!

-Rob? Oh my god he’s crying, why is he crying!

The voices came closer, surrounding him from all directions as multiple hands touched him in an attempt to comfort.

It was too much, too warm, too bright.

He hoped it’d never end.

-I just…

Everyone stopped talking. His voice was broken by sobs, but he sounded happier than they had ever heard him.

-I’m just happy I’m finally home.

[vanaera]

Daffodil Rings

Synopsis | In a world where the red-string-of-fate tale has been proven true by science, each scientific journal has been up to date with every new-found “soulmate system,” and everyone out there has been in their never-ending search for their soulmates, there stands one bug in the system: You. You don’t believe in the absoluteness of the soulmate phenomenon, nor the too-perfect-to-work-out soulmate systems, arguing each and every bit of them are for everyone but you. With 17 years of defiance against such natural occurrence, you did not expect you will be literally swept off your feet by your soulmate on some ordinary Thursday into the wildest night of your life. Everything only goes downhill when you learn that “soulmate” of yours happens to be Park Jimin, the singer from the worldwide famous boy group BTS, you have embarrassingly crushed on for six years.

Characters | idol!Jimin x law student, part-time florist!you (soulmate au proven by science; strangers to lovers trope)

Genres | Fluff, angst, implied smut

Wordcount | 22.3k (I’m sorry)

Playlist | I was Made for Loving You by Tori Kelly ft. Ed Sheeran

Cross posted on | AO3

A/N | Hi everyone! Friendly reminder that everything in this story is fictional and has no intended connection with actual individuals and groups involved in this story. I just felt the need to remind you all ;)  

                 You always loved arguing. Whether it be about politics, philosophy, human rights issues, science advances, or if pineapples really do belong in pizza (which you agree with) – the topic doesn’t matter because you found it always necessary to go against the current. For check and balance, you insist. You don’t want to admit that “hobby” of yours was almost pathological.

               You tell people it started from a time you were five and went around your neighborhood. Your mother told you to get outside your introverted shell and talk with the kids of your age. However, instead of striking friendships, you started arguments, arguing person after person on the littlest of things–from the notion that ocean sunfishes are the stupidest animals to exist, to the fallacy behind ‘blood is thicker than water’.  Unlike your mother’s expectations, you earned angry snarls and glares to the point she was almost bothered by the stinging stares of anyone who will pass by your house. “Almost” is the keyword, because as soon as local debates were announced in your community centers, you became the most sought-out consultant of every single contestant. Times now seemed short of instances people can prove what they’re ideas are worth. Anyway, your mother forbade you to enter the contest because you were too young to join at that time (“Goodness, you’re just five!”). And because Mrs. Thornbow, your third grade English teacher and adviser, was not impressed of your carefree negligence of school rules, especially regarding proper attires. You guessed your teacher warned your mother of letting you participate in debates in your notorious black slacks, the one you always wear in school instead of your red plaid skirt, in case you get too “out of hand” again in school.

               Unlike the story you told everyone, the real origin of your almost-sick hobby has to do with the red string of fate. The invisible, indestructible string created by fate which ties two people together, two soulmates, for the rest of their lives. Generations upon generations were expecting to be paired with a person made by the heavens just for them. Even more, most relationships, marriages, and families are the fruits of this system. Thus, it will be unnatural for anyone to go against such destiny.

                The soulmate phenomenon was an inexplicable truth and people explained such phenomenon through the myth of these red strings, until 1986 when Professor Vandikes and Doctor Weber discovered biological evidences of the soulmate phenomenon. The two found extraneous neural interconnections of two “soulmates” through neuroimaging. Vandikes and Weber discovered that thoughts can be transmitted back and forth between the soulmates because of their identically coordinated neural activities. Even more, the soulmates simultaneously produced similar accurate results even when they’re living in two different countries.

               As soon as Vandikes and Weber’s study hit the news, everyone was automatically convinced in this soulmate science. It even prompted researchers to investigate every single existing soulmate systems. No wonder everyone accepted the soulmate phenomenon as an unarguable truth, an unbreakable tradition, and even as absurd as a purpose in life. Of course, everyone except you.    

               You didn’t believe in fate dictating who you should love when you already have enough of the society telling you who you should be. Science has proven fate is capable of planning someone to be awfully compatible with you but, it does not ensure it will always work.  Your existence was enough of a proof.

               You do not have any existing soulmate system countl. There is no “soulname” on your wrist, a permanent, inborn tattoo of the name of your soulmate, the very soulmate system your mother and father has. You do not feel any kind of “soulbond,” the emotional transparency system between two soulmates, nor do you see any “soul-art” decorating your body, a system of identical, dull tattoos, which only turn vibrant at the touch of a soulmate. You already see the world in color since you were born, unlike your playmate Jung Seolhee. She said she has “soul-vision” as her soulmate system that’s why she sees the world in black and white until her soulmate comes and enters her field of vision. And, you most definitely do not have any thoughts, other than yours, rambling in your mind as you grow up unlike what Vandikes and Weber claim in the rare soulmate system, “soul connection”.

               In short, the soulmate phenomenon did not include you into their equation. Hence, at sixteen, you’re adamant about your disagreement with this red-string-of-fate bullshit–a sentiment you nurtured since you’re five–when everyone of your age has already set out to travel the world to find their soulmates. You decided you won’t base your life on what fate has dictated.  You will create your own path, your own life, and your own destiny. Cures for numerous illnesses have been discovered yet their effectivity for every single person are not identically applicable. The soulmate phenomenon excluded you and it most probably happened so because it’s not for you.

               You love arguing, most especially when it comes to the soulmate phenomenon. Your 17-year-defiance is enough of a solid proof and such experience warranted you enough skills not only to graduate college as the top of the class, but also to pursue law school. You just didn’t imagine your longest duration of arguing will not be against a competent lawyer inside the court, but against a stranger you met in a hole-in-the-wall bar, who unknowingly becomes your greatest misfortune of your night.

               It all started at ten o’clock, fifth of September 2019, in Marti’s Hub, a small bar you always frequent when you’re in need of intoxicating liquids. You never thought anything aberrant will happen as two hours prior, you were just mourning over the disappointing results of your Law 114 essay with some drinks with your bestfriend Lucy.

               “C’mon, Y/N, let’s dance! Stop being such a party pooper!” you feel Lucy’s insistent pull on the sleeve of your jacket and you glared at her before putting your drink down on the table.

               Actually, two hours prior to that dreadful ten o’clock, you were mulling over your Law 114 essay while Lucy is mulling about the probability of her soulmate appearing in the bar. And as much as you totally love arguing, there is only one exception to your uncontrollable hobby: you hate doing it with your bestfriend.

               Lucy Kim has been with you since you’re an intolerable ten-year-old in elementary and for the longest time your friendship lasted, it isn’t hard to tell the girl was a sensitive bunch. You remember her fat ugly tears in senior high when Peter Lee, the local asshole, told her her braids look dumb. Like every other friends, you’ve had fights here and there. Everytime you argued with her, you hated yourself a bit for making her feel bad and you feel much worse when you have to apologize and see her tear-streaked face. It’s ironic how you’re this soft for Lucy when you didn’t bat a damn eyelash at your mother whenever she complains you’re the frequent source of her headaches. In your defense, Lucy understood your anomalous hobby as your second nature far better than your mother could.

               However for tonight, you’re gonna cross the line and disregard the exception you reserved for your bestfriend.

               “Lucy, I told you I came here to drink. Not dance.” You picked the lime on the plate and took a bite.  Your fingers enclose firmly on your glass before your friend could attempt to take you away again. “Plus, I just agreed to tag you along because you told me you want to cry over your fruitless job hunt. I did not agree to accompany you to hunt for your soulmate tonight, which is what you’re doing right now.” You look pointedly at her.

               “Well,” Lucy drawls, rubbing her arm, “you can’t blame me. I’ve already searched our entire neighborhood, my hometown, and even my old university and still I can barely see any Michael Hudson coming my way.” Your eyes caught how she grazes her fingers on the soulname marked on her right wrist. You tried to sympathize with her but still-

               “That does not justify why you’re asking me to accompany you to the dance floor.”

               Your remark is returned with a scathing look from your friend. “Are you not listening to me? I told you I already searched the entire city! And you’ve always accompanied me in every single soulmate hunt! Plus, you didn’t have any qualms yesterday when you and I started to search in nightclubs. It won’t hurt for another try tonight.” You turn away, silent in the truth of what she said. Lucy huffs, “Also, a Michael Hudson sounds someone that usually goes to nightclubs.”

               “It does not,” you mutter, taking another swig from your drink.

               “Uh yeah?” Lucy’s frown deepens, eyes turning into slits as she glares at you like you’re an imbecile. Hypothetically, you are one based on your non-impressive streak in your law essays but that’s beside the incredulity of the things your bestfriend is spouting. Whether she understood the disinterest painted in your whole face or not, she continues on, “I already met lots of Michael’s yesterday and I just met two ‘bout 20 minutes ago. My Michael Hudson may actually be here.”

               You placed down your drink on the bar to stare at your friend. “Lucy, your argument is a false causation. Look,” you sigh, “a bar is not an ideal place to find true love. In this generation, it is more likely you’ll meet an asshole Michael in here instead of your prince charming Michael.” You grimace but you continue on, “Your Michael Hudson may be having some coffee right now in a sophisticated café while some ‘Michael’ here turns out to be a jerk who just wants to get into your pants. Why don’t we just go home, yeah? I’m already finished with my drink and I don’t want to drag your drunk ass back to your home again.”

               “Y/N, you don’t understand,” Lucy groans. “I feel he’s here right now. I can’t just go up and leave without trying. My guts are telling me to stay. It’s a soulmate thing!” You scrunch your face in a disgusted cringe. Lucy narrows her eyes. “See? You’re just saying these stuff because of your prejudice against the soulmate phenomenon.”

               “It’s not a prejudice. What I believe is true–”

               “Doesn’t matter. Look,” Lucy sighs, “If you want to go home, you can go. I’ll stay here and take my chances.” She doesn’t wait for your reply and turns around to head for the dance floor.

               A heavy rock settles on your chest. You don’t like arguing with your bestfriend especially when it comes to this soulmate thing where your views are in absolute disagreement with hers. You don’t like to come off as a bitter, unsupportive friend who ruins everyone’s mood with their cynicism. But sometimes, you can’t help but say a thing or two to wake Lucy up from her fantasies. After toxic relationships with already three Michael Hudsons in your university, you figured Lucy is annoyingly naïve for outright jumping in a relationship with anyone who has the same name as the words inked on her wrist.  You’ve already picked up broken piece after broken piece of herself from relationships after relationships, helping her stand on her feet again and again. You’ve always been by her side to not let her stay far too up in the clouds, balancing her happy-go-lucky spirit with your boring seriousness to help her grounded to reality. That’s why you can’t ignore the thorns pricking your chest when she dismisses your advice so easily as if she never learned anything from her hopeless romance just a week ago.

               You bite your lip and decide to have some soda. You’re not yet leaving but you most definitely won’t wait for her to go home with you. You just have to soften the heavy walls building on your chest so you won’t sleep tonight crying. You hate doing that.

               Another glass of soda and a plate of lime later, ten minutes have passed with just you indulging on a combo you know will be frowned upon by other bar patrons. Ten minutes of doing just that is also enough for you to notice the man in a navy button-down by your left was now a little too close to you. You saw him seated on the far left of the bar, about three feet from you prior to your argument with Lucy. He was ducked on the table, shoulders hunched, which guaranteed you no opportunity to assess his face before. Now, he’s by your side, elbow brushing against your jacket and back straightened enough to see a cringe-worthy smile he’s sending your way. You don’t manage to make out his whole face though because his disheveled brown locks were covering about half of his face. You take your focus back on your plate. Your grasp on your glass tightens. There’s no need to panic. Maybe the stranger transferred seats because your spot has closer proximity to the shelves where the bartender is situated. Maybe he’s sober and you’re just making this whole situation blow out of proportion in your head. Maybe–

               “Hi, doll. You seem tense. Wanna come over to my place to loosen up?” His breath against the shell of your ear makes the hair on your neck rise. Your shoulders stiffen and you gulp. You could feel a ghost of a hand looming on the exposed skin from your ripped jeans. Warning bells wail in your head.

               “I’m not interested,” you mutter between gritted teeth. You don’t look his way as you swat his hand away that was about to rest on your knee. You don’t want to make a scene when you’re about to finish your drink and leave this hole of a bar. You’ve had enough drama for the night already.

               However, the man seems to turn deaf because he smiles at you again. “Oh, don’t play hard to get now, doll. I know you want it. You’ve been staring at me earlier.” His alcohol-stained breath fans against your face and despite what you said earlier, he places his hand on your knee, grazes your clothed skin, and then gropes the swell of your thigh.

               Motherfucking hell–

               “Hey, man, can you please take your hands off my girl.”

               A voice from another stranger blares behind you and you freeze in your spot. What the fuck, now you have another gross man to deal with?! You grunt in annoyance and whipped your head to the side to finally yell the fuck out to these creeps. Social conventions be damned. You’re gonna make a scene.  However, the man behind you holds you on the curve of your shoulders, not too tight to hurt yet not loose enough for you to turn in your seat. You furrow your brows, bewildered. You lean away slightly to get a glimpse of this man’s face but it didn’t do much because his bleached blonde fringe is almost covering his eyes and a midnight black mask was pulled over the lower half of his face. Now you’re just terribly confused. Is he a wanted criminal to cover up almost majority of his face or is he severely ill with something much worse than the common cold? You don’t know whether to trust this man or be wary of him.

               “I don’t know man,” the drunk creep slurs, hand still poised too comfortably on your thigh. You wriggle in your seat but the man keeps his hold on you firm.  The stranger smirks at you, then to the stranger behind you. “From what I know, this girl is my chic. Go find your own, dickhead.”

               What the absolute fucking shit–You found your rage already growing the best of you and you swat his hand repeatedly but the man grips your thigh even tighter. You open your mouth to scream at the the drunk out of mixed pain, anger, and frustration–but the guy behind your back beats you to it again.

               “Look, man. Take your fucking hands off my girl before I call the cops. She’s my soulmate.”

               At the mention of ‘soulmate,’ the drunk man lets go of your thigh as if his hands were burned. He raises both arms to show he’s not touching any part of you anymore and before you could say something back at him–to redeem yourself and at least roast him into his next life–the guy behind you has already grabbed you by your shoulders, taking you in tow as he walks in fast, short steps towards the exit of the bar.

               The chilling wind of September slaps you in the face and even if you’re still shaken up from the whole deal earlier, you still have your brain on your head to make out the dark interior of the semi-vacant parking lot of the bar. Another set of warning bells blare inside your mind and you thrash your arms around, never caring who you’ll hit or if you’ll be hit, just to break free from the hold of the stranger. You’re not going to get kidnapped after being just indecently hitted on! The man instantly lets you go but it doesn’t put him in any good light for you not to turn around and raise an accusatory finger at him.

               “YOU! Just who do you think you are to hold and take me out here?! Who–”

               The man pulls down his black mask and immediately, words die in your throat.  It’s his drooped eyelids and warm brown eyes that hits you first, then it’s the small slope of his nose and the soft curves of his full, pink lips. Your eyes fleet toward the side of his face and goddamn, the long silver earrings dangling on his pierced ears were the same ones you were ogling at an online article you were reading yesterday.

               Your eyes widen and your jaw falls open in shock. “You-you-you’re–”

               Some random stranger was grabbing you by the shoulders earlier and now in front of you is fucking Park Jimin. Park Jimin, vocalist and dancer of BTS, the biggest boy band in the world who sang tracks upon tracks that earned the greatest number of music show awards in history. Park Jimin, member of BTS who performs in sold-out concerts in countless stadiums around the world. Park Jimin, the famed contemporary dancer from Busan, the beautiful man whose full lips and gentle eyes you’ve continuously written about in countless fanfictions since you started stanning BTS. Park Jimin, the person who may or maybe not have been your ultimate celebrity crush and the object of your both innocent and not-so-innocent fantasies for six years now. Goddamn, is he Park Jimin, the boy you straightaway took a liking to ever since you saw him in his cringe-worthy snapback and No More Dream black jersey ensemble in BTS’ 2013 debut music video.

               Your jaw twitches. “Oh my–Oh my God. You-you–”

               “Wait, don’t panic!” Jimin reaches for your trembling fingers and then you feel it–the explosion. Blinding silvery fireworks seem to go off behind your eyes as hot white combustions fill your chest  for a millisecond before their aftereffects register in a series of numbing kaleidoscope of feelings running hot and wild. Your body is tingling, your chest is burning, and searing pain is engraving its way down your arm from where the man touched you. You immediately pull up the sleeves of your jacket and there you see it–tens, no, hundreds of vibrant, yellow daffodils growing an inked garden in astounding speed from a bloom that has looped around your left ring finger. The blooms spread towards your elbow, creeping even further up to your chest where you can see a bud already peeking out on the skin exposed from your low-cut white tee. Your mouth remains open in shock. You clasp your right hand on your newly-tattooed left arm only for you to mumble a faint “oh my god” when you see your right hand–and right arm–also inked with the same yellow flowers.

               Still hunched over, your eyes fleet towards the stranger–towards Park Jimin, and it was only then you manage to let out audible words again. “You’re-you’re–”

               “–your soulmate.”

               “–Park, Jimin.”

               Jimin smiles, “Oh, you know me already. This wasn’t so hard as I thought.”

               You don’t register what he said, still caught up on the instant sleeves you are now sporting and the outlandish word the man in front of you spouted. “My soulmate,” you trail off, voice softening into a little above a whisper, “my–my soulmate. Oh my god.”

               Unaware of the war going on in your mind, Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, I’m your soulmate. I already know. You don’t have to repeat it again and again. It’s true–”

               “Out of all people, why you?!”

               Jimin’s face falls. “Why? What’s wrong with me?”

