#she goes back to her braided updo after this

[housedeaubemarle]

Les Yeux d'Une Mère (The Eyes of a Mother)

~~

It is uncharacteristically late when Oudine arrives home. Unable to find the man she’d tried to chase after, she’d meandered back in a confused state. By the time the front door opens to her, and she heads upstairs as quietly as possible, her confusion has become a strange roiling mass of embarrassment, frustration… and melancholy. 

Her brother meets her at the top of the stairs unexpectedly. One look at her face tells him the evening hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing. “What happened?”

Oudine gives him a tired look. Her voice is flat. “Everything.”

“What?”

Some minutes of explanation later finds Remont trying to suppress laughter since his mother’s bedroom is just some yards away. His sister slaps him on the shoulder at such amusement.

“It’s not funny!” she hisses. “He could have been called out for a duel, and for what? Being a fool? It’s not worth it!”

Remont has to take a few moments, despite the sting in his shoulder, to calm down enough to ask, “Did you catch any names at all?” When she shakes her head, he says, “At least tell me what these noblemen looked like.”

The description - whatever Oudine can remember past the haze of humiliation - is enough to trigger a memory of Remont’s. An acquaintance who spent more time at Le Renard had pointed out the man in the street one day; it wasn’t difficult to remember that distinguished figure. 

“That sounds like Viscount Armand de Courcelle, which means the man whom Ross… propositioned was likely Le Renard’s owner, Evreux Mouraut. Makes sense why my lord became upset - they’re lovers.”

“What?” A cold fear runs through her entire body; she groans. “By the gods Rem… I shouldn’t have interfered…!”

Remont pats her on her shoulder gently. “You weren’t to know. You just wanted to save Ross from a potential duel.”

“He saved himself! He literally turned and bolted, and just left me there, so I ran too!”

Remont presses his lips together to hold back a smile. His sister running is a rare thing, and thus in this light, amusing. 

Oudine’s voice is almost a wail at the sight of Remont’s face. “It’s really not funny!” she says again, as if that would get through to her twin.

“Calm down, Dine. It’s not as bad as you think it is.”

“I just embarrassed myself for nothing in front of a viscount and his lover–”

“You’re also a viscount.”

“That’s not the point-”

The sound of a door opening sends nearly the fear of the Fury shooting into both Aubemarle twins. The sight of the Dowager Viscountess does send the fear of the Fury directly into their respective bloodstreams.

There is an unnerving pause, before the older lady says, “Ah Oudine my love. You’re home. A word with you if you please.” She heads back into her room before either of her children can say anything.

Oudine barely stops herself from a wince. She throws an alarmed look at her brother who shakes his head, trying not to smile. They both know that tone – disobey and at least four out of seven hells would break loose. 

“Courage, ma soeur,” he murmurs, a grin escaping him as he does so.

The alarm in her face instantly becomes an annoyed glare before she turns around to enter her mother’s bedroom, schooling her expression into something more neutral. 

Inside, the dowager is already sitting in a comfortable armchair by the fire, the Enchiridion on the side table next to it. Oudine prays quietly not to be read a homily; she doesn’t feel equal to the task. Not tonight. The dressing gown her mother wears, and the silk cap on her head, signals the dowager is close to retiring for the night. Or at least, she would have been if she hadn’t clearly been waiting for the viscount to return from whatever gallivanting she’d been doing. 

As Oudine approaches, the Dowager looks up with a (deceptively) pleasant smile. She holds out a hand, which Oudine takes gingerly. She leans forward to kiss her mother’s cheek. 

“I thought you’d be asleep by now, Mamma,” she says, keeping her voice light as can be, as she sits at her mother’s feet like she usually does.

“How could I possibly do so when my darling girl sent a message at the eleventh hour of the day, saying she wouldn’t be home for supper? When the same child of my bosom returns to the house smelling of whiskey and cigars?” The older woman wrinkles her nose at her. “It is entirely one thing when Remont does it, but it is not done for one of your status.”

Oudine does not sigh outwardly though she does slip her hand from her mother’s hold. “Because he is a man?”

“Because none of the Twelve have seen fit to equip my son with the proper sense of sobriety and propriety of his station, despite all his natural and nurtured advantages,” says her mother without missing a beat. “You on the other hand have. Or at least ought to have.”

The viscount looks up at her with some restrained annoyance. “I have been out many nights before, Mamma. And at twenty seven, I don’t believe it warrants such critique.”

The Dowager’s smile disappears, replaced by a disapproving frown topped with a raised eyebrow. “Mais Le Renard Argenté, ma chérie? C'est aller trop loin.”

Oudine stares at her, in disbelief first, then dismay, before finally resignation. There are only so many ways her mother could have found out, and all of them are named Remont de Aubemarle. This betrayal would be remembered. “It was your son’s suggestion, mamma. He would never send me into danger.”

“Danger, never. Impropriety, usually. You are not obliged to take up those suggestions which are unsuitable, brother or no.”

“It wasn’t unsuitable. He was just… trying to cheer me up,” she says, eyes moving to the fireplace. A weariness has settled in - the whiskey and its accompanying artificial bravery has long since receded. 

The ensuing silence speaks volumes about how absurd the older woman finds this statement. The Dowager’s eyebrow, which has gone impossibly higher, adds a crescendo of incredulity. 

Oudine doesn’t see it since she keeps her eyes on the glow of the fire, continuing with, “Mamma, it is a perfectly legitimate establishment – beautifully appointed, filled with people of titles galore, and all above board.” She pauses for a moment. “Even if it isn’t exactly the kind of place you would patronise.”

The Dowager sniffs. “My dear girl, there are a dozen hundred places in this city filled with the creme de la creme of Ishgard I would never step foot into, yet I have never deemed them unseemly. What I hear of this Le Renard has me fearing for Ishgard’s future.”

“One would think the revelations of the Holy See’s lies would have done that already,” is Oudine’s dry answer.

“There is no need to be blasphemous, child,” says the Dowager with some severity. 

“It isn’t,” retorts her daughter, finally looking back at her mother with obvious annoyance. “Why does it matter? I am Viscount Aubemarle, and I ought to be able to go where I please.”

“You are Viscount Aubemarle, thus you ought to go where you must.” The Dowager’s lips thin into a grim line. “What business could you possibly have at Le Renard? It could hardly be to find a prospective husband.”

“Don't think me such a fool as that!" snaps Oudine in sharp exasperation. "Of course I had no business being there at all! That’s precisely why I went-” She sees her mother’s eyes widening by a fraction and abruptly stops. The last time Oudine had raised her voice at the Dowager was before her coming of age, many summers ago when there had been plenty of fighting to do between a young woman and her headstrong mother.

“I…” She visibly deflates, sinking her face into one hand. “I’m sorry, Mamma. I’m just tired.”

The Dowager looks on for a moment, then with a quiet sigh, rests one hand on her daughter’s head. Those who didn't know her would have said it was done far more gently than thought possible. “There is more to this, yes? Tell me.”

The touch on the crown of her head makes her look up. The weariness is written all over her face now, along with a frustration that she could not allow herself to show beyond the walls of Aubemarle manor. 

“This propriety you speak of, the position in which I stand, ought to be of more use. Yet I feel so helpless, and clumsy… and ineffectual. Papa did so much, and I have done so little. I am twenty seven – five years have I been viscount, and what have I to show for it?

“I am so inadequate, Mamma. I fall short of so much – there are people I ought to be able to help, yet I cannot. There is so much I don’t know, and cannot see – for Fury’s sake, I can’t even see Moogles. The world has so much to offer… and I haven't enough wit to grasp them.”

She bends her head again, but rests it against her mother’s knee. The dam has broken now, and the waters come forth in waves. “I went tonight… to try and prove something. To prove to myself that I could take what I’d learned in the East - the ability to hold myself up comfortably in such a different environment - and bring it here. Apply it here at home, where there are places as foreign as Othard to me.”

Oudine closes her eyes, awash with shame and discontent at her conduct. “I think I failed. And it makes me feel…”

The Dowager waits, gently brushing her fingers against her daughter’s hair. It is still in the braid she had returned from the East with – and hadn’t pinned back up. The older woman had naturally voiced her doubts about it but Oudine had persisted.

“It makes me feel like Papa would have been disappointed.”

There is a moment filled with nothing but the crackling of the fire. Then the Dowager speaks, firm and assertive.

“Your father would have been proud of you.”

Oudine doesn’t raise her head, shaking it instead. The Dowager reaches down slightly to tweak her ear. That gets her to look up at her mother with some distress. “Mamma.”

The Dowager lifts her eyebrow admonishingly again. “Listen well, my girl. Your papa has never been anything but proud of you. And to see you trying something new would have given him more reason to feel that way. I doubt he would have allowed me to scold you as I have tonight if he were here. Just as I doubt very much if he would have allowed you to wallow in your self-pity.”

Oudine doesn’t quite know if she’s being comforted or being reproached again, but then, that’s par for the course with her mother.

“Whatever transpired in that place is hardly worth mentioning. I do not wish to know. However,” she settles back into her chair. “I can see you’re trying to be your father again, dearest. And that will never do. You must be Viscount Oudine de Aubemarle. If you insist on anything else, it will only backfire, as I suspect it did tonight.”

Her daughter stares up at her, absorbing this strangely encouraging advice. “...Papa would have tried to help a stranger in distress, Mamma.”

“I’m sure he would have.”

“He would have succeeded too. Instead of… embarrassing himself in front of nobility.”

The Dowager shakes her head. “That I would not be so quick to decide, my dear. The fact of the matter is that he isn’t here, and thus we will never know.” She raises an eyebrow. “Which nobility?”

A very faint, utterly humourless smile touches Oudine’s lips. Here it comes – the mortification of looking like an ass in front of an influential member of the ton wouldn’t be complete without a reprimand about said mortification. “Rem tells me one of them was likely Viscount Armand de Courcelle.” 

Yet instead of the reproach she expected, the Dowager snorts expressively. “My lord Armand at Le Renard? I should have guessed.”

Instantly, Oudine's eyes widen to their fullest; she sits up to stare at her mother. “You know him?”

“I know of him, to be precise. We come from the same generation after all.” She tilts her head at her daughter. “His late wife was a Dzemael, you know, and his mother a de Borel.”

The colour seems to drain from Oudine’s face. Gods save Ross; he’d offended more than either of them had anticipated. “Then… why are you so calm?”

“Because,” says the Dowager dryly, “your brother is a newborn babe compared to that man’s proclivities. He’s not let dragons, war or embarrassment stop him for over sixty summers now. If he himself doesn’t acknowledge the emotion of shame, I doubt he’d bother about it in others.” She shakes her head. “A handsome enough man in his day – handsome still for some, though he reserves it for his paramours.”  

“...paramours? I only saw the one earlier-” Too late. Her mother has already heard the words. 

The Dowager rolls her eyes but refrains from comment. Clearly her ladyship has seen and heard more than her children expected of her. “Don't worry yourself about them. ‘Tis more than likely Armand de Courcelle and his… partner have forgotten you by now.”

“...I can’t tell if that’s good or not,” says Oudine with a slightly stronger smile now, and some reassurance within her heart. 

The Dowager smirks. “Discretion is the better part of valour, my treasure.” She chucks Oudine under the chin. “Ma cherie, I did not want you visiting Le Renard not because I think you incapable. I did not want you visiting because you are not yet settled.” Dark brown eyes meet grey ones head on. 

“I am not yet such a doddering old fool that I do not see your restlessness. Your body is home – your soul is not. Not yet. And to fling yourself into such a place as Le Renard – it is aptly named, look you – when you are not wholly yourself is foolhardy behaviour (which explains why your brother encouraged it). Of course you tried to be your father tonight. You always do when you do not feel you can be yourself.”

Oudine blinks. She hadn’t realised the Dowager had noticed. “...Mamma… how could you know all that?”

The answer is so matter-of-fact, the question seems almost ludicrous. “You are my daughter. Of course I would.”

Oudine’s smile stretches. “And about Le Renard. If you’ve never been…?”

“Do you really think this manner of gentleman’s lounge is anything new?” The Dowager snorts again. “They went by different names and much more subtlety when I was younger.”

“...are you saying you went-”

“I do not pretend to understand the draw of such places,” says her mother out loud, bowling over Oudine’s would-be question. “But then, it is not meant for me to understand; that is perfectly clear. To demand comprehension would be the height of impertinence. Whatever they do behind their beautifully appointed walls is their business. But if it affects my daughter, then it becomes mine.” 

Oudine smiles amusedly at that. Sometimes – just sometimes – her mother had her own charms. “I think I’ll be alright now, Mamma. I promise.”

The Dowager eyes her for a moment, then gives a decisive nod. “Very well.”

“And regardless, I don’t think I’ll be visiting again anytime soon. Even if my lord de Courcelle wouldn’t recognise me.”

Her mother shakes her head. “It is his loss.” When her daughter’s grey eyes twinkle at that, she smiles at last. “Ah, la voilà enfin. C'est mieux. Now, it is high time we were both in bed. Goodnight, child. I will see you in the morning.”

Oudine rises, kisses her mother on her cheek, then on the other. “Merci beaucoup, chère maman.”

She steps outside, walking down the corridor to where she knows her brother waits in her study. Remont looks up with some concern and contrition at her entrance. He can already guess some of the conversation, which is why he starts to say, “Now, Dine, before you harangue me, Mamma would have had my head on a spike if I hadn’t told her-”

“Traitor,” says his sister, crossing the room to swat him on the shoulder. It’s a light hit however and he blinks at this lack of force compared to earlier, and the absence of heat in her voice. In fact, her expression has lightened up quite a lot from before.

“...what did she say?”

Oudine smiles fondly. “She knows I’ve not been myself. And that’s why she didn’t want me to go.” She grins, a particular light stealing into her eyes. “Did you know there were gentlemen’s lounges like that back in her day?”

Remont stares at her for a moment then also grins – a mirror of his sister’s. “Do tell.”

-

End.

Note: To be very clear, IC =/= OOC. I for one find LRA very cool, and its patrons exceedingly intriguing. Also whatever is written here about my lord Armand is based on their carrd, and past conversations in the Discord I happened upon. Not to mention the Dowager doesn't know him well, if at all, so what she has are general impressions, not certain knowledge. She's also blatantly biased towards her own children as much as she reads them the riot act regularly. Which all means to say: take her with several pinches of salt. God knows I do, as do her kids.

Though to be honest, this Dowager of mine surprises me with her nuances each time she insists on talking (which she did today after Oudine's little escapade to Le Renard). Unfortunately, her nuances only emerge when she's with her family. Otherwise, she's a cantankerous, difficult noblewoman for all the world - but that's also the kind of image she wants to project so I can't quite say no to that.

Oudine is beginning to uncurl; Remont is starting to become more careful. I look forward to what this family shows me in the future.

@escherstrange-ffxiv's Ross is - and I say this with nothing but affection and well-wishes - so unhinged, you may as well rip off the door and install curtains instead. Especially when he's spiralling and has no idea how to deal with Emotions (big mood honestly). Long may he keep his skin intact for us to enjoy his antics.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

A Night Forgotten

Part Four

Flashback: The Wedding

What a beautiful, heart-felt ceremony. Emoni had come back from the restroom within the beautifully appointed ballroom. Her friends had picked an exquisite mansion to hold their ceremony and reception. The grand chandelier situated high above them made Emoni feel as if she were a part of Beauty and The Beast. The ivory ball gown the bride wore reminded her of a princess.

As Emoni enters the vast ballroom, she makes a beeline for the bar, needing to start the evening off on the right foot. Everyone began to mingle after filling their bellies with the best food she’d ever had. As she made her way there, her ivory and gold satin bridesmaids gown annoying her, she made eye contact with her ex, Troy, instantly turning her gaze away with frustration. He’d been trying to get her attention the entire time. Emoni wanted nothing to do with his lying, cheating ass.

To her delight, the bartender is a good friend: Brent is dressed up as Cupid for tonight's event, complete with a silly bow and arrow set slung across his chest. Ivory, silk, button down shirt on with the buttons halfway secured, his skin is oiled and painted in golden fairy dust, and his matching satin pants hang low on his hips. He looks like a love slave with fairy-like wings, quite honestly, more fit for a BDSM dungeon than a fairytale wedding.

"Brent, I didn't know you were a bartender, too!" she says as she takes a stool in front of him, tucking a stray curl behind her ear that had fallen from her elegant updo that Brent had given her just that morning. "This hair is fantastic, by the way. I love how it makes me feel, so…"

"Naughty and free?" he suggests.

"Exactly."

She's been his client for the last three years, and over that time, their rapport has been growing by leaps and bounds. It's been a wonder to discover there is more to this silent, talented man than just his good looks and charm.

"The best hairdresser in all of California by day, moonlighting as a mixologist for the newlyweds?! How very mysterious you are, Mr. Clark!”

Brent shrugs one muscular shoulder and flashes a quick grin. "I'm a man of many talents," he reminds her with a wink. "We're always full of surprises, Ms. Daniels."

"Is that so?" she challenges him with a wicked grin. "Why don't you prove it by making me something as unique and unforgettable as this hair Ply me with a menu of drinks guaranteed to end with my socks being knocked off!"

With a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes, he accepts her challenge.

"I do believe I've got just the thing for you, Ms. Daniels…"

Brent sauntered over towards the end of the bar to make her the perfect drink. Emoni swayed in her seat, enjoying the music and refusing to be in a sour mood because of her ex. Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve to steal her joy.

Unfortunately for her, another man known to be a thorn in her side since High School was on his way over, dressed from head to toe in Sebastian Cruz—Italian fabric. It’s a black suit with gold accents, matching the colors of the wedding. He is a groomsmen after all. His tapered locs are braided back and he couldn’t go without wearing his gold canines. He begins as it always does between them: with an acknowledgement and an insult.

"Evening, Daniels," Erik Stevens greets her with a bow of his head, taking up his customary place at her side as she turns up her nose at him, attempting to fake her disgust of him, “How goes the dick hustling tonight?"

She glances over at him, amused. His eyes are shielded with a gold half-mask. Very sexy. She would never tell him that however. With a mouth like his, it was sure to piss her off quickly. he carries a glass tumbler that is filled with melting ice and the tiniest bit of cognac.

Where is Brent with her much needed drink?! She searched the bar and there was no sight of him.

Odd.

Emoni was determined not to give into the whim to kick this smug Prince in his priced jewels. It's far too early in the evening for that sort of a juvenile response, and really she needed a little liquid courage to be that bold.

And why would you kick him in the balls when you actually want to tea bag them? Her salacious thoughts intruded.

"Hello, Stevens," she unenthusiastically responded instead, refusing to call him by his first name. "Still seducing the ladies with a forked tongue, I see."

His serpentine smirk is chased by a sexually-suggestive leer. "You meant silver tongue, I'm sure. And if anyone's out to deceive…you're the one dressed like a seductress, Daniels. Since when do you seduce?” He noticed she didn’t have a drink in her hand, “I take it Brent is still working on your drink?”

Emoni parted her glossy lips to speak but was suddenly rendered speechless. A beautifully-crafted cocktail was situated in front of her, as if it had materialized from nowhere. A striking and vivid pink, tropical flower was placed over the edge of the glass as a garnish. A pretty pink egg-white mixture swirled inside of the glass. It was topped with an orange drizzle and edible glitter.

For the slightest moment, Emoni could have sworn the mysterious drink glowed like it was made of magic. Even Erik couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pretty concoction. Just then, the most alluringly sexy voice brought her gaze forward. Emoni was stunned by the woman’s undeniable beauty. Long, sleek brown hair, feline eyes, chiseled jaw, sculpted body with sinewy curves, and a full set of lips so tempting. She was hypnotic.

“One Aphrodite’s Love Potion for you…”

“Thank you,” Emoni’s eyes searched, “Did Brent leave?”

“He needed to take a quick break. I’m taking over until he gets back…”

Emoni brought the cocktail to her lips and then she paused.

“What’s in this?”

“Gin, triple sec, lemon juice…just to name a few. It looks delicious, doesn’t it?”

Her voice was so beautiful. Erik stood there speechless. As if he were in a trance.

“Go on, drink it. I already know you’ll love it.”

Emoni gave a one shoulder shrug before bringing her lips over the rim and taking a sip. As soon as it touched her tongue, she was immediately hit with a burst of flavor. It was the best drink she’d ever had. She instantly felt a rush, the drink coursing through her body and making her feel all warm and fuzzy.

“It’s delicious. Thank you?—”

“Just call me Dove. It’s a nickname of mine.”

“Thanks, Dove. I may need another one of these tonight!” Emoni said with a flirty grin.

“Oh, you’ll be back for more, trust me. Maybe your friend here might want one?”

Erik locked eyes with Dove, for a second unable to formulate words. Someone had accidentally bumped into him on their way to the bar. Erik blinked away from Dove, clearing his throat to speak.

“I’m all good. For now at least. Not my type of drink.”

“I see,” Dove gave Erik a once over, “Well, I’ll see you two around. Enjoy your evening…”

Dove sauntered away towards the end of the bar. Emoni could feel Erik’s eyes on her. She glared at him.

“What?”

“Fitting.” He looked at her drink before eyeing her up and down, his gaze taking time to admire the view. "My, my, but you do love to play naughty for me, don't you?”

Although she didn’t particularly like the dress—not that it was her idea to wear it in the first place—it made her slim-thick body stand out. Her breasts sat up invitingly. The back of the dress although a bit poofy made her plump ass sit out.

“Naughty for you? That's the funniest thing I've heard all evening, Erik, Thanks for the ha-ha.”

She turns to assess the crowd of eligible men. There are more than a few faces she already knows, but others she'd like to know a lot better, “Contrary to your absurd and quite comical belief, I didn't dress this way for you. I have a specific agenda tonight.”

Erik scuffed, dimples deep in his cheeks and lips rolled shut, fighting the urge to burst into laughter. She’s such a logistician. That’s one thing about Emoni that attracted him to her. That articulate voice and intellect. It was so damn sexy. Erik waved down Brent who appeared again at the bar. He strolled over with a big smile.

“Another one of these, homie!”

Brent gave Erik a thumbs up and then he glanced at Emoni with a sorry look. She waved him away, not even bothered that he had to step away from the bar for a bit. Brent returned within two minutes with a new glass of cognac on ice. Erik accepted the drink graciously.

“Don't you always at these things? Have an agenda?” He dryly asks, taking a quick sip of his drink to hide a frown. “Speaking of which—” He leans in as if to impart a secret to her, appearing solemn and earnest in his proposal. “Look, the truth is…I just came over here to offer you my services.”

She turns her head and gives him a flat stare. “What services would those be exactly—teaching a woman what not to want in a man? Because you excel at that.”

“You're the only one who thinks so,” he baldly points out, and she knows he's right. The fact is Erik’s got women crawling all over him, begging for a piece on a regular basis, despite his abysmal character. Apparently, having a boat-load of money and royalty status is the great cosmetic for a truly deplorable personality, “As I was saying…my services,” he continues. “Tonight I'm feeling magnanimous, Daniels, so I'm going to make you an offer you can't possibly refuse.”

Emoni sighs and waves at him to get on with what will, indubitably, be a scandalous and ridiculous proposition. The answering dimpled grin he gives her is delightfully boyish and positively enchanting, and if she had fewer brain cells in her head she'd fall for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Go on, Boss, I’m listening.”

“Alright, now listen up because I'm not repeating it,” he says, preening as a peacock before her, “For one night only, for absolutely no money down and no contract necessary, I'm willing to save you the embarrassment of having to find and hunt down the perfect man for your desired one night stand,” He crudely points at his crotch. "I've already got one right here that can fulfill your every fucking dream. Totally free. I'll even throw in all the pink cocktails you'll need to work up the nerve. Dove is around her somewhere…”

Enoni purses her lips, trying not to laugh in his face. As far as trying it on goes, that one is rather original.

“So, let me just understand your pitch,” she replies, affecting indifference. “You're offering to ply me with copious amounts of alcohol and once I'm too inebriated to think straight, you're going to allow me a shot at some other chick’s sloppy seconds…assuming I don't fall unconscious somewhere in between and make things that much easier for you.” She fakes a yawn. “Nice try, but why would I allow my boss and a womanizer the chance of fucking me?”

His frown indicates he’s pissed that she would even think that.

“Your back is so gahdamn rigid, Daniels. I’ll be glad when you get that stick out your fuckin’ ass. And aren’t you the one tryna find a man to fuck in your hotel bed? A random man at that,” Erik chuckles, “So, if anything…”

She was furious then. She wanted to slap him in that pretty face of his. He was so infuriating!

“Are you calling me a hoe? All I did was tell you the truth. And you know it’s the truth, don’t you?”

He blinks as if she's nailed him right in the gut, and gives a long-suffering sigh as if disgusted with her total lack of interest.

“Daniels, you really know how to stomp a man's grand plans into dust at the same time as grinding his balls into meat strips,” He tosses back the contents of his drink, finishing off the glass. “I’ll leave you alone and watch you stand here looking desperate when an opportunity is right in front of you.”

Now she laughs and turns her attention back to the crowd, eyeing the selection and seeing if there is anyone there who might even remotely catch her attention tonight.

“You can’t stand the fact that I don’t fall for your dimples and your raspy voice and your status. Your charm doesn’t work on me. If you can even call it that.”

“Plenty do,” he grouses, looking petulant by her refusal to be impressed, “I'm amazingly appealing, and we both know that you know that.”

"Sure I do,” Emoni replied sarcastically with a roll of her eyes.

He sniffs. "Your problem is you're too green…miss prim."

“No, I'm foxy and an excellent judge of character. Far from green and prudish, Stevens.” Emoni fired back.

“Yes, well…” He sighs, twirling his now empty glass in his hand, “I don't suppose you'd consider lowering your stuck-up standards for a night to aid a fellow charity-dodger deal with his dick?”

“Not for all the air to breathe.”

“Ah, well, your loss, love,” he says, sounding not in the least put-out by her rejection.

He is, after all, quite used to it by now. This is a familiar ritual for them, one they'd been having on and off for the last five years or so since his return from Wakanda. It always ends the same, too: he 'flirts' outrageously with her then ducks out with some random woman on his arm, and she, unwilling to be the brunt of jokes about a lack of a sex life come Monday morning, eventually leaves with one of her friends-with-benefits for a Saturday night of vigorous sex…followed by a Sunday morning filled with hollow excuses and quick goodbyes. That’s how Emoni ended up with her ex, Troy. A serious mistake that led her into a toxic relationship.

Really, the way she and Erik dance around each other at these events and in the office is comical, if it wasn't so fucking obvious that they both wanted a good, nasty, rough night with each other. The problem is that Emoni wants more than a one-off with her boss. Unfortunately, he's highly allergic to commitment.

Hence the sexual tension with the mean bite. Suddenly, Erik surprises her by taking her drink from her hand and sampling it. He held her gaze with a penetrating stare, daring her to do something. She stared back at him with her mouth agape and eyes wide.

He sits the drink down on the bar and licks his full, tempting lips, giving her a slow once-over, “Enjoy your cute, little drink,” he offers and heads off, a beautiful model-type following him with lustful eyes. That wasn’t the only woman there that wanted a piece.

As he walks away, Emoni tries not to let her disappointment overtly show, or derail her from the plan: she is going home with some man tonight and will lose herself in their sex. She’s horny and it’s been too long since she’d been full of dick. After all, that always helps her, at least temporarily, to forget her unrequited feelings for Erik Stevens.

She finishes off her drink, giving a surprised hum at how pleasant it tastes…and how light it makes her feel by the time she hits the bottom of the glass.

“When do you plan on admitting your feelings for him? I mean, it’s been over ten years…”

Startled, Emoni looked forward and met the eyes of that captivating bartender. She slid another pretty drink towards her with a mischievous grin. Emoni was mesmerized by her undeniable beauty with a slight trace of vanity.

But wait, how did she know it’s been over ten years?

[c-e-d-dreamer]

Falling For Your Fools Gold: Chapter 8

A/N: Oh, we're really getting into it now! I know this chapter is a bit shorter than previous ones, and it may feel a bit like filler, but we gotta set up all the delicious things to come ;) Also sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger. Enjoy!

Chapter Masterlist // Previous Part // Next Part

Nesta runs her fingers through her hair, carefully tugging through the knots in the strands, before braiding her hair back. She slides the pins into place next. Without any type of mirror, she has to go off muscle memory alone, her fingertips skating along the updo to at least ensure it feels as it should.

When she’s happy with her hair, she pulls on her dress from the day before next and steps out of the washroom. Cassian is sitting on the bed, tugging his boots back onto his feet. His eyes sweep over Nesta as she steps back in the room. They linger on her face, an intensity seeming to simmer in their hazel color, some emotion flitting across his face before Nesta can even name it, but then he drops his gaze back to the task at hand, lacing his boots up the rest of the way.

Nesta walks over to where her weapons are laid out on the small table in the room. She picks up her sword first, securing the holster around her waist. She goes to strap her dagger to her belt next, but warm fingers curl around her own, stopping her. Nesta turns around in surprise, finding Cassian now standing behind her. He doesn’t say anything, just gently tugs the dagger out of her grip. Nesta lets out a soft gasp when he sinks to his knees, staring with wide eyes as Cassian carefully lifts up her skirts.

“When people see the obvious, they tend not to look for what’s hidden. Something good to always remember, as you can use it to your advantage,” Cassian explains, sliding Nesta’s dagger into her boot.

Nesta swallows hard, her breath hitching in her throat, as Cassian’s fingers brush across the skin of her ankle, ensuring the dagger is secure. Her heart begins to pound between her ribs, especially when Cassian raises his gaze to meet Nesta’s own from his position before her, like a knight bowing before his queen. She opens her mouth, words tangling on her tongue, but before she can say anything, Cassian readjusts her skirts and rises back to his feet.

“Thank you,” Nesta finally murmurs.

Cassian nods his head, gesturing with his hand toward the door. “After you.”

Nesta makes her way across the room to the door, stepping out of the room and down the hallway, Cassian following behind her. When they make it down to the ground level of the inn, she expects to see the crew waiting for them, but when her eyes sweep across the tavern tables, she doesn’t spot a single familiar face.

She frowns, but then Cassian’s hand is pushing gently against the small of her back, guiding her out of the inn completely. Thick, gray clouds obscure the sun and sky overhead, a threat and a promise for rain to come, leaving an eerie chill nipping on the breeze. They paint the streets of Windhaven in a damp darkness despite the late morning hour, figures hunched over in cloaks weaving through the buildings.

Cassian holds his arm out in silent offering, and Nesta settles her hand in the crook of his elbow, following his lead down the road. Nesta wonders if they’ll be finishing whatever business needs to be done in port, if perhaps they’re on their way to meet the crew wherever they are. But instead, Cassian brings them to a small cafe, opening the door for Nesta to step inside.

Nesta turns to blink at him in confusion at the destination, but after a moment, she steps over the threshold. The sweet scent of freshly baked bread and pastry treats flood her senses, the heat from the wood burning fires along the back wall tickling against her skin. A basket of loaves sits on the counter, a young woman stood on the other side, wrapping more bread with paper and string.

“What are we doing here?” Nesta turns to ask over her shoulder.

Cassian tilts his head, frowning in confusion at her question. “Breakfast.”

Cassian steps around Nesta to walk up to the counter of the cafe. The young woman eyes him a bit warily, recognition flitting across her expression. Her gaze dances to Nesta briefly before returning to the pirate captain, a forced smile tugging up her lips.

“What can I get you both?”

They order their food and settle into one of the small tables set up along the front windows of the cafe. Nesta pulls her small bowl of drink close to her, tearing off a piece of her croissant to dip it into the delicious chocolate concoction. She only just barely swallows down a groan at the sweet taste blooming across her tongue, quickly tearing off another piece to dip more.

Nesta goes to take another bite, but pauses when Cassian lifts a hand up, reaching over the table and the space between them. Slowly, his palm cradles her jaw, just the barest hint of a touch sending sparks skittering across Nesta’s skin. His thumb drags slowly across Nesta’s top lip, the touch warm. Nesta can’t move, can’t breathe. For a moment, time seems to stand still, the rest of the cafe, of Windhaven, melting away. All Nesta can focus on is the way her every nerve ending seems to tingle and radiate from that place where his thumb presses against her lips. On the hazel of Cassian’s eyes as they burn a glinting fire of greens and golds.

“You had chocolate on your face,” Cassian murmurs, finally pulling his hand away.

Nesta drops her gaze to his hand, noting the droplet dribbled across the pad of his thumb. Already, she can feel a blush roaring to life beneath her skin, threatening to crash across her cheeks, her heart still tripping over itself between her ribs. She tears at the croissant, the perfect excuse to keep her head ducked, and clears her throat.

“Thanks,” she offers quietly.

“Captain.”

Nesta and Cassian turn in time to watch Baz all but burst through the door of the cafe. He looks out of breath, red blotches blooming across the skin of his cheeks, as if he ran all the way here. His chest heaves, and he swallows hard, but he walks over to their little table.

“I secured us a meet,” Baz explains, shoving his fingers through his hair and pushing the strands off his forehead. “The eldest Vanserra is in port. He’s waiting at the Siren’s Pearl.”

“Sorry, Nes. Looks like our breakfast is getting cut short,” Cassian offers, standing up from his seat.

“Perhaps, I shouldn’t come along with you this time,” Nesta protests, dropping her hands to her lap and fiddling with the fabric of her dress. “I was just a hindrance to your business last time.”

“Nesta…”

“You said yourself that you don’t like to stay in Windhaven that long, and won’t this help with that? I can spend the day at Emerie’s shop.”

Cassian still looks dubious, his lips dipping down into a frown. His eyebrows furrow, the hazel of his eyes dimming with what looks like unease. He eyes Nesta almost warily, distrustingly, and it has her chest tightening, breath stuttering in her lungs with the way her heart squeezes. She finally stands up as well, reaching over and curling her fingers around Cassian’s wrist reassuringly.

“I meant what I said last night,” Nesta tells him quietly, meeting his gaze head-on and praying he can see the truth in her eyes, can hear the truth in her words.

Cassian searches her face for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. “Alright.”

Despite Cassian’s agreement, he insists on walking Nesta back to Emerie’s bookstore. He keeps Nesta’s hand secured in the crook of his elbow as they stroll at an almost leisurely pace through the streets of Windhaven. Baz seems to disagree with the delay, but he keeps his lips pressed firmly together, quietly following behind them.

“I’ll come back once we’re finished with the Vanserras,” Cassian explains once they reach the door of Emerie’s shop. “And then we’ll finally be able to set sail again.”

Nesta nods, turning to head into the bookstore, but Cassian’s hand catches around her arm, stopping her. When she turns back around in confusion, the lightness has returned to Cassian’s eyes, that cocky, teasing smirk firmly back in place across his lips.

“Try and stay out of trouble, princess,” Cassian offers with a wink.

He leans in and steals a kiss to Nesta’s cheek before finally stepping back and vanishing down the road with Baz. Nesta is left frozen in front of Emerie’s shop, jaw slacking and eyes blinking after the pirate captain and his first mate. Slowly, her hand comes up, fingers pressing against the skin where Cassian’s lips had brushed. Her heart pounds an erratic beat in her chest, and she has to swallow hard around the emotions bubbling up and pressing at her throat.

With a shake of her head, Nesta pulls herself back to reality, spinning on her heel and finally stepping inside the bookstore. Much like the previous day, Emerie is behind the counter, but this time, she has her cheek cradled in her hand, elbow leaning against the wood. Her eyes are glued to Nesta, her brown eyes alight and a smirk firmly planted across her face.

“What’s that face for?” Nesta asks, scowling lightly and crossing her arms.

“What’s going on there?” Emerie fires back, standing up fully and matching Nesta’s stance.

“Going on where?”

Emerie rolls her eyes like she can’t believe Nesta just asked that. “Between you and the Lord of Bloodshed.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Nesta tells her primly, moving through the shop and sliding her fingers along the covers of the books on display. “He… Well, he technically attacked my father’s ship, and now I…”

Nesta pauses, her words trailing off. She what? She trains with weapons and learns to fight now? She lives on his ship and sails with him? She stays in the captain’s cabin and shares his bed with him? She asks to stay with him and not go back to Adriata, and he promises to always protect her and be her sword?

Suddenly, Nesta is glad that her back is turned to Emerie, so the shop owner can’t see the blush skittering across her skin.

“And now I’m part of his crew,” Nesta finally finishes, picking up one of the books and aimlessly flipping through the pages.

“Part of the crew? Doing what?”

“Doing… crew things.”

“Right,” Emerie drawls sarcastically. “Just so you know, I don’t believe you.”

Nesta snaps the book in her hands closed, whirling back around to face Emerie. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Fine. Did you start either of the books you got yesterday yet?”

The change in conversation has Nesta smiling, more than happy to dive into a book discussion. She steps over to the counter and Emerie, and they quickly devolve into a debate on the better love choices for the main characters in their favorite stories. It doesn’t take long for them both to realize they have similar tastes, and soon they’re laughing over the different descriptions some authors use, over the task of trying to figure out the exact positions the couples are somehow in.

“I just don’t understand where her leg is meant to be,” Emerie gets out between wheezing laughter. “There’s no way she’s flexible enough for it to be above her head.”

Nesta feels like she can’t breathe, clutching at her side as she continues to giggle. “Maybe she’s secretly a dancer?”

“And what about him? He’s apparently twice as tall as she is, so how does that work?”

Nesta has to wipe at her eyes, at the tears that have sprung to life from all the laughing, and takes a deep breath. “You can’t think too hard about it, or else you won’t enjoy the book.”

“I suppose,” Emerie agrees with a quiet huff. “I’m just waiting for a romance novel I can truly relate to.”

“A heroine that owns a bookstore?”

“Yes, and her beautiful girlfriend that works at the local tavern,” Emerie sighs dreamily, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead dramatically, before her brown eyes widen. “Oh, no. I forgot I said I’d meet Cresseida for lunch.”

“Cresseida?”

“My beautiful girlfriend that works at the local tavern,” Emerie explains with a dismissive wave of her hand like Nesta was meant to already know that.

Before Nesta can ask anything else, Emerie steps fully around the counter. Her hand wraps around Nesta’s wrist, all but dragging her toward the door and out of the bookstore. She lets go long enough to lock up her shop, but then Emerie is linking her arm through Nesta’s and leading her through winding sidestreets into a part of Windhaven Nesta hasn’t been to yet.

They come to a stop in front of a tavern that seems to be absolutely bustling with people. The front doors are propped open wide, the yellow glow of the lights inside spilling out and into the courtyard where people are drinking and chatting amicably despite the dreary weather. A large wooden sign hanging above declares the tavern as the Kraken’s Korner, a large octopus-like arm painted so that it curls around the letters.

Emerie leads them up the steps and inside without a care, the familiarity with this place clear. There’s a group of patrons in one of the corners, a woman singing while a man plucks some sort of stringed instrument and another man uses a barrel to pound out a steady beat with his fists. Nesta stands transfixed watching them, the music floating over to her. The melody wraps around her limbs, a familiar thrum rising to meet it beneath her skin. Already, she can imagine walking over to dance, if only she had a willing partner.

A tug on her arm, pulls Nesta back to herself, Emerie walking them to the opposite corner of the tavern. They settle into chairs around one of the smaller tables, Emerie’s eyes dancing around all the different patrons, searching. She must find who she’s looking for, the bookstore owner raising her arm in a wave, but when Nesta squints through the busy tavern, she can’t tell exactly who Emerie is waving at.

“So, does your girlfriend own this tavern?” Nesta asks when Emerie’s attention finally turns back to her.

“Her cousin Tarquin does,” Emerie explains. “But Cresseida practically runs the place.”

“Damn straight I do.”

Nesta turns her head to find a woman now standing beside their table. Her hair is practically a glowing silver, braided back and tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. The color contrasts beautifully with the dark shade of her skin, the deep brown of her eyes. With the angles of her face, the way her lips are pulled into an easy, confident smile, she reminds Nesta of a princess heroine, and she understands why Emerie thinks the two of them belong in a romance novel.

“Hey, Cress,” Emerie greets, her own smile wide. “Hope you don’t mind I brought a friend to lunch. This is Nesta. She’s on the Lord of Bloodshed’s crew.”

Cresseida’s eyes widen, her gaze snapping to Nesta. “The rumors are true then? That the Lord of Bloodshed allows women on his crew?”

Nesta flushes slightly at the question, and judging from the way Emerie is biting back a smirk, she knows exactly the corner she’s backed Nesta into. “Yes. He does. He’s even been providing me with weapons and hand to hand combat training.”

“Wow. That’s amazing.”

“Cresseida wants to sail and see the world,” Emerie explains with a fond roll of her eyes.

“Some of us want to get out of Windhaven,” Cressieda scoffs, settling into the open seat beside her girlfriend. “Now tell us more about the crew.”

Nesta does just that. She talks about the crew, about her training with Baz. She even tells the story about the Solstice celebration, Emerie and Cresseida seemingly delighted at her hustling the other members of the crew.

Somewhere along the way, Cresseida runs off to the kitchen, coming back with steaming plates for them to share amongst the three of them, and not long after that the conversation derails into Cresseida telling tales of some of the craziest patrons at the tavern. By the time the plates are empty, Nesta’s cheeks hurt from smiling and laughing so much. But her stomach is full of good food, and her chest feels light in a way that’s almost terrifying in its unfamiliarity, warm contentment stretching through her veins.

Nesta is so distracted by the easy camaraderie between the three of them, that she barely notices the change-over in the patrons around them. It’s only when she glances toward one of the windows of the tavern that she notices the way the light has shifted outside, the darkening of the sky indicating the hours they’ve spent here. It has Nesta chewing at her bottom lip nervously.

Cassian had said he would retrieve her from Emerie’s shop. Would he be waiting for her? Would he assume she didn’t mean what she said, that she’d run away back to Adriata after all? Would he set sail without her? That thought has Nesta’s stomach sinking, all the food suddenly feeling heavy and leaving a sour taste in the back of her mouth.

“Should we head back to your shop?” Nesta cuts in to ask.

Emerie raises an eyebrow at the outburst, but whatever she sees on Nesta’s face has her smirking. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to keep your captain waiting.”

“Will he be there?” Cresseida asks, her face lighting up at the prospect. But Nesta doesn’t miss the wariness that tinges the edges of her expression, Cassian’s reputation clearly still preceding him.

Emerie opens her mouth to answer her girlfriend, and Nesta knows from the mischievous glint in her brown eyes that she’s not going to like the response, so she jumps in to say, “let’s go then.”

Emerie looks less than impressed at being cut off, but the three women stand up, making their way out of the tavern. Emerie and Cresseida lead the way, their hands clasped between them, with Nesta trailing just behind. Nesta tries to recognize the different buildings they pass, tries to remember them from the walk to the tavern in hopes of determining how close they are to the bookstore, how much longer it will be, but with the evening sky overhead darkening more and more, they all begin to blur together.

They turn around a corner and cut through one of the alleyways, and Nesta swears that she can feel eyes on her. The sensation prickles along her skin, creeping up her spine until the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She pauses and turns over her shoulder, but the alleyway is empty behind them. She shakes her head and continues behind Emerie and Cresseida, but she still can’t quite shake that feeling, even when they turn another corner.

They head down another sidestreet, but their path up ahead is blocked by a man standing in the middle of the way, his arms crossed across his chest. It takes Nesta a moment to place him, his face snagging at the memories in the back of her mind. When it finally clicks, cold dread sluices through her veins, icing over until the breath stutters in her lungs, her chest tightening painfully.

He was part of the crew at the Captain’s Quarter. He was the one who had glared, who had snapped at Cassian, after their leader had been killed. But he’s not glaring now. Instead, his eyes are pinned on Nesta, and he’s smirking.

Nesta spins on her heel, intent on running in the other direction, but she smacks straight into the chest of another man instead. His arm snaps around Nesta’s waist, gripping tight enough that it hurts, that she’s sure she’ll have bruises pressed into her skin. Shouts from behind her let her know that there’s more men, that they’ve grabbed Emerie and Cresseida too. She tries to free her hands, to fight back, but the hold has her arms pinned to the man’s chest.

Every second that passes has Nesta’s heart pounding, has fear making her head fuzzy, her breath heaving in her lungs and her ears ringing. She tries desperately to wriggle free from this man’s grasp, tries to cling to her trainings with Baz, to everything she’s been taught, but terror grips her too tightly. This man grips her too tightly. She opens her mouth, prepared to scream, but a cloth of some kind is pressed against her face, and everything fades to darkness.

—

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[silmsmutweek]

The Hunters

Day 7: Fem!Maedhros/Aredhel, 2016 words, explicit

Written also for this prompt at @silmkinkmeme 

Read also on Ao3

~ ~ ~

It is not often that Irissë attends various celebrations and festivities her grandfather is so fond of. More often than not, she is away from Tirion with the Hunt of Oromë or alone with her cousin, who feels as stifled in the city as she does. 

But the invitation has come from her eldest cousin personally, and Irissë is well aware of what it means.

There is an impatient tingle in her belly even before she sees Maitimë. When her cousin finally arrives, Irissë has to sit on her hands, so she won’t start touching herself in public.

Maitimë is wearing a backless dress, ethereal and flowing. Her fiery hair is in an elaborate updo, displaying her flawless neck and strong shoulders. Her back muscles move seamlessly under soft skin, and Irissë’s cunt clenches involuntarily.

She doesn’t know if her cousin is aware of Irissë’s weakness for bare shoulders. It pleases her to think that Maitimë has chosen to wear this dress specifically for Irissë, but the truth is they had never spoken of it. They don’t have that kind of relationship, and they are both happy with it. 