               “I–you–ugh!” you throw your hands up and cover your face in hopeless dismay.

               Jimin is more confused than he has ever been in his whole life. “Hey, what do you mean? What’s wrong with me?”

               Your eyes peek out from your hands and you see the distance Jimin has closed between the two of you as now his beautiful, perfect face is practically shoved in front of you. A gunfire inside your head resounds and you blow up. “You! What’s wrong is that you’re Park Jimin! Manggae of BTS who sing in sold out concerts in every goddamn country and the youngest recipients of the Order of the Cultural Merit from South Korea and are now the biggest boyvband in the world!” You huff out, breathless. And then you pale. Oh my god, did you just word-vomited–

               “I didn’t know you know me that well,” Jimin giggles. “That’s great! We’re off to a good start!”

               Confusion flickers in your eyes for only a second before it turns into aggravation. “Why is this not bothering you?! You’re an idol!”

               Jimin nods, “Yeah, I’m an idol. And I’m also your soulmate.” He takes a step toward you and you take one back. Seeing the apprehension in your tensed form, he doesn’t push further and instead opts to place his hands in the pockets of his ink black leather jacket. “Don’t you know why I came just in time before that drunk jerk even tried to further push his sick plan?”

               You don’t answer him, still shaken up from everything that’s suddenly happening.

               Jimin just smiles. “I felt you’re near and you’re distressed and anxious. Soulbond, as people say. I went with my gut feeling and I proved it true when I saw you at the bar with that man. It’s a soulmate thing. And oh, I also have this.” Jimin pulls up his sleeve and raises his left hand, flashing you his ring finger inked with a daffodil looped around it just as yours. His tattoo didn’t spread into a sleeve, hinted by the clear skin peeking from the seams of his leather jacket toward the rest of his hand. But still, his inked ring is undeniably a daffodil bloom just like yours. Jimin smirks, “I told you, I’m your soulmate.

               You could hear your heart pulsing loud against your ears and you could still feel your veins thrumming with the aftershocks of the explosions of stuff you don’t want to label anything that is already connected to the grinning boy in front of you. You open your mouth only for you to close it again. You cannot deny his statement when two full sleeves of tattooed flowers bloomed right in front both of your eyes. He’s your soulmate and that’s undeniable. However, a different chaos brews in your mind again when you remember that this man in front of you was very much the celebrity you have fawned over for the entire latter six years of your life. You must have weirded him out already when you blurted out the achievements of his group earlier. You cannot let yourself further creep him out by telling him you’ve always raved about him, dare even adored him way, way back then before this very night. Sure, you’ve never believed in this soulmate thing for 17 years of your life but it doesn’t mean you didn’t know about love nor experienced it. Your three ex-crushes under your belt and your six-long stable years of intense crushing on this boy in front of you (that even prompted you to write cheesy romance and dirty filth about him in your still-very-alive tumblr writing account) are enough to color your single-as-fuck-since-you-were-born life with enough joy and pain. But anyway, you can’t let him know everything about this. It’s too embarrassing. It will definitely make him run for the hills just like your three ex-crushes.

                You wouldn’t have to do all of this hassle in the first fucking place if Park Jimin is not your fucking soulmate. Goddamn it, you didn’t even imagine in your whole life you will actually fucking say that ridiculous “s” word.

               Frowning again, you storm off.

               Jimin laughs and joins you in your furious steps outside the parking lot.  

***

                Unlike your initial plan of running away, you didn’t know you will actually stay with Jimin into the night as he rambles about future date plans.

               Half past ten, the two of you are seated in Aunt Marie’s, a 24/7 retro-themed diner you frequent every finals week for late night dinners. Massive cheeseburgers are on your plates and Jimin is seated across you, sporting the mask you have seen on him earlier.

               You drop your utensils and sigh. “See? This won’t work. How the hell will we date if your face is always covered with that?”

               “I didn’t know you’re already thinking about dating me.” Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he sets his elbow on the table, cupping his face. “I’m liking this fast pace so far.”

               You didn’t know this man can easily evade your question by getting sidetracked like a pesky toddler. You purse your lips, unamused. “I’m not thinking about dating you. I’m just laying out a general probability for anyone who will date you. Don’t get ahead so fast, you don’t even know me.”

               “You know me.” Jimin shrugs. “At least that’s a headstart.” You glare at him and he laughs. Jimin continues, “We have lots of time to know each other. That’s why we’re here.”

               “Correction, we’re here because you told me you’re starving and this is the only near place I know that serves good food this late in the night.”

               “Which means we get to know each other,” Jimin repeats, smile turning into a grin. “I could have brought us to a place I know but you insisted going here, hence I learn tonight that you like eating at Aunt Marie’s.          Therefore, we are here to eat and also learn about each other. It is inevitable.” You sigh in defeat and Jimin smirks at his victory. “Also, I can eat, look.” He slices his burger, pulls down his mask and shoves a piece in his mouth, and then pulls up his mask on again. You can’t see his teasing smile but you could tell he’s already giggling because his cheeks grow rounder, making his eyes turn into crescent moons. Slicing another piece, Jimin says, “So, can I know more about you, Y/N?”

               Your mouth opens again like a blubbering fish. “Wait, how did you know my name? I haven’t told you my name yet.”

               For a second, you see his eyes widen but it passes like a blur when you find yourself starting to like the mischievous glint shining in his warm eyes. Jimin shrugs and answers, “It’s a soulmate thing.”

               You cringe and Jimin chortles. Okay, you take it back. You don’t like the mischievous glint if he does that while saying that ridiculous “s” word.  When his snickers die down, Jimin repeats his question, “So, can I now know more about you, Y/N?”

               You  dab your napkin on your lips and sigh for the nth time. “Well, everything about me is as plain as plain Jane can be. Name’s Y/N L/N, only child from a middle-class family. I had a quite nice childhood, playing here and there, making many…friends.” You can’t help but cringe at the word, quite unsure if you could ever tell your neighbors who consulted you during community debates were your friends. You want to make a good impression even if you weren’t still sold into this soulmate phenomenon. Unlike back then, you weren’t too fond of people seeing you less of what you are now. You pushed on, “Until middle school came and I learned how friendships work only if everyone gets to free-ride on projects and you carry the whole group.”

               Jimin snorts, “Who hurt you, Y/N?”

               “That asshole’s name is Kim Yeonjun. I still remember the cookie he stole from my lunchbox. Never gonna forgive him.” Your serious front breaks out into snickers and Jimin follows suit. “Anyway, I didn’t know my life will get more boring until high school came and our teachers taught us in detail about Vandikes and Weber’s soulmate science–”

               “Wait, this soulmate thing has a science behind it?” Jimin looks at you, eyes round.

               “Well, yeah,” you reply, brows scrunched. “Your teachers didn’t tell you about them? It was like the only thing any kid will actually remember from studying next to reading and writing.”

               “I don’t remember anything about such science. I studied in a performing arts school in Busan.”

               You look at him incredulous, “Impossible! It’s more likely you’ll know about the soulmate science before you even learn how to read. Parents already start the red string of fate bullshit as soon as their kid starts to speak gibberish. It’s impossible to leave out anyone from the soulmate science since everyone was raving about it–teens, adults, and even kids.”

               “Do you rave about it?”

               The furrows on your forehead deepen. “What? No!”

               “Well, that’s not everyone,” Jimin leans on his seat. “So, people like me who’ve never heard of such science are justified.”

               “Touché” you agree, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll get away without learning at least a two or thing about it because teachers start to teach soulmate science in basic sciences at the end of middle school.” You lean forward, eyes challenging his. “And everyone studies basic sciences in middle school. Heck, you even mentioned soulbond earlier. You’re just probably asleep when your teacher taught it in class.”

               “Okay, I surrender my fight,” Jimin mutters and you laugh.

               “So long story short, Vandikes and Weber first discovered  the biological proof of the soulmate phenomenon. They show how neural interconnections of two soulmates transmit info to each other at the same time even when they’re in two different countries. Which then means the soul connection and all other soulmate systems are scientifically accepted as a truth now than just some folklore.”

               “Wait, what’s the soul connection?”

               “It’s the soulmate system where two soulmates get to read or hear each other’s thoughts. It’s the phenomenon Vandikes and Weber witnessed while formulating their biological proof. Also, it’s rare. Only five couples were recorded to have that system. One of them was the participants of Vandikes and Weber’s study.”

               Jimin hums and you continue with your story, “Anyway, I was surrounded by screaming teenagers desperately looking for their soulmates and all that cringey stuff while I busy myself with studies because that’s the only thing I’m good at.”

               “And you’re busy loving pre-debut BTS.”

               You choke on your burger, eyes wide before you glare at him. How did he know? The guilt on your face must be evident because Jimin starts breaks into a laughing fit that other people (a couple of nightowl teens and couples) look at your way. In your defense, 2013 you didn’t know any better and just spent hours googling BTS and buying posters with each members’ faces on them (with always an extra poster of Jimin’s solo picture everytime you buy a bundle) instead of getting a social life. At least 2013 you were smart enough to realize you’re broke and you can’t afford to buy albums yet when you’re already struggling just to get your hands on required textbooks your teachers assign. You maintain your pointed look at him, refusing to admit to his very much true statement. You don’t want him to know even when the proof is right in your home–the posters you collected for three years, rolled up and still tucked in the corner of your closet. You never found it in yourself to dispose them even after every annual promise to throw them away.

               Jimin sniggers before he cues for you to continue on. “Sorry, it wasn’t funny.”

               “Anyway,” you stuff your face with the last piece of your burger and swallowed it, “I got high honors and got into my dream college. I realized next to studying, I was good at arguing–

               “–so true–”

               “–so I decided to go into law school.” You send Jimin another glare for his (very true) remark and he smiles. “So here I am now into my first year in law school, flunking every essay, and currently worth minimum wage.”

                 Jimin nods in interest, “Where do you work?”

               “Oh gee, I didn’t know you’re into asking occupations of your date like every other cliche dates.”

               You see Jimin’s eyes spark in interest and you regret what you just blurted out. “Oh, so you do see this as a date.”

               “Nooo,” you groan, heat already creeping up on your cheeks, almost like a wildfire. What the hell is happening to you? You always know how to control your word vomit; you’re never impulsive when it comes to speaking out. You’re a law student for Christ’s sake!

               “Don’t worry, I also see this as a date.” You could feel Jimin’s stare linger on your warm cheeks. You snug deeper into your jacket, wishing for the ground to break open and eat you up. Instead of further teasing you, Jimin repeats his question. “So, where do you work?”

               “At Petal Hill,” you mumble.  “It’s a flowershop two blocks away from my flat.”

               “Oh, a flowershop. Then, you must probably be knowledgeable of a lot of flowers.”

               “Yeah” you answer, a smile instantly tugging on your lips. “I get to recommend the best bouquets and sets to my customers, not to mention I have great grasp on the flower language to help them pick flowers they want to convey their messages through.”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah! I mean, I get to understand your confusing I Need You and Run music videos just with the two flowers used alone,” you blurt, thinking fondly of your Tumblr text-post, the only one that got you over 300 notes, where you wrote flower theories about BTS’ music videos. However, the moment you see Jimin gawking at what you said, it’s too late to undo what’s already let out in the open air.

               “Really? Oh my god, I never even knew the meaning behind those flowers. The directors just tell us to sit here, hold this or that, and do sad-emo-boi hours.”

               You stifle a giggle but it comes out unsuccessful when you break out into a huge grin, “You– what?”

               “Don’t get me wrong,” Jimin laughs, “We actually knew the plot of the music videos and internalized the characters assigned to us. But really, I never knew the flowers alone are a huge hint to the whole story.”

               “Well, my time to shine has finally arrived,” you grin, finding the need to stretch out your arms comically like how Tom does when he’s smug about catching Jerry. “The most iconic flower you guys used again and again is the white lily. Although the flower means rebirth, royalty, and purity with its delicate yet grand petals, they are often associated with funerals. White lilies symbolize the restored innocence the departed soul receives after death. That’s why the moment the music video flashes Seokjin’s character spreading six lily petals on the floor, I already knew either all your six characters or Seokjin’s, will die, before the video even reached to your guys’…sad-emo-boi hours.” Jimin nods in interest and you continue, “The Japanese version of the music video for I Need You was a large give-away since the large masses of flowers surrounding Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s characters resemble like the clump of flowers thrown at a coffin being buried.” You gulp, “Anyway, going to the lighter side because I don’t want to dwell on such grim topics, the second flower you guys used that caught my eye was the blue rose.”

               “Oh yeah, that one!” Jimin eyes glimmer in recognition. “It was the only flower we used in the Run music video. What’s its meaning?”

               “Impossible love.” You said, lips forming a thin line. “Blue roses don’t occur in nature because roses do not have the specific gene to produce such color. Instead, they are made by placing blue dye into the bark of the roses’ roots. Since it’s impossible to produce blue roses naturally without artificial means, these roses mean impossible love. So when the video flashes the blue rose in the background of Yoongi and Jungkook’s characters fighting, it can be said their familial love for each other, as they were depicted like brothers in the videos, will be unable to mend the wreckage of their characters.”                

               “Wow, I didn’t know it’s possible to reach to such accurate perception with the flowers alone.”

               “Then are my theories true?” You lean forward.

               “Yeah, on Jungkook and Yoongi’s characters being brothers and their strained familial bond. Also with the connotation of the lilies, although,” Jimin leans forward, too, smirking, “I wouldn’t reveal to you who really died or didn’t in the music videos.”

               You scoff. “Wow, such torture. You’ve been keeping the fans in the shadows about the story far too long.”

               “Not my choice, blame Big Hit. The concept team just tells us anyway the plot when we have to shoot them so you can say I’m also in the dark” Jimin shrugs. “Also, I want to keep you on your toes, making theories and analyses. They interest me.  How did you easily connect the dots?”

               “I’m a part-time florist. And, I took English literature as my undergraduate study. The plot analyses and the story critiques we did really grew in me.”

               “Oh wow,” Jimin gasps, leaning back. “My god, I didn’t know you were so out of my league!”

               “What?” Out of his league? Is he fucking crazy? He’s the one across you who’s got millions of followers, followed everywhere by the media, known and loved in every country, not to mention, worth of millions of dollars. And you’re here, who’s got millions of bills to pay, followed by countless work and university deadlines, barely spared a glance from the people in your university and work, and you hate to mention again, worth minimum wage. Hell, you could tell Jimin’s face is glowingly beautiful even with his mask pulled on while you’re here, probably sporting a full oily face look. By all blatant circumstances, he’s the one who’s out of your league.

               At the sight of your frown, Jimin’s hands wave in front of you, trying to dismiss any misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just–I didn’t know you’re such an intellectual. You read lots of books and do analyses and you’re so damn good in arguing. You always get me convinced. I haven’t done anything yet in our date but gawk and say ‘wow’ like a kid. I don’t…want to look stupid in front of you.”

               “You’re not.”

               “Huh?”

               You clear your throat. “You’re not stupid. And no, you didn’t just ‘gawk and say wow’ at me. You did a good job arguing with me earlier…about the ‘date.’ And that takes a lot because it looks like you’re having fun doing this friendly debate with me when people curse me for being so adamant in arguments.”

               “Why would they curse you? There’s nothing wrong in fighting for what you think is right.”

               You shrug, “They got nothing substantial to say so they resort to shaming you for what you know. Sick way of lifting yourself above others.  Anyway, why don’t you fire me some flower questions you have in mind? I’m in the mood to go all out in my flower-nerdiness today.”

               “Okay, so…what do you think is the best flower to give for your friends?”

               “Pink tulips are automatic to-gos. They mean ‘I care for you’ and also ‘good wishes’ so they’re also perfect for joyful gatherings. Pear blossoms also do the trick as they mean lasting friendship.” You glance upwards and hum before you return your eyes to Jimin, excitement thrumming in your nerves, “Oh, and Arborvitaes may not be popular but they’re the perfect flowers to give to a friend if you want to have ‘everlasting friendship.’”

               “Hmm, then what about the best one to give to your parents?”

               “Flowers of gratefulness are the top candidates. Campanulas, azaleas, and dark pink roses all mean gratitude and thankfulness.”

               “I’ll make sure to remember that next time I buy flowers for my mom,” Jimin smiles. “I always go for red roses every damn single time.”

               “It’s the classic. Can’t blame you though, it has the most generic message applicable to many kinds of relationships.”

               “Yeah, really?”

               “Yeah, they mean true love–True love for your friend, true love for your parent, or true love for your significant other. People usually use the connotation of “true love” for romantic relations when it’s actually applicable to familial bonds and friendships. After all, all of these relationships require truthfulness and love at the same time.”

               Jimin’s  mouth forms an o-shape. “Oh, I never really thought of that.”

               “Well now you know,” you grin.

               “Inked and stamped now, ma’am,” Jimin slaps his palm on his head and you giggle. At your laugh, Jimin smile grows bigger. “Okay, here’s another one: what flower is the best one to give to your mortal enemy?”

               “Are you insane? Who gives flowers to their mortal enemy?”

               Jimin shrugs. “Why not?”

��              “Disregarding the money and time you’re wasting picking these flowers for such person,” you squint your eyes at him and Jimin laughs, “you should definitely go for foxgloves and orange lilies. They literally mean ‘Fuck you’ to the hardest core.”

               “‘Fuck you’ in what sense?” Jimin teases.

               You easily go along with it, mischief easily brewing inside your head. “They mean ‘fuck you’ as a curse, but if you mean the suggestive ‘fuck you’ then go for balsams. Though they may not be that arousing because they have these large, curving petals that look worn and limp, and you DON’T want to imply you’re like that flower.”

               Jimin guffaws, “Then why do they mean ‘fuck you’ if they’re not the least bit attractive?”

               “I don’t know, blame the Victorians who invented this floriography. Preferences change over time anyway so we can’t blame them for thinking balsams back then are ahhhsm.”