Maitimë glides amid the nobles with practiced ease. The crowd parts before her like waves before a ship. Anyone who secretly whispers that Fëanáro’s first son should be his true heir has never met Maitimë. 

Graceful isn’t the first word Irissë would choose to describe her, even though of grace she has plenty. But above all, she is strong and effortlessly confident in a way that seems innate. That was what attracted Irissë in the first place, even before she knew there was truth in the rumors that Finwë’s eldest grandchild takes only female lovers.

Maitimë catches her look across the hall. Her lips twitch. Irissë presses her legs together. She has to be patient and wait until Maitimë is finished with her social duties and can focus only on Irissë. 

At last, her torment nears its end. With an elegant movement, Maitimë beckons her, and Irissë follows as a faithful hound. 

Maitimë is already naked by the time Irissë finds her. Her long form is reclined against the pillows on the bed, one leg crossed over the other. Irissë’s knees go weak.

“Fuck,” she says.

“Is that how you greet your cousin after so long?” Maitimë asks with a smirk.

She uncrosses her legs and stares, unabashed, at Irissë. Maitimë usually keeps her bush trimmed, but she has let it grow now, and Irissë’s throat goes dry as she takes in Maitimë’s long legs, her glistening cunt, framed by dark red curls, and Maitimë’s full breasts with large, light brown nipples. 

It has been too long since Irissë bedded a woman. She hungers. Her own need nearly forgotten, she disrobes swiftly and pounces on Maitimë. 

For a moment, Irissë is dizzy with the smell of her, the heat of her soft skin, the sound of her silvery laughter. She wants everything all at once. She doesn’t know where to touch Maitimë. There is so much of her to touch.

Finally, she cups Maitimë’s breasts. The tender flesh overspills from her hands. Irissë’s own breasts are easy enough to cup even with one hand, especially with Maitimë’s large, long-fingered one. 

Maitimë’s nipples are still smooth and soft, so Irissë makes it her mission to harden them. She runs her tongue along the blue vein visible under the skin. Maitimë shivers. Encouraged, Irissë takes the nub into her mouth, circling it with her tongue. Maitimë’s quiet sigh is Irissë’s reward. She gives the same treatment to the other nipple, then buries her face in Maitimë’s breasts, kissing and biting gently, until Maitimë tugs at her braids.

“There is a better use for your mouth,” she says.

She is panting already, and so is Irissë, her breasts pressing against Maitimë’s rapidly rising and falling abdomen. 

Irissë slides down between Maitimë’s legs and plunges her tongue into Maitimë’s slick cunt. Maitimë’s hand tightens around her braids, both in pleasure and in warning lest Irissë forget herself and let her tongue dive deeper than Maitimë allows her. Irissë drinks her in, her mouth sucking at Maitimë’s lips, her tongue exploring every crevice and circling Maitimë’s clit. She then brings a hand to rub gently at the spot, while she reaches with her other hand for Maitimë’s breast.

Maitimë cries out - a passionate, untethered sound. Her heels dig into Irissë’s back, her strong thighs imprison Irissë between them. Not for the first time, Irissë imagines how fetching Maitimë would look in hunting breeches, imagines Maitimë riding alongside her, her thick hair in a simple hunting braid. After the hunt, she would drag Maitimë behind a bush and finger her braid while Maitimë would be fingering her. They would emerge together, and everyone would see Maitimë’s disheveled hair and Irissë’s blissful look and know. They would know that Maitimë would never be theirs, but she could be Irissë’s whenever she liked. 

She moans still mouthing at Maitimë’s sex. 

“You are doing so well,” Maitimë pants haltingly. “Your sweet mouth will be the end of me.”

Irissë flushes, the praise making her want to do even better, to bring Maitimë even more pleasure. Heat blooms low in her belly and swirls down. Her cunt is throbbing, aching for a touch. She dives into Maitimë’s wetness with renewed vigor and sucks on her clit, focusing on the unrestrained, loud cries that are spilling out of Maitimë’s sensual lips, on the tightening of Maitimë’s fingers in Irissë’s hair, on the way Maitimë trembles as the pleasure builds and builds until finally Maitimë’s cunt spasms, and with a cry she goes boneless beneath Irissë’s hands.

Irissë keeps going, lapping at Maitimë’s release. She wonders how fast she can bring Maitimë to the edge again, but her cousin has other ideas. She easily pulls Irissë up.  She could lift me up with one hand,  Irissë thinks and shivers.

Maitimë draws her into a deep, almost violent kiss. She licks into Irissë’s mouth and moans, tasting herself on her tongue. 

Irissë is burning with need. She writhes on top of Maitimë, trying to rub her slick cunt against Matimë’s still quivering thighs. 

“Let’s see how wet you are for me,” Maitimë says, her voice hoarser than it was before.

Her elegant fingers run down Irissë’s spine, ghost over her buttocks and stop near her slit. Not too gently, Maitimë probes Irissë’s cunt, a pleased smile appearing on her face.

“Sopping wet,” she says as Irissë whimpers. “Oh, you poor thing! How selfish of me to keep you in need for so long.”

She sits, pulling Irissë up with her. Her finger stays in Irissë’s cunt as she gathers Irissë in her lap. With her free hand, she gently pushes sweat-soaked strands of hair away from Irissë’s face.

“Tell me what you want,” she says, her finger unmoving inside Irissë.

Silently, Irissë curses Maitimë and herself for not thinking this through. Had she demanded her pleasure first before pleasuring Maitimë, her cousin wouldn’t have the patience to tease her. But Maitimë likes playing these games after she gets what she wants.

“Touch me,” Irissë begs.

Maitimë caresses her face with the back of her hand.

“What else?” she asks.

“Fuck, Maitimë, you know what to do! This isn’t the first time, is it? Fuck me! Move your fingers! Do something!”

Maitimë’s laughter is like pearls falling on tiles. She curls a finger inside Irissë and rubs her engorged clit with a thumb. Irissë cries out, then whines when the movement stops.

“More?” Maitimë asks merrily.

“Yes!” Irissë gasps.

“You know you have to ask for it, sweet cousin.”

“Fuck you!” Irissë cries, then immediately adds, “Another finger, please, Maitimë, I need it.”

She falls, panting, against Maitimë’s chest as her cousin indulges her. Two fingers curl then stretch inside Irissë for a few blissful, euphoric moments. Then Maitimë stills, raises Irissë’s chin up and smiles at her.

“Go on then,” she says.

Shaken by the sudden deprivation, Irissë doesn’t comprehend at first what is requested of her. When she does, she grasps Maitimë’s shoulders and begins to move. 

Maitimë looks at her in unbridled awe as Irissë, tits bouncing, fucks herself on her long, beautiful fingers. 

Maitimë’s other hand roams over Irissë’s body, strokes her back, cups her breasts, caresses her neck. Two fingers tap at her lips, and Irissë opens her mouth, takes them in and sucks ravenously. Maitimë rewards her with a third finger in her cunt, all three moving in rhythm with Irissë. 

With both her mouth and her cunt filled, Irissë completely surrenders to the sensations. The desperate, needy sounds she makes in her throat are more fit for an animal in heat than a princess. But she doesn’t care. 

She rarely gives up control during sex. With her fellow hunters, sex is a competition. With others, even other women, there is always a layer of distance. But there is something about Maitimë that brings out this side of Irissë. Something safe, something secure. The assurance that she will get all her needs met with relentless efficacy and profound care. 

Maitimë’s fingers leave her mouth and trail down her neck. In vain, Irissë, breathless and gaping, chases after them. But she doesn’t have to complain because Maitimë cups her breasts, rubs her dark nipples between two wet fingers and then pinches them.

Irissë cries out as sharp pleasure courses through her. Her fingers are leaving bruises on Maitimë’s shoulders. She doesn’t seem to notice it, too busy with taking Irissë apart with only her skilled fingers. Irissë’s mouth feels empty. She almost wishes Maitimë had brought one of her toys, so she could have two hands free to ruin Irissë. But then Irissë wouldn’t have Maitimë’s near-burning fingers inside her, playing her like a well-used instrument, pressing, rubbing and caressing with passion not worn down with experience. 

As though reading her mind, Maitimë claims Irissë’s mouth with her own, giving Irissë her tongue to suck on. She does, pressing closer to Maitimë’s chest, sinking faster onto Maitimë’s fingers, her ah-ah-ah drowning in Maitimë’s mouth. 

She suddenly realizes that Maitimë is also moaning, and the movement of her fingers in Irissë’s cunt has become shaky, uncontrollable. It is the knowledge that she can affect Maitimë so that makes Irissë fall apart. Tightening around Maitimë’s fingers, her release came abruptly and took her under. 

They lay side by side for a few moments, catching their breaths. Irissë tilts her head to look at Maitimë in all her naked glory. Once again, Irissë has a vision of Maitimë on a steed - magnificent and regal like a Maia of Oromë.

“Why don’t you come to hunt with us more often?” she asks.

Maitimë doesn’t seem surprised by the seemingly random question. She only smiles and turns to look at Irissë.

“Why don’t you stay in the city longer?” she asks.

Irissë shrugs. “I could never be like you,” she says.

“You mean boring?”

“Your word,” Irissë laughs. “No, I mean I could never stay in one place for so long. I would lose my mind if I had to look at walls all the time, see the same people every day, speak about the same things. I much prefer the open fields, the emerald green forests and the chase of the game. I think you would like it if you came hunting with us.”

“I do all my hunting here,” Maitimë says.

Irissë snorts. “How many maidens like me have you deflowered?” she asks.

“You were hardly a maiden,” Maitimë says, amused. “In any case, a lady does not kiss and tell.”

“That many?” Irissë grins. 

“The number you should be interested in instead,” Maitimë says, her index finger circling Irissë’s hardening nipple, “is the highest number of orgasms I have bestowed upon a lady during a single encounter.”

“Would you tell me if I asked?” Irissë says, breath hitching as Maitimë’s feathery touch creeps farther down. 

“No,” Maitimë says, her finger sliding easily into Irissë’s still-wet cunt, “but I can tell you that I shall surpass that number today.”

[ylkcheeeks]

Also, because of course i thought of just one more thing, about Super S:

No horf. Or, if he must exist, make him like, Peruru as a human, and don’t have him ask Chibs to hide him and he’s not required for the final attack. Chibs keeps getting mystical help from him by riding him into people’s dreams to find out who is going to be targeted because the evil dream circus now does a Freddy Kruger to the victims because of course it does. And they almost get caught or something.

Or maybe it’s an after effect and she’s, like, showing up afterwards to heal their trauma?

Okay, chibs is dreaming. She rings the bell and Helios is like “hello maiden let’s dream frolic” but like how Usagi heard Naru, she hears, like, Momo or something, and she insists to Helios they have to help her! And he’s like, that breaks the rules it’s dangerous etc, and she’s like, I can’t just leave someone hurt and strides off in her dream version of her uniform which is like Sailor V fell into a ruffle machine. So he goes and uses his magic to help, but now he’s too weak to use his magic to guide her to where he is trapped oh noooo better luck next time

Also in the finale he dies saving her. Back in the reincarnation queue,horf.

Also a sequel series of the amazones being like, cute South American circus mahous looking for their princess. Not looking very hard but she is fine so it’s fine. And they get a upgrade with new hairdos that are less… Takeuchi I respect you but those were a miss. How about they’re all afrolatina and get cute protective hairstyles when in civilian form, with splashier ones when magic.

Juno: keep the fun circles in the front but make them braids, the updo is a Lola Bunny shaped locks/twists ponytail. Her hair changes the least, primarily adding decs, including some charms.

Ceres: the overall silhouette is bun + loopies, more of a loose curl on her for those baby bangs (she cut them herself after a breakup shut UP). Maybe like, the loopies are twists and the bun is like a huge sock bun? Made of twists? Idk

Vesta: bubble ponytail, laid edges, thank u next ringtone

Pallas: afropuffs 🤩 but also maybe a bantu style topknot with those forward temple braids? I do not remember what that style is called but yes Plz

As Las Asteridas they have a fun updated costume. It unifies the sol standard & their cool af costumes of evil

The animals cum shitty predators are less interesting to me. They don’t have to be reincarnated in Crystal Tokyo but could be changed in a remake to be survivors of the sailor wars. Phobos & Deimos attack Hawkseye because this is WRONG and Lead Crow can be from a planet of bird people not just corvids.

What if a new version of Sailor Moon S where the witches 5 are legit grad students and they are aliens from Tau and their specific fields are their theme for their plans. EG Tellulu is not just plant themed but her plots attack the local flora because her thesis is based around getting Tau flora to thrive here.

Alternatively I would enjoy a “new” anime that was the witches 5 as a workplace sitcom with the numbers filed off, and also the above adjustment.

Eudile, geology/terraforming, hotrod hobby, allowed to be butch if she wants

Mimette social sciences/social media influencer spreading positive sentiment for the Mugen Integrated School System (it’s totally work omg u guys don’t understand longitudinal studies show…)

Villuy is perfect, can remain a sexy hacker, steals people’s energy through Alexa or whatever

Cyprine & Ptolil (spelling that is beyond me rn): one is studying string theory and the other is a PEI reconstructionist and the other witches are constantly mixing them up. They can affect the area around them creating a bubble of distorted language or distorted time (superimposing earlier events on now, basically) and combine into one purple witch and it’s great

Kaori Nite is the head of the math department and Souichi Tomoe’s peer, not secretary. Both because that makes his seduction into the dark side better for me- she appeals to his intellect and his desire to save Hotaru, not just his 🍆 ego- and because there’s the number sub theme with mistress 9, pharaoh 90, each witch having a power level, etc. it implies Tau are a very number forward culture

Concept: Tauians as evil sexy Vulcans. Kaori is a brainwashed Sailor Romulan? Too far.

[bookishdream]

Hi, can u do one Kaz Brekker X Reader where he likes the reader's skin, but he is afraid to touch she because of his traumas and hers traumas too, because he noticed how she reacts to other people's touch, but one day he just touches her because he wanted to feel her.

Sorry if got confused, english is not my first language.

thank you for a request, I hope you'll be satisfied with what I came up with! enjoy xx

kaz brekker x fem!reader

He was confused. He didn’t know why he was feeling the way he was. His fingers were itchy, palms getting sweaty every time he saw you. Especially when you showed some skin.

He had this weird urge to touch your hand, to kiss the place where he could feel your heart race, to feel your soft skin pressed to him. He didn’t want to do that in a sexual way, he just wanted to feel every scar and every stretch mark you had. But he knew better than that.

With his phobia and your reaction triggered by even the slightest touch, he knew he shouldn’t have had even a thought in his stupid mind. He was distracted when you were wearing a dress, his eyes were looking you up and down every occasion he had, thinking no one had ever noticed. How of a fool he’d been that whole time.

“I think you should ask her out,” Inej had once said, making him snap out of his thinking. “She’s not that bad, you know.”

“Inej, I appreciate your tries to warm up my heart, but I would have to have one first.” He’d replied, looking down at the money on his desk. He shouldn’t have been surprised, of course the Wraith had seen, she always did.

“What would bad happen if you opened up for someone?” she’d sat on the chair on the opposite of his, her hair braided as always, a little smirk playing on her lips. “You’ve known each other since forever. Also, I think only with her you show some human emotions.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he’d frowned, money in his gloved hands. “Now get out, I need to plan a job.” Inej had only sighed at his words, what a fool he was.

After that conversation, Kaz had been thinking how to avoid you. If you were in the club, he was somewhere in Ketterdam, walking around despite his leg pain. With work it was harder, you all had to work together in order to win over the city, exactly how you and Kaz had planned.

“I think we should kill Pekka Rollins first,” you had said, making an eye contact with Kaz. It was almost two years ago, your hair was shorter, your eyes glowed with sparkles he hadn’t seen ever since. “He’s been a pain in the ass, since I’ve been working in the White Rose.”

“Did he hurt you?” he’d asked, a foolish move, showing how he cared about you. “Touched you in the way he shouldn’t?”

“Kaz, every person who goes there does that.”

He’d sighed, his palms clenching harder on the cane. “I should’ve bought you out the first time I saw you there.”

“Kaz,” you said, touching his hand gently, he hadn’t flinched nor moved. “You bought Inej and both of us know she’s a better help to you than me.”

“You’re right.”

“Of course, I am, darling,” you’d squeezed his palm, letting go after a few seconds. “Now, I shall go. Boss will be angry if I don’t come back on time.”

“Be careful.” He’d pleaded, his voice barely detectable.

“Always am.”

He hadn’t got any idea why you were making him soft, you two had met after he came to Ketterdam. He remembered how beautiful you’d seemed that day, your hair loose, arms high above your head, and you were laughing. That sound he hadn’t forgotten. The pure laughter that had gotten out of you was a thing he still repeated in his head, years after he heard that last time. You never laughed again. Never got this spark in your eyes. Your smile never reached them as well.

“Kaz?” you knocked on the door leading to his room. “I need to talk to you.”

“Come in,” he replied, looking up at you. You had dark circles under your eyes, they were tired. You barely walked. “What is it?”

You took out a pouch, Kaz heard coins jingling in it. “I need you to buy me out.”

Shock made its way to Kaz’s face, you had never asked this question before. Even though he was prepared, he had a wad of money in his safe, just in case. He wanted to ask you so many questions but when you looked at him, pressing your hand to your stomach, rage started burning in him. “What did they do to you?”

“Kaz, please, I have money. Just do it.” You tried so hard to keep tears in your eyes, to not show anything.

“I don’t want your money,” he snapped, regretting it seconds after, he sounded too harsh. He got up and opened up his safe, taking out the money. “I am prepared.”

“Thank you,” you said, sitting on his bed. “Can I stay? I kind of don’t have any place to go.”

“Of course, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With those words, he left, leaving you on your own.

After some time, that you just laid on his bed, trying to not paying attention to the pain you felt in your lower stomach, Kaz came back. His cane was clicking and he opened the door with a short sigh. The owner of the White Rose hadn’t wanted to sell your contract, saying you were his property. Kaz saw red, he’d hit Onkle Felix with the cane and had just taken the paper, leaving less money that it had been needed.

When he entered the room, you were laying on your right side, your back facing the door, you hadn’t changed. Your eyes were closed, but the breath was uneven. Kaz placed his walking stick beside his bed and climbed up on the soft mattress. He wanted so bad to touch you, to remove those hairs which gotten out of your updo, to caress your cheek. He took off his gloves, eyeing his slim, pale fingers. He laid down on his bed, he had your body next to him, he could’ve touched you so easily if he had wanted to.

Without the second thought, he touched your cheek slightly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Tracing your jaw line with his finger tip, seeing how calm you looked, how relaxed your body seemed. He removed his finger, testing his boundaries, yours also. He didn’t want to scare you off both by his trauma and yours.

“Don’t stop.” You whispered, gently opening your eyes, your voice raspy.

“Are you okay with that?”

“Kind of, just don’t stop.”

He wanted to pull you closer to him, to hug you properly, but instead, he took your hand in his and just traced small patterns on your palm. You smiled a little, falling asleep, while Kaz was just looking at you, remembering every detail on your face.

[autisticandroids]

ok how would girls au work because i feel like to keep true with the theme of toxic gender roles them being cool and butch feels very at odds with that when like the girl version of that would be like christian girl with an instagram talking about country life and her future husband like it would be an interesting combo for them because john would be like ur an inherent failure for being a girl but also the expectations are lower already for them compared to john and sons

yeah it’s like weird! but i think about it a lot. i made a big fun post with it here.

basically my ideas are a combination of serious (dean) interesting (sam) and self-indulgent (cas).

like first of all i think sam is an out lesbian and i think she came out during the fight before stanford. like, i think she told dean when she was like fifteen, but she told john the night she left. she spat it in his face, actually. 

i think dean is like. dean loves her unconditionally but is also lightly homophobic to her about it, you know? they were accustomed to sharing motel room beds as kids but dean won’t do it anymore now that she knows sam likes girls. dean is also like, weird to her about her interactions with other women, and also talks constantly about men, as though men-liking were a cool exclusive club only dean is invited to.

i think sam has like butt length straight hair and doesn’t wear any makeup ever but doesn’t like. wear mens clothes or anything, like she wears plain clothes that are cut for women. on hunts she puts her hair in a braid. maybe she braids a spiked strap into it like beka cooper.

dean is like........ dean is a lot like young, pre-john mary i think. think the song remains the same. dean is obsessed with performing masculinity, while at the same time terrified of seeming mannish or queer. she walks a weird line, and ends up overperforming both masculinity and femininity. she regularly challenges dudes twice her size to arm wrestling contests in bars, but she never goes out of the motel room without a full face of makeup. like she’s obsessed with doing both. masculinity for respect, and femininity for conformity. you know that thing dean does with his voice? the harshening? the intentionally adopted accent and tough guy tones? she does that too. and her voice is raspy, like rachel miner’s. she’s just as invested in her “heterosexuality” as canon dean.

she wears dean’s same green army jacket but underneath it she ties up a flannel shirt so it bares her midriff. she wears her hair like s13 mary, except that sometimes she puts it in little pigtails. 

cas is the easiest because cas’ gender presentation doesn’t matter at all except in how OTHER PEOPLE relate to her, so it’s less a question of “how would cas do woman?” and more a question of “what would it be fun to see other people/dean specifically react to?”

so basically like. jimmy novak is a frumpy feminine christian mom. still wears the trench coat and probably a suit but when i say suit i mean blazer, pencil skirt, tights, blouse (or maaaybe a button down), low-ish heels. long hair in bouncy curls (think rowena’s hair but no bangs and black). actually jimmy novak probably pinned her hair up in a slight updo.

anyway i’ve decided that i refuse to try and remember what actually happened with cas falling in like, canon, like how close he got to human. this au’s cas gets close enough to human that she has to start like. showering. anyway she can’t take care of the hair so it gets tangled in a giant rat’s nest and dean gives her a bathroom chop. she has to borrow the winchester sisters’ clothes, because she has to start changing clothes but also because she can’t fucking walk in jimmy’s heels or in that confining skirt without the assistance of her grace. 

all the winchesters’ clothes look baggy on her because she’s kind of spindly and narrow and flat as a board. like dean and sam have big shoulders, big hips, and big breasts, and cas has zero out of three, so anything she wears looks like a smock. she keeps wearing the coat over whatever they give her. she’s tallish (five feet eight or nine inches?) but dean is taller and sam is freakishly tall. cas could probably pass for a man alone but when she’s with dean or sam it’s obvious she’s a woman just because of the heights.

when she returns to angelhood at the end of season five, she’s wearing jimmy’s white office button down, but no bra underneath because the only reasons she would need one would be to either make her boobs look bigger or to hide her nipples and cas isn’t interested in either of those things and bras are uncomfortable, no blazer on top, a set of cargo pants that look feminine and form fitting on dean because dean is in possession of an ass and hips, but baggy and dykey on cas because she is not, combat boots (also dean’s), and the coat, and her hair is just like canon cas’ hair but way choppier because dean cut it for her.

anyway, dean treats cas in a WILD way, like. they do some intricate rituals in season four? they are dean winchester and castiel, after all. but after cas butches up in season five and then stays that way dean pushes it into overdrive. “i wish you were a boy so i could date you” shit. dean lets cas put a hand on the small of her back. she jokes that cas is her boyfriend. when cas sleeps, they sleep in the same bed, “since you can’t possibly share with sam, she’s a dyke.” also she called cas cassie a lot when cas looked more feminine but switches exclusively to cas when cas looks more masculine. like it’s this whole “”””straight”””” girl intricate ritual where one is attracted to a masculine woman so one coercively masculinizes her further.

sam tries to check in with cas to see if cas is cool with this forcible masculinization and weird gender relationship, because sam is gay and Understands or at least thinks she does. she also catches wind that cas is here to smash a lot sooner than in canon. but anyway cas rebuffs her because cas hates sam. 

tangent, but one of my least favorite things that happens in mid spn, starting i think in s6, is that they start needing plausible deniability for cas, so they start pretending him and sam are like, friends. like 6.20 “i did it to protect the boys. or to protect myself. i don’t know anymore.” like there’s all this emotional stuff where cas is clearly talking about his emotional connection to dean, but sam gets included in order to make it seem SLIGHTLY less gay. and that’s annoying because of the no-homo-ness but it’s actually more annoying because 1) i liked s5 cas’ bitchiness towards sam i think that killed and 2) if sam and cas are gonna be friends after cas was a bitch and called sam an abomination and shit, develop it! develop it! don’t just Say that they are.

anyway it’s my au and i say what happens so the plausible deniability “both the brothers are important to me” shit does NOT happen and cas is a bitch to sam throughout s5&6. they do eventually bond later? like cas still takes sam’s hell trauma, and sam feels like she owes her for that (even though it was CAS’ FAULT IN THE FIRST PLACE but sam is batshit like that). so that’s what kind of gets them to eventually bond a little and become friends and comrades. 

also sam clocks cas as gay. obviously. sam tries to inform cas about being gay. because sam too is gay. it only kind of sticks. cas doesn’t really understand how human societal roles work. cas has HUGE angel autism and i support her.

also as long as we’re talking about five and six, why don’t we deal with male lisa. so obviously the kid thing doesn’t work. the thing that lisa does that makes dean like :o is not “have a kid that might be dean’s” but “tell dean he was going to propose.” this implies that they were dating in the past longer than canon dean and lisa but oh well. 

however, when dean gets pulled back into hunting, she’s six weeks pregnant by lisa and doesn’t know it. cas immediately tells her, and offers to give her an angelic abortion. she accepts without hesitating and cas does it. the fact that this - cas taking ownership of dean’s reproductive organs in a somewhat invasive way, even if it was wanted - contributes to their whole.... season six..... dynamic. dean never tells lisa about this.

that’s everything i can think of. i have work in four hours.