               You’re co-workers always found that joke dry and lame and yet in front of you, Jimin laughs as he holds his stomach, even finding the need for his other hand to slap the table again and again.  At this rate, he’s toning his abs from how hard he tries to keep his laughter not loud enough to disturb other customers. Despite the forming grin on your face, you found the need to say, “Okay, sorry that came out really, really suggestive.”

               “No, it’s okay,” Jimin assures. “I was the one who insinuated the suggestive themes anyway. I don’t mind at all.”

               “Me too,” you gulp. “It’s cool that we get to sit and chat like this without worrying about anything sexual.”

               “…Yeah, I agree,” Jimin tugs his shirt and clears his throat. “Anyway, what flower is the best one to give to your significant other? The most romantic one, the one that will instantly make your heart flutter?”

               “Well,” your fidget in your seat, “that depends on what the significant other likes. Flowers may hold different meanings but the preference for them still largely relies on the recipient.”

               “What do you like to receive?”

               You look at him, gaze questioning any ulterior intentions, any flirtatious comebacks he wants to blurt after possibly faking interest about such important topic. But when he tilts his head, waiting for your answer, you can’t help but blindly disregard your doubts and just answer his question. “I think pansies would be enough for me.”

               “Pansies?”

               “Yeah… They have these delicate, round petals and they’re resilient whether the sun beats too harsh on them or the winter almost freezes them to their roots. Whatever weather, whatever place they live in, they’ll always, always live. I guess that’s why they mean ‘You’re always in my mind.’ There’s nothing more infectious, more resilient, than any disease but a constant thought. That’s why I think being always in someone’s mind is a lot. To have a significant other that gets to see you, feel you, hear you, smell you, even taste you without them being aware of it is already akin to…love. You can’t control what passes through your mind, much less on what or who stays in it. But it doesn’t matter,” you laugh awkwardly, throat hurting in the process. “I’m not into receiving flowers. They’re over-the-top and they wilt and I just have to throw them away when they served all their worth.”

               “But what would you do if someone is willing to give you those pansies everyday, help you clean them away when they wilt, and assure you a new batch will make its way to you again?”

               “Then…I will accept it. Gifts are free and my labor will be lessened.”

               Jimin leans back, eyes shining. “I will make sure then to drop by in your shop and buy you a bouquet of those to make up for my lack of gifts for our date today.”

               You scoff at him. “You’re buying flowers right from my workplace to give to me? That’s not romantic.”

               “Wanna see me come over with a suit and tie, then?”

               “Oh my god, why are you like this?” you wail, palms covering your face. You’ve always adored Jimin’s unwavering determination in their reality shows, however, having him here in front of you showing you this stubbornness is something else. You don’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. Wait, what–

               “How about this then?” you feel Jimin’s fingers part your hands away from your face and a breath gets stuck in your throat. He has leant forward, mask pulled down to his jaw, and his eyes trained straight towards yours. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away, too absorbed in Jimin’s intense stare. The thought that his vision is probably just filled with you and nothing else just like how your eyes only frame his entire face makes you queasy in your seat. You’ve never had someone look at you this, sincere and so open before that your long-time indignation to real-life romance and the whole soulmate thing has rendered you incapable of thinking what you should do–or if you should actually do anything than just get lost in another person’s eyes. You see Jimin’s lips pull into a soft curve of a smile. “Is this romantic enough?”

               Before you could choke on your own spit and indulge in awkward silence you know you’ll probably won’t get out of, a foreign voice by your side breaks your little bubble with Jimin. You glance to your left and a tall waiter bows. “Sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, sir, but would you like to order some dessert?”

               You look down at your plates to find everything in miniscule bits and crumbs, your meals completely finished. You sneak a peek at your wristwatch. It’s only 10:51, just mere twenty minutes have passed since you stepped onto the diner’s black and white tiles. You never imagined time could run so fast with another person invading your space than just your comfort zone.

               You see Jimin turn to the waiter. “Oh, no we’re finished. Can we ask for the bill?”

               Wait, you’re already finished? So soon? Your scrunched forehead must have gave out everything you’re thinking because Jimin turns to you and says, “I want to show you to some place. My turn to let you learn more about me.”

               Indifferent to the exchange between you two, the waiter hands Jimin the receipt. “Here it is, sir.”

               “Okay,” Jimin hands the payment on the waiter’s awaiting hands and you gape as you flounder for your own wallet. Jimin dismisses you. “I got this. You can pay me later.” He turns back to the waiter, “Thank you for the service.”

               “Thank you, too, sir.” The waiter returns and when you see him smile at Jimin again, his voice trails off and his eyes squint at the man across you. “Say, sir…you really look like Park Jimin from BTS.”

               “No.” Jimin’s smile drops into a frown and he quickly pulls up his mask.

               “No, really! I’ve been staring at you earlier and I can’t deny the similarities!” the waiter insists and you see his eyes spark in recognition. “You have the similar droopy eyes and familiar voice. Oh yeah, Jimin’s blonde hair on yesterday’s Music Bank is the same as yours–wait, don’t tell me,” The waiter pauses and raises his index finger to Jimin, “you’re the Park Jimin himself?” Jimin glances at you in panic and the waiter catches the small movement of denial. “Oh my god, you are Park Jimin! Damn, man, can I get an autograph? My sister loves you so much!”

               Neither you nor Jimin were able to say a thing after that, nor did you get a chance. The customers that didn’t care about your presence twenty minutes ago are now looking at your way with full, intent stares.

                “Jimin? Park Jimin? That singer from BTS?”

               “Jimin is here?!”

               “Oh my god, it is him! It’s Jimin! It’s the same hair color and jacket and earrings he wore in tonight’s V Live!”

               In the next second, everyone is screaming and rushing out of their tables to approach you.

               You’re frozen in your seat, chills rising in succession in your feet, arms, and spine. Crowds of faces were shoved right against your face, bunches of arms reaching and grabbing and thrashing around, and the screams and hollers were so loud they turn into garbled white noise. It’s like the zombie apocalypse except the creatures grabbing at you are still real, living people.

               “Jimin! Jimin!”

               “Oh my god, Jimin’s with a girl!”

               “Hey, Jimin, look here!”

               “Jimin, please sign this!”              

               “Wait, is that Jimin’s girlfriend?”

               “Jimin, can I take a picture with you?”

               “Jimin, who’s that girl?!”

               “Jimin, I love you!”

               The next moments are a blur. A second ago, jumpy teens and young adults were crowding your table, screaming and thrashing around. In the next second, Jimin has his hand clasped around yours, pulling you fast out of your table and out of the door. And now you’re here, running on the city street, your steps pounding on the cold pavement in heavy beats as a thunderous stampede follows close behind your tail.

               You’re finding it hard to take in all that is happening that the sudden pull on your arm toward your right has you dizzy and almost nauseous.

               “What’s ha-happening?”

               Jimin sneaks a glance at you and then back on the street. “Our fans are chasing us. Keep running. We don’t want them to ruin our date.”

               You purse your lips and will your legs to keep up with his pace. You’re about to chide him for what he said but you decide against it and just kept your mouth shut. You can’t bite back a witty comeback when you’re running out of breath.

               Huffing, he pulls down his mask to take a breath. “C’mon, let’s run faster!”

                The city whizzes by you, multicolored houses meshing into straight lines and warped shapes in a fast-forwarded reel. The streetlights overhead promise another corner to turn to and the pavement below your feet remains constant in its grayness and never-ending stretch. You and Jimin run and turn to corner after corner and it wasn’t until you’re stepping on the fifth street from your run do you realize your hand is still clasped in his.

                It feels weird to have another hand next to yours, much less a hand with fingers that oddly perfectly fill each gap between yours. What’s more odd is that you are comfortable, running to god knows where, hand in hand with a stranger. Well, Jimin’s not technically a stranger, given that you’ve known about him onscreen for six years, but still, everything feels too new and strange especially when he’s your…soulmate.

               The sleeve of your jacket has ridden upward your arm and your eyes immediately caught your inked daffodils. You’ve let your eyes miss their beauty in your shock earlier. But now, you can’t help but stare at awe when the flowers’ yellow petals rival the golden daylight as if the moonlight above has reflected every bit of the sun’s shine onto the art inked on your arms. You’ve never heard of this kind of soulmate system before, nor its strange incongruity with Jimin’s soulmate system. What is truly strange, is you’re already finding yourself dismissing any doubts about them. It’s horrifying that you can’t seem to care about anything anymore because all you could feel is…joy. Everything feels too perfect like a dream. Maybe it is true that you’re actually dreaming because as far as you’re concerned, the soulmate systems have ousted you since you were born. Everything about this daffodil sleeves and Jimin are probably just conjured by your unconscious, trying to make you feel better to ease the guilt of ruining Lucy’s night. You’ll wake up to your alarm to another shitty day in law school and then –

               “JIMIIIIIIN!”

               Unlike your expectations, it is a blaring scream that wakes you up to your senses.            

               “Where’s Jimin?!”

               “There, there! I can see his blonde hair AHHH!!!!”

               “Jimin! Don’t run away from us!”

               And then, you’re running fast again, lungs squeezing in short breaths as Jimin pulls you to corner after corner, maneuvering you in and out of street after street. Your legs are starting to numb from exhaustion but before you could start to whine at Jimin for a short break to rest, he has already pulled you into a dark, narrow alleyway crammed between two clothing retail stores. Only a few seconds later, a mass of shouting teens runs past the street.  You turned your face away, holding your breath in until the last one behind them misses your hiding spot, only finding it permissible to breathe again when the fans’ loud voices dissipate in the next corner.

               When you turn your head back to your front, you’re met with Jimin’s own flustered face. Only mere inches separate your lips from brushing against each other. Words are caught in your throat as you let your eyes take in his flushed state: his fringes matted on his forehead, his pink lips parted as he huffs, his ears reddened from the cold, and his warm brown eyes that reflect your own blushing face. If everything that has happened tonight really turns out to be a dream, you hope your sleep could be long enough to let you drag this night for as long as you could.

               “What are you staring at?”

               You’re suddenly brought back to where you are, pressed uncomfortably against the cold walls of the alley. Your eyes instantly moved down to your feet and with the motion, you caught a glowing thing sitting right atop on your left ring finger. It takes you a second to realize that the yellow glow is coming from the inked daffodil on your ring finger. Your daffodil ring is glowing like a fucking firefly. Your eyes widen and they fleet upward to meet Jimin’s eyes, your mouth gaping. “I–uh-uh–um–”

               Jimin raises his eyebrows, lips curving upwards. “Can’t get enough of my beautiful face?”

               “What? No!” You turn away and scowl, hoping the night could cool down the heat forming on your cheeks. You frantically pull the sleeves of your oversized jacket to hide your glowing tattoo.

               “Don’t need to be defensive. You can stare as long as you want, Y/N. After all,” Jimin raises his index finger and gestures to his face and down to his body, “you own all of these.”

               Your eyes twitch and your lips form an unamused frown. Jimin laughs.

               Jimin was the first one to squeeze out from the narrow space and you follow next. Despite your reaction earlier, you find it necessary to keep the frown on your face. You try to not let it show how much his words are making your heart pound loud and proud against your ears.

               You clear your throat. “You’ve got some serious fans out there.”

               Sighing, Jimin takes off the mask pulled under his jaw and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. “Ah, yeah. We always get that occasional…warm greeting whenever we land at airports. I guess we’re already used to that.”

               “Warm?! It’s borderline harassment!”

               “They’re just…excited to see me, that’s all. I can’t complain because I signed up for this when I decided to pursue this career.”

               “But still! That doesn’t mean they get to shove their faces to you and scream and demand you to take pictures with them or sign this or that. You still have your personal space and people should respect that. You’re still a human being, Chim.”

               Jimin stares at you before he breaks into a chuckling fit. “I didn’t know we’re on the stage to be making petnames for each other now, Y/Nie.”

               You gulp as you feel your cheeks heat up again. “I’m serious!”

               “Yeah, I know. I’m just joking to laugh off the heartbeats I hear pounding loud in my chest. You look at him, brows furrowed. Jimin shrugs. “I can’t help it. You make me feel like this.”

               You clear your throat again, diverting the conversation to where you are before he got sidetracked. “Anyway, can’t you get like a restraining order on them or something?”

               “You know that’s impossible.”

               “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just pissed off.” He looks at you smirking, and before he can come up with another cheesy line, you spoke out, “For you! Pissed off for you, yeah. Any person shouldn’t go through such trauma.” Jimin nods and you ramble on, “I only saw you guys’ airport fiascos on fancams. I never knew a toned down version of those like this will be already this bad. Heck, I’m already trembling with just a couple of fans hot on our toes, what more for you guys who get pushed and shoved and grabbed here and there by a flock of them. It’s goddamn scary and infuriating. If I were in your shoes I would have dropped down and screamed and cried. I’m glad I didn’t push my stupid 17-year-old dream of becoming an idol. I can’t do that stuff.”

               “I’m glad too you didn’t pursue that dream. I don’t want other men freely ogling my girl with no lawful repercussions.”

               “’…Ew. Don’t say that again.”

               “What?”

               You blanch despite the heat gathering on your cheeks. “The ‘my girl.’ It’s cringey.”

               “Oh hell no am I never gonna say that again if you’re blushing and being cute like this because of it. Oh my, Y/N, you can just say you like it! I can say it again if you want to–”

               “Oh please, no–”

               “My girl.”

               “Shut up!”

               “Ahh, you’re blushing more!”

***

               The skyline has long deepened in an inky indigo blanket yet you can’t feel your eyes fluttering close any minute now. It’s true because about eleven thirty, you’re still busy chirping away flower meanings to Jimin who was attentive to every word down to every flower color, to notice you two have already reached the business area of the city. There were no more residential areas or any run-down bars. Skyscrapers stood tall and brooding on strict two sides of the road while cut-straight gravel streets measure a meter or two to separate establishments. Unlike the streets from the bar to the diner, which were colored in various hues of maroon, beige, blue, and occasional flickers of yellow, the buildings in front of you followed a narrow color palette of light gray to black. However, the gloomy vicinity did nothing to dim the colorful trivia-dump you’re doing with Jimin.

               “Did you know, most yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings?”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah, like the marigold. Despite being a vibrant flower, it actually means envy and jealousy. And oh, don’t get me started with carnations. I always find myself inquiring young men who came into the shop picking yellow carnations if the flowers were for a first date.”

               “Why is that?” Jimin raises his brows.

               “It’s a horrible choice for a first date! Yellow carnations mean disdain and you DON’T want to jinx a starting relationship with such a negative connotation.”

               “What flower should I pick then for a first date?”

               “Roses are safe. Red, pink, or white are definitely the charmers. White carnations also do the trick for you as they mean sweet love. Although I mentioned yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings, there’s one flower I know that stands out, the most perfect one I think for a first date.”

               “What is it?”

               “Sunflowers,” you grin. “Despite all their beauty and all that mechanism where they turn towards the sun’s direction, they are quite tedious to grow. They’re needy of nutrients. They drain the soil from its nutrients, hogging them that no other kind of plant should be placed near them as they will easily die. That’s why they carry the meaning of draining love. But you know what? Even if they’re draining, they hold one of the most delicate and romantic message”

               “What is it?”

               “Everlasting love,” you smile. “They may be quite draining but their beauty is worth every effort. See? Wouldn’t be that the perfect flower for a first date?”

               Jimin nods. “Yeah, they are.” He looks at you, smiling and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling too wide.

               When you turned to another street, Jimin asks, “Do you know another flower that holds such a…bittersweet message?”

               “Yeah, spiderlilies. But you know, I think that flower has the saddest story to tell.”

               “Why is that?”

               “It’s the flower of parting. It–” You suddenly trail off and Jimin stops in his step the minute you pull his arm into a stop. “Wait, where are we? Why are we in the business part of the town?”

               Jimin tilts his head, “I told you I’m gonna show you a place.”

               “A place? In here?”

               “Just trust me,” Jimin chuckles and he grabs your hand before you can utter another word.

               After a couple of minutes weaving down two streets and turning two corners to the left, the two of you stand in front of a humongous gravel gray tower. It would have looked uptight and intimidating if it weren’t for its darkening edges, from the soot or age, you couldn’t tell. All you know is that Jimin is already pushing through the large glass double doors with you in tow.

               “W-wait, what are you doing? This is trespassing and if you don’t know what it is, it’s illegal!”

               “We’re not trespassing. Trust me.”

               The furrows on your forehead deepen, anxiety grappling at the edges of your nerves, but you couldn’t do anything but follow him. You don’t want to admit your feet were walking on their own so you’re gonna blame Jimin for holding your hand too firmly.

               The ground floor of the tower wasn’t that much. All it has was clean white walls and cream-tiled floors. Its reception desk wasn’t too grand with just a gold bell, a couple of stacked news articles cased to the side, and a fake Picasso painting hung behind it. You can tell it’s Picasso because it was the same painting you always stare at in the guidance counselor’s room, with a small black label printed “Picasso” underneath it. And you know it’s fake because the guidance counselor told you the original piece of that painting now resides in the residence of an old Italian antique collector. The two of you wound a corridor and passed two hallways before you stop in front of metal double-doors, the ones used for fire exits in hospitals. It has a built-in lock and by the way Jimin pushes the door without any advances, you know it’s locked. Jimin fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans and produces his wallet, taking a silver key tucked in its small flaps.

               You gawk. “You have a key for this?”

               Jimin doesn’t answer but smiles, inserting the key. When you hear the doors unlock, he pushes one open and gestures for you to come inside. You didn’t have any qualms and just followed him. You figured that if Jimin has the key, then what you’re doing is not trespassing, and you find yourself relaxing eventhough you’re boggled as to why Jimin possesses such key when his entertainment company is in another twenty-six storey building on the opposite side of town.

               Jimin leads you down a wide hallway past the metal double-doors, now colored in gray walls and darker gray tiles instead of the standard white and cream of the rest of the ground floor. There were a couple of doors lining on the sides, each designated with a position of an authority you didn’t catch to read. At the end of the hallway, a set of stairs lead downwards and you find yourself yet again, waiting in front of another set of metal double doors as Jimin inserts another silver key into the built-in lock. He pushes the doors open and as you stepped inside, you feel your jaw drop to the floor.

               In front of you was a skating rink, surrounded by glass partitions that measure about a meter. Black benches surround the rink like the ones you see in the hockey games inserted in films. However, unlike the ones you watched, the benches weren’t many enough to hold spectators of a game, and the rink was too small to hold a proper hockey game. It’s probably ideal only for recreational skating like the ones you went to with your mother whenever she feels like taking you out in winter.    

               You turn to Jimin. “What is this skating rink? I thought we were inside a business building.”

               Jimin leans on one of the benches. “Me and my group always go here to let out stress. When we were stressing for our debut, when we need a breather for comebacks or, when the cameras and media were too much–we always go here. It’s a secret hangout place, tucked underneath this large corporate building.About 50 years ago, this building was like a winter sports complex. It has this large skating rink where monthly local competitions for hockey and curling are held. Sometimes, it’s lucky enough to hold regional competitions as this part of town was far from the business center back then. Aside from contests and trainings being held, anyone–kids, teens, adults–gets to arrange who uses the spare time from the fixed schedule of the complex for recreational hockey, curling, or just…skating round and round.” Jimin laughs. “Sometimes, the complex frees it schedule to invite anyone to come and skate for a downgraded price. You know, like how your local authorities turn the frozen lakes into a public skating area when winter comes.”

               Jimin’s lips form a straight line, “However, business turned sour in the long run because another sports complex was built near the area, equipped with more supplies and employees. So the owner of the complex and the land had to sell their whole business because of that, and also because her family is going to migrate to the States. This skating rink was supposed to be taken down but the first owner of the land run back to this town and made an agreement with the buyer. Pleaded nothing will change from the negotiation except she’ll pay anything just for the buyer to keep the rink. She went all out with her money then. Even sold her house and her ancestor’s villa in Taiwan.”

               “She…spent all her money for this?”

               “Well, yeah. She did go almost bankrupt but at least she got to keep her skating rink before she died.” Jimin glances at you, waiting for a reply but when you just return a stare, he tilts his head in inquiry.

               You pull on your sleeves. “I didn’t say she did bad choices…it’s just that–it’s a lot of risk. I don’t think anyone could do that but her.”

               “Anyone can do that, it just depends what they’re willing to risk. Because–well, some things are just worth risking everything for.”

               You stay silent, staring at him. Jimin chuckles and grabs your hand to lead you towards the locker room. He proceeds with his story, “The buyer built a commercial building but fulfilled his end of the agreement by keeping the rink. And when the buyer eventually handed over the building to his son, the skating rink was then cut into half as the 3rd owner got the building renovated and sold half of the land to another millionaire. The other section of the rink was turned into another building but this one remained because the owner’s son loved to skate whenever his dad brings him for bring-your-child-to-work day. Now the son, the current owner, kept this skating rink and even opened it to the public because unlike the previous owner, his dad, he’s fun and wants to let kids come into this concrete jungle just to play and hang out.”

               “How do you know all of these?”

               “I’m friends with the current owner. His name is Henry Kim, a friend from preschool, and I swear I never knew how filthy rich he was back then. We became friends because I got enticed by his story of the first land owner meeting her soulmate, her husband, in a local skating rink which inspired her to build the sports complex and even had the succeeding owners keep the rink. Henry even got me some articles about it to read. So now, I and the boys get to have alone time in here whenever we want, away from all the cameras and the media and the pizzaz. It’s a privilege, I know, given our…status, but I’d like to think it more as out of our friendship.” He turns back to smile at you. “It makes me warm.”

               You didn’t know how to reply to his last statement so you just returned his smile and let his hand guide you to the locker rooms where you can strap on your skating shoes. It didn’t take you too long to lace up your skating shoes and waddle onto the rink because within just a couple of minutes, you’re already giggling, waltzing on the ice. It’s been a while since you let yourself enjoy like a child like this–free from societal pressure, success strife stress, and family expectations; to laugh aloud and feel nothing akin but being on top of the world just because of simple things like this–skating round and round.

               “So you told me, it’s your turn to let me learn more about you,” you skid in front of Jimin, grinning. “When is that gonna happen? You’ve been rambling about on and on about a lot of other people.”

               “Well, there isn’t much,” Jimin skates in time with you towards the east end of the rink. “I practically showed and revealed everything already on TVs and magazines.”

               “Not true. You’re more than what the cameras show what you seem to be.”

               “You’re a fan though. You practically already know everything about me.”

               “Also not true. No one is capable of fully knowing everything about everyone. All you have is your perception of others and others’ perception of you, but they will never be enough to be everything about you nor others. People are like mirrors, you know. They see each other based on the images they envision them in so, they’re just staring at what their thoughts collectively created about another person. In the end, the only one who truly knows themselves are no one but themselves.” You sigh, turning to him and taking his hand as you let centripetal force control your balance and skate you backward. “How about this: you tell me things you’ve never told anyone before.”

               “Okay,” Jimin agrees and he pulls you back to his side, hands still connected. “Do you know I used to dream of becoming a fisherman?”

               “A fisherman? Do you even know how to fish?”

               “Well…no. But you know how preschool assigns you this homework where you have to draw your dream?” You nod. “Well,” Jimin continues, “I don’t really have a dream for me back then and I can’t draw for the life of me. And then, I figured a fisherman is easy to draw because you just have to get the trapezoidal boat, the swirling waves, the stickman, and the two lines of a fishing rod right. You can add puffy clouds and the ‘m’ birds for background. After that, I convinced myself all I ever wanted is to be a fisherman and when I told that to my mother, she almost fainted.”

               “Oh my god,” you giggle, “you just made up a dream for yourself out of a drawing?”

               “Yeah, and it wasn’t the only scenario,” Jimin laughs. “By 3rd grade, I learned how to draw a motorcycle from sticks and circles so when the draw-your-dream assignment came up again, I upgraded my drawing skills and changed my dream: I now want to be a pizza delivery guy. Of course, I told my mom about it again and this time, she also upgraded: she chased me around with a slipper.”

               “I understand your mom though,” you manage to chortle in between snickers. “Being a fisherman and a pizza delivery guy are honorable but they weren’t the greatest permanent jobs in this down-slope economy.”

                “True,” Jimin agrees and this time, he lets himself skate backward, keeping his hold on your hand, firm. “Anyway, the rest is history. The media already wrote about how I got into a contemporary arts school and from there I learned to love dance and eventually dreamed of becoming a performer.”

               “What did I tell you about not being only what the people see you to be?”

               “Okay, okay. Umm,” Jimin trails off, eyes wandering as if the things he wanted to say can be easily picked up in the skating rink. But just a second later, he’s suddenly looking straight into your eyes, his own ones glimmering. “Oh, I got one! I was a hell of a headache when I was a kid. I was always so jumpy, running around, loudy as hell–the type of kids you cannot contain in one place?”

               You nod, smiling. “A lot of kids were like that.”

               “Well,” he chuckles, “the difference is that I cannot still be contained in one place even I’m way past a kid. Anyway, the me back then was a whole different level. I like going to town after town, wandering around, always hoping for some adventure. I once got on top of a delivery van, parked near my neighbor’s house, so near that it was easy for me to jump on it from their balcony. Their balcony wasn’t that tall anyway because their house was some kind of a Spanish-inspired bungalow. We were playing hide and seek at that time. I was so competitive I thought if I got on top of the van and lied down very flat, I will be unnoticed. It turned out to be a good idea because ten minutes later, the kids are now calling out for my name, yelling for me to show up so we can start another game. When the van suddenly rumbled, I quickly realized what I did was a terrible idea. The van picked up its pace and now we’re really moving from the front of my neighbor’s house. You know what I did?”

               You shook your head, giggling.

               “I cried. Real loud. Snot, sweat, and tears mixing, I look like a dumb, reckless kid who always gets complaints from the neighbors.” Jimin laughed. “So after crying for like good two minutes, that I thought was an hour back then, I started choking on my own spit. With the wailing turned down, I heard my father running behind and screaming for the van to stop. I was lucky that the driver immediately stopped after hearing my father’s cries. But after that, I wasn’t lucky anymore. My mom felt the need to keep me away from vans and my neighbor’s balcony. God, it was so embarrassing.”

               “At least your ‘hobby’ got corrected,” you quip.

               “You think jumping on vans was my hobby?” Jimin scoffs then smirks. “Don’t underestimate me. I can do much more than jumping on vans. I even did bungee jumping. Remember that episode on Run BTS!, our TV show?”

               “Of course I remember. You screamed like a screeching pterodactyl.”

               “No, I did not. That was Taehyung.”

               “Okay, okay, touché. I was just trying to make you laugh.”

               Jimin grins. “You don’t have to try though. You can always effortlessly do that.”

               You tilt your head. “Are you telling me my existence is funny?”

               Jimin pulls you towards him and you almost tumble forward but his firm grip on your hand keeps you balanced on your skates. However, you could feel every bit of warmth coming from his body as his arms are now wound around yours, keeping you as close to him as possible. Close enough for you to feel his breath fan against yours, close enough for you to trace every constellation marking up his face, and close enough for you to see the reflection of your face in his eyes…again. Jimin breaks into a grin. “I’m trying to tell you that you can easily make me happy without even trying.”

               You feel scorching heat immediately spread on your chest and to the rest of your body. You lightly push Jimin away, scoffing. Jimin puts his hands into his pockets. You sputter out,“W-what? As if I can do that. I’m really really intolerable and insufferable, you know?”

               Jimin chuckles, “It’s okay. I can handle that.”

               Before you can mumble out another disagreement, Jimin grabs your hand again, leading the two of you to the other side of the rink, this time, skating side by side.

               “Continuing from what I left on, you know what good came out from my reckless days?”

               You don’t answer him but glance his way.

               Jimin continues on, “I managed to get lots of friends. I got a bunch of them in preschool, then in elementary. When I got into high school, my group of friends got so large that almost everyone in the school, not just our batch but the lower grade levels as well, practically knew me before I even knew their name. Man, it was crazy. I get to hang out with different people per week and I get to learn their stories. It’s so fun.”

                “You must be quite of a people-person even back then.”

               “Ah, yeah,” Jimin nods. “People said I thrive off people surrounding me. Said I like being complimented and that I grow more when I’m surrounded by them. Something about collective growth.”

               “But, who wouldn’t like compliments?”

               “True. Everyone likes them. It’s just…I think they are right, but sometimes…I beg to differ.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I feel like it’s the people who thrive on me, not the other way around.”

               You look at him, curious. “How come?”

               Jimin breathes out, tugging the collar of his leather jacket closer to his neck with his free hand. “I thought why people liked me back then was because I was fun. You know that type of kid, who gets the crowd’s attention easily and entices everyone to join them in in whatever they do? That type of kid who’s easy-going and can effortlessly make boring things look cool? The people around me told me I was like that and at times, I do feel it’s the reason why I got so many friends. But as I grow up, I feel people liked me because I really love listening to their stories. I love it too much that it was even quite…abnormal.”

               “Abnormal?”

               “Yeah…abnormal. You see, back on the days, I used to latch on to person after person telling them, no, begging them to tell me their stories–the place they were born in, where they grew up in, their secrets and interests, anything. I learned how to clean vinyl records from an old unmarried man in our neighborhood. I got to travel to Geneva from a rich girl who told me her summer vacation at the playground. I even unknowingly caught up with the local gossip of a married man and his mistress three blocks from our neighborhood. I don’t know why exactly I did it. It just felt nice. It seems our generation’s now short of anyone willing to listen to what they have to say. So when people heard of my abnormal…hobby, they searched for me and spilled everything. They get someone to listen to them, and I get myself new stories. It’s a win-win situation.”

               Jimin steps to the side, creating a wider gap between your bodies as you skate but still kept your hands interlocked. “They treated me like a pond they could throw rocks into, entertaining them with my fascination and curiosity and assuring them I will not tell another soul about what they said. Just repeating what they said, nodding when they ask questions, and taking everything they told me inside when they bid their temporary farewells. They always come back for another listening session and everything will repeat. Some people I listened to talked too excitedly as if a day will never be enough to tell their story. A few talked in spurts that it’s hard to determine the beginning and the end of their stories. There were the factual lessons, rambles of nonsense, litanies of achievements, and some tear-jerkers.” Jimin sighs. “But the most amazing one I ever got to listen to was how my mom and dad met.”

               You purse your lips. “U-uh, who told you that story?”

               “My mom,” Jimin grins. “She told me the story of how they met as soon as I can understand anything. Of course, they told me the red string of fate story, but what interested me the most was their soulbond. Their soulmate system lets them know what each other is feeling even without talking about it. It’s amazing.”

               “How did they meet then?”

               “Well, my dad had a crush on my mom before he even knew she was his soulmate. My mom is my dad’s childhood friend. She became his friend in his very first day in school after she defended him from a group of kids bullying him for being too short. After that, all he ever did was admire her. He wasn’t too adamant about the soulmate system before then because all he could ever feel from his system was annoyance and irritation.  My mom lived next to dad’s house and belonged to the same group of friends he has so it was easy for him to always see her. However, talking to her was a difficult feat because my dad is one hell of an introvert and he always gets frozen feet just at the sight of her. So when my mom finally had enough of my father’s tiptoeing around her, she demanded for him to just tell her whatever issue he has with her so she can stop feeling awkward with his coldness.” Jimin giggles, “Of course my father is bad at confrontations so he just hiccupped and ran away in embarrassment. However, my mother’s words sunk in so he pulled out a recorded track he made about a month ago–a song he made just about my mother, and edited it, ending with a shy ‘I-I know you probably have many suitors by now…but can you please, please, please take a chance on me? Okay, that was too forward, shit, I’m sorry, how do I turn this off?’”

               Your jaw hangs open in disbelief. “You memorized it word per word?”

               “Of course,” Jimin chortles. “It’s too funny to let go!”

               “So after my mom heard about the record my dad left on her doorstep, she immediately asked him to dinner that night. And during their date, that’s when dad felt his soulbond feeling at peace and in love. It didn’t take them to put two-on-two together to tell they were each other’s soulmate. I swear, their soulmate system is wonderful. Dad can easily tell when mom is upset and he easily convinces her to talk it out with him. I always think communication is a strong foundation of every relationship, and to have such a soulmate system to let you feel easily what the other is feeling, it must be heaven! Imagine not having to guess or tiptoe around one another when conflicts arise. Feelings assure you the truth because no one can control what they want to feel, not to mention that soulmate system betters you to become a more empathic person.” Jimin turns and locks his eyes with yours. “Don’t you think it’s amazing to have such phenomenon? To have a significant other crafted by the universe just for you?

               You glance away. “…Yeah.”

               Jimin diverts his eyes back on the ice. “Unlike the me back then, I wasn’t that much into stories now.”

               “Why?”

               “These days, it’s hard for me to reach out and listen to people who have anything but hate or illusioned righteousness fueling their systems. The only things people tell me now were how great I was, how much I make from this job, how handsome I got. Sometimes I get to listen to bitter people who feel the need to question my career choices, making me feel bad to uplift themselves. And then majority of the time, I get people who idolize me so much, put me on the pedestal, and make me out as someone that wasn’t really me. I know some of them mean well, but sometimes…you’re just not comfortable anymore.”

               You look up at him, “Because you know you’re more than that?”

               “Well, yeah,” Jimin glances at you. “You put it really well into words. I’m impressed.”

               A question was on the tip of your tongue and you purse your lips, debating whether to ask him or not. But then, this might be your only chance you could ask him this, so you made up your mind and tugged his jacket. “Tell me, sometimes…do you ever wish you didn’t get this humongous fame at all?”

               Jimin stares at you and a couple of seconds passed before he decided to answer. “Yes, sometimes. I hate how people follow me everywhere, invade my privacy, and treat me more as a commodity than a human being. I hate how I have to hide my family and childhood friends from the limelight just so they don’t get dragged in any scandals people are so obsessed in making up. I hate having to wake up and unconsciously worry about my looks, my angles, and my weight more than anything else because I know more important matters in the society are more worth thinking and talking about–but I–I don’t know, I just can’t help it. I can’t help how the media changed me. Of course, there’re good and bad changes it brought to my life but I hated the bad ones to the very core.  But you know, when I look back and trace my steps to where I was before, I realize that fame made me happy before,” he looks at you, “and how it still does now. With this fame I was able to bring joy to lots of people and give them love they were unable to receive from those around them. With this fame I was able to give my parents a home they used to only dream about. With this fame, I was able to meet my bandmates who loved me like a family…and, I wouldn’t have met you if I didn’t become the Jimin now.”

               “H-how so?”

               “You wouldn’t have taken a chance on this date, on this soulmate thing for one whole night with me, if I wasn’t who I was today.”

               Your forehead furrows, your chest constricting in pain. “N-not true. Why are you telling me that –okay, maybe I gave you that impression of an obsessive fangirl because I blurted everything on my tongue when I first saw you, but honestly I wanted to know you more as a person and not as–”

               “No, no,” Jimin waves his hand, chuckling. “I’m sorry I implied it that way. What I mean is: You wouldn’t have trusted me enough to stay with me tonight and try this soulmate thing if I wasn’t able to love myself first before I met you.  I didn’t know what love was back then. I just imagine myself being unconditionally admired and taken care of my soulmate. And, I guess I wasn’t my best during that time. I complain a lot, demand too much, and bottle my feelings inside until they suffocate me. When things go wrong, I find it easy to blame someone else. I regarded too highly of myself that I’ve become selfish and insensitive to the people around me. So when I slowly started  to outgrow my horrible past-self, I then learned it’s impossible to trust someone about love and relationships if they are still unable to love themselves. Sure, people will argue that they can figure that out together. But still, I think it’s better if we learn how to be comfortable in our own skins before we demand others to love us. It’s not fair for them to tolerate their significant others who can’t love them right. How can we love others when we don’t know even know how love is supposed to be and feel like? That’s why…I’m glad I met you now, because I think I’m ready to love–” Jimin bites his lip, “Okay sorry, I got too sidetracked and went off the loop again , but do you get what I mean?”