[planecrashdreams]

Take My Breath Away

Peter Parker x Stark!daughter

Summary: The Avengers are close to unveiling The Vulture’s plan to destroy the city. They uncover that his son is throwing a ball with all of the most notorious villains within the city. It is decided that you, along with Peter, must attend to gather intel.

Warnings: *violence* *swearing* *fight scenes* *mentions of blood/wounds*

Peter & Y/N are 18

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., call everyone into the lab in 5 minutes, I need to have a meeting.” Tony announces while peering at the screen in front of him.

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice floods the entire compound inviting everyone to meet with your dad. You however, were busy doing your homework with the boy you’ve had a crush on for what feels like a century.

“Ughh, not again. What does dad want this time?” You whine getting up from your chair.

“Come on, Y/N, it sounds important, he said he wanted us in the lab.”

“I’m not even an Avenger, why do I have to be involved?” You say slightly annoyed.

You and Peter were the last ones to join the meeting and your dad started talking almost immediately.

“I found a new lead on Vulture, his son Dimitri Toomes is having a party for all of the mafia bosses and criminals and that roam the city. This party is taking place tonight at 8pm. I’m going to get you Nat, and you Steve, to attend this party as a couple to uncover more intel as you can—“

“Wait, but, how old is this Dimitri Toomes anyway? Isn’t he just a kid?” Bucky interrupts.

“Yeah, isn’t he like 18 or 19?” Nat also jumps in.

“I don’t think sending Nat and Steve in for this mission is such a good idea, Tony. He would know not to trust them once he saw them. We need someone younger.” Bruce suggests.

“No, I’m not sending Peter in to do this mission. Peter hasn’t done many missions, and this one involves the mafia and every criminal in New York!” Tony says sternly.

“Well, we weren’t thinking Peter exactly...” Bruce says very quietly.

“NO! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU WOULD EVEN THINK TO OFFER MY DAUGHTER TO GO ON A MISSION!” Tony yells loud enough for the whole city to hear.

“Yeah, uh, Bruce, I don’t know how much you’ve had to drink but sending me for this? What!??” You say very frightened and shocked.

“Tony, I know you would never want to do this in a million years, but hear us out. Dimitri is a young man, he’ll be easily persuaded if something strikes his interest. If we send Y/N, she’ll intrigue him and make him lower his guard and he could reveal his father’s plans. If we do this, we won’t send her alone. Someone will be there to watch out for her.” Bruce explains.

“I can’t believe I’m actually having to consider this plan.” Tony confesses.

“I’ll do it if you guys keep a close watch of me. I just want to get it done and over with.” You agree to Bruce’s plan but almost regret it.

“Y/N wants to go through with it, Tony? Are you okay going through with this?”

“Ok. But she goes in and she’s coming back out as quick as possible.” Tony finally agrees.

“We need to get ready now, the party starts in a couple of hours.” Tony leads the way out of the lab.

“Y/N, you’re going to need a dress to wear to this party. Steve, you’re going to be her chaperone and you’ll need a suit. Nat, Bucky, Thor—“

“Mr. Stark? Can I come and help keep watch of Y/N?” Peter interjects.

“Peter I’d feel more comfortable with you staying here in the compound.”

“Please, Mr. Stark, my spidey-sense can be helpful for this and I want to help keep Y/N safe an I kno—“

“Okay! Peter, fine, you can help Steve keep watch. Just be careful, and if I feel you’re not safe I will pull you out from the mission. Got it?”

“Yes! Thank you, Mr. Stark.” Peter beams, now he can keep watch on you to make sure you stayed safe.

Everyone headed off to help prepare for the mission and you headed up to your bedroom to get ready for what you thought was possibly the worst party ever.

Nat hung a few dresses on your closet door for you to wear tonight. But one caught your eye. It was gorgeous, it was a shade of dark blue. The fabric was silky and vibrant. The colour made your mind wander to a certain boy whose favourite colour is blue. Peter. “Well, I guess the night won’t be as terrible.” You thought to yourself happy that you got to feel pretty at least. The dress was a ball gown and sparkled in certain lighting.

You put your dress on and had Nat help you style your hair into a princess braid updo. You did your makeup, a few layers of mascara and a layer of pink peach tinted lip gloss. A simple look, but still radiated beauty. Your wore a pair of little black heels under your dress and went on your way downstairs.

Peter dressed himself in a simple black suit that he wore to the last school dance. He even shaved and gelled his hair a bit. Steve also dawned a suit, but dark grey. They went over a plan of how they would surveillance the party while keeping an eye on you. In the middle of their conversation, you start coming down the stairs. Step by step, Peter comes into your view and you smile taking in how handsome he was, especially in a suit.

Peter gasped looking at you, he couldn’t believe how gorgeous you were and wished he could’ve been the one spending the night with you. Just thinking about Dimitri being with you sent him into an internal rage. But looking at your smile takes him away from that thought. He realizes you’ve been standing there for almost a minute and he hasn’t said a word to you.

“Wow, you look... pretty.” Peter says rubbing his arms.

“Yeah, you really are beautiful, Y/N.” Steve adds.

“Aw, thanks guys. And you both look very handsome.” You say shyly.

Peter looks up at Steve with an annoyed look, jealous that he made a comment about your appearance. Steve just laughs messing with Peter.

You, Steve, and Peter all drive to Dimitri Toomes’ party and discuss what the game plan will be.

“Ok, here’s what I’m thinking, Y/N goes in and scopes for Dimitri, she talks with him and get him comfortable with her. She’ll lead him on with questions about his family business. Once we get enough intel, she calls it a night and we get her out of there. Y/N, you’re going to go by a fake name and say you’re the daughter of the mafia boss, Lorenzo Bianchi. Just make up answers the best you can to his questions. We’ll be in your ear the whole night and we’ll help you talk to him. Peter and I will walk around the party to look for any suspicious behaviour and to keep a closer eye on you. If at any time you don’t feel safe anymore, say “my head hurts” got it?”

“Yeah, I think so. I’m still really nervous about this.” You say scared about the whole situation you were about to enter.

“Don’t worry, Peter and I are with you the entire night. Just act natural and you’ll be okay. We are here.”

The three of you enter and immediately disperse. You enter the ballroom and turn heads as you move towards the bar. As you get to the bar, your eyes meet with a seducing glare. It almost made you uncomfortable but it was oddly alluring. You notice this man is young and clean cut. He was wearing a lighter suit with a dark black shirt. He was very tidy for a criminal.

“That’s him, Y/N. Across the bar from you. Make your move.” Steve says in your earpiece.

You instead have a better idea. You made sure his eyes were still fixed on you and flutter your eyes slightly and order yourself a drink. Just as you predicted, he got up from his seat and made his way over to you.

“Excuse me, miss, I don’t think I know you.” He says with a dark masculine voice.

“You’re right, you don’t know me.” You say slightly shocked at how unintentionally confident you were coming across.

“Beautiful and funny, now I’m sure I haven’t met you before.” He chuckles.

“Dimitri Toomes.” He says now leaning on the bar bench beside you.

“Francesca Bianchi.” You say now making eye contact with the man.

“You’re Lorenzo Bianchi’s daughter? Wow, he never said he had a daughter. A sexy one too.” He says looking over you with a venomous sound in his voice.

Peter was listening to this entire conversation and he was starting to get annoyed by Dimitri’s tone with you. His fist was squeezed tight and his knuckles turned white.

“Y/N, flirt back with him. You’ve got him attention and he’ll be easier to pry if he’s getting your attention back.” Steve suggests.

Peter is now dying inside, having to hear the conversation that’s about to happen. He wants to pull you away and not have you be flirted with by someone who only looks at you as a piece of meat.

“Well, I’m his little girl after all, he wants to protect me as much as he can. He wouldn’t want me to go out and find myself a new kind of daddy.” You say looking deep into his eyes and slightly biting your lip.

Both Peter and Steve stood still, mouth agape at what they just overheard you say. Peter was slightly turned on by your confident tone and how on the nose you were. He was still of course bothered that you were talking to Dimitri. Peter tried to keep his cool for the sake of the mission and your safety.

“Careful what you say, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want to say something you don’t mean.” Toomes says towering over you now with a very condescending tone.

“Who said I didn’t mean it? And any way, how do you know my father?” You ask, trying to push for information.

“Lorenzo is a friend of my father’s. My father is working on a plan to run the city better for the mafia. And how do you not know this? Does your father know you’re here?” Dimitri asks slightly suspicious of you.

“My father doesn’t like women being involved with his business. I just want to look out for my father, I don’t want him getting into trouble is all.” You say hoping this puts him off your scent.

“Ah, the delicate princess, of course, I mean, if you were mine, I wouldn’t let anyone touch you, except me of course.” He says now trailing his fingertips along your forearm to your hand.

Unsure of how to react you just play along with him hoping Steve or Peter will help direct your next move.

“You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, Y/N. Try getting more info out of him. He’s buying it.” Steve guides you. Peter at this point is speechless, he was stuck in an internal rage. He wanted to kill this guy just because he touched you.

“Dimitri?” You say with a higher pitch now hoping to sound too cute to decline.

“Hmm?” He hums in response.

“Could you tell me what my dad is planning on doing to make the mafia run better?” You ask fluttering your lashes, not breaking eye contact with him.

“I don’t know, Princess. I think it’s best to keep you out of it. Your father thinks so.” He says looking at you, now taking your hand and pulling you up from your seat.

“We can talk over by the balcony, it’s more private there, and I like my privacy.” He says very ominous. You were now feeling pale, unsure of what he meant by that. As you both move towards the balcony, your eyes meet with Peter’s and he looked concerned. He followed close behind the both of you, not daring to let you out of his sight.

“Now, Princess, I’ll tell you just a little bit to give you piece of mind about your your father. Your father works by conducting drug runs across the borders and selling drugs to smaller criminal groups within the city. Lately, the drugs have been resurfacing and the police have been finding out what groups are in possession of these drugs. Your father made a business deal with my father to make these weak groups disappear. My father in turn, had your father invest in most lethal warfare for taking over the city. As of now, our fathers have almost successfully taking over a stronghold, and they’re not stopping there.” He says, taking pride in his father’s work.

“Wow, I never knew my father would actually be helping take over the whole city.” You say in fake awe.

“But enough about that, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you tonight, darling. In the moonlight you are just mouthwatering.” He says, moving closer to you taking a handful of your hair to move away from your neck. He leans in to start kissing your neck. You jitter from the sudden touch of his hand. As he kisses your neck you step away from him. You could sense Peter was near.

“What’s wrong, princess? I was just kissing you.” He says deep in lust.

“Oh, I.. know it’s just, I’m really thirsty, would it be possible if you could get me a drink?” You ask hoping he would so you could catch your breath and talk to Peter.

“Okay, I’ll be back, don’t move.” He says as he makes his way back to the bar.

You exhale deeply and Peter appears almost out of nowhere.

“Y/N! I can’t believe that guy! I want to kill him, if we weren’t on a mission right now I would do it right now—“ Peter whispers loudly.

“Pete, I’m okay, he’s creepy, but harmless. I got so much intel for him. This plan is working well so far, I’m going to try for a little more, and then we’ll get out of here.” You say trying to reassure Peter, but also starting to blush at how much he really cared about you. Does he maybe like you back?

“You gotta go before he comes back.” You tell him almost shooing him away.

A few seconds pass and Dimitri appears with your drink just in time that Peter wasn’t stood beside you.

“Thanks.” You say taking a sip from the glass.

A few minutes pass and your head starts to spin. Your vision is blurry and and your eyelids feel heavy. You tried to remember what Steve said to alert him.

“My head hurts.” You say mumbling, losing control of your voice.

“You know, you really shouldn’t trust people you don’t know, Princess.” He says darkly. Why did he do this? Did he hear you and Peter?

You lose control of your body and start to tumble forward, but a pair of strong arms catches you before hitting the hard ground.

..........

You wake, arms and ankles tied in a dark concrete room. Where was this place? Am I still at the party? You ask yourself.

Moments later you hear footsteps approaching the door to your concrete room. You close your eyes hoping that whoever it was would think you’re still unconscious.

The footsteps approach closer and closer until they stop directly in front of you.

A hand hits you across the face, you shudder from it and find that it is none other than Dimitri.

“Hello, sweetheart.” He says with no recognizable tone in his voice. You almost revaluated if the man even was Dimitri.

“So, you think you would just stumble into my party hoping to steal all of our information? And by the way I know your fucking name isn’t Francesca Bianchi! Bianchi has no children!” He says now very angry at your attempt to deceive him earlier.

“I saw you arrive at the party with those two men, as soon as I saw that, I knew to pay attention to you. Women who show up with bodyguards aren’t good news around here.” He scolds you.

“Now, do you want to tell me who you and those men are? Or do you want me to beat it out of you?” He says bringing his face down to meet yours, taking your chin in his hand.

“Go fuck yourself!” You shout, heart racing at your courage.

Dimitri laughs and suddenly slaps you across the the face. You can feel blood starting to drip from your nose now.

“Talk like a bitch, get slapped around like a bitch!” He yells at you even angrier.

“Do something stupid like that again, I’ll have kill one of your boyfriends.” He says with a sharp tongue.

Did he actually have Peter and Steve captive? You couldn’t help thinking it was your fault, he must have heard you talking to Peter before he drugged you.

“No! Do whatever you want to me but don’t hurt them!” You yell back at him.

“Aw, does someone have a little soft spot for them? I’m thinking you like the little one. He was so bothersome, following us all night. I just couldn’t get you alone could I?” He says with an irritated tone.

“It’s too bad too, I was really starting to like you, you’re quite the flirt.” He says as he shifts closer to you. You try to move away from him but fail, he picks you up and takes you out of the concrete room.

You now find yourself in tied in a chair in a room with mob men. All of them look intimidating, these men were decorated in scars and appeared quite muscular.

“Now princess, I’m leaving you here to think about what you might want to tell me. I’m going to visit your little boyfriends, if you try anything stupid I’ll fucking kill you instantly.” He says sharply and disappears.

You were beyond scared, you didn’t think much of Dimitri when you met him. You just thought he was a rich kid who thought he was a top dog. But now being at his mercy you were so terrified. You were even more scared thinking about what awful things he could be doing to Steve and Peter.

“Steve!.... Steve, are you awake?” Peter asks quietly hoping that the cap was okay.

“Yeah... I’m fine, my head is spinning a bit.” Steve reassures Peter.

“We gotta get out of here, Y/N needs us, I hope she’s okay, I don’t know what I’d do if she was hurt.” Peter cries out.

“It’s okay Peter, relax, we’ll figure something out and we’ll get Y/N. Just let me think of something.” Steve says now thinking of an escape plan.

Peter struggles in his ropes and realizes his knots were not as tight as they should have been. “Hey, Cap? I think I can get out of my ties.”

“That’s great, looks like someone underestimated you.” Steve says struggling in his ties hoping his were loose also.

Peter got his wrists free and is now working on his ankle ties. As he finishes freeing himself, the door starts opening and Peter resumes to his position when tied.

“Boys, you’re awake now?” A dark voice emerges from the black doorway.

“Why are we here?” Steve boldly replies.

“To answer my questions, that little girl certainly had a lot for me tonight. Now, you have the option to answer and be good boys, or, you can dodge my questions and have her get beaten again. Your choice.” Dimitri says coldly.

“You won’t put your damn hands on her you piece of shit!!!” Peter says, now having a nerve struck after hearing that you have been beaten.

Dimitri laughs at Peter’s reaction, “And what? You think you’re going to do something about it? You’re just a kid, and you’re tied!”

“Am I?” Peter says pouncing onto Dimitri, punching him in the jaw.

“Poor choice little boy.” Dimitri says pulling out a knife.

Dimitri lunges towards Peter with his knife and tries slicing Peter’s arm. Peter dodges Dimitri and elbows Dimitri in the face. Dimitri stumbles behind Peter and takes the opportunity to stab Peter in the shoulder. Peter gasps and lands on a knee in front of Steve. He slowly pulls the knife out of his shoulder and drops it on the floor. This only sets more of a fight in Peter, Peter grapples Dimitri and pulls him to the ground. They both wrestle and each try to knock each other out.

As Peter and Dimitri fight, Steve is in arm’s reach of Dimitri’s knife and uses it to cut the ropes from his wrists. A few moments later Steve has now freed himself and helps Peter knock Dimitri out. Peter exhausted, can still only wonder if you were alright. He didn’t want to take a breath, he needed to save you.

“We have to find Y/N!” Peter tells Steve, now running out of the room.

“Peter hold on, we need to be careful, we don’t know what are doing with her. And what are we going to do with Dimitri? We can’t just leave him like this.” Steve warns Peter of his reckless behavior.

“Do you want me to finish him? Cause I’ll do it!” Peter says very dominantly.

“No! We can’t kill him! We need him for more information. We should tie him up and come back for him once we find Y/N.” Steve explains.

Steve and Peter tie Dimitri to a pipe, making it harder for him to remove himself if he were to wake up.

“We should split up, listen you can climb quietly along the walls and the ceilings and not be seen. I’ll go search areas around here.” Steve leads.

Before Steve could even finish his thought, Peter was already on the ceiling making his way to a room.

“And Peter, be careful!!” Steve’s voice echoes.

You were sitting in a chair with five mutants surrounding you in a circle. Your wrists were bruising from the restraints and they wouldn’t budge no matter how hard you tried.

“Stop struggling, sweetheart.” You hear one of them say. “We don’t want to hurt your beautiful face.”

“Why am I tied up when there’s five of you? Is Dimitri afraid I’ll overpower you.” You question.

The same man turns around and slaps you hard across the face. You cheek stung and became numb in a matter of seconds. What the hell? Why did he hit me?! You think to yourself.

“You don’t talk about Dimitri Toomes like that. Show some respect.” He says enraged.

You decided to push him some more. You didn’t know if it was out of pure courage or pure stupidity.

“Why the fuck would I respect him? He beat me!” You scream.

“That man is the son of Adrian Toomes, he’s among the strongest men in the city!” He defends.

“He’s a child, he’s not strong, I know plenty of stronger men and women than him!” You argue.

The man grows more annoyed and tired of your stubbornness. He pulled his arm back and whipped his hand hard across your face. Your cheek burned and you could taste blood on your tongue. You barely let out a whimper.

“You keep talking, and I’ll fucking end you right here.” He says very seriously.

As Peter is crawling along the walls and ceilings of the concrete hideout, he feels the hairs on his arms stand. His spider senses were going haywire. He sensed you nearby. He could hear muffled voices coming from a room ahead of him, he rushed to the doorway and listened for your voice but instead he only heard cries of pain from you. He crawled into the room and met eyes with you. You smile now knowing you were going to be okay. You wanted to help Peter have a better chance at freeing you. You needed to come up with a distraction and fast.

“Hey, do you hear that?” You say curiously.

“Hear what?”

“There! Did you hear it now? It was a loud slam! It sounds like it’s coming from outside of this room!” You say trying to sound as convincing as possible.

“You better not be lying, Dimitri will torture you and your friends even worse than you imagined.”

“Fine. Don’t believe me. Dimitri might be fighting off both of my friends right now.” You say coy.

The man scoffs and slowly leaves the room not breaking eye contact until he fully leaves. Another man follows for reassurance. Only three men remained in the room. Peter could handle them, these men were much scrawnier compared to the other two men.

Peter slowly crawls down the wall behind you and plans his attack. He looks over to you and makes a web shooting motion with his hand. You nodded, knowing exactly what his idea was.

Peter stuck his wrist out and shot webs at man leaving him stuck on the ground. The other two men were now aware of Peter’s presence and began attacking him.

Peter shoots his webs at one of the remaining men’s wrists, removing his knife. Peter then punches the man’s jaw and swings him down. The other man was more difficult to fight. He was much stronger than Peter anticipated.

Peter swung his fist to make contact with man, the man dodges and makes a quick hit to Peter’s ribs. You could see the pain oozing from his face. You cried for Peter, wanting him to be okay.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Peter says staggering in his place trying to get his momentum back. Peter tried to take another swing and hits the man in the cheek. The man is slightly fazed, but kicks Peter off his feet. The man puts Peter in a chokehold. You yell at the man to stop.