               “Yeah, it’s just,” you close your eyes, shaking your head, “everything about this soulmate thing still shocks me and I’m still trying to get a hang of it so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

               You keep your glance down, apologetic, waiting for Jimin’s reply. But all you got is, “Why do you like flowers so much?”

               You look up and Jimin looks at you, eyes warm, smile wide. You didn’t have to stare for long to know he’s trying to change the topic. Trying to make you comfortable again. Actually, he never failed to make you comfortable throughout the whole night. He has never pushed you to tell everything about yourself–never demanded for you to tell him about your family like how he openly talked about his, never forced you to reveal your weaknesses and insecurities when he let you in on his vulnerability.  And even though you’re starting to think whether to talk about each one of them or not now, he still gives you the choice to come back to your safe zone whenever you want. All of these are enough of a reason to grip his hand tighter in yours and pull him to the center of the rink, facing each other.

               “Wait, whoa!”

               “Okay, why don’t we dance?”

               Jimin’s eyes almost bulge out “Dance?”

               “Yeah, dance! You know what, I’ll take the lead.” You pulled him closer to you, looping your arms around his frame in a gentle hug. Jimin’s shocked and tensed for a bit, but it wasn’t long before you can feel him giggling behind your ear and returning the hug.

               “I didn’t know you were this…aggressive.”

               “Shut up,” you laugh. “Can you just indulge in my free offer and not say another cheesy pick-up line?”

               Jimin chuckles. “Okay, will do.”

               You didn’t move much. Just, swaying and turning in small motions with your arms wound around each other. You can’t exactly point out why you’re suddenly doing this when an hour ago, you’re too adamant showing him you’re not affected by him at all. All you know is you can no longer disagree that everything with him felt right. Even if you’re still afraid and unsure, everything you did with him made you feel good. Everything you did with him made you feel something akin to happiness.

               And this time, you feel the urge to take the risk and dive in. Just for this night, you’re going to do yourself a favor. Only for one night.

               “I… like flowers so much because words can sometimes be never be enough. Flowers are the only ones that can materialize them. They’re ephemeral and they wilt, like how words evaporate into thin air once you let them out in the open. But, you know that they once lived to fill a moment because you saw their beauty and their ugliness in such a short period of time. They did exist and you know it. And I guess,” you murmur, snuggling deeper into Jimin’s hug, “it’s only through those flowers I get to be true to myself.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “Out of all the things I said tonight, the truest of them all are only the flowers. I’m not a great…arguer at all. I’m a pathological liar. I lied to myself about my distrust in this soulmate system. My cynicism to it was never solely because I wanted to make my own destiny. It was because I saw my mother and father’s relationship go down the drain even when they’re already made for each other. They knew each other so well that it’s easy for them where to hurt each other each time one of them fucks up. They divorced and I have to live in a broken family, torn between the two of them, afloat and in limbo as to where I should stand when they’ve easily marked my days as to what kind of daughter I should portray whenever I have to visit them.  And for me to live without any soulmate system at all, it felt I was further kicked down to the curb by life. Because as much as important love is, sometimes what only matter the most is the assurance that somehow, someone will love me. Because that thought is enough of an emergency kit for my mind whenever I feel too cut off from the world. And having no soulmate system as any kind of assurance….I pitied myself, thinking I can never find out what love truly feels.”

               You hiccup. “I lied to myself for years that my mother’s disappointment in me didn’t bother me. I always knew I’m difficult and for her to see me grow as a woman that she did not expect me to be is hard. I was never into law. I’m into gardening. My mom knows that because I was the one who always tended to our plants and made our garden grow as much as it could even if we’re just in a single bedroom condo unit. I just decided to take law because I know I can’t make a living out of gardening yet. It’s sad, I know, but I have to push through so when the time comes I get to save enough, I can open my own garden shop. And,” you trail off, grasping Jimin tighter in your arms, “I lied to myself I hated every bit of this night with you when tonight’s probably the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.”

               Jimin didn’t say anything. He just hugged you tighter when your shoulders quiver, stroked your back when he felt stray tears wet the skin of his neck. He didn’t push you to say more. He lulled you back to comfort in his swaying, singing you a tender melody by your ear to help you feel at ease again. He is just there, unobtrusive, just patiently waiting for you to do anything.

                When he felt you loosen a bit in his hold, he lets out his voice. “Would you mind to continue the story of the spider lily? You left me quite hanging there.”

               You don’t know why he’s diverting the topic again, but you didn’t mind, having the chance to relieve yourself from years-worth of heaviness you just have mindlessly let out in the empty ice rink. After all, he’s a stranger and telling him everything in your mind wouldn’t hurt because they all leave unobtrusive marks in your life which they easily erase once it’s time for them to go. However, it pains you to type in Jimin as just a stranger in your life.

               You clear your throat. “The-the spider lily is the flower of parting. Their flowers only bloom when the leaves die. They were believed to be lovers who aren’t destined to be together at all.”

               “That’s…terrible.”

               You nod. “…Yeah.”

               “I’ll make sure our story does not go like that.”

               You draw back to look at his face. “What?”

               Jimin smiles. “I’ll make sure our story does not turn out like the spiderlily’s. I know you’re still probably against this soulmate phenomenon. But…I want you to know that you don’t have to feel alone and unloved anymore. I’m already here. And I’m serious about you. Soulmate or not, what we have now isn’t just a one-night thing.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I love you.”

               Jimin stares at you and it only takes a second before he suddenly rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I-I know it’s too soon and you don’t have to say it back but I can’t control what I feel and–”

               You lean forward and shut him up with a kiss. Jimin freezes in your hold for a second, and then he instantly melts in your arms and returns your kiss. You don’t know why you’re doing these–embracing him tighter, angling your head, deepening the kiss to taste more of him, letting him pull you closer so that you can now compare the matching rhythm of your heartbeats. You don’t know why you’re exactly doing these things with a man you just met, no, your soulmate you just found tonight, when hours ago you’re expressing your disdain on the existence of the soulmate phenomenon. The only thought unwaveringly running in your mind now is you don’t want this to stop.

               You don’t want to stop staring at Jimin, even when you struggled getting in the cab he hailed, too busy getting lost in his eyes. You don’t want to stop enjoying the warmth from the small kisses he places against your nape, even if you had difficulty pulling your house keys from your tight jeans pocket as you giggle and moan in his warmth. You don’t want to stop feeling hot and high, even when the coldness of your home starts to seep into your toes as Jimin sheds the clothes on your body, piece by slow aching piece. You don’t want to stop holding his hand, even when you had to strain one arm pulling off his black shirt as he laughs against your neck. But most of all, you don’t want to stop kissing his lips, even when you have to part from him for a second as you lose your breath when his hips bucked into you when he laid you down on your bed.

               Jimin hovers above you, kissing you with such passion as if it will be the last time he would be able to hold you. And, you tried to return the same intensity, to balance the heat he radiates on your burning skin, to pave every expanse of his skin you could reach as he ventures every curve and ridge he could touch. With your bodies bared and stripped naked to each other, you can no longer hide the plethora of feelings that has welled on your chest just from such dream-like night you had shared with him. When Jimin parts away to cup your face in his hands, thumbs slowly caressing your cheeks, you see nothing in his eyes but the image of you–breathless, flustered, happy. You almost wanted to cry.

               “Can you be my first and last, Y/N?” Jimin asks, voice almost quivering.

               You can only manage a whisper through parted lips. “I can, Jimin. A-and I want you to be mine too.”

               After that, you were a goner. No words are further exchanged as Jimin starts to leave a trail of kisses from the sunken juncture of your jaw, to the ridge of your collarbones and onto the valleys of your tender breasts. He travels the gentle swells of your stomach, onto the curve of your hips until he’s down to the banks of your hot core, aching and willing and waiting for him. No words are slipped past each other as he dives in and savors every inch of you, nipping, and licking, and kissing your sopping heat until you’re a moaning mess on your sheets. And when he finally brings you to your high, no words are enough for you to express the euphoria thrumming in your nerves, settling on your chest, filling your head. No words are needed when your eyes and his convey them for you as you plead for more, more, and more and Jimin willingly gives all of him to you.

               Every touch of his hand on your quivering hips has you groaning and pleading. Every caress on your waist and shoulders has you sighing and moaning. Every brush of his hard chest against the soft buds of your breasts has you moaning and wailing. And every graze of his lips against yours, you can’t help but melt and let your body speak your thoughts for you. You pull him desperately, cupping his face as you roll your hips against his that has him choking out a moan.

               “Jimin,” you breathe into him and he smiles.

               “W-What?”

               “Please.”

               You don’t need to say anything in words for your dazed and glimmering eyes are enough to convey them all. Jimin smiles and gives in. He captures your lips into another kiss, murmuring your name between interlocked mouths. You feel him shift in his position above you and when he deepens the kiss again, you finally feel him burying himself deep in you. Jimin gives himself to you in slow and deep strokes that have your back arching off the bed, fingernails digging into his skin. You sputter his name again and again and despite how far gone he is losing in your heat, his gaze on your eyes never wavers, nor loses trace of every bit of him he has exposed to you, making you lose yourself into him even more.

               Everything compounds into each other in such miniscule timeframe–from the moment Jimin intertwines his tongue with yours, to the second you clutch his head closer underneath your chin to continue his featherlight kisses on your jaw. When he angles his cock deeper into you, you can only think about nothing but him, him, and only him. As he holds your hand tight in his hold, with his lips on yours as he mutters “I love you, I love you, I love you,” in between every thrust, you finally feel what it’s like to be on top of the world.

               Like the explosion you felt when he first touched your hand, it only takes one second for Jimin to let you fall apart in his arms. Euphoria living alive in every inch of your nerves, you clutch desperately on his arms and Jimin draws you closer to him as your walls clamp onto him and coaxes him to also let go in your arms. The fullness and torrid heat of him spreads inside you and Jimin kisses you once more with everything he’s got–sloppy but passionate, messy but powerful–a beautiful mosaic of the feelings you had in the most wonderful night of your entire life.

               You’re dazed and shaken, wondering if it is possible for everything to be a dream. But when Jimin collapses next to you and pulls the blanket over your bodies, all thoughts cease in a staggering halt as he whispers, “I’m happy I get to know you.”

               You smile in his embrace, “Me too.” Sensations always hit first before thought and without thinking twice, you find yourself breathing out, “Promise me you’ll be by my side ‘til tomorrow morning.”

               Jimin kisses your left hand, the one with the daffodil ring, and as he says “I promise,” you fall into a peaceful slumber. His words are enough of an assurance for you.

***

               When tomorrow comes, you wake up on a cold bed. Jimin is nowhere to be found. You didn’t need to feel more of his side of the bed to know his clothes and shoes and every trace of him in your home is now gone. But still, he promised.

               You slip into your shirt discarded on the floor and drag your worn body to the living room. Your couch and your coffee table stood untouched. When you turn to your right, you find your kitchen and dining table empty. No smell of cooked food lingered in the air. You dashed to your shower even when you hear no sound of water splashing on the tiles. The door swings open and your shower stands empty, polished tiles dry, no trace of use on the faucet. With pounding steps, you run back to the living room, straight down to your door. Fingers skimming down on your bolts, your hand trembles when you find the knob and grasp it. When you twist it, your door clicks open as it unlocks.

               You refuse to acknowledge the obvious possibility looming on your head since you woke up. But now, it only takes one more second of you standing by your unlocked door before your thoughts crash down, choking out a broken sob from you. Jimin left the minute after what happened last night. He didn’t go outside to just buy something before coming back to your home. He didn’t even stay long enough to wash up and clean himself. He just got up, locked your door close, and went out, leaving you behind.

               You hunch over your doorstep, grunting, pain hammering on your chest as your body falls to the ground. Uneasiness, frustration, and desperation muddles into a heavy iron ball that sinks on your chest, sinking deeper and deeper until its heaviness constricts your lungs of any air.

               Jimin left and he didn’t even bother to leave a note. He doesn’t have your keys, nor your number. He isn’t planning to come back.

               You stiffle a broken scream on your clenched hands.

***

               Three taps on your desk grow louder by the second, each one nipping on your nerves.

               “Hey, Miss, my roses?”

               “O-oh, right,” you stir, eyes fluttering wide, taking in the bouquet of roses you were wrapping. The flower shop is brightly illuminated by the overhead lights and the morning daylight, yet everything looks so hazy, the frantic movements of your hands sticking out so aberrant from your perspective.

               “Here’s your bouquet, sir. Thank you for coming to Petal Hill.” The man waves off and your smile falls the second the glass door swings close in his exit.

               Everything went back to normal. You went to university in the morning, started your shift in the flower shop in the afternoon. You didn’t miss a day and you eat and sleep the same way. Routines are done the same way they are until they blur day after day, just how you live your days with sleep marking the end and beginning of every tomorrow. But, they are still not enough to fill the gaping hole in your chest. Whatever you do, they’re not enough to let you forget of that night. Even if you tried to convince yourself that you felt okay after Lucy made up with you, your false defense just crumbles whenever you so much glance at the inked flowers on your arms, the ones Jimin ignited to bloom that night. More so when now the flowers have dulled in their yellowness after he left.

               Even if you know it’s futile, you still did everything you can. You changed your sheets and cleaned your home. You refused to look into any online article pertaining to him. You busied yourself until you break down tired. You screamed and have already cried for so many nights. And you did something you abhorred: wait–wait for someone to come back without any assurance they have actually plans of coming back.

                You wait for Jimin to show up at your door, explain and apologize and fulfill his end of the promise. Because even if you abhorred the sight of your mother endlessly waiting for your father to come back and how you did the same for the both of them, Jimin is different. He is your soulmate and that night you met him, he convinced you it won’t hurt to give this soulmate phenomenon a chance. So each day after that dream-like night, you waited and waited until all seconds, hours, and days add into an excruciating week.

               For one week, Jimin didn’t show up and when a gray Sunday afternoon comes, eight days past the night, you’re starting to wonder if you should still keep your unrealistic hope alive.

               The glass door swings, ten footsteps echo in the silent shop, five pansies are laid down on your table–and then you stop. Your thoughts halt in a frozen limbo, your body stills in staggering shock.

               It’s the same bleached blonde hair, the same black leather jacket, the same silver earrings, the same drooped eyelids and warm, brown eyes – it’s Jimin, Park Jimin, who stands in front of you, waiting for you to wrap the pansies on your desk. It’s him, the soulmate you’ve been waiting to come back to you for so many days and nights and all you can do is–

               Your eyes immediately dart down to your desk as your fingers scramble to wrap the flowers. “If you just came here to make sure I won’t tell anybody what happened, don’t worry, I already plan not to. Your reputation will remain clean and you’ll still have millions of fans. You can leave after I wrap this.”

              “W-what? No, I’m not gonna do that, Y/N. Never...I came here to talk.”

              “Oh, so now you wanna talk. After a week of silence, you now decided you want to talk.”

              “Y/N–”

             “So now that you wanna talk, what are we gonna talk about? How everything that happened was a mistake?” you spit out. You’ve already thought about this but hearing them loud from your own lips starts to make your eyes sting with tears. You immediately look down again at the flowers you’re wrapping. You can’t cry in front of him again, let him see you this weak again. You can’t have him to kick you down to the curb again.

            “No, Y/N. I’m sorry. Please–please look at me.” Jimin says, a sob escaping his lips. Receiving no response, he places his palms on your desk and pulls down his mask as he leans forward to meet your downcasted eyes. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side that morning. But believe me, I didn’t want to break my promise, I just have to do something–”

              “What do you have to do?” you cut him as you raise your hand to wipe away the tear that has made its way down your cheeks. “What do you have to do that is so fucking important for you to just leave me as if nothing happened between us? Why do you have to disappear for a week without any word? Why do you have to just show up now? Why, Jimin, why?”

              You face Jimin, letting your eyes meet his for the first time and really look at him. His lips are chapped, his complexion pale, the bags under his eyes dark. He looks just as bad as you but you don’t want to dwell on it, afraid your resolve will crumble down when you should be keeping a strong front.

              “Y/N, I–I'm sorry,” Jimin says again as a tear escapes down his cheek. “What I did is unforgivable and I know you have every right to hate me right now. But I-I have actually planned to stay and make you breakfast and tell you–”

              “I don’t need to hear what you could have done because it did not happen,” you look at him and Jimin freezes. “You didn’t stay like you promised, Jimin.”

             “Y/N, please–” 

             “Just tell me why you left me. Why do you have to appear now?”

              “I,” Jimin starts and he sighs. “Namjoon called me around four, demanded where the hell I am. Apparently...the media has already published pictures of us getting in a cab together that night. Namjoon asked me to come back to the dorm right that instant before the media can do a massive stakeout in front of your building and barrage us with their cameras. So I didn’t come back the morning after to not raise any more suspicion. I waited a week to pass for the paparazzi to calm down and drive away their cars before I can go back to you.” He raises his hand to wipe a stray tear on his cheek but it’s not enough to prevent the small wet drop from landing on the pansies. “I-I can’t let the media invade your privacy and create horrendous articles about you. They can do that to me, but not to you. Never to you. You don’t deserve that.”