“You want me to stop? I don’t know, I think loverboy could take some more.” The man taunts.

As the man taunts you, Peter loosens the man’s grip from his neck. “It’s going to take a lot more for you to take me down that easily.” Peter huskily replies to the man.

Peter then elbows the man in the ribs, knocking the wind right out of him. Peter removes himself from him and reverses the positions between them. He then grabs the man’s collar and punches the man hard, knocking him out.

Peter steps back still looking at the man. He is breathing hard. You look Peter over, glancing at all of his wounds. His neck was already bruising, his fists were bloody, his clothes were ripped and bloodied, his jaw was bruised. You also notice a large stab wound in his shoulder. When did he get that?! Peter was a mess and you blamed it on yourself.

“Peter... you’re hurt.” You say with tears in your eyes.

“Y/N, I’m okay, please don’t cry.” He says as he quickly makes his way to you.

You could see him breathing deep and hunch in pain when he makes certain movements.

“No, you’re not Peter. Every time you move I can see it hurts you. You were also stabbed, how long ago did that happen? This is all my fault, if I had been better at lying and not trusting Dimitri none of this would have happened.”

“Y/N this is not your fault at all! Please don’t blame yourself for this. Dimitri tried to fight me and he ended up stabbing me. You don’t have to worry about him, he’s not going to hurt you again. We’re okay, and we’re gonna get out of here.” He says now untying you from your chair.

“I put you into a situation where you got hurt, I couldn’t bare to watch that asshole choke you. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he actually killed you.” You say now sobbing thinking of what the outcome could’ve been.

“He didn’t, you’ve still got me. I would’ve chosen for him to take me down over you getting hurt.” He says comforting.

“I really don’t know what I would’ve done if one of those assholes had you like that. I could hear you crying. That’s how I found you. They’re lucky I didn’t kill them.” He says now getting very tense. You could feel it, being the only one with him.

“Peter?” You say interrupting him.

“Yeah Y/N?

You lean in wrapping your arms around his neck gently to kiss him. He takes control fast and kisses you deeply and sweetly.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I walked down the stairs back at the compound.” You admit aloud.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I met you, I just never knew how to tell you and I thought you only liked me as a friend.” Peter says now very shyly.

“And, you kinda took my breath away when you came down the stairs in that dress. You know blue is my favourite colour.” Peter admits.

You cut him off and kiss him again, reassuringly.

“I know! I picked that dress out of Nat’s options for you. I’ve had a crush on you for a long time, Pete.” You confess.

Just as you were leaning in again. Your dad busts the door in finding the both of you in an embrace.

“Y/N! ARE YOU OKAY! THANK GOD I FOUND YOU TWO!” Tony says very relieved.

Steve, Nat, Bruce, and Bucky enter behind and relax finding the both of you safe. Once Steve and Bruce see that you’re both okay, they breakaway from the group to find Dimitri to bring back for questioning.

“Dad! We’re okay! How did you find us?” You say beaming.

“I put a tracker on your bracelet so we could locate you in case of an emergency.” Tony says.

“Wait, I’ve had this bracelet for over a year now. You did just put a tracker on it now right?” You say suspicious.

“...”

“DAD! There’s a thing called privacy! You can’t stalk my every move!!..” As you get mad you slowly realize if it weren’t for your irratic father, you may never have escaped.

“Thanks, dad.” You say running up to him hugging him tightly.

He squeezes back, then realizes who you were hugging moments before when he broke the door down.

“Hey Peter, do you want to explain to me why you were hugging my daughter?” He says protectively.

“Dad! Stop! He saved me, if it weren’t for Pete I wouldn’t have made it.” You say defending Peter.

“And, I love him.”

“Ok.... And we will have a discussion about this later young lady. I don’t like the idea of you using the L word.” He says now leading the way out of the room.

The Avengers follow Tony, you and Peter are left alone for a moment in the room again.

“Thanks for defending me, Y/N. Did you mean that also?” He says softly.

“Yeah I did.” You say placing your hand in his.

You both follow along still hand in hand. “Also, my dad will get over us liking each other. He tells me how great of a guy you are all the time.” You chirp.

“What if he doesn’t? I don’t think he’d think I’m a great guy if I’m dating his daughter.” Peter says slightly concerned.

“Then it’ll be our little secret.” You say whispering to him.

“That’s a secret I could keep.” Peter says now smiling looking back at you.

[sliebman10]

Snippet from the final chapter:

There was a photographer urging Lily into a photo with Remus and Sirius and James dutifully stepped back, but Lily caught his arm and coaxed him in, too.

"Nice extensions." Sirius murmured to Lily as the photographer snapped the shots he wanted.

Lily arched an eyebrow in his direction. "Same to you," she said out the corner of her mouth, her smile never wavering.

Remus elbowed Sirius in the side. “Behave.”

They took so many pictures, Remus didn’t remember half of them afterwards. After about an hour, they were ushered into the theater to see the movie. He felt a hand tug the hand Sirius wasn’t holding and he turned around to see Mary.

They just beamed at each other. Remus drew her into a tight hug. “We did it, M. You look so beautiful.” And she did in a yellow gown that set off her skin perfectly, and her hair carefully braided and wound into an intricate updo.

“I’m speechless, Remus…I can’t believe it.” she said.

Sirius turned around and grinned at her. “Trying to steal my man?”

“I love Remus like a brother…that’s as far as it goes. You know that.” Mary said, as they sat down in the audience. "Besides, I've seen you two together and I know I don't stand a chance."

Read more here:

Chapter 10

From the beginning

[holmes-cringe-compilation]

Yo yo yo!! I hope you're doing fantastically fabulous hun✨💐 As for a request, how about Kazuma and Ryuunosuke with a girlfriend who has long hair and usually keeps it up (so it doesn't get in her way when she's working and such) and they just find her with her hair down and she's brushing it and they want to help her brush her hair??? (I'm totally not projecting 👀) -🌷

a/n: hi anon ! sorry for the wait on this one, life caught up to me like a train haha [combusts] i hope you enjoy this fluff filled story anyways !!

kazuma and ryuunosuke with a girlfriend (she/her) with long hair

kazuma:

i am obsessed over the fact that both your long hair in a ponytail and his bandana (there's a word for it but i forgot it......) both flow in the direction the wind is blowing. you two stand with your arms crossed, hair and bandana flowing behind you both.

kazuma doesn't think much of it, your hair is your hair and he likes it no matter what, even if you went bald ! he has to admit that the colour of your hair really suits you, it goes amazingly with your eyes and the hairstyle is perfect for your face shape and totally compliments you !

i think you and susato would be best buddies. since susato has a beautiful (and possibly really hard to do) hairdo, you could get tips for how to care for your hair, tips on how to style it hell, susato would even do your hair up like she does herself. you're matching hairstyles and kazuma finds it endearing that you two care about your hair so much.

you and susato have a girls night every so often where you talk about anything on your mind, eat sweets, do each other's makeup and eventually do each other's hair up in cute styles that you see in books and whatnot.

kazuma sees you coming home in a giggly with a big smile, your makeup and your hair in a style only a certain girl he knew would be able to accomplish. he's incredibly happy that you and susato can bond over something like that.

i think he'd try his hand at doing hair up, starting with doing simple updos and braids, but anything other than that is not in his skill set. why is hair so hard to do ?! kazuma can't do much but at least he tried, right?

one day he noticed you were gently brushing your hair so you could do your hair in your shared room, but what kind of style would you go for ? you thought as you combed through your silky smooth hair. kazuma walked in to you and watched, in a trance as you combed your hair.

"here, let me do that," kazuma muttered and took control of the brush, gently brushing your hair. he was gentle, he doesn't even make untangling your knots feel sore. you leaned back into his chest enough so you could relax and enough so he could comb your hair.

you sighed in bliss, you never knew kazuma could be so gentle with a hairbrush. he leaned in to the back of your head and pressed a kiss to your now untangled hair.

he put the brush down and reached over to the bedside table to get a hair tie. after a few minutes of fiddling with your hair, pulling it gently to the side as he gave you a loose braid, the perfect hair that you needed to go through the day with. telling you to look in the mirror with a smile, you smiled back, resting your hands on his shoulders and kissing him softly.

"it's perfect, thank you."

ryuunosuke:

he's not crazy over it, that is until you put your hair up in any updo. ponytail ? ryuunosuke shall compliment you on how it suits you well. braid ? get ready for the awkward compliments ! he thinks its amazing on how you can do so much with long hair.

he's shocked on how much it takes to keep your hair so healthy. ryuunosuke is the type of guy to think that some shampoo and conditioner will keep him alright, but when he sees your collection of shampoo, conditioner, hair mousse, and more it clicks in his mind on how you style hair.

the things you have in your collection is nothing he's ever seen before, it looks as if you have the secret profession of being a hairdresser with all these products.

maybe you could treat him to a day off with a whole spa day, taking care of your hair and his own hair with some clay masks on your faces ? ryuunosuke would much appreciate a day like that after a long day of court proceedings.

one day, you decided to do up your hair in a way that you had perfectly mapped out in your head, all for a date that ryuunosuke had promised you would go out on together sometime during the week, and now today was the day.

you were brushing out your freshly blow dried hair with your hairbrush before you could do anything, humming a small tune you had made up with a smile on your face. you had gently put on some makeup as well to look extra nice for this date, hopefully ryuunosuke will like it ! you thought to yourself.

ryuunosuke had made himself look nice too, not too formal and not too casual for today. he planned on bringing you out for ice cream and a walk in the nearest park, maybe window shopping too if you would like. he had come to your room to check in on you to find the door barely agape. knocking on it and slowly opening it, your boyfriend entered the room.

"ah ! y/n, i was just wondering if you were ready to go ?" your boyfriend looked over to you and couldn't help containing his joy. you looked gorgeous, even if your hair wasn't even done yet.

"hm.. not yet, i still need to do my hair. could you be a doll and help me brush it? i need to grab my clips to hold it up in a moment." you held the brush up to him. grabbing it in his hand, ryuunosuke nodded with that fond smile of his.

"o-of course !" ryuunosuke sat down beside you and held your soft hair in his hand, brushing it as gently as possible so you wouldn't be hurt. he couldn't help but feel joyous inside for such a small thing and the same thing could be said for you too. he may be helping you do something small but the gratitude that beamed inside you was huge.

[blissfullyshipping]

Braids and Misunderstandings (Thorin x Reader)

Requested by @elia-the-bibliophile​: Hi can I request a Thorin x fem human! reader where they’re married with 3 little dwarfling & they’re having a family time in their quarter in Erebor when their children ask them about how they meet each other, maybe it started with a misinterpretation between the 2 of you when you asked for Thorin’s help to braid your long hair but Thorin sees it as an invitation to court you (as per dwarvish custom) thank you!

Fandom: The Hobbit

Warnings: none just a load of toe curling fluff

A/N: I'm backkk. Felt like doing some writing and this request was too cute to not write, although it was a bit hard because I don’t like children and can’t write endings. Anyway hope you like!

Your bedroom is in chaos. Your chambers mess was a result of getting your three children ready for Kili and Tauriel's wedding. The stress of each child changing their outfit three times or kicking their shoes off every five seconds, resulted in clothes lining every surface and shoes scattered haphazardly on the ground. And yet, coming home from the wedding and getting them to bed proves to be an even bigger task for Thorin and you.

"Ouch amad that hurts!" Your youngest, Melva, squeals on your lap as you try to brush her unruly locks.

"I'm sorry ghivashel," you hush her, gently bobbing your knee, "I'm nearly done I promise."

"Tyrig stop tugging your buttons, your mother just sewed them back on!" You look up at Thorin scolding your son, while he struggles to get Elaina into her nightgown.

"There, all done." You announce proudly as you clasp the last bead.

"No! I don't want braids!" Melva cries pulling out the braids you had just finished.

Sighing in exhaustion you pull her hands away from her head. "Good girls have neat braids nathith."

"How come Elaina doesn't have to!"

"Elaina's not ready for bed yet," Your eyes go to her sister, warning her to listen to her father. "She still needs to put her nightgown on and wash her face. Then adad will do her hair."

"Adad can braid hair?" Melva looks up at you, her eyebrows raised.

"Melva!" Thorin exclaims, hands clutching his heart feigning offence making his daughter giggle in your lap. "I taught your amad how to braid!" This gets the attention of all three children and both you and Thorin make use of their distracted state and get them ready for bed as you talk.

"Is that true?" Tyrig asks getting under the sheets.

"Yep," You nod. "Your father and I met because of braiding too."

"What are you telling them now amrâlimê?" Thorin asks coming out of the bathroom with a clean Elaina in his arms.

"Just about how we met."

"Ahh you mean when you proposed to me the first time we spoke."

"What?!" All three children scream in unison, making the two of you laugh.

"That's not true!" Slapping Thorin's chest. "It was just a small misunderstanding." You say as you put the last child in bed.

"What really happened amad?" Elaina asks. You look at the three sleepy dwarflings and back at Thorin who smiles softly, perching next to you on the bed. "If I tell you will you promise to go to sleep straight after."

The three of them nod enthusiastically ready to hear a new story, satisfied with their answer you lean against your husband and begin to retell it.

--

After the destruction of Erebor and your home in Laketown, you had fled with your best friend, Dis Durin, and the rest of her kin. Feeling more at home amongst the dwarves than your own kind.

Your friendship with Dis had grown since your days in Erebor, you were there for the dwarf-woman when her brother died and father left. You were there when the dwarves barely made it to the Iron Hills alive, and you were there when Dis had found her One.

You were ecstatic when she announced her engagement, and asked you to help with wedding preparations. You fulfilled the role of maid of honour proudly, and took it upon yourself to make sure every detail was executed to perfection.

Slipping into the lavender dress you sewed yourself, after finding nothing in the dwarven markets that would fit you for the ceremony, you move onto braiding your hair into the updo Dis had drawn out for you and the bridesmaids.

Brushing your long locks you stare at the drawing in bewilderment, what is it with dwarves and braids? 

Hesitantly, you start off braiding sections of your hair, weaving them together to recreate Dis' design. Thinking you had done well you look in the mirror eyes flicking back to the drawing and sigh at the mess on your head. Untying the braids and restarting again.

But after several tries and aching arms you give up, huffing on your stool in frustration. Not having much time before the wedding begins, you grab the drawing and leave the room to seek help.

You wander frantically around trying to look for anyone who can help, when you finally spot Dis' brother leaving his own room.

You'd never really talked to Thorin before, aside from the polite greetings in corridors or grieving condolences at funerals. You made sure to keep out of the King's way, because even if Dis had profusely told you Thorin didn't mind your company, you still weren't sure if he was okay with a woman joining his kin. Right now, however, you could use all the help you could get.

"Thorin!" You hiss after him, taking in his appearance. He was dressed in his finery making you stop short as you admire him. His hair and beard neatly braided, fur coat sitting proudly on broad shoulders and you can't help but admire the muscle on the dwarf.

When he calls your name you quickly come to your senses and smile bashfully up at him. "I was hoping you would braid my hair for me?" You ask nervously, tugging on a loose lock oblivious to Thorin's crestfallen face.

"I-uh-m-me?" He stutters taken aback by your question.

Having only ever admired you from afar Thorin would never have thought his crush was requited. This was the longest conversation he's had with you, and though he's dreamt of this countless of times he never thought you would propose to him so casually.

"Yes!" You blurt out. "Please Thorin, I can't think of anyone else to do it." You grab his hand in desperation, and Thorin has never felt so conflicted.

"Your hair is always so neatly braided, and Dis told me to recreate this," You wave the drawing in his face "and you know how she is, I just want it to look right."

Thorin gingerly takes the note from your hand, his callous fingers brush against yours, inciting goosebumps to travel up your arm. His eyes flick between the drawing and you, scratching the back of his neck and chuckling in embarrassment, before nodding his head at your wide eyed expression.

"Of course, Y/N." He says softly, leading you into his room.

You try to calm your nerves when you follow the king into his personal chambers, who quickly moves the pile of clothes on his bed, shoving them into a wardrobe.

"Uh- sorry about that. I hadn't really planned on what to wear." He excuses himself sheepishly, face burning when you giggle at his antics.

He moves you to the dressing table, sitting you on the stool and begins lightly raking his fingers through your hair. Your back goes rigid when his fingers tickle the back of your neck.

Thorin can't breathe. Just looking at you through the mirror, hair flowing over your bare shoulders makes his breath hitch. He had only ever seen you with your hair up. And yet here he is, fingers brushing through your long locks, mind cloudy as your lavender smell invades his senses. There is a reason why braiding is an intimate act.

He shakes his head of any impure thoughts and grabs the brush ready to start on the detailed design. Sectioning and braiding he falls into a rhythmic pattern and begins to ease up. Stopping short when he sees you shiver, glancing over to the open window.

"Apologies for the cold y/n, the furs were making me hot." he says breaking the silence, shrugging off his coat and placing it on your shoulders.

You smile and thank him snuggling into the thick fabric that smells of him. You begin to forget it's the king who's standing behind you, and start to relax into his touch, making light conversation and playing with the bits and bobs lying on his dressing table. Or staring at Thorin as he focuses on braiding, hiding your smile when he sticks his tongue out in concentration.

You inspect a box full of beads, recognising them as the ones Thorin wears in his hair. Up close like this, you can tell each intricately carved bead is different. The newer, shinier ones are probably gifts whilst the worn down and smoother beads must be passed down from generation to generation. You wonder if Thorin would allow you to wear one to the wedding and rifle through them.

A particular bead captures your attention, the carving seems slightly rougher than the others but you can see the effort and love put into it. You pluck the bead from the box marvelling at the craftsmanship. Did Thorin make this?

"Ok Y/N I'm nearly done." Thorin says softly, your eyes snap to the mirror and you stare in awe at what he's managed to achieve, finally understanding what Dis' drawing meant.

"Thorin it's beautiful!" You gasp eyes meeting his through the mirror, the beaming smile lighting up your face making Thorin's heart beat a little faster.

"You look beautiful Y/N." He nods in agreement.

You blush heavily and quickly look down so as not to embarrass yourself in front of him. Your attention going back to the bead clasped in your hand.

"Thorin," you gaze back up at him to see him already looking at you, "Could I put this in my hair too? I've always wanted the dwarven beads and you have so many…" You trail off hoping you haven't stepped over the line. You know dwarves take their hair very seriously.

Thorin nods enthusiastically, repeating over and over in his head that you don't know the dwarvish customs, that this isn't you reciprocating his feelings. Even so, his face falls when you turn and place the chosen bead in his hand. What was wrong? Had you overstepped?

 He looks up to see your concerned eyes and clears his throat uncomfortably. "You want this specific one?" He asks tentatively. You nod not knowing if you had done something wrong.

"I didn't mean to offend you," you rush out. "I just thought it looked very pretty, the carving is beautiful did you do it yourself?"

Thorin nods silently and you can feel the awkwardness rising. Clearly it meant a lot to him.

"Actually it's fine. My hair looks beautiful as it is and it was rude of me to ask, I know beads and hair mean a lot to dwarves, I didn't mean to overstep." You apologise reaching for the bead, but Thorin moves his hand away from you, a strained laugh escapes his lips as he does so. You look up at him and see determination replacing his hesitant eyes.

"You truly have no idea on what braiding means, do you." He asks and you shake your head. "To braid someone's hair is to promise to court them."

Oh, that actually makes a lot of sen- OHH! Oh Mahal no! Had you really been this stupid?! Realisation hits you and you apologise profusely to Thorin, the horror evident on your face makes him laugh. "Don't worry Y/N I know you didn't mean it that way."

You look up at Thorin and take in his amused expression. You try to hide your embarrassment and turn on your stool. Avoiding his eyes in the mirror, you allow him to finish your hair.

However Thorin hesitates, deep in thought. His entertained expression falls as he grips the bead tightly in his fist. Do you feel embarrassed about the idea of being courted by him?

"I made this bead when I became of age to start courting." He begins. "It's carved from stone found in the mines back in Erebor. It's rather ordinary, my father was surprised and tried to persuade me to use gems instead. But I insisted because it's a piece of me that I would want to gift my One. It's home."

Thorin's eyes are still on the bead when you look at him, his face marred into a conflicted expression. You turn and thread your hand through his, drawing his attention to you and giving him a rueful smile. You felt touched he was sharing this with you and it spurred confidence within you.

"It's so precious Thorin. Any girl would be honoured to wear it." Your voice hushed as all you can hear is your heart pounding.

I want you to wear it. The sentence seems so simple, so innocent, but stuck on the tip of his tongue. Thorin doesn't know your heart or feelings, he doesn't know how you'll react to him proposing to you or how Laketown men propose to women. How he wishes he could just say it, to see the joy in your eyes when he does. Opening his mouth, struggling to find the right words the sentence tumbles from his lips.

"I want y-"

"Thorin have you seen…" The two of you jump apart when Dis bursts into the room. "Y/N! I've been looking for you! Where have you been?!"

"I-I can't braid hair and that drawing you did was complicated so I got Thorin to do it." You stutter slightly, eyes flying to Thorin who keeps his gaze fixed on his sister, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. What was he going to say?

"I'll finish it off for you later. The florists just got here and he's brought the wrong shade of flowers I mean how difficult is it to…" The soon to be bride carries on ranting, taking you by the arm and leading you out of the room before you can utter a word in reply. You throw an apologetic look to the King before the door shuts behind you.

Thorin slumps onto the stool you had just been sitting on. Raking a hand through his hair he looks down at the courting bead still clutched in his fist. Sighing he places it back into the box and picks up the coat that slipped from your shoulders, your lavender smell still lingering in the fabric. Making himself presentable again he leaves his chambers and goes to help with the last minute wedding preparations, determined to be the first person you dance with.

--

"That's it?!" Tyrig demands hands flying in the air. "You didn't even propose?" The three dwarflings lie in bed unhappy with the ending.

"Yep aunty Dis ruined it all." Thorin says casually earning a whack from you. "What it's true if she wasn't there these three would probably be about two years older." He defends earning another whack.

"Two years?!" The eldest shouts, catching onto your husbands remark. "You waited two years!"

"Timing is everything ghivashel, I regret nothing." You say getting up. "No more questions now, you'll have to save them for breakfast you promised you'd go to sleep remember." This earns a chorus of groans from your children.

Kissing them goodnight you leave their room, Thorin taking your hand as you make your way to clear the rest of the mess in your chamber.

"Did you mean what you said." Thorin whispers into the dead of night, when you're both curled up in bed. "Do you really regret nothing?"

Snuggling into him, wrapping an arm round his neck and giving him a long chaste kiss you lay your head on his chest.

"I wouldn't change a thing. Menu tessu." You whisper back, happily falling asleep after a long and tiring day. You feel Thorin press one last kiss to your hair, before he too gives into the darkness.

And just as you both close your eyes in bliss, your youngest starts crying making you both groan.

Ghivashel = treasure of all treasures

amad/adad/nathith = mother/father/daughter

Amrâlimê = my love

Menu tessu = you mean everything to me

Lotr tagslist: @j25m18c24​ @spooookyscary​ @waddles03​ @bogbody​

[ravenadottir]

Hey since you're like our resident Litg expert, I wanna ask do you think there was something you on between Bobby and Lottie? Like I don't think so but people are saying he kissed her and that's why we had that weird Lottie chapstick thingie 👀👀

"resident litg expert"

Pffff... Go on...

Ah yes. The balm thing. Let's be practical about this. i’ve answered it, before, and i still stand by my answer.

Do you think Bobby kissing Lottie would leave enough balm on his lips to last so long? Given the scene can happen in several moments... (depending on when you pay for it, or have the others in different times).

I think the situation/dialogue that goes down is this.

"the sun is fierce, today... it’s peaking!" bobby shields his eyes from the sun, licking his lips after a large gulp of water.

“the sun is always peaking, bobs. that’s what she does!” lottie shakes her head, picking up a couple of tubes from her cleavage, then adjusting her cape, to fall gracefully on the beanbag. “want some?” she extends one of the small colorful tubes to hope, who analyses the small printed words on the side of the product.

“hmmm.... cherry. that’s nice, but i prefer honey.” the girl hands it back, but bobby intervenes and grabs, it before lottie can.

“hmm... my favorite!”

“you wear balms, bobby?” hope raises her brows with an amused smile.

“how do you think i keep these lips so luscious?” he blows several kisses to both girls before her faces crumple into disgusted expressions.

“alright, that’s enough. it’s like my little brother is trying to show how a lad should court...” hope tosses her braids into an updo, before throwing a dismissive hand. “that’s... disturbing...”

lottie laughs heartily. “i don’t know hope... sounds like he knows what he’s doing...” she nods at your direction, now putting away the fragrant honey balm. her hand tries to reach for the second one, but bobby’s agile fingers put it away in his shorts just in time.

“i’ll give it back... i wanna test something.” he smirks as his cheeks blush under his freckles, his gaze focused on you, while you dangle your feet in the water. he shoots her a wink and she gets up from her spot, amused.

“yeah, you can keep that one.”

“are you sure?” he picks it up to read the fine print, casually.

“yes. please. it’s yours. it has seen death in your short.” she rolls her eyes before leaving him with his thoughts. “gross...”

[awoken-lights]

Muse Addition

Name: Medusa

Nickname(s): Dusa

Title(s): 

Occupation: Warlock

Age: About 125 yrs old - Appears late 20s

D.o.B: May 27th

Race: Awoken / Exo hybrid

Gender: Nonbinary - She/Her

Sexuality: Bi/Demi

Hair: Dark green, usually held back by a circlet or in an updo / braid

Eyes: Very light/pale green,

Skin: Greyish-Blue, parts of her body appear to be stone, 

Markings: Pale green colored, most notable is the triangular design across her forehead, eyebrows, and temples.

Height: 5’8

Build: Ballerina / runner / parkour or rock climbers arm and grip strength

Family: [Redacted] - older sister (partial memories of [redacted])

Ghost: Perseus 

Exo modifications: Metal and mechanical grafts onto parts of her body (those parts appear stone like), her legs are both fully mechanical exo legs that can turn into a naga-esc snake tail, her eyes are mechanical (think Ana’s eye), and she has small “snakes” attached to her head amongst her actual natural hair

—————

Positive Traits: Actually a softie, Patient (normally), Helpful (likes to try to be helpful at least, and normally secretly)

 Neutral Traits: Sly, Intelligent, Shy, Curious,

 Negative Traits: Insecure, Aggressive to cover up emotions, 

 Important Mental Health/Social Notes: Medusa has been away from human contact for a long time given that, after the Vex/Exo experiments, she fell into a pit of self-loathing and despair over what had happened to her and whether or not she’d even be able to return to the Tower and humanity as a whole. She has been attacked by some Guardians before, and while the situation was normally a misunderstanding, she still has some trust issues and goes through many lengths to try to hide the forced modifications to keep people from freaking out about her. She is trying to get back out into contact with others’ more now, but it will probably be a while before she actually trusts anyone enough to tell them what happened to her.

 —————

 Bio: 

 Medusa always had a love of science and the stars. However, she had no say in her family taking to the Distributary, with the exception of her older sister who had already joined the Ishtar Collective for a secret project. And so, time made memories fade till Medusa had become one of the many Awoken born in the Distributary, though her rebirth weakened her legs greatly. In her time among the Awoken, she stayed out of the political games by focusing on training to be a Techeun, to find ways to merge science with the stars, and trying to find her lost sister. In the many years that passed through her training, Medusa not only traveled to the City to make contact with the rest of humanity (where she was also partially trained in the ways of a Warlock), she also traveled through the Ley Lines and stumbled across the Vex in the process. She studied them for a time, but when they turned their gaze towards her, she was unable to escape. Her first death, and the one that would inevitably lead to her Perseus finding her, was at their hands as they tried to “repair” her damaged body (both from her Distributary rebirth and from their guns) by replacing her flesh with Vex, and surprisingly, Exo parts. The trauma from the forced modifications is what killed her. How did her Ghost find her in a Vex domain? He had joined with a group of Risen who where traveling between Mercury and other locations of Vex activity, including places like the Black Garden and Vault of Glass. It was through their help that he found her. However, her rebirth came at the lives of three of the Guardians in that fireteam. They had, upon finding, been effectively turned to stone. In fear, the rest of the fireteam abandoned the place, and though she was now reborn and had a more experienced Ghost, Medusa was left to fend for herself within the Vex domain. She gained plenty of survival skills in the process, but the memory of the three petrified Guardians haunted her even after she got out, fearing that she herself had done that to them by accident. Hiding away from humanity, she practiced getting used to her new body, as well as relearning and training in both her Techeun and Warlock skill sets. Due to her amalgamation of skills and modifications, there were a few times wherein Guardians, and even Ghostless, saw glimpses of her and left her injured or dead, believing her to be a monster. The name Medusa grew to be both a gift and a burden in her mind, but unlike the myth, Perseus never slayed her, he brought her life and healing and comfort, and the two have an unbreakable bond as a result, with Perseus being the most precious thing in Medusa’s life. He is also the one who encouraged Medusa to try to find her sister again, as well as try to make contact with the Tower to try and get help, or at least to make sure the accidental killings stop. 

  Note: She is now most frequently found on Nessus and the Dreaming City as she tries to find her sister, and though she was out of the loop for a while, thanks to her Techeun abilities and such, she is caught up on all the current in game events happening and likely has made contact with Mara or Petra to offer her services.

[iridescenceoflove]

Who wants a fun idea involving Zuko’s hair???

So it starts with Katara; Katara likes playing with Zuko’s hair. It’s soft and silky and shiny, and she likes combing her fingers through it because it feels good, and though Zuko won’t admit it, he absolutely adores it. The last time anyone played with his hair was his mother.

And when he begins to grow out his hair, Katara is in heaven. It becomes the perfect length for braiding! Like when he’s reading over documents or missives or whatever sometimes, she’ll just begin braiding, and Zuko doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

And then one day, they’re lying outside near the turtleduck pond, and she’s braided his hair into a Dutch braid this time (because she’s been expermenting). She’s sticking the last couple of fire lilies into her beautiful handiwork, when he realizes he’s missing a meeting with the council. So he races to the conference room, braid flapping behind him in his haste. He skids in and makes his way to his seat, and as he sits down, he finally notices how everyone is just...gaping at him. And Zuko’s thinking, “WTF, it’s not like I haven’t been late before, do I have something on my face...???” But one of the councilmen clears his throat, points to his head and says, “New hairstyle, My Lord?? It’s quite pretty.”

And Zuko is mortified, muttering about “Stupid Katara and her nimble fingers and braiding dexterity,” whilst all the councilmen secretly envy the stylish hairdo and wish they had someone to play with their hair.

Word somehow gets to the other members of the gaang. Sokka and Toph won’t let him live it down. Aang asks Zuko if he could play with his hair sometimes, because he doesn’t have any hair of his own for practicing. Zuko begrudgingly agrees.

Aang does not have any talent with hair like Katara (he’s bald and was surrounded by monks), and his first few tries are absolutely atrocious. Zuko doesn’t understand how anybody could possibly make hair stick up at such odd angles whilst keeping the laws of gravity, and one time, Aang creates such a bad knot that the word scissors is inferred. Luckily, such drastic measures aren’t needed, but Zuko revokes any hair privileges until Aang learns how to do a basic twist.

Eventually, Aang gets the hang of it after lots of practice, and soon after, the others want to see what all the hubbub is about. Next thing Zuko knows, his hair is being handled by five different people.

They fight over who has the better skills; Sokka brags about his avant-garde wolf tail creation, Suki insists that space buns is where it’s at, Toph likes the more edgy and rugged hairdos that make him look extra angsty, Aang preens over his newly-improved braided messy bun, and Katara very proudly shows off her intricate fishtail updo. They ask Zuko to judge who’s the best, and Zuko says it’s all just hair folding, and the others begin to very loudly argue and disown him for saying such an abominable thing.

Ultimately, Zuko resigns himself to his fate—his hair is no longer his. Most of the time, his hair is in some sort of concoction courtesy of one of his friends, and he can normally tell which by the style. In the end, they basically elect themselves as his personal hairstylists, and he begins wearing their creations outside of the palace. The Fire Nation goes crazy over their Fire Lord’s new innovative style choices. Top-knots become so last year.

Zuko of course makes sure all credit goes to the gaang. Suddenly, Team Avatar isn’t just the group who saved the world—they’re the newest hair gurus and style icons. They’re the Hair Posse. Zuko is now the most fashionable Fire Lord to date.

And even when people hire the group to do their hair, the gaang still always go back to Zuko. Zuko won’t ever say it out loud, but he’s relieved. No matter how many heads they touch and hair strands they stroke and caress, his head will always be the one they come back to.

[alecmagnuslwb]

A Little Indulgence in the Different

Writer’s Month 2020 Day Fifteen

Read on AO3

Clary is just putting the finishing touches on a caramel macchiato when on the dot at 2:35 pm the bell above the door rings just like it does every afternoon. Clary looks up and spots her walking in, the beautiful medical examiner who works in the morgue next door.

Today she’s wearing a dark wine-red dress that hugs every curve, her arms bare, black heels that Clary can’t begin to understand how she works in all day that snake up her ankles literally with a glowing snakes head just below her calf and her hair up in a complicated braided updo. Her lips are a bright red that matches the glowing red gem she wears around her neck every single day. She looks runway ready, not like she spends all day in a basement with dead bodies.

She’s stunning just like she has been every day for the past two months.

Her eyes meet Clary’s just as she’s about to step in line behind the blonde waiting for her macchiato and she sends a beautiful smile her way.

Clary the absolute lesbian disaster she is fumbles the macchiato in her hand, some of the hot foam slipping over the edges and falling onto her hand.

“Oh fuck,” she says fumbling with the drink to get it on the counter and clean its edge. The blonde who’s waiting looks wide eyed. Clary’s favorite brunette, Isabelle as she’s learned her name from writing it on her cup every single day, just chuckles under her hand poorly covering the laughter.

Clary blushes a little cleaning up her mess and putting a lid on the drink before handing it to the blonde. She drops a couple dollars in the tip jar, a pitying little smile on her face as she goes.

Clary will take a pity tip even if it’s embarrassing.

“Hello, Clary,” Isabelle says as she steps up to the counter leaning her hands on the edge of it a bit.

Clary brushes her bangs from her eyes and smiles.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” she asks. Unlike most of her regulars Isabelle never orders the same thing. Every day it’s something new, be it a whole new drink or a brand-new creamer splashed into a black coffee.

Isabelle taps a finger to her bottom lip, the short, manicured nails a matching red to her lips, her middle finger is adorned with tiny little silver gems Clary notices as Isabelle looks up at the menu above her head.

“Seeing as how nice the weather is today, I’m thinking something iced,” she says and taps her lips one last time before making a triumphant sound and looking at Clary. “The chocolate peanut butter iced coffee, please, big as you can make it.” She winks at Clary as she leans back from the counter pulling a small wallet from her tiny purse.

Clary absolutely does not think she’s going to pass out for a moment after that wink, no way. She does pull herself together enough to ring her out, taking the money from Isabelle’s hand and only shivering a very miniscule bit when their fingers brush.

“Keep the change,” Isabelle says putting an additional five in the tip jar. Clary tosses the change in and gets to work on her drinks. She’s grateful that to get the cold ingredients she has to dip down behind the counter unseen. It gives her a moment to compose herself to maybe not make a fool out of herself in front of this pretty girl again.

In the past two months Clary has managed to spill an entire pitcher full of smoothies on herself, say the phrase ‘I gotta gay’, burn her hand twice and very memorably trip over the rug behind the counter and smash her hand into the center of a tray of fresh muffins all because Isabelle has smiled at her or complimented her hair that day.

It’s ridiculous. Clary is ridiculous.

When she rises back up Isabelle has moved, her hip cocked and leaning against the counter. She smiles again at Clary and she can proudly say she doesn’t drop anything this time.

She starts working on the drink the quiet sound of acoustic music from Simon’s band, or one man show these days, playing over the speakers.

She doesn’t know what sparks her to finally ask the question she poses as she’s mixing the chocolate swirl into the cup, but she asks away.

“I’ve been wondering,” she says and Isabelle’s attention perks up. “You always order a different drink every day, why is that? I mean most people have regulars.”

Isabelle smirks twisting just a bit to face Clary more head on.

“So, you have been paying attention then,” she says and there’s a leading tone to it, like she’s been trying to sort out if Clary’s noticed her when for Clary it’s been all focus on trying to seem slightly cool in front of Isabelle.

“I mean yeah,” she says summoning up a bit of gay courage. “You’re hard to not pay attention to.”

Isabelle beams leaning on the counter with her hands again.

“Well, I order a different drink every day because why not,” she explains with a shrug. “Every day is a new day and doing the same thing sometimes is fun, nothing wrong with a little routine, but a little indulgence in the different is always nice as well.”

Clary smiles at that as she puts the final topping on the drink. Her hand not shaking once. She likes her reasoning; likes the way it sounds far more poetic than an answer about coffee should.

“That makes sense,” she says handing Isabelle her drink. “Here you go. Have a good rest of your day.”

Isabelle smiles one last time as she brushes her fingers with Clary’s when she takes the cup. She takes a sip.

“Delicious,” she says blatantly looking Clary up and down. The only thing that stops Clary from passing out is her reflexive grip on the counter being quicker than her lightheadedness. Isabelle smirks dropping a card on the counter before sauntering away.

Clary looks down at the card, on it is Isabelle’s full name, her work number and at the bottom in red glitter pen an additional number she assumes is her private number. Call me is written beside it in looping cursive a little heart drawn at the end.

Clary just stares at the card dumbfounded at the concept that this gorgeous being is giving Clary her number, is showing interest in Clary.

“Have a good rest of your day too, Clary,” she says over her shoulder as the little bell rings signaling her exit.

Clary doesn’t even look up. It takes almost five full minutes of her staring at the card on the counter until another customer comes in snapping their fingers in front of her face and effectively snapping her out of it. She scrambles tucking the card safely into her pocket and putting on her best, apologetic customer service smile, the thought of Isabelle Lightwood not leaving her mind the rest of the day.

[ephemeral-writings]

Baby steps // friends who supports one another stays together…sort of. what about best friends who falls in love with each other?

kyungsoo x reader (best friends to lovers!) feat. chanyeol word count: 10k genre: fluff, angst —

🌵 

You’re six and too feisty for your own good. It usually gets you into trouble--a few too many scrapes on your knees and elbows is to show, but your dad finds it far too amusing when you discuss your day with him over dinner about the mean boy you stood up to who pulled on your braids to tell you that no, it’s not nice to call Chanyeol a dummy for touching a girl’s hair without her permission.

Tonight, you tell him about the new kid in school, a transfer from Seoul, and how interestingly wide his eyes are. You hold two spoons to your eyes to emphasize your amazement, even imitating the way the little boy introduced himself to the class this morning. “Hello, my name is Do Kyungsoo,” you repeated in a failed Seoul dialect. 

The next few weeks, you try to befriend the odd boy from Seoul that no one else wants to be friends with. Kyungsoo is quiet, mostly because Chanyeol makes fun of his dialect, but where he’s silent, you make up for by running off your own mouth with stories that you think Kyungsoo is ignoring. 

“My mom went away when I was two years old, so it’s just me and my dad and sometimes grandma and grandpa,” you tell him. Everyone in your town knows about this, and you figure it was only time before Kyungsoo learned about this, so decided to tell him yourself. Maybe he’ll appreciate it and see your efforts to be friends with him.

Surprisingly, Kyungsoo is intrigued by this information, so he asks, “Where does she live now?” 

Your small right hand rise in the air and point to the clouds above. “My dad says that mommy is always watching me from the sky.” 

Kyungsoo’s eyes grow the slightest bit bigger, if possible, and he stays gawking at you the rest of the recess as you talked and talked. 

🌵

You’re eight and still don’t know how to control your temper. Your dad took a pair of shears to your hair this weekend, saying that it’s not practical to have such long hair in Daegu’s heat, but you don’t like how your hair falls just barely below your chin. It’s suppose to be long and pretty, like your mom’s was in the family portrait. 

You’ve always had long hair, cherished every time your dad braided it, so the moment Chanyeol calls you ugly on Monday and, “Aw, does that mean I can’t pull on your hair anymore?” You lose it and push his big, fat meanness to the ground despite being taller than you. Chanyeol makes a scene and tells on you, your teacher sends you to a time out where you cried big, fat tears in lieu of not being able to restore the length of your hair. 

“Ms. Lee says that you can come back in now.”

Kyungsoo is staring down at you from where you’re kneeled on the floor. Slowly lowering your arms, you rub the snot from your face which makes Kyungsoo judge you but you don’t care. You’re still sulking about your hair. 

“Why are you crying?” He asks. 

Kyungsoo doesn’t understand why Chanyeol’s bullying makes you so upset when it’s just Chanyeol, the mean kid who doesn’t have a sensitive bone in his body. He picks on Kyungsoo, too, but the smaller boy never bats an eye and instead turn the other cheek from his incessant mockery. 

“I look prettier with my hair long, didn’t I?” You’re not really expecting Kyungsoo to say that you look pretty, because Kyungsoo was your best friend and you know that he would never say something that like. And just as you know him so well, he replied with, “You’re ugly either way.” 

Kyungsoo calling you ugly isn’t as upsetting as Chanyeol doing it, you know that Kyungsoo can be mean and really harsh sometimes, but he was your best friend and would never hurt you hurt you. 

Kyungsoo thinks he should probably say something to make you feel better, but can’t bring himself to. You’re his best friend, and maybe that makes it harder, but just when he thinks he’s made you upset again, you break into a grin and retort sassily. “You’re ugly too, Soo,” you chortled, poking a finger to his chubby cheeks. 

🌵

You’re 15 and don’t understand boys at all. And that includes your dad. 

“She’s really nice, sweetheart, and she’s been wanting to meet you for a while now,” your dad coos. Your dad, get this, has a girlfriend. The world has stopped spinning, all the fishes in the sea stopped swimming, and you’ve stopped functioning. 

You knew your dad had a friend that was a girl, but what? When? What? You’ve started hanging out at your grandparent’s place more often, and tonight, your dad decides to disclose this crucial information that he’s in love with a woman...that wasn’t your mom. 

You start crying without even noticing, your mouth still full of rice that’s suddenly really difficult to swallow down. Your dad pulls you in a hug immediately, shushing your cries with gentle ‘don’t cry, baby, it’s all right, everything will be okay’. 

---

You’re uncharacteristically quiet and Kyungsoo notices right away when you’re just poking around your slowly melting ice cream. 

“Why do you have this look on your face like something died in your ice cream?” Kyungsoo goes to take a spoonful for your strawberry swirl and makes a face when he’s tasted the sugary confection. “Yuck, you’re gonna get diabetes if you keep eating that. But nothing died in there, so what’s wrong with you?” 

“Soo,” you croaked, “My dad doesn’t love my mom anymore.” 

Kyungsoo gives you a perplexed look. “What do you mean?” 

“He says he has a girlfriend and he’s, he says he loves her,” you whimpered. “What do I do, Soo?” 

Kyungsoo isn’t fond of sentiments. He doesn’t know what to say to make you feel better, but he thinks it’s not ‘better’ that you need, it’s the truth and Kyungsoo can do truths. He’ll try to be less bleak about it, though. 

“Don’t you want your dad to be happy and be in love?” He starts off. You nodded hesitantly, wanting to add more to it, but Kyungsoo shushes you with a look to let him finish. 

“Look, your dad falling in love with another woman doesn’t mean he doesn’t love your mom any less. But your mom has been gone for a long time. Who knows, maybe it’s a good thing that your dad will have someone to love instead of just missing your mom all the time.” Kyungsoo shrugs his narrow shoulders, acting nonchalant, while you’re absorbing everything he said. Everything he said is right. Kyungsoo is smart and logical for a boy his age. How did he get so wise, you wondered. 

“And before you pull the ‘but he has me to love’ card, he does. But you’re his daughter. He expects you to fall in love on your own and eventually leave him as well. It’s life, you dummy.”

Oh, no, you’re tearing up again. You don’t want to leave your dad in the future. You love him with all your fifteen year old heart. 

You hear Kyungsoo’s chair screeching as he stands up to go ask the cashier for napkins, and soon he returns, shoving the wad of napkins in your tear-stained face. He lets you cry for a while, awkwardly smiling at a lady who looks at him in disappointment. Geez, you’re such a handful. 

“Well, that’s assuming that you’ll find someone that can handle you for the rest of their lives.” 

🌵

You’re 18 and lordy lord is it a weird time in your life. You’ve come to terms that you have to share your dad with your step-mom now, but you’ve never thought that one day, you’d have to share Kyungsoo with another girl in his life. His mother didn’t count because she left them when he was young. So, as long as you’ve known Kyungsoo, he’s always been just yours. 

Okay, fine, he doesn’t belong to you, but point sustained. 

Her name is Sohee, and she’s in the same grade as you and Kyungsoo. Her mother is some hotshot realtor and she lives in the biggest house in town. When she moved here six months ago, she took an immediate interest in Kyungsoo, and after many attempts at confessing, Kyungsoo finally accepted her.

She’s pretty, like really pretty, so it confuses you that she liked Kyungsoo, your ugly, stupid, and ugly best friend. Okay, fine, fine. Kyungsoo wasn’t ugly. But you can’t say he was good looking either! It’s just not right! All you could give credit to him was that he grew into his button nose and wide eyes.

There’s a knock on your door and your step-mom pokes her head through the crack. You invite her to step closer and walk into your room. She briefly glances at the photo of you as a baby and your parents sandwiching you between them on a bed. 