                You’ve imagined this confrontation scene again and again in your head for the last couple of days. You’ve planned what you’re going to say and how you would end this goddamn connection with Jimin once and for all. And yet...you couldn’t remember the words you’ve planned for so long to say right now. They just died immediately at the tip of your tongue as if they were never there in the first place. And you hate it. For once, you thought you could finally have some control over the effect of this man has on you. You feel ashamed. You feel as if you’ve betrayed yourself.

                Biting your lip, you bring your eyes back to the pansies. “I guess that’s better than having you figure out I’m just a simple nobody you can fuck over for one night of fun and throw away when you’re done and satisfied. Because that’s what I thought when you left me.”

               “No, Y/N, I’ll never do that to you–”  Jimin scrambles to reach for your hands but you take a step back away from him. You could see pain brim in his eyes and hurt pangs in your chest. You thought if you could deliver the same pain he brought to you, you would feel better. But no, you only felt worse. Worse for thinking hurting back the person you love is the right thing to do. Just like what your mom and dad did to each other. Tears sting your eyes at the thought. You swore never to become like them and you’re doing the very mistake they did. You hate this. You hate feeling so weak. You hate how you’re even thinking about Jimin and what he must be feeling when your own chest feels so heavy with the pain he caused.

               You tear your eyes away from him and dart them to your clenched hands. “I already heard your apology, Jimin. You don’t have to repeat it again to convince me. I’ll just finish these pansies so you can go.”

              “No, Y/N, you don’t understand. Can you please–please just look at me?”

             “What for, Jimin? I already heard you out, what more do you want?” You wipe away the tears that have streamed down your face, “Do you want me to hear now how sorry you are because you didn’t mean everything you said? Because if you do–”

              “I meant every single thing I said,” Jimin breathes out. “I love you, Y/N. So much that I want to do everything I can just for you to be happy. I waited for so long to finally meet you and I’m so, so, so sorry I broke my promise and fucked everything up. But I swear, Y/N, I want nothing but you and I meant everything I said especially when I told you I love you.”

              You raise your head to finally look at him and you almost wanted to regret your decision. Jimin stands in front of you, sobbing, eyes wrecked. He looks so vulnerable, cut wide open for you to see. You know he must be saying the truth but you still can’t ignore the doubt clouding in your head. You’ve already believed him once. You don’t want to repeat your mistake again.  “I would be lying if I told you I don’t want to believe what you said,” you choke out a sob, “But Jimin, I can’t just take you back and pretend what happened did not hurt me.”

               Jimin freezes. “N-no, Y/N, please–”

               “Jimin, I want you to prove you mean everything you said. I’m sorry, but I...I just can’t forgive someone so easily with mere words. I’ve seen hundreds of relationships go down because of that.” Your voice cracks, “Hell, I’ve seen my own mother and father destroy each other with repetitive apologies and forgiveness. I need to respect myself, Jimin, I–” you let out a shaky breath and hand over the wrapped pansies, “I’m sorry I can’t accept your apology now.”

               Jimin looks down and nods, “I understand, Y/N.” He doesn’t take the flowers and turns away, walking to the door. Each step he takes is synonymous to another crack making its way down your heart but you know you have to do this for yourself–for you to have enough reasons not to regret the decision you already made up in your mind about his and your future. You have to do this for yourself so you can finally deal with your fears and doubts about the soulmate phenomenon. So if Jimin can’t do what you request for, then you’ll let him go. You can’t let him and yourself experience the inevitable tragedy brought forth by the intense intimacy and transparency the soulmate phenomenon brings. You can’t take it if the both of you will face the same horrible ending your parents had.  

               Jimin stops by the door and you look up to see his retreating frame.

               “Keep the pansies. They’re for you. I-It was nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

               After that, he’s gone.

***

                You didn’t expect anything from him after your meeting in the flower shop. However, you know better than to anticipate nothing from Jimin but an effective counter-argument. You know your judgment is right when you found the proof first on your doorstep in the morning after of your talk, September 15. Five pansies stood in a small vase placed on the right of your door, next to your umbrella stand. Underneath it was a pink note, which said, “I’m sorry.”

               That evening, you stayed up late into the night. Your clock ticks ten thirty and then you hear it: a click of a button, a faint clink of glass, and Jimin’s soft voice.

               “Hi Y/N. I…I’m sorry for what I did. And I hope you know I won’t give up making it up to you for you to know I’m really serious about you. I–I’ve brought you pansies. I remember every single thing we talked about that night and after that night, the only thought that always comes to my mind ever since is you.”

               The morning after, you see the same vase and a fresh set of flowers, the wilted blooms probably cleaned up and taken out. However, instead of the note, a record lies next to the vase. When you slid it into your beat-up player, a relic you kept from your mother’s home, it plays his short message last night.  

               The routine falls into place the following days.

               “Hi Y/N. Our schedule today wasn’t full so I had the time to go to a library and read about flo-flo-floriography? My tongue always gets twisted when I say that so please don’t judge me. I’ll pronounce it better soon. So back to the book–I read that sweet peas mean ‘Thank you for the lovely time’ and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you that right after our date. After all, it was the happiest night of my life. Anyway, I got you some sweet peas now with the pansies. I hope you like them.”

               “Hi Y/N. I’m sorry I’m late.  We got dance practice until ten and I rushed here right after our choreographer called it a night. I wish I can show our dance to you now, but yeah…I guess you wouldn’t want to. You’ll probably throw the flowers I have now to my face. Okay, I’m kidding. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just want to make you laugh. I miss hearing you laugh.”

               “Hi Y/N. I stopped by Petal Hill this afternoon but I didn’t see you there. Someone filling in for you told me you skipped your shift to study for your tests. I wish I could help you like how guys in cheesy romance movies do but I guess I won’t be able to do that because I’m not that smart. I’ll leave early today so you can study. Eventhough I know you’ll slay it, I’ll still wish you good luck. I hope these gardenias with the pansies will give you additional good fortune.”

               “Hi Y/N. We did songwriting today and I wrote my first solo song. Guess who’s my ispiration. Surprise, Surprise, it’s you! Namjoon told us to just write out anything we’ve been thinking a lot lately and all I could think about is you. I can’t show it to you yet because it’s still messy but I promise, as soon as I made it perfect as it should be, you’ll be the first one to hear it!”

               “Hi Y/N. I read a book about flowers again! This time, I got curious about azaleas, the small, pretty pink blooms on the front shelf of Petal Hill? The flower book I read says they look like azaleas. Anyway, I learned that they require quite an effort to grow because they prefer a little sun and a little shade. I guess that’s why they mean ‘fragile’ in the older books of floriography. However, I read that even if they’re fragile, they can last for several weeks. Thus, they also mean ‘take care’ in modern floriography books. Isn’t that amazing? I brought azaleas today so they can last long and remind you to always take care of yourself.”

               Every morning you collect the records he leaves and every night you can’t help but forgive him bit by bit. His flowers and records make your mornings worthwhile; his soft voice and songs, a lullaby that you start to anticipate in the night. Jimin does his routine religiously night after night and it wasn’t long before you find your heart softening to him again, opening up for him so easily even when you didn’t want to.  There’s no use to deny the fluttering of your heart anymore because as nights go by, you already find yourself gathering up your courage to open the door and finally let him back in.

               For twelve nights, Jimin’s routine doesn’t fail. In the latter six nights, you’re by the door, practicing what to say. You plan to just throw open the door once you finally sorted out everything you want to say. However, that plan immediately goes down the drain because of one Monday night, the 14th night of Jimin’s supposed routine.

               “Hi Y/N. I know it’s late but….I have to say something important. I…I won’t be able to stop by for the next few days. We’re having our comeback tomorrow and soon after, promotions will require us to go overseas. I just came because I hope you’ll open the door by now and at least show me your face. Doesn’t matter if you throw the door close to my face the second after you show your  face. I just want to see you real bad. It would be long before I can see you again and I…I miss you. I miss you so much, Y/N. So can you please open the door? Because…I know you’ve already forgiven me.”

               Your body freezes and before you know it, your feet are pounding hard on your floor towards your door. The millisecond you tear open your door, you barely whisper, “Ho-How did you know that?!”

               Jimin stands in front of you, eyes wide. His hair is still bleached blonde like the last time you saw him, his gentle eyes still the same. He looked better than the last time you saw him, healthier. But unlike your expectations, there’s no vase and record this time. It’s just him and his flowers–a bouquet of pansies and sunflowers in his hands. Tears well up in your eyes and your lips tremble. But before you can say anything, he answers your question. “I–I can hear your thoughts.”

                “W-what?” Your jaw falls open. Oh my God.

               Jimin opens his mouth. “Oh my God.”

               Your forehead furrows. What the fuck, is he copying me?

               Jimin shrugs. “What the fuck, is he copying me?”              

               What the hell –“H-how did you know what I’m thinking? Wha-what–”

               “It’s my soulmate system,” Jimin looks into your eyes and your body goes rigid in shock. Jimin bites his lip. “I lied about soulbond being my soulmate system because…I don’t want to scare you that night that I practically already knew everything about you before I even met you. That I purposely went to Marti’s Hub just to get a glimpse of you when I knew you’re going to that bar to cry over your Law 114 essay and I just happened to be near that area. And that how I came to your rescue was not perfectly a coincidence, but intentional because I heard your…mental cries of help.”

               “The-then what about the-the daffodil ring?” You point to his left hand and Jimin breathes shakily.

               “This ring wasn’t because of your soulmate system…or mine,” he admits. “Remember that time when you’re fifteen and you thought about how romantic it will be to have a daffodil bloom inked around your ring finger instead of a wedding ring? I thought about that a lot until I can’t think about anything else. All I knew is that I have to own a permanent mark of you on my body because it felt wrong not to be tied to you in some way when you already own every part of me. I have a daffodil inked on my ring finger because,” he trails off and looks into your eyes. “What’s the meaning of the yellow daffodils?”

               You’re the only one.

               “You’re the only one,” Jimin breathes out. You felt your tears trailing down your cheeks and Jimin’s thumb wipes them away. He keeps his hand on your cheek and you look up into his eyes, into his eyes that reflect nothing but you. One second is all it takes for your defense to crumble down and fall. Fall into Jimin’s arms, fall into him again, letting him hold everything that you are–your strengths, burdens, weaknesses–everything.

               “B-but what about y-your parents?” you choke, “The-the soulbond–”

               “They’re true,” Jimin says, firm. “Excluding my soulbond soulmate system, everything I told you that night is true. My parents, my stories, my wishes, my intentions, my ‘I love you’–they’re true. All of them.”

               You tremble in his arms and Jimin holds you tighter. It is right then you decide to finally deal with your fears. “H-how can you be so sure, Jimin? How can we make this work? I-I’ve only known about you in one night.”

               “That’s not quite true,” Jimin chuckles. “You’ve known about me since 2013. I know I caught your eye the instant I showed up in the screen with the cringey snapback, trying hard to swag with cheap gold chains on my neck.”

               “But what about me? You only knew me i-in one night…”

               “Not true too.” Jimin cups your face in his hands. “I told you, I can hear your thoughts. I’ve been hearing them since you were born–all that you did, all the things you liked, all the people you disliked–I’ve already known you since I started hearing you. Hearing the minutest details of your thoughts for over so many years is enough for me to know about you.” He breathes out, smiling. “Enough for me to know my soulmate already loved me before she even meet me. And I want her to know I already felt the same before I even saw her.”

               Before you can say anything else, Jimin leans over and presses his soft lips against yours. It’s gentle, intimate–a delicate touch that conveys nothing but love. You make a noise of surprise but you already know you’ll be melting in his touch within mere seconds. You know because your cheeks feel warm and your chest flutters in joy. You know because everything about the night suddenly feels right. You know because even if you haven’t said it aloud, Jimin knows what he said is true.

               When you part, you’re greeted with his soft smile and gentle eyes that you love so much. And right then, you know that even if it scares you, you’ll have to say everything in your heart aloud. What’s let out in the open air cannot be undone anymore and you have no plans of taking back the words you will utter.

               “I love you, Jimin.”

               Jimin smiles and beams back, warm and bright. “And I won’t get tired telling you I love you, too, Y/N.”

               Standing there on your doorstep, as the world slowly turns around you, you think it’s finally time that you accept the tale of the red string of fate is more than just a fairytale for everyone else but you. Because right in front of you, is your own happy ending. And, you’re sure, even in another universe, you will relive that night you met Jimin again and again if it will grant you what you have now in your arms: love.

               You don’t need to glance at your glowing daffodil ring to prove that you’re right.

Epilogue

                As you touch your red-stained lips with one final dab, your voicemail beeps. Your free hand presses your telephone to hear the call you missed since you’ve been out of your house the whole day.

               “Hi Y/N. It’s mom. I…I wanted to tell you this in person but it would be a while before my bus reaches your place. I just…I just want to say that your father met up with me two weeks ago and…yesterday, we decided to give us another chance. I’m sorry I’m only telling you this when I always felt I should have said this way back before: the soulmate phenomenon works and I’m so sorry we caused you to distrust it and lose hope in love. I know we’re not the best parents out there, but Y/N, I want you to know that you are loved and someone out there made by the heavens and destined by fate will love you more and make you happier than we ever could. This soulmate thing–it works as long as you give it a chance and work hard too to make it work. We will be there at your place tomorrow with your father…We missed a lot about you these recent two weeks…especially your father, and I hope we can catch up. Always take care, Y/N. Mom and dad loves you.”

                   “You ready, Y/N?”

                  You turn to your boyfriend, smiling. “Yeah, Jimin, I’m done.” You grab your purse and take Jimin’s open hand, giggling when he presses a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips.

                   Smirking, you said, “You really know now how to kiss me without smearing my lipstick.”

                   Jimin looks at you, grinning, “Of course, I won’t ruin your perfect makeup. You made yourself pretty for our date tonight.” He leans to the crook of your ear and whispers, “Unless…you want me to do now what I have in mind for us later in the night.”

                  You cringe at him but Jimin probably already knows his words have affected you because you already feel your cheeks starting to heat up. “Ah, you’re so cute. I love teasing you,” Jimin chuckles as he interlocks your hand with his. When you step out of your home, you glance back to your telephone and then to your daffodil ring, glowing faintly. Smiling, you close your door.

A/N pt. 2 | Hi hons! Thank you for reading this 2nd long-ass oneshot I made after Translucent Fireworks! The inspiration from this fic came from one of the requests in my Songs to Read Playlist:

3 minutes of listening to I was Made for Loving You and one eureka moment are all it took for me to plot this story in detail from start to finish.Thus, I decided then to make this a full oneshot, and now, I am drained and tired after finishing this. This has sucked the lifeblood out of me as this kept me busy for one whole f*cking month and next week is all I have left of my summer break before uni starts hell again. But hey, at least I made up my lack of activity to you hons with lots of wordcount! Thank you for appreciating my works and I hope you all stick with me longer as I have a lot of upcoming works in store for you!

All Rights Reserved © Vanaera. Reposts, modifications, and translations of content are not allowed without direct permission.i

[miraculouscontent]

*rubs hands together*

I will say this before I start: there are a lot of good shots and musical cues in this episode. I mean, that doesn’t make it a good episode, but I do recall being on edge when Hawk Moth started enacting his plan with Catalyst.

...Granted, all of that completely died when one of the akuma touched Marinette’s purse, but ehhhhhhh, we’ll get there.

Duusu is also really adorable (even if the “romantic” line was rather forced and painful) and I’m glad we FINALLY have confirmation on the whole Emilie thing even if we could’ve already guessed it.

[Dire Liar]

First things first, I don’t know why Bustier felt the need to call Marinette forward in front of the whole class? And I mean that in a character sense.

Back in “Zombizou,” Bustier escorted Marinette outside to talk to her about setting a good example for Chloe. It’s even set up in a way that makes Marinette feel like she’s the one in trouble (especially since Bustier doesn’t talk to Chloe about it).

Now, the reason why it’s different here is obvious: Lila had to be there so Marinette could call her out and they could both be sent to the principal’s office together, and also because the class wouldn’t be able to defend Marinette had Bustier talked to Marinette about it in private.

The problem is that it makes Bustier look like a terrible teacher for not dealing with this properly. Had she just escorted Marinette out of the class, Marinette still might’ve accused Lila, but it wouldn’t have been so bad and also not involved BUSTIER LITERALLY CALLING OUT LILA’S BAD GRADES IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CLASS.

(which is honestly stupid regardless; if Marinette is right and Lila framed her, Bustier literally points out the reason why it would be Lila as if that proves the contrary, since Lila got the worst grade on her test which is absolutely what someone trying to frame someone else would do to try and keep themselves from getting caught??)

Speaking of which, I’m glad this confirms that Marinette is smart enough to ace her tests (since Alya points out that Marinette always scores highly on tests), but my question then becomes how Lila knew that Marinette would. It’s not as if Marinette comes off as the type of person who’d ace every test, and while Lila recognizes that Marinette is smart enough to know that she’s a liar, that doesn’t mean that she’s better at doing tests than, say, Max.

I’d also like to point out that, if Marinette did cheat on the test (as Bustier seems to believe), there’d be no reason for Marinette to keep the answer sheet afterward, so it doesn’t make sense for her to keep it in her backpack. If Lila had managed to find the answer sheet before the test started, give Bustier the anonymous note, and then Bustier asks to see Marinette’s backpack (in private) right before the test began, that’d be different. It would also be different if Lila had made sure that Marinette had ace’d the test perfectly, but we don’t see that.

(willing to excuse the injury since I imagine that Lila kept insisting that she was in pain regardless of the nurse not finding anything wrong)

In addition, let me just say that it’s bizarre to see Bustier tell Marinette that she can’t accuse Lila without proof, only to then send them both to the principal’s office. It’s not quite on the level of not talking to Chloe in “Zombizou,” but it’s still pretty bad. If the note hadn’t been anonymous, then Lila could’ve just gone with Marinette because she’s “the one who saw it happen" even if Bustier wouldn’t explicitly say that. Lila is trying to cover her tracks, but at the same time, she couldn’t have guaranteed that she would be sent to the principal’s office to enact the next part of her plan, which is my issue.