“I was going to ask you if you needed any help getting ready, but it seems like you’ve got it all under control,” she smiles tenderly. You return it just the same. 

“Do I look okay?” You’re wearing a slight bit of makeup and you’ve curled the ends of your long hair. It makes you look really girly and so unlike you, but you’re going out with Kyungsoo and Sohee and a few of her friends for barbeque so you think that maybe you should look at least good enough to hang with them. Geez, where’s all this insecurity coming from? 

“You look pretty, dear, you always do,” she replies. She brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face and inspects you closely, motherly, and you appreciate the gesture however much it makes you miss your real mom. 

---

You shouldn’t have been surprised that Sohee was friends with the popular kids. You just hate that you didn’t see it coming, to see Park Chanyeol sitting on the opposite side of the only available seat left. 

“Hey, Y/N! You made it!” Sohee cheers. It’s just a casual lunch hang out, and you’re aware she looks pretty every day, but you’re floored by how pretty she looks in a flowy white dress and her hair in a half updo. Kyungsoo gives you a ‘sup nod when you meet eyes. He’s sitting on the left of his girlfriend, your seat being on the right of Sohee. You greet everyone else at the table as you settle in, and they all respond kindly despite probably not knowing who you are.  

Everyone talks amongst themselves and across the table. You yourself try to engage, but can’t really find anything to add to the discussions. You keep quiet for the most part and eat the grilled meats when it’s ready. Suddenly, you feel someone tug on your hair and look up from the grill to see Chanyeol smirking at you. 

“You grew out your hair again,” he speculates the obvious. “I forgot how fun it was to pull pranks on you, Y/N.” 

Your cheeks turned red unconsciously, and Chanyeol is quick to point it out and friendly mock you out loud. His boisterous laugh is loud enough to catch everyone’s attention at your table. 

“You haven’t changed a bit, Y/N! You still get worked up so easily over something so small.” Chanyeol guffaws. He leans towards you and tease, “Would you believed me if I told you that I actually liked you back then?” 

You glare at Chanyeol, spiting the fact that he’s grown up handsomely and too tall for you to glower at when he’s taller than you even sitting down, and he’s making you blush right now. No, you don’t like Park Chanyeol, but he’s teasing you again and pulling on your hair like you guys are six again and you hate how belittling it feels. You’re pissed.

“Am I suppose to feel flattered, Park?” You snap. By now everyone is watching you two, glaring down one another. Kyungsoo growls your name, and snaps you out of it. You turn to meet his hard stare and his subtle head shake. He’s mad at you? Oh, hell no.

“Sorry,” you mumble to the whole table. “I forgot that I have to help my mom with something.” In your stricken state, you let the three letter word slip. But it was too late. Your heart sinks when you see the look in Chanyeol’s eyes shift. 

“Don’t you mean ‘step-mom’?” 

This time Kyungsoo calls out Chanyeol’s name, deep and threatening. “Yah, Park Chanyeol.” 

The shift in attention from you to Chanyeol is all you need to slip out of your seat and out of the restaurant. 

---

You don’t go home after leaving the restaurant. You know better than to worry your step-mom by coming home early, just an hour after you’ve left. 

Instead, you go to the ice cream place that you and Kyungsoo have been religiously visiting since you guys were fifteen. You get three hefty scoops of your favorite flavor, courtesy of the worker who knows you a little too well. 

You park your bum on one of the stools, refusing to sit in your usual spot without Kyungsoo there. Just when the thought your best friend crosses your mind, your phone chimes with a new message. 

‘U ok?’ 

‘Yeah’ You send back quickly. Three minutes pass, and you figure Kyungsoo saw your reply and is leaving it at that. But then another one comes through shortly.

‘Ok. Don’t finish all that ice cream, there’s too much sugar in that crap’

Your smile comes reflexively. 

---

Around 4pm, you go home. You sat in the ice cream shop for a total of three hours, talking to the worker there, until he clocked out and left you bored out of your mind for the last hour. 

Your dad is home from work, the evidence in his usual work shoes sitting in its shelf slot. 

“I’m home,” you announce. Your step-mom greets you back from where she is in the kitchen, preparing dinner. You head towards the kitchen for some water to wash down the sugar still in your mouth. 

“Where’s dad?” You ask. 

“Showering. Dear, would you mind watching over the stove?” 

You agree to, standing in front of the pot of soup and stir it in interest. It’s dad’s favorite.

“How was lunch with your friends, hm?” Your step-mom asks as she chops up stalks of green onion. 

You pretend to be really interested in what was cooking on the stove top, responding distractedly and vaguely. “It was fun. I’m still a little full from how much I ate.” Lies, you felt sick; you should’ve listened to Kyungsoo and not eaten all that ice cream.  

Your dad walks into the kitchen, giving you a smooch on your cheek and then your step-mom. 

Your step-mom resumes what she was saying before your dad walked in. “You can have a small dinner, so that way you won’t go to sleep hungry later, okay?” 

Dad butts into the conversation. “You’re not hungry, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” you grimace. “I had lunch with Kyungsoo, and Sohee.” You add the last bit almost as an afterthought. It makes you strikingly uncomfortable that every time you mention Kyungsoo nowadays, it’s followed with Sohee’s name. Now you really feel sick, period. 

After dinner which you sat through just for the sake of keeping your dad and step-mom company, you took a quick shower. You had forgotten about the makeup on your face, and came out of the shower looking like a panda. 

You’re wiping your eyes with makeup remover when there’s a knock on your door. 

“Come in,” you say, assuming it’s your dad or step-mom. However, it’s Kyungsoo. “Oh, hey.” 

“Hey,” he grunts, shutting the door behind him as he makes himself comfortable in your room. He sits on your bed, right by where you’re sitting on a chair in front of your vanity. He watches you finish removing your macara. 

“What’s up?” You questioned him after you’ve completely rid of your panda eyes. 

“Do you think I should break up with Sohee?” 

Trust Kyungsoo to come in like a wrecking ball with this sudden quandary. You’re shocked to say the least. 

“Wait, what?” 

Kyungsoo repeats the same question, and that’s when you notice how tired he sounds. He sounds completely drained as he sighs. You’re not sure what to do or say in this uncharted territory. In fact, the entirety of Kyungsoo and Sohee’s relationship was uncharted territory.

You ask the obvious question. “Do you not like Sohee anymore?” 

He sighs again, digging his palms into his eye sockets. “That’s the point. I’m not even sure if I ever liked her to begin with, Y/N.” 

You probably give him the stupidest face reaction ever, one of confusion and judgment. “Kyungsoo, you can not be stupid enough to call her your girlfriend for almost four months and not have had a single feeling towards her.” 

Kyungsoo shrugs. You steadily breathe through your nose to maintain your composure. 

“Okay, fine. Then why the sudden epiphany that you don’t want to be with her anymore?” 

“I mean,” Kyungsoo massages the back of his neck. “This isn’t sudden. I’ve thought about this for a while now. Today, after what happened, it just made it more clear.” 

“What do you mean?” You go to sit next to him on your bed. 

“Sohee kind of got upset after you left. We talked it out just before I came here, but she said she didn’t like how I got in between you and Chanyeol, like I was acting jealous that Chanyeol could have really liked you.” 

You snort. “Chanyeol did not and does not like me. He’s just being a jerk.” 

“That’s what I told her, but she wouldn’t believe me,” he groans. 

“That’s dumb. Is she insinuating that you actually have feelings for me? Me.” You point a finger at yourself and laugh. “There’s literally no way.” 

“...I know. So, what do you think I should do about Sohee?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know, Soo. Just do whatever you think is right.” 

---

Chanyeol eventually apologizes, a few weeks after the sour encounter you had. He corners you at school, said he didn’t mean to say the things he did and apologized for the low blow. He was being sincere, you could tell, so you accepted his “I’m sorry for being such a dick, even when we were younger I wasn’t nice to you at all, so I’m really sorry’. It felt too formal to shake it off, so he opted for a boyish one arm hug that melted away all your bitterness about the past. 

You tell Kyungsoo about your truce with Chanyeol later that night. He’s over at your house again, this time staying for dinner with your parents as well. Your dad always liked Kyungsoo, ever since you told him about ‘the boy in your grade who also lost his mother’. Of course, you learned later on in life that your mother’s passing was different from Kyungsoo’s mother leaving him and his father for another man. 

“So you guys are friends now?” Kyungsoo questions, moving your potted cactus to a spot he deemed more suitable. You let him do as he wishes since it was his gift for you, and you got two brown thumbs.

“We basically bro-hugged it out, and he apologized for what happened last week,” you say, shrugging. “It hardly constitutes as friendship, but at least we’re not enemies anymore.” Kyungsoo hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t respond with anything else on the matter. 

“So,” you start, sudden trepidation flooding your heart. “I heard about you and Sohee.” 

Kyungsoo doesn’t bat an eye as he continues organizing your desk, merely makes a sound of acknowledgment that he has heard you. 

“Are you okay, Soo?” 

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just silently replacing your notebooks into your file boxes and pens into your upcycle candle jar. Kyungsoo’s bedroom in comparison to yours is shockingly different. Whereas you find comfort in feeling as if your room was homey, Kyungsoo kept his immaculate. He cleans it daily, you swear, and there’s never an item misplaced. It drives Kyungsoo up the wall when you refuse to do the bare minimum as to reorganize your desk after a week of use; your bed and clothes, he doesn’t care for, but desk clutter is the worst kind of clutter, according to him.  

When he’s finally satisfied, he turns to join you on the bed, planting himself on the opposite end, right by your outstretched legs. 

“I’m not sad, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he starts. “We were dating for four months, and if I’m being honest, I wasn’t happy at any point in time during those months. 

“I think I only agreed to be her boyfriend because she had this power over me, urging me to just say yes, so I thought - what the hell - she’s pretty,” Kyungsoo confesses to which you have to force your eyeballs not to roll back. “But she was also controlling.” 

You frown at this, very deeply, and very hurt that you didn’t know about how Sohee was treating your best friend. 

“Bottom line is, I wasn’t happy with her and I’m so glad I finally broke it off.” Kyungsoo is grinning, relieved and wistful. 

“I’m sorry,” comes your apology. Kyungsoo questions it, baffled at why you were saying sorry as if his dumb mistake was your fault. “I don’t know. I feel like maybe I should’ve noticed something like this. I feel bad that you were unhappy this whole time when I had no clue.” 

You’ve always pride yourself in understanding Kyungsoo a little more than anyone else. He was your left arm and right leg for goodness sake. Kyungsoo had his tendencies, to bury everything remotely burdening and bare it all himself, but you should’ve been able to pick up on that. Right? 

Kyungsoo shrugs, as if saying, “Whatever, what’s done is done.” You’re left staring at each other for a good few seconds before you’re lifting your arms up, wondering, “Hug?” 

“I told you I’m fine, Y/N,” Kyungsoo repeated, rolling his eyes. 

“I’m not talking about you,” you muttered as you crawl towards the end of the bed. “I need it. For me.” 

Kyungsoo, though the least affectionate person you’ve ever met, can never say no to you when you look genuinely sad? Why were you sad? He simply opens up, allowing you to crawl into his arms and wrap your arms underneath and up around his shoulders. You squeeze him tight, surprising Kyungsoo who is virtually your pillar from toppling over--and shit. You’re suddenly crying. He makes sure your sniffles are crying sniffles, but honestly he could already feel the unevenness of your breathing from the way you’re pressed against his chest and he knows that you’re suppressing your cries. 

“Why are you crying?” He asks. He opts to play with the ends of your hair, unable to bring himself to comb his whole hand through it. Kyungsoo hopes and prays that you can’t feel how fast his heart is beating. 

You don’t though because yours is pounding in your own cavity, so heavy and aching that all you really feel from Kyungsoo is his warmth. 

“I missed you,” you whispered. You realize the weight of missing Kyungsoo was different than missing your mom. You hate to think that you’ve gotten used to the absence of your mother, but Kyungsoo was here the whole time yet you felt so far from him these past few weeks, months even. He tells you this, you predicted he would. 

“I’ve been here the whole time, though.” 

“Shut up, Soo, I know that. Just...give me a moment. Please?” Your plea settles in the valleys of his chest, seeping into his veins in lethal waves. 

Kyungsoo, now patting your head occasionally, sighs a deep sigh. You stayed in that position for five minutes until Kyungsoo finally complains about his aching back.

🌵

You’re finally the ‘A’ word, inevitably, age 22 and fresh out of college. You got a degree in history and working on getting your credentials to teach. You went to college in your city; it was small and humble, but you couldn’t imagine yourself leaving Daegu’s familiar charm. Everyone you knew, had grown up with left the minute summer was over, and they shipped off to different cities and countries and whatnot. Okay, maybe not every single person you knew. Park Chanyeol actually came back after three semesters at uni, deciding that school just wasn’t for him. 

Presently, you’re on baby watch while your parents are on a five-day vacation, one that you suggested and only mildly regret doing. 

“Seojun, it’s time for lunch. Aren’t you hungry?” You ask the two year old sitting in his playpen. He’s banging on his little toy that is suppose to promote motor skills but he has yet to figure out that it doesn’t require mindlessly banging on the dang thing. 

Halfway through setting up his lunch, the doorbell rings. You make sure he’s still occupied before taking your sights off him. 

“Kyungsoo?” He standing there, on your threshold, like it was the most casual thing for him to show up on a random Saturday afternoon. “What are you doing here?” 

Kyungsoo cracks a grin as he eyes your stained shirt. “Visiting. Can I come in?” 

You attempt to smooth out the creases on your shirt due to Seojun’s grabby hands as Kyungsoo walks further into your house. He easily makes his way over to your baby brother who’s curious about the strange man he’s only met through videocall. 

“I’m going to finish up preparing his lunch,” you tell Kyungsoo, and he nods with a soft look on his face. 

As you roll rice balls into baby bite-sized rounds, you steal glances at the man playing with your baby brother, attempting to will your heart to stop fluttering at how utterly gentle he was being. 

His hair is shorter than the last time you saw him-- through a screen-- it’s now shaved on either sides, leaving the top just a few inches longer than the rest. He’s wearing a grey sweater that fits snug against his chest and biceps--

“Done!” You shout, a little too loud for Seojun who trembles cutely on his wobbly bum. “Would you mind bringing Seojunnie over?” 

You shouldn’t be as mesmerized at the sight of Kyungsoo’s taut forearm supporting Seojun’s bottom as much as you were. He seats him on the high chair and Seojun goes to town with his lunch without much prompting. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?” You ask while sliding him a cup of water. 

Kyungsoo takes a sip before responding. “I messaged you this morning,” he defends, but you actually haven’t seen your phone all day. You were occupied with Seojun since yesterday and you normally don’t expect calls or messages. Kyungsoo knows this so it doesn’t entirely puts him in the clear.

“You hadn’t mentioned anything last week when we spoke,” you grumbled. “So, how long do I have you for this time?”

Kyungsoo usually stays in weeks at a time, never going longer than three weeks unless it was the holidays. 

“I’m done with my internship, decided to move back for a little while,” he explains. Kyungsoo studied and graduated with a major in engineering, and started interning at a company right after he finished. That was almost two years ago, and he was finally done. 

You try not to think about how little is a little while, focusing on how for now, you have your best friend back by your side. 

---

Turns out it wasn’t that long. Kyungsoo was gone again by the following month, landing a job in Seoul, with benefits and a pay more than you could dream of with your teaching job. You’re happy for him, extremely happy, and so proud to watch him grow and succeed in life. So you suck it up, brush away the ache in your chest, and send him off with a happy smile. 

🌵

You’re twenty-five, turning twenty-six today, and life is okay. You’re a high school teacher as planned and you like your job and where you are in life.  

You wake up to Seojun jumping on your bed, screaming, “Happy birthday noona!” You literally have to peel him off like a leech after a while when he wouldn’t let you go to get ready for work. He says it again at the table over breakfast, followed by a chorus of happy birthdays from your parents as well. 

“Thank you, thank you all,” you say, voice full of mirth. You make a mess of Seojun mop of a hair before parting for work. 

The day goes by quickly when it’s filled with smiles and thank you’s towards your colleagues who greets you a happy birthday. Few of the ladies expressed their envy of your youth, being the youngest teacher and all, but all you could think in the back of your mind was whether you were ready to be another year older. 

You’re meeting up with Chanyeol for dinner later that day. You try, but to no avail, to stop your mother from giving you suggestive looks when you tell her that you’re spending your birthday with Chanyeol. 

“He’s just a friend, Mom,” you said. “Chanyeol and I will never, ever be, so just give it up already, okay?” 

Your mother simply walks out of your room with a singsonged, “Whatever you say, dear.” 

Chanyeol picks you up at seven. He comments on how nice you look in your little black dress, to which you thank him and return to him the same; he wore a pinstripe shirt with a blazer thrown over for a casual but put-together dinner look. Chanyeol, being the popular guy in high school like he was, was always aware of his wardrobe. He had his admirers to please, and you make a joke to him about it.

“You’re not trying to impress me, are you, Park?” 

He shrugs. “Depends on if you’re impressionable.” 

You chortle goodnaturedly. “Not since you called me ugly when we were eight.” 

He winces. “Damn, I hope Seojun doesn’t learn to hold grudges like you do.” 

The drive to the restaurant that Chanyeol had made reservations with was fifteen minutes away. You had made him promise not to go overboard for your birthday; you’ve only spent your three previous birthdays with Chanyeol but he always somehow manages to make the celebration bigger than it should’ve been. The previous year he took you to the aquarium, and the year before that, he surprised you in your classroom. Let’s just say the kids were more than ecstatic that the classtime spent was more or less than unproductive. 

You couldn’t explain how Chanyeol and you had gotten so close. After bumping into him at the market, you rekindled the unlikely friendship that was you and Park Chanyeol, the popular high school kid who was expected to evolve into your typical college frat boy but surprised the world when he returned to his hometown. That and the fact that you both understood each other quite well. 

“Order anything you want. It’s my treat tonight.” The waiter comes over with a bottle of champagne that Chanyeol had reserved. The menu consists of steaks and seafood specialties. The steak, good lord, is almost over $50, so you smother your usual craving for beef down and tell Chanyeol that you’d like the seabass with a salad and veggies which was still up there. 

“Seriously, Y/N?” Chanyeol gives you a doubtful look. “You can eat five-six rounds of brisket when we barbecue and you’re telling me you want seabass?” 

You pinked at his frank observation. “It just sounds interesting! I want to try it and you can’t stop me,” you argue, adding a sassy hair flick over your shoulder. 

Chanyeol succumbs reluctantly and flags the waiter down who takes your order. Chanyeol orders your seabass and the steak for himself, and you just know it’s his sly way of giving you want you actually want. 

“Have you spoken to Kyungsoo today?” Chanyeol asks when the waiter walks away.

Kyungsoo. A name once so homey, but foreign as of late. 

You shake your head at the question, reaching for your glass to wash the imaginary bitterness away. 

“He’s probably busy with work.” At least that’s the reason he’s been giving you whenever you try to contact him only for him to message hours later that he can’t talk at the moment. You don’t blame him of course; life gets busy and it wasn’t like you weren’t the same. Teaching proved to be an around the clock job as you spend as much available time when you’re not teaching, planning lessons and grading papers. 

You wonder, but try not to dwell, on the fact that he’s forgotten your birthday. Maybe even forgotten about you. You scoff out loud at the thought. The slight sweetness that was in the wine had gone sour all of a sudden.

Chanyeol, of all people, was the first to recognize your feelings for Kyungsoo. Yes, you had feelings for your best friend, if you could still call him that. Feelings that weren’t all platonic and that scared you at first, when you got really moody during his last relationship with some girl at his uni. 

Even your parents brushed it off as your first mid-life crisis where you refused to leave the house and ignored every soul that wasn’t under the roof.

It was Chanyeol who eventually called you out on your feelings when you both were drinking one night, and you got mad at him for saying nonsense. After sobering up(and brooding for 2 days), you called Chanyeol and apologized for calling him terrible names and kicking him in the shin. He wouldn’t accept your apology until you fessed up and admitted your feelings. 

“You’re killing me here, Y/N,” Chanyeol presently groans, making you roll your eyes. He’s become somewhat of a part-time relationship confidant to you, though you’d never admit what a mess you were out loud.

The food arrives and you both dig in. Chanyeol cuts off a chunk of his steak and puts it on your plate, as you expected. You get ready to scold him, but with one look at his stern expression, you pause, letting all arguments die in your throat. 

“Thank you, Chanyeol,” you say. There’s a heaviness in your chest because no matter how great Chanyeol was to you, you still wish that it was Kyungsoo that was taking you out to dinners and visiting you at work and taking you to the aquarium. Not that you were comparing Chanyeol to Kyungsoo...but technically they both aren’t compared in any other ways besides being your best friend. Damn, now you just missed Kyungsoo, period. 

“Yah, yah,” Chanyeol admonishes when he notices your smile quivering. “None of that today. We’re celebrating your birthday, okay?” He picks up his flute and motions you to do the same. “To 26,” he cheers, softly connecting your glasses together in a faint clink. 

For the rest of the night, you catch up with Chanyeol; his life as a chef was interesting to say the least as he shares stories about all the various people who visits his restaurant. You talk until Chanyeol shakes off his slight buzz in order to get behind the wheel. When it’s out of his system, Chanyeol grabs the bill and drives you guys back to a convenience store near your house. 

It’s a funny look-- both of you dressed for a fancy dinner but are sitting on the table outside the store with bottles of soju, doing shots. Well, you’re doing shots. Meanwhile, Chanyeol is nursing you who’s getting drunker with every shot. He takes one for every five you take. 

You were doing good, not dwelling on Kyungsoo for the most part, but the alcohol messes with your coherence to block him out, and next thing you know you’re flooded with all these damn emotions. 

“Chanyeol, have you ever loved someone?” 

“Yeah,” he answers. 

You think he might be joking so you retort back with, “And it can’t be your mom or sister, Yeol.” He surprises you when he simply smirks and repeats his answer. 

“Do I know this person?” You ask. This was news to you. Chanyeol, as far as you knew, never dated in high school and hasn’t gone out with a girl in a few years. He was flirty by nature, but despite girls flocking around him, he’s never made one his girlfriend. 

Chanyeol asserts that, no, you didn’t know this person. He simply states that it was a girl he knew of since he was young. You wanted to ask him if he still loves this girl.

You’re downing another shot when, suddenly, your phone rings with an incoming call. 

“Yah, Kyungsoo is calling you,” Chanyeol informs you, knowing you probably can’t see straight to read his name.

“Should I pick up? What should I do? I’m not thinking straight.” In your sluggish, panic state, you stumble and slur on your words. Chanyeol answers the call for you before it’s too late.

“Hey, Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol says into the device. “Y/N is a little out of it right now.” Kyungsoo says something back that Chanyeol relays to you. Whispering, he tells you, “He says he still wants to talk to you.” 

Reluctantly, you take the phone and put it to your ear. 

“Hey, Soo!”

Kyungsoo sighs softly on the other end. “Are you drunk?” 

You make a sound that sounds vaguely similar to an excited baby. With your heart pounding in your ribcage, you don’t trust yourself to vocalize anything, nevermind coherency. 

“How was your birthday?” He asks after a few seconds. 

“Work, dinner, now soju,” you summarized, giggling at the end. You hear shuffling of papers in the background. “Are you still working?” It’s almost midnight, and he was still working? 

Kyungsoo hums in response. 

“Soo, it’s too late for you to be still working. Whatever it is, it can wait. Get some rest, hmm?” 

“I’m getting ready to leave,” he says. 

“Good.” You smile over the phone, feeling safe that he can’t see the love pouring out of you. Damn, you need to keep. It. In. Check. 

 “Just wanted to make sure I get in my birthday wish before it’s over,” he mumbles. There’s a somber tone to his voice and you recognize it as the same one he used before when he told you that he wouldn’t visit for the holidays because of deadlines. 

“It’s okay, Soo. I’m okay,” you murmur back. “Thank you.” Kyungsoo goes silent on the other end for a minute. 

With both of you not saying anything, Chanyeol mouths, “Did he hung up?” You shake your head. 

In another few seconds, Kyungsoo sighs before telling you to get home safe and that he’ll give you a call tomorrow morning.

You give Chanyeol the phone back(even though it’s yours) and knock out on the table. To twenty-six!...

🌵

You’re still 26. It’s one month after your birthday, and Kyungsoo surprises you with a call during your lunch break. It’s odd because you sent him an article talking about how sugar was once considered medicinal, and that was this morning and he hadn’t responded. Leave it to Kyungsoo to ghost your message and skip right to phoning. 

“Transferred? What do you mean?” You wipe the sauce that drips down your chin. Gross. 

“I put in a request to move to the office closer to Daegu, so I’m moving back.” Kyungsoo tells you over the phone.  

“But-but why? I mean, not that I’m not happy about this news, but…” You don’t voice out the fact that Kyungsoo being in Seoul made your coping to stop thinking about him a little easier. Not that it was ever successful, but that’s besides the point. How will you keep your feelings in check with him living fifteen minutes away from you? 

“Well, Chanyeol was the one who gave me the idea.” You make a mental reminder to murder Chanyeol later. “I just went ahead and asked to see if it was possible. It took one month for them to agree, but they finally did, so, I guess I’m coming home,” he concludes. 

---

Even though Kyungsoo is back, it’s different from before. You guys aren’t teenagers anymore, but adults with obligations and a proper job that requires you both on tight schedules. Even so, you guys are making an effort to make up for lost time and try to see each other on the weekends.  

You don’t know why it takes three weeks after his return for your family to invite Kyungsoo over for dinner, but your mother brings it up in the morning over breakfast, and tells you to message Kyungsoo. 

‘Parents ask if you wanna come over for dinner??”

‘Sure. Tonight?’ 

‘Yep :)’ 

‘Ok’ And just like that, Kyungsoo was coming over for dinner with you and your family. 

Your dad gives Kyungsoo a fatherly hug when he arrives, clapping his back twice and saying things like, “You’ve gotten big, son. You working out?” and “It’s great to have you back, so I have a second pair of eyes to keep an eye on Y/N,” —he whispers that last part but really, he wasn’t even trying. You roll your eyes with a pointed look. 

Seojun was always a social kid-- just like you were in most ways-- so it doesn’t surprise anyone that Seojun is accepting Kyungsoo so easily. You and your parents observe the little boy who won’t stop bothering Kyungsoo throughout dinner just to blabber something irrelevant to the man. Kyungsoo takes it all in stride, even letting Seojun settle on his lap in order for Seojun to at least have his dinner while playing with his new hyung.  

“So, Kyungsoo, are you seeing anyone?” Your dad asks, making you choke mildly on your dinner. 

“Dad!” You exclaim in place of Kyungsoo who couldn’t express his shock that your dad out of all people was inquiring about his love life. Your dad mouths, “what?” at you. You haven’t even touched that subject since he got back, for both of your benefits. If Kyungsoo wanted to tell you, then he would at his own time. 

Kyungsoo smiles goodnaturedly, and answers, “Not at the moment, sir.” You try not to ponder his very specific answer paired with the gentle look on his face. Does that mean he had a girl in mind? 

“Dad, quit it,” you grumble when he goes off tangent about the know-hows of courting a woman. Your step-mom jumps in with, “Honey, we all know that it was me who had to pursue you before we finally started dating.” While your parents begins a discourse about the beginnings of their relationship, you quietly finish your dinner and began on the dishes since your mother did the cooking. 

“Need some help?” 

You turn around to see Kyungsoo with his used bowls walking towards where you’re standing in front of the sink. 

“Wanna help dry?” You suggest but Kyungsoo shakes his head, offering to do the washing instead. You shrug and let him take over as he pleased. Kyungsoo was always the more neat and clean one of you two.

“It’s Sunday tomorrow,” Kyungsoo states. “Are you doing anything?” 

“I’m meeting with Chanyeol tomorrow,” you reply, replacing the clean and dried utensils in the drawer. “We’re watching a movie and probably grabbing lunch afterwards.” You tell him. You’ve been hanging out with Chanyeol regularly on Sundays because it was his only day off.

“You could join us for lunch, if you want to,” you say. 

Kyungsoo hesitates for a while. “You sure? Shouldn’t you ask Chanyeol to make sure it’s okay first?” 

“He won’t mind, seriously. We see each other so often that I’m surprise he isn’t sick of me yet. He’ll be more than happy to have someone other than me there.” You scoff.

Kyungsoo doesn’t answer to that, but agrees with a pensive look as he completes the dishes. He doesn’t voice out whatever he’s thinking about the rest of the night.

----

“I still can’t believe how hard you cried.” 

You and Chanyeol are sitting at the pizza place you told Kyungsoo to meet you at, having your typical banter. This time, it’s about the movie that you guys just watched. 

“Look, it was sad, okay? Simba literally had to watch his dad struggle and die right in front of him! After he made that promise to always be by his side, too? Devastating, and you don’t have a heart if that didn’t kill you inside, Y/N.”

“Yes, but you were literally sobbing, Yeol. Parents were giving you looks.” You mimic some of the looks you saw, from worried to straight up judging. 

“I don’t care. Simba lost his father, I deserve to mourn.” Chanyeol frowns deeply, sinking further into his seat. You’re mumbling about how even some of your students were more mature than this gigantic man when Kyungsoo arrives.

“Yah, Do Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol’s mood immediately turns, and he’s all big and goofy grin as he claps Kyungsoo’s shoulder in greeting. “It’s been awhile, dude!” 

Just because you’re still bitter that Chanyeol called you heartless, you mock the way he says dude, as if he doesn’t call you dude half the time. Kyungsoo grins at your silliness while Chanyeol blatantly ignores you.

While the two reacquaint themselves, you go to order the food after a short discussion of what flavors everyone wanted. 

“Hi, what can I get for you?” The worker manning the register asks kindly. You return the smile he gives you that oddly resembles a puppy. You focus on the menu in your hand as you repeat the different flavors and items you wanted. He types it all into the machine, repeating your order back, and completing with, “Anything else, pretty?” 

You almost choke on your spit. Looking up at the worker, your eyes made a brief glance at the name on his tag that read: “Baekhyun”. You’re too shocked to answer right away, which this guy, Baekhyun, notices. 

“Sorry,” he meekly apologizes. “I couldn’t help myself because you look so pretty.” Apparently the idea of subtlety wasn’t in this guy’s dictionary, and you couldn’t help the red from painting across your cheeks at his frank compliment. 

“No, it’s okay. I was just taken aback, but thank you,” you shyly beamed. Baekhyun smile becomes even brighter when you’ve responded positively. You have to look down again to hide your blushing cheeks when you decided how utterly cute the guy was.

“If that’s all then your order will be ready in fifteen to twenty minutes, pretty.” You manage to meet eyes with him again, thinking it’d be rude to not when he’s clearly talking to you, and he steals the short moment to send you a flirty wink. 

Dazed, you walk back to your table not too far away. You can only hope that Chanyeol won’t embarrass you about your red face in front of Kyungsoo.

But, alas. “Dude, I can feel the heat of your face all the way from here.”

“Shut it, Park.” 

If Kyungsoo wanted to join in on Chanyeol’s antics, he doesn’t show it neither does he comment on what he and Chanyeol most likely witnessed. You only kinda want to kill Chanyeol for his irresponsible mouth because the compliment from Baekhyun, though a little too forward for your liking, was still nice and pleasant overall. 

For the next hour or two, you guys spent lunch catching up on each other’s lives while reminiscing about the simplicity of the past. Kyungsoo learns about Chanyeol’s profession as a chef; he looks mildly jealous at this revelation. 

“Kyungsoo really likes cooking, actually,” you find yourself telling Chanyeol. Since high school, Kyungsoo would occasionally surprise you with homemade lunch that he would make alongside his father the night before. And because he was Kyungsoo, it always tasted better than you’d expected.

“We should get together and cook a meal one day!” Chanyeol blurts excitedly. He also rudely adds, “Y/N burns everything she touches.” 

“Yah!” You throw punches to his arm that actually hurts. 

“It’s the truth!” Chanyeol howls. “I feel sorry for your future husband! Better hope he has an iron stomach!” 

“Then I’ll just marry someone who can cook for the both of us!” Two seconds after, you realize the implications of your statement and regret everything instantly. Chanyeol hides his smirk while you give him a death glare to shut up. Kyungsoo, again, stays quiet. 

The lack of response makes you both glad and upset, leaning towards upset and you didn’t enjoy the way your heart clenched tightly. It feels similar to when baby Seojun would hold onto your fingers with a vice grip.

Kyungsoo was a man of few words, sure, but you’d rather have him and his snide remarks than this silence. Silence meant that it wasn’t even worth his breath to acknowledge, nevermind be affected by.

After lunch, Chanyeol parts ways to run some errands--so he claims, but the subtle wink he sends you tells you otherwise. Kyungsoo is the one to suggest getting ice cream. 

“Maybe at your favorite place?” 

You perk up at that, telling him that you haven’t visited that place in a while. The shop recently underwent some renovation due to a leak, or so your inside man tells you. 

“Are you sure you don’t want the strawberry swirl?” Kyungsoo asks for the fourth time while setting the scoop of red bean ice cream in front of you that you requested. He has a scoop the mint chocolate chip for himself.

“Sadly, I’m not like I used to be,” you frowned. “Last time I tried eating the strawberry swirl, I got a major headache from all the sugar.” 

Kyungsoo snorts. “Guess I don’t have to say I told you so anymore.” 

“You don’t, but why do I still hear you saying it in your head?” You place your chin on your propped up palm, cocking your head to the side in mockery. Kyungsoo simply chuckles before shoving a spoonful of his ice cream into his mouth. You shouldn’t be, but you find yourself staring a few seconds too long at his lips. They’re plump and pink and too inviting. 

“Y/N?” You hear someone call out. Looking up, you see a tall man, burly and jacked up. It’s Son Hyunwoo, a fellow teacher who was closest to you in age, being four years older than you, though his looks could easily fool anyone.  Standing by his side was a little boy whose eyes looked uncanny to his father. 

“Hyunwoo oppa!” You beam brightly. Unnoticed by you, Kyungsoo is thoroughly confused because you called this man with such delight and affection. What even. 

Hyunwoo walks over with his six year old, a little cutiepie named Hyuk. 

“Hi, Hyuk-ah!”

Being just like his father, Hyuk face is straight even as he politely bows his tiny little head with his hands on his belly, greeting you. He’s so darn cute that you can’t not fuss over him. 

“I almost missed you because you look so different with your hair,” Hyunwoo comments, ruffling the top of your head as you had just done to Hyuk. Usually, you wear your hair in a low bun because your female colleagues had once said that you looked more mature with the particular look. Without the do, your hair is still on the shorter side, barely grazing your shoulders. 

Consciously, you curl the hairs framing your face behind your ears, all the while simpering like a teenager in front of her crush. At least that’s how it looked to Kyungsoo who has to choke on his spit for you to remember his presence. 

“Oh, right,” you startle. “This is Kyungsoo, my childhood best friend,” you announce, gesturing to poker-faced Kyungsoo. “And this is Hyunwoo oppa. He’s an athletics teacher at our school.” 

Hyunwoo smiles amicably, offering Kyungsoo a handshake. Without a choice, Kyungsoo puts his hand in his awaiting ones, but regrets it immediately when he notices you outright ogling at Hyunwoo’s huge biceps flexing in front of you.  

“I thought we were interrupting a date, but good thing it’s not one, right?” Hyunwoo grins, seemingly harmless but it ticks off Kyungsoo anyways, especially when you quickly jump in to deny such assumptions. 

You know that Hyunwoo says the darndest things, but this was top-tier blasphemy and not because you didn’t like Kyungsoo that way(unfortunately); you’re trying your best to play it off because you didn’t want what Hyunwoo said to make Kyungsoo uncomfortable. And you’re slightly emotional again. 

“Appa,” Hyuk suddenly interrupts by pulling on his father’s hand. “Ice cream.” He pouts adorably, having been patient enough as his dad talks, but he’s getting anxious to get the ice cream his dad promised him after their doctor visit.  

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow Y/N,” Hyunwoo says to you, offering Kyungsoo a curt nod. His hand lingers on your shoulder too long for Kyungsoo’s liking, something he makes apparent after the father and son leaves. 

“Isn’t he a little too comfortable with touching a woman that’s not his wife?” Kyungsoo mutters. 

“What? Hyunwoo oppa? He’s not married,” You say, bewildered and slightly peeved by Kyungsoo’s tone of voice.

Kyungsoo frown deepens. “What?” 

“He’s a single father, Soo. His wife passed during childbirth, so it’s only him and Hyuk.” 

If the ground could open up and swallow Kyungsoo whole, he’d like that every much. God, he feels like a complete douchebag. He didn’t even have the right to feel...jealous, not when you weren’t his g-

“You could be really insensitive sometimes, you know that?”

“What? I didn’t know!” Kyungsoo voiced loud enough to attract the attention of the workers. You shot a glare at him to not start, not now. “That’s not fair, Y/N. I’m sorry that I don’t know everyone that’s in your life, and the details of their lives.” Maybe we don’t even know each other. “Maybe I should be sorry for moving back here in the first place,” Kyungsoo snaps. 

The thought has crossed your mind, of why Kyungsoo decided to come back. A foolish part of you allow you to think that you were the reason. Your eyes are flooded with tears before you could try to will them to stop, wallowing up so high until they had no choice but to let gravity pull them down. Kyungsoo’s heart drops to his stomach seeing you cry, wanting to apologize immediately when he knows just how fucked up what he just said was. 

Feeling hopeless and utterly gutted, you managed to lock eyes with Kyungsoo, rendering him speechless. You nod once in silence, unable to speak at this point, letting more tears trickle down your face before you’re getting up and walking out of the ice cream shop. 

---

Would you have believed Kyungsoo if he told you that he sort of started loving you from the very beginning? Okay, okay, maybe not from when you almost broke his arm from pushing him too hard on the swings. Maybe it’s from when you consoled him after catching him crying, that was when you were fourteen.

Kyungsoo sure as hell think not, just like how you didn’t believe Chanyeol. Kyungsoo’s exhausted the idea of you and him as something more than best friends at this point, and somehow he was still not sure-- not confident that either of you would be happy being together. He tried distancing you, doing the most as to move back to his hometown to study and start up a new life, leaving you behind. But distance be damned because Kyungsoo couldn’t stop thinking about you. Of your stupid quarells, getting heated over debates about trivial matters. You serving him burnt food with a guilty smile on your face. You falling asleep while studying together, and you crying because you hate studying period. 

Kyungsoo can function perfectly without you. He cooks well, studies well, earn well, even socialize well contrary to popular belief. But when he’s alone in his bed at night, reflecting on his day, he finds nothing remotely significant to end his day with. It was honestly how he finally gave up on his act of “busy settling in” and finally gather the nerve to call you. Since then, phone and video calls were the loopholes to his effort to stop...feeling things for you. When it became too difficult to not see or talk to you, that’s when he finally snapped out of it. He found himself a nice girl in his engineering club and they dated for a few months. She was smart, pretty, and a lot like his first girlfriend. Then he realized what a shitty thing it was to do, use a girl as a distraction from who he really wanted, and broke up with her. 

Kyungsoo knows when he has messed up. He doesn’t apologize often but he does when it counts. He knows today’s event went considerable south because he was simply too cowardly to admit that he loves you, and that he wants and maybe even needs you. Kyungsoo realizes, albeit late, that he’s fucked up. Royally. And he needs to act before he regrets it.

---

The rest of your family is out of town, visiting relatives in the city, so when the doorbell rings, at 1 in the morning no less, you’re worried that something’s gone wrong. 

With a nervous heart, you open the door only to reveal Kyungsoo. His frown is deeper than ever, his hair messy like he couldn’t stop running his fingers through them all night. 

You let out an audible groan. “What are you doing here, Soo? God, I thought,” you pause mid sentence, scared to voice out your pessimistic thoughts for the universe to hear. 

“Can I come in?” 

Without answering, you wordlessly retreat into the house as Kyungsoo closes the door and follows behind you. You start to put on the kettle to brew some tea. After that scare that woke you up, you’ll need some help falling back to sleep. 

“What do you want? What’s so important that you have to scare me shitless when I have to be awake in five hours?” 

You’re standing by the kettle, watching it closely with your arms crossed, hips resting against the counters. Your countenance exudes hostility, but inside your nerves eats away at your insecurities. 

Kyungsoo stands a few feet away, looking stiff and troubled as he figures out what to say. He promised himself he was going to do it, now, tonight. 

“Do, do you know why I moved back?” Kyungsoo takes one step closer towards you, beginning to round the island. 

You make a face. “What?” He repeats his question and this time you answer. “Yes. You moved back because you got relocated for your job,” you say, confidence flowing through your voice. 

Kyungsoo smiles woefully. “And how about why I moved away in the first place?” 

“This is getting ridiculous. The answers to these questions are so obvious that I don’t understand why you’re asking me this, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo makes his way closer. “No, they’re not that obvious, Y/N, because you’re wrong.” 

With less than five feet between you two, you’re getting unnerved by the sher scent of him that emits and propagates the kitchen space. Kyungsoo doesn’t look away from you once, as he continues speaking. 

“The answers to both of these questions are the same. There’s only one single person in this whole world that can turn and flip my world upside down and it’s you, Y/N. I left because I couldn’t be with you; staying next to you while feeling the way I did towards you and not lose myself in you. We pick fights with each other like it’s our job, and we forgive each other in the end like it’s a given. But I didn’t want that. I wanted,” Kyungsoo falters, before continuing. “To hold your hands, to kiss...to kiss away your tears, and be the man you deserved.”

“I felt stuck between being your best friend and wanting to be more. I got frustrated because whenever I looked at you, at us, all the signs in the universe said that we wouldn’t work. I did what I thought was best and left, but it was the stupidest decision I ever made because I never, ever stopped liking you once after I realized the way I felt. I can’t go on, not having you know this. And I know it was cowardly of me to do that...I know that you might not...not feel an ounce of romantic feelings for me, but I’d rather tell you now before it’s too late.” 

Following Kyungsoo’s confession, there’s only the sound of the water boiling rapidly filling the air. Kyungsoo brings it upon himself to walk over and turn off the fire, but that also meant walking closer to you; you who is stagnant, utterly speechless at the revelation. Your ears heard the words Kyungsoo said, but your brain short circuit the minute he said the words ‘feelings’ and ‘you’ in the same sentence with the pretense that he. Fucking. Loved. You. 

“Y/N, say something, please.” 

“Give me a sec,” you growl, gnawing at your lips. It’s bad enough that this is how you have to confess, but to realize that you both could’ve just said something years ago and you wouldn’t have cried your stupid heart out. Zeroing on that thought alone, your first instinct was to stir a fight. 

“I can’t fucking believe you made me cry all those times just because you couldn’t-- okay, fine. I’m also at fault because I’ve liked you since god knows how long and didn’t say anything, but,” you pause abruptly to finally look at Kyungsoo in the eyes, and you notice how he’s just inches away. You’re aware of the warmth that his body radiates, and it pulls you in closer. 

It’s Kyungsoo’s turn to be confused because, what, you liked him too, and for how long? He really wants to punch himself. 

“Look, we can’t turn back time, so we’ll just leave it at that,” Kyungsoo says, reaching for your hand. When he finally grasp it, it’s small and soft compared to his and he thinks for a moment that he wouldn’t mind holding your hand for the rest of his life. “I’m sorry for being a coward, sorry for making you cry when all I wanted was for you to be happy, and healthy. I promise to try my best because that’s what you deserve.” 

You’re mad blushing and frowning at what he said. “We have to make up for loss time though, somehow. God, we’re so stupid.” You stare intently at your intertwined hands, heart fluttering at how Kyungsoo draws his thumbs across your knuckles as if he was familiarizing himself with your hands. He swings it back and fro absentmindedly. 

“I’m in no rush,” he says. “Baby steps, anything is fine with me.” He tugs a little more intently, pulling you towards him. You think you might die with how many butterflies are living in your stomach and how he makes your heart pound erratically. Next thing you know, you’re untangling your fingers from his’, disappointment briefly falling on his face, but then you’re wrapping your arms around his waist. You’re so warm, from blushing no less, and he feels it through your clothes as your body mold against his. 

With some bit of confidence with not having to look at Kyungsoo in the eyes, you softly ask, “Does that mean you’re not even going to kiss me?”

You think-- think-- you felt Kyungsoo’s heart skip a beat, but it could’ve been your own heart also. Kyungsoo hums, as if contemplating, which makes you nervous because maybe you shouldn’t have asked. But then he grabs your arms from around his waist and unleashes himself from your embrace, keeping your hands safely in his. Kyungsoo peers into your perturbed eyes before dropping his gaze to your lips. He gives you half of a smile, one filled with adoration, and leans in to plant a kiss. You’re pleasantly surprised with the forehead kiss he gives you, sending a new wave of warmth across your cheeks and spread down your neck; the butterflies decidedly have settled to live permanently in your tummy.  

Kyungsoo pulls away after eons have passed. “Baby steps,” he murmurs, rubbing your exposed arms when he feels goosebumps manifesting.

Baby steps, he says, but Kyungsoo doesn’t tell you how he might not sleep a wink if he chooses to kiss your lips. Someday he will, but for tonight, he basks in the feeling of you in his arms in the middle of your kitchen, kettle long forgotten. Though he almost, almost, threw out all his inhibitions when you send him off with a kiss on his cheek, treading a little too close to his lips, and whisper good night. 

A good night implies that you and Kyungsoo got some sleep, but in your respective rooms that night, all that went through your minds was what the future held for you two. As best friends. As lovers.