There’s also the fact that this episode continuously goes out of its way to not involve Lila’s mother, especially in the scene where Lila talks about her “disease,” because the writers know that everything’s going to unravel if Lila’s mother is told about any of those lies.

And it’s not as if Lila’s the only factor here.

[Over the Head]

The other thing about this episode is that it’s trying to follow up on the character’s actions in “Chameleon” without actually following up. It features Lila, flashes back to “Chameleon,” and has Lila going through on her threat to turn Marinette’s friends against her.

But it doesn’t feel like a proper follow-up because it doesn’t properly follow up since nothing happens. No one else is given concern about Lila, Adrien continues “supporting Marinette” only in the background (basically “Oni-Chan” Part 2, except it’s Marinette instead of Nathalie, Gorilla, and Ladybug), Alya still believes that Lila is a good person, and Marinette’s expulsion is forgotten about so I guess the class (presumably) just goes right back to trusting her. It’s as if the episode was trying to compensate for all the salt that happened in “Chameleon” but simultaneously couldn’t let things resolve in any way.

It’s a case of “too little, too late,” essentially.

I mean, just for starters is Alya herself. While it’s totally great that she wants to do detective work and that she believes Marinette’s innocence, it doesn’t absolve her from the fact that she can’t have Marinette and Lila’s side at the same time. Like, she literally can’t.

The fact is that Lila is the one who accused Marinette of both pushing her down the stairs and stealing her pendant, yet Alya is convinced that someone who is not Lila is the one who framed Marinette. The pendant is one thing because all Alya knows is that the pendant was in Marinette’s locker--she didn’t know the details of Lila’s accusations--but Lila accused Marinette of pushing her down the stairs. If Alya is supposedly such a great reporter, as she claims to be, then she should know who the one that accused Marinette of doing these things is because that’s the first thing she should go after.

This isn’t even mentioning the fact that Alya later got interviews during her investigation and Lila was one of the people she interviewed.

And let’s be real about this, because I’m sure we can all agree that Lila would not be soft about whether Marinette did these things or not. When Lila goes in on something, she goes all in, and if Alya tried to absolve Marinette of blame for the stair incident by asking (for example) if there was anyone else around at the time, Lila wouldn’t hesitate to confirm that there was no one else. If Lila’s plan is to get everyone to turn on Marinette, then Alya is a prime target, so Lila would put up the vulnerable act and say, “I know that it’s so unlike her, but I’m sure she was the one who did it! I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say anything, because I know you two were close, but it’s the truth.”

Point being, even if Alya didn’t know that it was Lila making those accusations at the time, she would later on, and at that point, she can’t continue being on Lila’s side if she wants to prove Marinette’s innocence.

Alya doesn’t even have any other leads for who might’ve done it, which is ridiculous because CHLOE EXISTS. If Alya is trying to figure out suspects, then Chloe would be the one to target because Chloe has a long-standing history of hating Marinette, yet Alya doesn’t even have a list of potential people who have a grudge against Marinette (which could’ve been hilarious, by the way; Alya trying her absolute hardest to keep Lila out of her suspects, so she starts suspecting people for dumb things like, “Marinette gently bumped into them in the hall once”; WASTED POTENTIAL).

It’s just... dumb that Alya tries to say that Marinette has a motive without thinking about the motives that other people might have for framing Marinette. It felt like they only had her mention motives to rub salt in the wound of anyone who remembers Alya’s jealousy comments from “Chameleon” and “Catalyst.”

AND ANOTHER THING...

Tikki states after the scarlet akuma attack that Alya didn’t get akumatized and that it somehow means that Alya still trusts Marinette.

I...

I have questions.

Like, first of all, Tikki’s comments only make sense when taken into context with Hawk Moth’s plan to use the classmates feeling betrayed by Marinette to akumatize them, which is something that Tikki obviously wouldn’t be aware of.

Secondly, Alya not getting akumatized doesn’t mean anything about how Alya felt during the matter because--I mean--wouldn’t Alya knowing that Marinette is innocent make her more likely to be akumatized? I understand that getting akumatized for the sake of someone else is a rare occurrence in the show, but Alya’s best friend just got expelled and Alya truly believes that she’d been framed, yet she doesn’t get akumatized over it?

Yeah, no. I don’t buy that.

Then, there’s Adrien. Just like with Alya, yes, it’s great that he’s actually doing something for Marinette, but it ultimately means little in the grand scheme of things. While I appreciate that he did try to intervene before Mr. Damocles cut him off and that he tried to put his foot down on Lila’s behavior, here are the facts:

Fact number one is that Marinette had to prompt Adrien before Adrien intervened. Yes, he defended her in class, but when he sees the pendant fall from Marinette’s locker, Marinette has to call out to him directly before Adrien tries to say anything. I honestly can’t blame Mr. Damocles for cutting Adrien off in that moment, because Adrien not stepping forward before Marinette’s prompting would just make Mr. Damocles think that Adrien is only sticking up for Marinette because she’s begging him to.

Fact number two is that Adrien rewarded Lila for her behavior in the end. Regardless of how he spoke to her or how upset he was, Lila is still “friends” with him “officially” and even gets a bonus in that she’s now known to the world as “Gabriel’s muse.”

To some degree, I get what Adrien is doing, but it’s not obvious enough, and this happened all the way back in “Chameleon” too.

Back then, people speculated that Adrien told Marinette not to out Lila because he knew that Lila would just lie her way around it. However, Adrien didn’t say that and thus made it look more like he was just trying to protect Lila’s feelings.

If Adrien was using that logic here, then it seems like he’s using his friendship/status as a bargaining chip, believing that he has no evidence against her (which isn’t true; he knows that Lila isn’t friends with Ladybug and another voice against Lila is more powerful than just Marinette by herself since she “has a motive”) and thus resorting to threatening her with their friendship to get her to do what he wants.

Yet, by standing by Lila’s side and refusing to do anything, Adrien caused a lot of akumatizations, almost causing Marinette’s in particular (twice). Lila was the one who started it, but Adrien is the one refusing to stop her for good.

So yeah. I gave Adrien slack in “Desperada,” but I will not give him any slack here. This is an entirely different game he’s playing and I’m not a fan.

And here’s the thing: I would like to see the conflict on both Adrien and Alya’s ends. It’d be interesting to see Adrien be hurt by Marinette’s situation, but being afraid of speaking out because he doesn’t know what kind of power Lila has to ruin his reputation (which his father would not be happy about). It’d be interesting to see Alya continuously see Lila as a suspect, but trying so hard not to believe it because she’s constantly accused Marinette of just being jealous and doesn’t know how to handle the fact that Marinette has been right all along and Alya favored Lila over her best friend.

But without those pieces there, those conflicts can only be speculated on; not confirmed.

One more note about Adrien since Chat does a thing here as well: this is like the second time that Chat has been fooled by a Ladybug copy (”The Puppeteer 2″ being the first), and what gets me is that it’s never the behavior that throws him off; it’s always something else (like him smelling the wax or the real Ladybug showing up to intervene). He also has to be told again by Ladybug that she loves someone else (when he tries to kiss her) even though she already stated as much when she broke apart Chat and Sentibug.

And BY THE WAY, “I’m in love with someone else,” is not a reason for Chat not to kiss her. Whether Ladybug loves someone else or not is beside the point and implies that it’d be fine if she didn’t love someone else. No, the point is that Chat shouldn’t kiss her because she’s not in love with him and has already said so multiple times.

I dunno, the fact that Ladybug being in love with someone else was brought up three times in this episode makes me wonder if they’re planning something for the finale. It’s just a lot of mentions for one episode.

I would also just like to point out how depressing it is to know that neither Tom and Sabine knew anything about Lila. Marinette apparently never confided in them about her and, even if her parents do believe that Lila’s disease is at fault for what happened, they apparently hold no animosity towards her whatsoever for getting their daughter expelled (they can still feel at least a twinge of anger about Lila even if they believe she’s genuine; it’s called being human).

I mean, granted, I’m not surprised. Tom goes on to talk about how much he knew his daughter was innocent, but I simply do not believe that. They wouldn’t have had their daughter working in their bakery after the shock of getting expelled from a school where she had so many friends if they didn’t believe she did it. Her life was just thrown for a loop and they’re trying to keep her busy with stuff that she clearly doesn’t want to do, so no, I don’t believe for a second that they thought she was innocent. Even with Hawk Moth’s line about revealing the truth when he was akumatizing Sabine, that was directed at Marinette as well, so he naturally would’ve had to swing it as something deeper going on or Marinette wouldn’t have been on board.

OH AND SPEAKING OF MARINETTE--

[why]

I was willing to set aside the lack of focus on Marinette’s conflict in “Queen Wasp” because I both knew it wasn’t going anywhere and knew that it was at least not something affecting Marinette in a severely negative way...

but I will not let up here because oh my god.

Marinette got expelled in this episode, and it’s brushed off at the end like it’s not even a big deal. Everything is just reset to square one, and there are no apologies to Marinette, no “sorry for getting akumatized because I thought you betrayed us,” and Marinette had to call Alya to have someone check up on her because no one checked up on her after all that.

Also, regardless of how negative Marinette must’ve felt after being expelled, it is such a massive disservice to have her not even fight back against the akuma when Chloe rejected her akuma in “Miraculer.” “Chameleon” was a shining moment when Marinette repelled the akuma all by herself, but once it actually touches her and gets inside her head, she doesn’t even resist?

And it’s just a matter of raising the episode’s stakes and showing that Marinette would immediately remove her earrings if she were akumatized in civilian form. Her expulsion isn’t for her character; it’s for the plot.

Heck, and if that’s the case (just needed Marinette to be expelled to turn the class against her), than Mayura’s sentimonster could’ve just been Sentinette instead if Sentibug, with Sentinette going and doing actually bad things or Mayura literally just appearing in front of Lila and putting a Marinette sentimonster under Lila’s control (Lila already accepted an akuma so why not?), then Nathalie keeping Marinette occupied with doing other tasks and claiming that she’s “already told the school” about it (since we’ve seen from “Simon Says” that Gabriel doesn’t need to be Hawk Moth to keep his champions active, so we can presume that it’s the same for sentimonsters) while Sentinette wreaks havoc. Hawk Moth can still just akumatize Nathalie afterward and the results would be the same except Marinette doesn’t have to be involved since the plot isn’t going to touch on her pain anyway. I mean, if Lila ends up having Sentinette as her sentimonster anyway, then that could even give Nathalie the idea of Sentibug later on.

Regardless of how much I care about Gabriel and Nathalie’s plot (which is a mixed bag; cool to see Nathalie doing things on her own but I still don’t know how/why she got feelings for Gabriel), that doesn’t mean that Marinette’s plot has to be sacrificed for it. All of the realistic feelings that Marinette should have are just brushed aside because things are happening and there’s no time for it.

And that’s not even taking into account all the other things that happen in the episode. Not only is Marinette expelled (which Tkki doesn’t comfort her on and just focuses on how she almost gave up the earrings; I’m not saying it’s not important to discuss that part but UGH), but Alya discouraged her from claiming that Lila did anything when Marinette knows it was Lila (again, going back to this “being human” thing; even if Marinette knows that Alya doesn’t have all the information, she has a right to feel hurt), her parents kept her busy with baking instead of letting her breathe or even giving her a day to allow the situation to sink in, and she had to just watch in shock while her own superhero partner believed a sentimonster over herself.

(By the way, unrelated, but while I’m not denying that it was sad to see Sentibug “die,” there is virtually no evidence about Sentibug being a “pure” as Chat claims until Ladybug gives Sentibug the object; like, Chat is literally talking about how there’s nothing evil about her while Sentibug is standing alongside Mayura and glaring at him. There’s simply no time to get to know Sentibug before she inevitably falls.)

There’s also the fact that Marinette, y’know, had to deal with all these terrible emotions on a day where she also had to fight Hawk Moth, so that was great for her, I’m sure.

Not helped by the self-deprecating comment she makes about not being anywhere near as perfect as Sentibug, which tore my heart out in case you’re curious.

I don’t know. This show has a weird habit of involving Marinette with the plot while simultaneously having no idea what to do with her. They have her around to react so that things can happen, but they don’t want to go into the details of how that interaction will affect her on a deep, personal level. It would make sense if that was how Marinette perceived things--that she wasn’t allowed to feel or else risk being akumatized--but the show treats it as if that’s how it should actually work, and then wrap it all up by having Marinette see Lila being called Gabriel’s muse on TV after Marinette herself did literally nothing wrong and everything wrong was being done to her instead.

Thus, it’s just... sad.

[needtherapy]

open always petal by petal (ch 3)

Song Lan knows his only passenger, Cao Huan, is more secrets than truths, but he's still the best passenger Song Lan has ever had: paid up front, self-sufficient, and silent.

It shouldn't matter that Cao Huan plays the guqin like his heart is broken.

It shouldn't matter that his smiles light up the darkest corners of Fuxue's passageways.

It shouldn't matter that he makes Song Lan curious, curious in a way he hasn't felt in years.

It's just an ordinary transport, a regular fare, a mostly-honest way to make a living. All they have to do is get from Sichuan Station to Caiyi Port. The galaxy may be a dangerous place, but Song Lan is very good at his job, and this should be an easy two-week trip.

The rest doesn't matter. It doesn't.

READ ON AO3

Notes: Rated E for Explicit. Title from e.e. cummings' poem "somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond". Thanks to @cirilien​, @coslyons​, @treemaidengeek​ and tucuxi (AO3) for the beta reads!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

⋆ Days 10-14 ⋆

Fuxue is healed by morning, right on time, and for once, Song Lan isn’t particularly anxious to leave. He considers asking Cao Huan if he wants to stay another night, but he knows he’ll just ask again and again, and they have to go back to their own lives. The longer they wait, the harder it will be.

Qingyang joins them just as Song Lan is loading the last of his supplies, and he notices she stops Cao Huan to talk to him. They’re too far away to hear, even too far away to lip read, but eventually, Cao Huan bows to Qingyang. That isn’t a surprise. She’s the chief, after all.

The shock is that Qingyang bows back, low and respectful. It occurs to Song Lan that perhaps there was another reason Cao Huan didn’t want to come to Rogue Sky.

“Captain? Song Lan?” Cao Huan says his name with something like affection. “Are we ready to fly?”

Song Lan nods, startled when Cao Huan takes his hand and rubs the knuckles. “Fly us away, Captain,” he says with that sideways, quirking smile, and Song Lan forgets about the earlier twinge of jealousy.

The days flow through him like a dream, and Song Lan fights to hold onto reality. He’s not sure he’s succeeding.

Song Lan reminds himself that he has duties—even when there aren’t other passengers—to run diagnostics, flush coolant, service the deflector array, scan the sector for danger and distress. But Cao Huan seems to enjoy helping, and it never takes him long to catch on to a task. Plus, Song Lan likes the scent of his hair when he leans over to watch him work.

He reminds himself that he is a ship’s captain, they’ve already run into pirates once, and they’re traveling through Jin space, always more dangerous than it should be. But Cao Huan talks him into filling the bathtub. It’s hard to regret when he sees the man sitting in the water, his long hair slicked back, a wicked grin on his face. It’s even harder to resist the lure of warmth and Cao Huan settling against him, closing his eyes and sighing.

He reminds himself that the last time he couldn’t take his eyes off of someone, the last time he walked through his days in a haze, the last time he felt so reckless, it didn’t end well. But a quiet voice reminds him of all the happiness he had first, and asks him when he became so afraid of losing that he wasn't even willing to try.

Nothing terrible happens.

For five days, they take care of Fuxue, knit, meditate, drink tea, stare out of the windows into the darkness, and have more sex than Song Lan thought was actually humanly possible. If Cao Huan has been alone for three years, he’s making up for it now, like stockpiling for a cold winter.

And once Song Lan has that thought, he knows it’s true. Because he’s going to leave, he tells himself.

Because it doesn’t mean anything.

Because this is only temporary.

Because it’s only a way to pass the time.

If he says it enough, Song Lan hopes eventually he’ll believe it. Eventually it’ll be true.

The best moments—the hardest moments—are the times Cao Huan curls next to him and tells him who he is or who he was. He is careful with his words, and Song Lan is careful not to pry, but each detail seems like a precious gift.

I was sixteen the first time I fell in love, and I loved him until he died. I may have avenged him, but he is gone anyway.

It is terrible to admit, but I miss the trees of home the most, the way they rustle and whisper. I always liked to imagine they were speaking with my mother’s voice.

My family believes it is a reward to return home, but it feels like the spectre of a waiting tomb.

I thought I knew who I was and the path I was on. I was wrong, and I don’t know how to find my feet again.

His words break Song Lan’s heart daily, which, he suspects, is good practice for later.

Sometimes he tells Cao Huan about Xingchen: his unrelenting kindness, his penchant for collecting rocks on planets they visited, his friendly smile that made everyone fall a little in love with him. He takes down the sword and tells Cao Huan how Xingchen looked holding it, fierce one moment, breaking into helpless giggles the next. Sometimes the stories make Cao Huan laugh, and occasionally, even though Song Lan is never sure why, they bring tears to Cao Huan’s eyes.

And even though he’s never told anyone, part of him wants to say the unspeakable things too. Like how Xingchen looked when he realized they’d been betrayed by a man they considered a friend. Or the last time Song Lan saw him, eyes bleeding and an apology on his lips. Or how furious Song Lan was—still is, if he’s honest—to be rendered mute and unable to forgive Xingchen before they were shot by Xiandu’s assassin and left to die.

But it feels like a betrayal to talk about Xingchen’s one mistake, bringing aboard the man that cost them everything, and anyway, Song Lan doesn’t want to burden Cao Huan with this memory too, not when he is still grappling with terrible memories of his own.

They are two days from Caiyi Port when the ship stops them.

[Captain, Gusu Lan would like a word.]

Song Lan and Cao Huan are drinking tea when Fuxue alerts them, and Cao Huan drops his cup, splashing hot tea on his dark pants. He curses colorfully—Song Lan grins; he’s full of surprises as always—and shoots Song Lan an apologetic look.

“I will change and clean up tea,” he says and hurries away.

Song Lan heads to the bridge. He could answer the summons from the kitchen, but he wants to see which Gusu Lan ship it is.

To his surprise, it’s not one of the Gusu Goldlighter vessels he knows, nor one of the ordinary Cloud Recesses transport ships. It’s Shuoyue, the Lan flagship.

It must be Lan Qiren, Song Lan thinks, but Lan Qiren never leaves Gusu, not since he took over leadership of Lan Nanotech three years ago. Song Lan hadn’t bothered paying much attention to Gusu back then, or, honestly, since. The only thing on the small planet is Cloud Recesses, home of the Lan engineering school and nano industry. The Lans have their own transport fleet, and Song Lan can’t afford their tech, so he rarely goes to that part of the sector. All he knows is that the former leader of the Gusu Lan faction had gone on hiatus and Lan Qiren is, if anything, more reclusive.

Song Lan snaps on the comm and answers the hail.

[This is Captain Song Lan of the unaffiliated vessel Fuxue. How can I help Gusu Lan?]

He hears Cao Huan behind him, hovering in the doorway. He doesn’t take a seat in the co-pilot’s chair, which is puzzling. He’s never hesitated before.

[Captain Song, you are in Gusu Lan space without authorization. What is your business here?]

Song Lan is surprised. Gusu Lan is a bit of a contradiction, aggressively protective of their planet, but usually blasé about their corner of the galaxy, and he frowns. What are they really asking?

[I’m running transport to Caiyi,] he answers, a common enough occurrence.

Cao Huan steps forward, catching Song Lan’s attention, “Don’t get too close,” he signs with a warning frown.

He looks worried, and Song Lan wonders if he’s run afoul of Gusu Lan in the past. They’re notoriously particular about planetary laws, and since Cao Huan does seem to be some kind of engineer, it would make sense that he’d studied at Cloud Recesses.

Song Lan had no intention of getting within firing range of the flagship. The Lans might be known pacifists, but even pacifists can be pushed too far.

“I won’t,” he signs back. “I know what I’m doing.”

[Identify your cargo and passengers,] the flagship demands, and Song Lan sends them the manifest.

[Just carrying five tons of pepper from Sichuan,] he answers, the only thing in his cargo hold. It’s a fraction of Fuxue’s maximum capacity, but even without Cao Huan’s transport, Sichuan pepper is worth its weight in gold and would have been worth the trip.

The XO sounds amused when she responds. [Thank you for your cooperation, Captain Song. And thank you for your service, commander. Fly safe. Caiyi will be glad to see you.]

The transmission ends, and Song Lan looks at Cao Huan, whose face is blank.

“You did not register my transport?” he asks, and Song Lan shakes his head.

“You said you wanted to remain anonymous, and…” Song Lan flushes, embarrassed to admit the full reason. “You looked like you needed the peace.”

Cao Huan stares at him for another moment before he strides over, only three steps across the cramped bridge, and tips Song Lan’s head back to kiss him, hard and biting, a different kind of intensity than usual. Song Lan matches him, opening his mouth, giving Cao Huan whatever it is he needs to take.

“Here,” Cao Huan demands, hungry and breathless. “Now.”

And Song Lan gives him that too, bending him over the console and plunging into him, wrapping a hand in his hair when Cao Huan begs him for more, biting his shoulder when he hisses harder, holding him on his lap afterward and rubbing his back when he can’t stop the tears.

“Is it so awful?” Song Lan signs, the closest he’s come to asking what Cao Huan is running from or headed toward.

Cao Huan doesn’t answer for so long, Song Lan thinks he’s not going to, but finally he feels the smallest shake of his head.

“No,” he says, and then immediately, softer, “yes.”

Song Lan doesn’t ask why. He’s already overstepped.

“I’m sorry,” he says out loud, smoothing a hand through Cao Huan’s hair. It doesn’t come out quite right—his partial tongue can’t form every sound, but Cao Huan doesn’t seem to care. He just tucks himself deeper into Song Lan’s embrace.

Song Lan realizes that whatever he’d thought he’d feel, however much distance he’d thought he could keep between them, he’d been wrong, so wrong, so unbelievably wrong. But acknowledging his feelings doesn’t change anything. Cao Huan is still going to Caiyi. Song Lan will still fly away to another station, another planet. The only difference is the size of the empty space Cao Huan will leave behind.

They stay like that, huddled together, until the flagship is far enough away to be a memory.

⋆ Day 16 ⋆

After the encounter with Shuoyue, Cao Huan seems to withdraw. He still smiles, but they don’t reach his eyes. He still laughs, but the sound is a vacant echo. They still have sex, but it feels like goodbye. It is goodbye.

Song Lan wakes up alone the last morning. He dresses slowly, no more eager to reach Caiyi than Cao Huan anymore. He doesn’t interrupt Cao Huan when he finds him on the bridge, just watches his hands talk to Fuxue.

I’m sorry.

I’ll miss you.

Yes, I’ll miss him too.

I have no choice.

Song Lan only has a moment to wonder how Fuxue is talking to him before Cao Huan turns around, eyes red with unshed tears.

“Would you take me somewhere else if I asked?”

The words break over Song Lan like the surf on the sea, and he can’t immediately answer.

Cao Huan steps toward him, touching his face, eyes searching his expression, and tries to ask again. “Would you…”

The words trail off, and Song Lan wraps him in a crushing kiss. He knows, he knows what Cao Huan is asking. Not for just a ride. Song Lan asks himself if he is willing to walk away from his life, to hide this man he loves from everything he fears until he can face the world again.

Yes.

Undeniably yes.

It’s always been his weakness, he knows, this desire to hold and protect. But he also thinks it’s always been worth it. Eight years with Xingchen was worth it. Whatever time he has with Cao Huan is worth it.

Cao Huan unexpectedly sags in Song Lan’s arms. “It is too late,” he says against his throat, the words quivering like an arrow through both of them. “But thank you. I will not forget.”

[Captain, we’re being hailed,] Fuxue informs them.

“I can ignore it,” Song Lan signs in a rush, taking a risk. “We can run.”

Cao Huan sits in the co-pilot’s chair and shakes his head. “He will be able to follow.”

Song Lan takes another risk, a greater one. “If you ask your brother, he will let you go.“

He knows the ship, recognized the call sign on the monitors. Bichen. The Joint Senate Chairman’s ship, flown by the men who saved his life five years ago. He should have expected this, honestly. After Shuoyue, he should have realized Lan Wangji would come for his brother.

Lan Huan, known as Xichen, titled Zewu-jun, looks at Song Lan, face tightening into a blank mask, as fathomless as jade. He doesn’t argue, and he doesn’t ask how long Song Lan has known. “He might. I can not ask him to. I have to face this eventually.”

Song Lan exhales, defeated. Numb ice spreads through his fingers as he snaps on the neural comm and replies.

[This is Captain Song Lan. The channel is open.]

[Xiongzhang.]

The one word closes Ca...Lan Huan’s eyes. Tears spill from the corners, and Song Lan aches to wipe them away.

He doesn’t answer, but there is a faint blue glow from under his skin, around his hairline. The implant, Song Lan realizes. It must connect them. That’s why he knew Lan Wangji would be able to follow.

Lan Huan shoots him a quick look and switches from the silent discussion he seems to be having with his brother to a verbal one.

[Wangji, of course I am ready to go back to Cloud Recesses with you. Please reward Captain Song when we meet you on Caiyi. He...he has saved my life.]

They land in one of the station’s small shuttle bays—alone, for once. Evidently Lan Wangji wanted to greet his brother in private.

Before they disembark, Lan Huan clutches Song Lan’s coat sleeve. “I should have told you from the beginning. I am so sorry.”

Song Lan caresses his cheek and kisses him gently. “You owe me no apologies.”

He doesn’t say, I would have fallen in love with you either way.

The lights of the shuttle bay are too bright, and Song Lan has to blink to get used to them. By the time he can focus again, two men are striding toward him, one energetic and cheerful, the other calm and graceful, almost like a mirage, almost like deja vu.

“Song Lan! Man, are we glad to see you! You know you’re two days late? The Lans have been scouring the whole damn galaxy looking for you!” Wei Wuxian calls out as he approaches on light, bouncing feet. “Shugong is going to be so mad when realizes you sneaked by him.”

Song Lan shrugs unapologetically. Ca...Lan Huan is still behind him, still reluctant.

“I did tell shufu that you would be safe with Captain Song,” Lan Wangji adds, looking at his brother, but not approaching him. “But...he was concerned. We all were. There might still be people who do not wish for you to take your place at the head of Lan Nanotech again.”

Even though Lan Wangji is clearly not talking to Song Lan, he answers anyway, buying Lan Huan a few more seconds.

[We had trouble with pirates. Rogue Sky patched us up. I saw your hydroponics, Wei Wuxian,] he says with a pasted-on smile.

“What the fuck? You stopped to visit MianMian? And she didn’t let us know?” Wei Wuxian acts affronted, although Song Lan assumes he’s joking.

The Lan brothers seem to have slipped into another silent conversation.

“Zewu-jun asked her not to,” Lan Wangji says softly, and Wei Wuxian hmphs.

“No loyalty in the galaxy. You save a girl’s life, and she forgets to tell you your brother-in-law is alive.”

“Xiongzhang,” Lan Wangji interrupts Wei Wuxian’s ranting. “I have missed you.”

It takes a second, but finally, Lan Huan sighs, quietly, but enough that Song Lan hears the capitulation in it.

Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, chairman of the Joint Senate, hugs his brother like he thought he’d never see him again. It’s strange, Song Lan thinks, looking at how similar they are, that he could know one brother and take so long to recognize the other. Or maybe it’s that he didn’t want to know until he absolutely couldn’t avoid it any more. After all, what kind of future could there be for an unaffiliated pilot and the leader of the Gusu Lan faction?

None.

This is it, Song Lan thinks. He will go back to his family, to his life, as you always knew he would.

[I have cargo to unload, and as you said, I’m two days behind. If you don’t mind…] he says, already starting to walk away, needing to turn his back so they can’t see his face.

“Song Lan, you should at least let me upgrade your tech before you go. I have an in with Lan Nanotech,” Wei Wuxian calls after him.

Song Lan waves without turning around. [Maybe I’ll let you poke my brain next time.]

He makes it all the way to the cargo hold before the tears fall.

Strangely, he wishes he could talk to Xingchen, but he knows what Xingchen would say. Xingchen who met Song Lan the day he left his home on the mountain, followed him onto Fuxue, and never left. Xingchen would tell him to jump first and think later.

Station aides help him unload the pepper, and it takes less time than he expects to check all of Fuxue’s systems and resupply. He wants to leave before his feet grow roots and he can’t.

Lan Huan is waiting for him on the bridge. Song Lan’s heart tries to leap wildly from his chest until he registers the emptiness on Lan Huan’s face, and he almost gives in to the inevitable.

No, he decides. No. For once, he’s going to be Xingchen, headstrong and impulsive.

“Come with me,” he signs, and lets Lan Huan see him, all of him, all of what he wants. He knows the answer, but he has to at least try.

Lan Huan closes his eyes, and Song Lan wonders if that makes it easier to say no, but they snap back open, and he clenches his jaw stubbornly, facing this head on. Song Lan is oddly proud of him, even as his hopes shatter.

“I want to. In another life, I would. But I have a duty to Gusu Lan and you belong to the sky. Neither of us has any choices.”

“You’re wrong,” Song Lan signs with a frown. “We make the future. We make our own futures. If you ask me to stay, I will.”

“Lan-er,” Lan Huan whispers, but Song Lan can’t stop.

“You’ve lost enough to know...I’ve lost enough to know...when you have a chance for happiness, take it.”

Lan Huan shakes his head. “I can not ask you to share my… Song Lan, please don’t ask me to take your freedom, too.”

He looks shattered already, and Song Lan gives up. He doesn’t want to be one of the things that hurts Lan Huan.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready,” he signs, brushes trembling, needy fingers over Lan Huan’s forehead, tracing the curl of his ear before he finishes. “However long I have to.”

And then he lets Lan Huan go, turning his back, listening to the echo of his retreating footsteps dissipate into silence.

⋆ Days 17-197 ⋆

Life goes on.

And on.

And on.

He goes back to Rogue Sky first. This time, he’s the one who needs to be repaired. Qingyang takes one look at his face and frowns.

“Oh,” she says, and he almost laughs at all the things contained within a single word.

Oh, you loved him.

Oh, you love him still.

Oh, it didn’t work out.

She doesn’t ask any questions—she’s loved and lost too—just hands him the other half of a bottle of whiskey. They sit in the gardens, and he tells her all about it anyway.

Surprisingly, he feels better in the morning, even if his head has never felt worse. There’s someone who knows. Someone who understands. Someone to share the sadness with. Friendship has been waiting for him here the whole time, all he had to do was ask.

If nothing else, it was worth it for that.

Qingyang tells him some of what she knows of Lan Huan, who he was before the war and a little bit of who he was after. Song Lan reads the official reports of Xiandu’s death and understands the story between the lines. His heart breaks all over again for the agony of being both betrayer and betrayed. He wants to go back to Cloud Recesses so much, it’s sometimes a physical pain in his side.

Song Lan adds the Silk Run to his circuit, Yunmeng to Lanling, and it’s something different to do for a while. The fashion industry is demanding in an entirely new way, and he experiences the joys of designer meltdowns when the nanosilk they demand isn’t readily available, or the dye isn’t quite the right shade of violet, never mind that Song Lan is only the transporter, not the manufacturer. Also, he couldn’t care less.

It’s a surprise, one day, to get a transport request from Cloud Recesses to ferry the Lan ambassador to Emei, a Goldlighter commune. It’s not that he’s avoided Gusu Lan space, but as before, he hasn’t had a legitimate reason to go there either.

[Gusu Lan has a fleet,] he points out.

He can almost see the comm operator shrug. [I don’t question my orders, Captain Song. Transport is needed, and you were recommended. You don’t have to accept the commission.]

Song Lan does consider turning it down, but...life goes on, right?

He’s never actually been to Cloud Recesses and he is, frankly, in awe. It’s a fortress carved into a mountain, and he thinks Xingchen would have loved the white stone buildings, the snow at the top of the peak, and the waterfall that crashes through the center of the city. It’s one of the most beautiful places he’s ever seen.

The aerospace center is inexplicably nestled in a sprawling expanse of evergreen forest, and Song Lan understands why Lan Huan missed the towering trees.

“We couldn’t have competed with this,” he signs to Fuxue before he disembarks.

It’s even more beautiful outside. The sun is just the right touch of warmth on his cheeks, chirping birds dance in swooping patterns, and the air smells like sweet flowers and pine. It’s like a fairy tale that sinks painfully into the pit of his stomach. No, they can’t compete with this.

“Captain Song?”

Song Lan stops breathing.

He turns.

It’s not a delusion. Lan Huan is behind him. He’s wearing blue pants, a fitted white shirt, and a leather jacket. His still-long hair is pulled back into a ponytail and he’s holding a traveling bag. He looks radiant and more beautiful than Song Lan remembered, although he might be biased.

The corner of his mouth flickers at Song Lan’s inspection, like a smile trying to break through ice. “Captain, I have recently resigned from my employment, and I would...I would like to apply for a position on your crew.”

He takes a hesitant step toward Song Lan, who feels as light as the breeze blowing through the trees, afraid to move, afraid he’ll blow away and miss this perfect, glorious moment. It takes too long for his hands to react, to shape what he wants to say.

“Yes, I accept. You’re hired,” he answers, slashing the words as quickly as possible, before Lan Huan can change his mind.

Lan Huan’s smile cracks through fully this time, spreading slowly across his face, lighting his eyes. He takes a few more steps, all the steps he needs to bring him in front of Song Lan, and Song Lan finally moves, finally reaches out, finally pulls Lan Huan to him, kissing the smile he can still feel on his lips, kissing him until he can’t tell the difference between his breath and Lan Huan’s.

Lan Huan laughs, joyous and effervescent, snuggling against Song Lan’s chest. “Do you not need to hear my qualifications? I believe I would be an asset to your crew, Captain.”

Song Lan shakes his head. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care about anything but the feel of Lan Huan in his arms, and answering would require letting go of him, but Lan Huan persists as though he has prepared a speech and is determined to deliver it. As though Song Lan would need convincing.

“I was a dreadnaught gunner in the war, although that was more than ten years ago. I speak...hmm...eleven or twelve languages. I’m good with tech,” Lan Huan adds, tapping his temple. “I’ve been told I make excellent tea.”

Song Lan can’t stop his fingers from caressing Lan Huan’s beloved face instead of forming words.

“And if nothing else,” Lan Huan says, leaning into Song Lan’s hands, “I wish to fly with you. I wish to see the galaxy with you.” Lan Huan brushes Song Lan’s cheek, smoothing away a tear Song Lan didn’t realize had fallen. “I wish to spend my life with you.”

Song Lan touches his forehead to Lan Huan’s, breathing in his scent, like the jasmine flowers on Rogue Sky, like the promise of spring, like a future that suddenly seems filled with vibrant colors again.

“It’s the only thing I need,” he signs. “You’re the only thing I need.”

Lan Huan takes his hand, threading his fingers through Song Lan’s as easily as if they’ve always been there and pulls him up the cargo bay ramp. Song Lan follows, laughing when Fuxue smugly greets the new XO.

“Captain Song, fly us away,” Lan Huan says with a brilliant smile, a peaceful smile Song Lan hasn’t seen before, and Song Lan kisses him again, because he can, because Lan Huan is here, because life goes on.

Life goes on, and so does love.